Faust IV is the sound of a band tearing down the studio walls and building something stranger in their place. It's krautrock at its most playful, melodic, and unhinged — a record that rewards close listening and forgives nothing.
The needle drops on “Krautrock” and you’re already lost. Nineteen minutes of bass drone, drum clatter, and a guitar that sounds like it’s being played through a malfunctioning oven. This is the opening track of Faust IV, the band’s fourth album and their major-label debut for Virgin Records. It’s also the moment Faust stopped being a cult secret and became something else entirely.
Recorded at their own Wümme studio in 1973, the sessions were a continuation of the DIY mania that defined the band. No engineer to speak of — the band ran the tape themselves, often at odd speeds, capturing feedback loops and room noise as equals to the instruments. Uwe Nettelbeck, their producer-manager, gave them space and a budget. They used it to buy a concrete mixer, a pneumatic drill, and enough tape to build a small city of loops.
The result is an album that swings wildly between the pastoral and the industrial. “Jennifer” opens with a fingerpicked acoustic guitar and a vocal that sounds like a lullaby beamed in from a distant planet. Then the drums hit, and the song becomes a lopsided march. “Just a Second (Starts Like That!)” is a piece of manic pop with a chorus that keeps slipping out of reach. These are songs written by people who had spent years listening to the noise between the songs.
Hans Joachim Irmler’s organ work gives the record an eerie, chapel-like resonance. Jean-Hervé Péron’s bass playing is loose and melodic, more like a second guitar. Rudolf Sosna plays solos that seem to arrive from a different take entirely. And Werner “Zappi” Diermaier, whose drumming is the band’s unmoorable anchor — he hits hard, off-center, as if trying to break the beat into pieces.
The mid-section of the album is where the strangeness deepens. “Picnic on a Frozen River” is a miniature tone poem built from saxophone, piano, and a tape loop of someone breathing. “The Sad Skinhead” is a broken folk song with a chorus that repeats the title like a mantra you didn’t ask for. It’s the kind of music that feels both accidental and meticulously arranged, as if the band recorded twenty different versions and then spliced them together blindfolded.
There is no clean production here. The sound is flat, slightly compressed, and full of the room’s own reverb. You can hear the scrape of a chair, the hum of an amplifier, the moment someone forgets to mute a microphone. That is not a flaw. It is the point.
Faust IV is the sound of a band that trusted its instincts more than its equipment. It is messy, uneven, and occasionally gorgeous. It does not ask you to understand it. It only asks you to listen close.
🎵 Key Takeaways
- Nineteen minutes of bass drone, drum clatter, oven guitar.
- Recorded at Wümme studio, band ran tape at odd speeds.
- Budget used for concrete mixer, pneumatic drill, tape loops.
- Album swings between pastoral 'Jennifer' and industrial 'Just a Second'.
- Picnic on a Frozen River built from breathing tape loop.
- Diermaier drums off-center, trying to break beat to pieces.
Is Faust IV a good entry point for someone new to krautrock?
Yes, but it's not the gentlest. Start with the first side and let the chaos settle. It's more song-based than most krautrock, which helps, but the band never loses its edge.
Why does the album sound so raw compared to other Virgin releases?
Faust recorded it themselves in a converted farmhouse with no professional engineer. They used a 4-track tape machine and often bounced tracks down, resulting in that compressed, live-in-the-room sound.
Are there any outtakes or alternative versions from the Faust IV sessions?
Yes, several tracks were released on later compilations like 'The Wümme Years' and '71 Minutes'. A full alternate mix of the album circulates among collectors but has never been officially issued.