Rammstein

Whether or not Rammstein are to one's personal musical taste is beside the point, just as undeniable as the sheer explosive spectacle of their live shows and the unmistakable entertainer's talent of the members of the German sextet. And if it's precisely in the live dimension that this industrial juggernaut detonates into a pyrotechnic, blazing, explosive scene – explosive quite literally – it's also right there, beneath the stage, amid the scripted set-pieces and gags of a show that's hard to forget, that one can clearly glimpse a self-reflexive, self-mocking side of the band, tactfully cloaked behind actions or lyrics that can seem almost laughable when judged purely by the extremity of their surface.

Rammstein arrive in Milan for the single date of a European tour. Supporting them is the ensemble Apocalyptica, a project somewhere between a classical string quartet and a gothic-metal band. Reduced here, for all intents and purposes, to the role of a Metallica cover string quartet, in their own material Apocalyptica stand out for their thoroughly striking use (and overuse) of their instruments, and for the sight – love it or hate it – of viola and double-bass players headbanging with full metal-style hair-whipping abandon. The choice of such a support act is yet another symptom of the clear shift in target audience Rammstein's management has undertaken towards the metal crowd, a shift also borne out by the crowd at the huge, sold-out Forum in Assago: there are more thrash T-shirts than gothic-club make-up here, though on closer inspection the audience actually spans the full spectrum, including older couples, groups of German and Austrian fans, and spectators from countries that didn't get a single date on the European tour.

If Rammstein have partly shifted their lyrical approach, on stage their identity remains exactly as it's always been. Unnamed torch-bearing guards keep watch over a stage hidden behind a curtain. The curtain falls. A set is revealed that recalls the control deck of some cyberpunk contraption, with lifts, automatic doors, monitors. The explosions start, the smoke, the industrial riffs. The Rammstein show has begun. Song after song, while the music keeps playing, all manner of things happen. Fire-spewing masks are worn and used to unleash metres-long flames over the heads of the crowd. Pyrotechnic bows are swung around like something out of a futuristic superstar athlete's suicide scene, hurling clouds of sparks over the stage and onto spectators in the front rows. Comets crash onto the stage from who knows where, staying lit like fire-lanterns for the exact number of seconds during which the sampled choral chants of "Morgenstern" set the crowd ablaze. During the staging of "Mein Teil", inspired by a case of sexually motivated cannibalistic ritual that occurred in Germany, keyboardist Flake is carried onto the stage inside a giant pot that is repeatedly blasted with flamethrower bursts by vocalist Lindemann, dressed as a murderous cook complete with huge sharpened knives held up to the microphone and grotesque mock-castration routines. And while Lindemann later straps on arm-mounted flamethrowers to fire blasts timed to the music of "Feuer Frei" and the lighting effects, Flake doesn't settle for merely mocking traditional German dance and himself by writhing about while strapped with firecrackers: at one point, after an effects-laden showcase, he smashes his keyboard to pieces, sending dozens of shards flying across the stage, before hurling the carcass into the crowd – drawing, as it later turned out, a little blood from a couple of scratched but thrilled spectators.

It's not over yet. Compressed-air cannons blast kilos of coloured streamers into the air, raining down from the ceiling for "Amerika". Fireballs shot by Lindemann run along overhead tracks across the entire area above the crowd, travelling backwards from the stage. As the band prepares to close or open a song, jets of flame shoot up from the stage floor all the way to the height of the lighting rig, timed to the spotlight effects and to the pauses, build-ups and crescendos of the music. The songs are, at times, heavily reworked and adapted to fit the staging, the gags and the pyrotechnics, the latter's heat felt metres and metres from the stage. On some songs Rammstein stretch out the danceable instrumental sections considerably, producing an amusing "genre clash" effect in the crowd: only a few people dance along to the industrial rhythms, while the metalheads stand bewildered by these unexpected rhythmic extensions, waiting for the next round of headbanging on those heavy, precise, volumetric riffs.

Not every song stands out in terms of execution, partly due to some minor early sound-mixing issues (also the cause of a couple of off-notes from Lindemann) and partly because of the considerable rearranging some tracks have undergone. This is evident on some songs from the recent "Reise, Reise", while the well-worn, more inspired tracks from "Mutter" benefit from a solid performance and excellent synchronisation with the visual elements. After the routine fake set-closer, Rammstein return with the ballad "Ohne Dich", performed with string backing from Apocalyptica, followed by a run of closing hits. Of the vast setlist on offer, the songs from "Sehnsucht" remain the standout, delivered with an impact few contemporary live acts could hope to match, and with all the fuel still left in the pyrotechnic rigs, alongside a classic rendition of "Du Riechst So Gut". The show closes with a cover of Depeche Mode's "Stripped", not before the bassist is carried around on a dinghy, held aloft by the crowd.

By the end of the show, it's hard not to spot satisfied smiles even beneath the hardened masks of the most extreme-looking fans. At one point, though, a small scuffle breaks out on the way out. Political insults fly. You catch a familiar question being asked of someone else nearby: "Is it true they're Nazis?" If Rammstein are right-wing, then the Dalai Lama is their kerosene dealer. And yet, in the front rows, as Lindemann sings "Sonne" with real solemnity, the flames burn fiercely hot against your face. And it really does feel like his sun has arrived.

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