Ausländer

"Ausländer" is Rammstein in its most theatrical, globe-trotting mode — and it's impossible not to grin at the audacity of it. The production is sleek and almost danceable by the band's standards: a tight, mechanized groove undercuts the usual granite-heavy guitar, and synthesizer textures add an unexpectedly glossy sheen. The tempo is forward-moving, almost seductive, which creates a brilliant friction against the lyrics' satirical premise — the narrator bragging about his identity as a foreign man, treating cultural tourism as a kind of romantic credential. It's simultaneously a send-up of Western exoticism and a self-aware joke about the band's own outsized international celebrity. Lindemann plays the role with campy commitment, his voice adopting an almost theatrical swagger, and the music around him keeps up the charade with a kind of bombastic fun that Rammstein rarely indulges. Multilingual phrases appear as sonic souvenirs. The song exists in the tradition of European industrial rock turning its satirical gaze on identity and desire, but it wears that seriousness lightly. You'd reach for this one at the start of a road trip with friends who appreciate dark humor, or at a party where someone dares you to explain why it's actually kind of funny.