A TRIP TO THE BERLIN BUNKER YOU DIDN’T KNOW YOU NEEDED
Gloom-merchants from the German underground deliver a masterclass in magnificent misery as a trip to a Berlin Bunker
Let’s be honest, you think you know what you’re in for. A German band called Schattenkind (‘Shadow Child’) is never going to turn up sounding like The Wombats, are they? From the first icy throb of bass on the title track, you’re plunged headfirst into a world of concrete bunkers, cheap schnapps, and existential dread. This isn’t just post-punk; this is archival footage of the Cold War, broadcast on a flickering black-and-white telly.
And it is glorious. A TRIP TO THE BERLIN BUNKER YOU DIDN’T KNOW YOU NEEDED –
The opening salvo, „Schattenkinder“, is pure, uncut gloom. The bassline, a swaggering, flanger-drenched monster, could have been nicked straight from Peter Hook’s kit bag circa 1979. It stalks the track like a Stasi agent in a long leather coat, while jagged guitar shards rain down and the vocals are delivered in a Teutonic monotone that’s less sung, more intoned. It’s a menacing, motorik banger that demands to be played loud in a poorly-lit room.
Just when you think you’ve got them pegged as a top-tier Joy Division tribute, they pull the rug out. „Die Rose“ slows the tempo to a funereal crawl, spinning a cobweb-dusted yarn about a cursed flower and its thorny revenge. The guitars chime with the kind of wintry despair Robert Smith patented, creating a slice of fairytale noir that’s as beautiful as it is bleak. It’s proof that there’s more to Schattenkind than just driving rhythm; there’s a poet’s soul lurking beneath the greatcoat.
But the real shock to the system is saved for last. „Tötet“ (‘Kill’) detonates with the force of a two-chord blitzkrieg, ditching the gothic atmospherics for a spittle-flecked garage-punk squall. Over a frantic, pummelling riff, our man barks a nihilistic shopping list of targets for termination – oligarchs, normalos, and the entire universe, for starters. It’s a thrilling, unhinged rant that sounds like The Fall’s Mark E. Smith waking up on the wrong side of the Berlin Wall.
Sure, there’s nothing here that’s going to reinvent the wheel. But when the pastiche is this potent, this authentic, who gives a damn? Schattenkind have bottled the lightning of a bygone era with such conviction that it feels startlingly present. This is a vital, visceral dispatch from the heart of the shadowlands.
A TRIP For Fans Of: Joy Division, Bauhaus, The Fall
The Lowdown: Proof that the best ghosts never really die. They just learn to play bass.
A Trip to – Text from Google AI in the style of NME, based on the recordings