Kraftwerk at the Apollo: A Night Plugged Straight Into My Teenage Brain

Forty-five years ago this month, Kraftwerk released Computer World - an album written for a future that didn’t quite exist yet. Sitting inside the O2 Apollo in Manchester last night, watching Ralf Hütter and the band open with Numbers, Computer World, and Computer World 2, it hit me just how much of that imagined future we’re now living in. And how much of it they helped build.

I honestly can’t pinpoint the exact moment I first heard Kraftwerk. All I know is that teenage me latched onto their sound instantly - those clean lines, those machine rhythms, that strange mix of warmth and circuitry. So when they announced a UK tour and Manchester was on the list, there was no hesitation. Ticket bought. Calendar cleared.

The moment Numbers kicked in and that robotic voice started counting to eight in German, something inside me just lit up. It was like someone had reached into my memory and flicked a switch labelled “formative years”. I knew right then the night was going to be special.

Ralf Hütter, now 79, the last original member since Florian Schneider’s passing, is far more animated than the myth suggests. His left leg bobs along, almost giving away the emotion his face refuses to. He feeds melodies into a system he built before most of pop music even knew what a synthesiser was. Beside him, Henning Schmitz, Falk Grieffenhagen and Georg Bongartz stand at their glowing consoles, lit up like characters from a Vectrex game while geometric shapes and tumbling numbers tower behind them.

The visuals were unreal. Space Lab had them floating through space, approaching Earth, homing in on Manchester, and finally landing right outside the Apollo. The whole thing felt like stepping into a retro‑futurist dream.

Some of the best moments were the ones that drifted off-script. Autobahn broke down into this gorgeous, liquid swirl of arpeggios that Hütter twisted in real time. Neon Lights melted into a delicate improvised ending, his voice weathered but the cracks only adding weight.

Then came the only words he spoke all night, aside from a final “Auf wiedersehen”: a gentle tribute to Ryuichi Sakamoto, who passed away in 2023. “Since 1981 and our very first concert in Tokyo we have been friends for ever,” he said. What followed was a dimly lit, heartfelt version of Merry Christmas Mr Lawrence, folding Sakamoto’s iconic piano motif into Radioactivity. It was stunning.

For most of the night the seated crowd stayed respectful (except for those who kept needing a drink or have a full-on conversation with their mate), almost reverent - until the Tour de France medley snapped everyone out of it. Étape 3 in particular turned the room into a minimal-techno engine, synced to footage of cycling legends powering through their races. Trans-Europe Express tipped the whole place forward. And then The Robots returned for the encore, updated with skipping hi-hats that felt more Chicago house than Düsseldorf minimalism.

This music practically rewires you. And last night, Kraftwerk read aloud the blueprint for everything that came after: new wave, techno, electro, industrial, house. All of it. Still immaculate. Still futuristic. Still completely alive.