The Sound of Cologne

Director: Kristina Schipping (Germany). Year of Release: 2022

Why has Cologne been the centre of so many waves of German music? This fascinating documentary offers a number of theories. Maybe it was because in West Germany, Berlin was so inaccessible. Maybe it’s the industrial wasteland of the once powerful North Rhine Westphalia – one of the areas which experienced the most destruction during the Second World War. Maybe it’s the lapping tides of the Rhine river which are reproduced in some of the music.

Some of these theories are more important than others, but all make you think a little. Perhaps the most convincing argument relates to the musicians who – by accident or design – ended up in the Cathedral City. We start in the avant garde with composer Herbert Eimert. Eimert was given significant support by the radio station Nordwestdeutscher Rundfunk (now Westdeutsche Rundfunk – WDR), who provided a platform for his music, based on electronic sounds.

Then there’s Karl-Heinz Stockhausen, the composer who was almost accepted into the musical establishment. Stockhausen taught at Cologne’s music school, and, along with Arnold Schoenberg, was an influential figure in the atonal music scene. Interviews with Pierre Boulez (speaking impressively fluent German) show that Stockhausen was part of a movement which played an important role in the years before rock and roll.

Stockhausen’s presence in Cologne attracted the musicians who were to form the Krautrock band Can. The film contains interviews with Can’s always genial Irmin Schmidt (who also features heavily in the recent documentary CAN and Me, directed by Michael P Aust, one of the writers and producers of The Sound of Cologne) and the slightly more manic Holher Czukay. Footage of Can’s concerts show how the ideas of Stockhausen could find a younger, hipper audience.

Above all, the film follows Can drummer Jaki Liebezeit, who died while the film was being compiled, but is shown working with the next generation of Cologne musicians. Much reference is made to Liebezeit’s “side projects”. You gain the impression that if there was any group of musicians in NRW playing along, there was a fair chance that Liebezeit would turn up and play along, or help them find a studio where they could make a record.

The next leap which the film makes is towards the next generation of Cologne musicians – the Techno artists, almost all of whom are presented as a “DJ and composer”. This section of the film, which is by far the longest, both interested and alienated me. The continuum between the beeps of Eimert and Stockhausen, the more jazzy sounds of Can, and the newer musicians was clear to anyone with ears, but I find it hard to see the musical development as any sort of progress.

I know that this is not their problem but mine, and that Techno is a highly popular musical form, but it still leaves me cold. It feels too soulless to me, too much lacking in musicianship. I accept immediately that “musicianship” is an artificial construct, that being able to play your instrument is both only a concern of people of a certain age, and everything that punk was supposed to destroy, but I still felt it difficult to engage with much of the music on show.

This is not necessarily a bad thing. Firstly, if people my age were able to relate to Techno music, then it would be obviously doing something wrong. But more to the point, it is perfectly possible to enjoy the film without liking any of the music on show. The Sound of Cologne shows both how a musical trend could develop in a working class area, and also how the homogenisation of music and the rise of post-Wende Berlin has led to its almost inevitable destruction.

There are some issues where I’d have appreciated more coverage. The interview with a BIPoC DJ about the apparent diversity in the Techno scene reminds you even more that pretty much everyone you’ve seen interviewed is very White. Well, that’s not exactly true. Original Can singer Malcolm Mooney was a Black US-American draft dodger. His successor Damo Suzuki, was Japanese. The Cologne Techno scene, however, showed a much more limited range of diversity.

Some aspects of The Sound of Cologne are also unnecessarily annoying. For example, the fact that well over half the outside shots (of which there are many) show either the imposing Cologne Cathedral or the Rhine. Most of the others are scenes from Cologne Carnival, which is a big thing in Germany, but probably means little to those inside. We get it, this is set in Cologne. Most of the interviewees have Köllnische accents. We don’t need all this visual browbeating.

Nonetheless, The Sound of Cologne gives a fascinating picture of the various meanderings of a regional music scene in the near-century since the Second World War. You don’t need to like all the music which is presented (and I much prefer some to others) to recognise that what we are watching is culturally significant. The final message is a slightly tragic lament that a movement which lasted so long may not well survive.

At the same time, we encounter enough musicians, who deliberately chose to operate outside the metropolis. Whether it’s Schmidt and Czukay, who came to Cologne to sit at the feet of Stockhausen, or more recent musicians who are attracted neither by the bustle of Berlin nor by the small-town conservatism of their home towns, we get the impression that if the Cologne music scene is dying, this is something we should mourn.

Admission time. When I lived in conservative Southern Germany, I took many long week-ends in Cologne. Techno wasn’t (and isn’t) my thing, but I really appreciated the availability of alternative music. We would normally go up for a big concert on a Friday or Saturday night, then find a lively bat on the other day offering more alternative live music. Watching this film made me both nostalgic for those days and eager to ensure that this scene is not completely destroyed.