The first impression is that this is a far more rock-oriented affair than expected. Backed by a tight, well-drilled band, Lindemann’s material is given a sharper, pop-punk edge that adds weight and immediacy to songs that, on record, often lean more heavily into polished production.
The second realization is less encouraging, and, again, this is where I show my age: Lindemann relies heavily on backing tracks throughout the show. She does sing live over them, at least in part, but the safety net is always present, and at times, it is all that comes through. It is a familiar issue, one that affects artists across the spectrum, from Madonna to Mötley Crüe, but it remains difficult to accept. The effect is distancing, and it inevitably raises questions about what is actually being performed in the moment.
Freed from the need to carry every note, Lindemann leans into the visual aspect of the performance, striking poses, working the stage, at times giving the impression of a TikTok video performed in front of an audience rather than a traditional concert. The show unfolds as a curated experience designed for handheld screens, mediated by image more than by sound, and the connection with the audience feels filtered, indirect. But the crowd wouldn't have it any other way: the sea of cell phones held up in the air proves that this is now the norm.
Under different circumstances, the strength of the material and the musicianship of the band might have carried the evening. As it stands, they struggle to break through the sense of artifice that hangs over the performance. The audience, however, remains fully engaged (albeit through the interface of their device) and for many, this appears to be an accepted, even expected, format. Hearing that expectation voiced and rationalized after the show is perhaps the most disquieting aspect. Is this where live music is heading? One shudders at the thought.
