What is Krautrock? Germany’s Electronic Music History
Krautrock history from 1968-1985: Can, Kraftwerk, Neu!, and how post-war Germany rejected rock to invent electronic music’s future. The definitive guide.
When Kraftwerk’s Autobahn reached No. 5 on the US Billboard 200 in March 1975, nobody knew what to make of it. A 22-minute instrumental about driving on German highways? Sung mostly in German? With robots replacing guitars? This shouldn’t have worked. Rock music in 1975 meant Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones, not synthesizers mimicking car engines.
But Autobahn wasn’t trying to be rock music. It was something post-war Germany had been building toward since 1968—a complete rejection of Anglo-American musical traditions in favor of something genuinely new. What British journalists dismissively called “krautrock” was actually a cultural revolution disguised as experimental music.
Most people discovering krautrock today start with Kraftwerk’s pristine electronic pop or maybe Neu!’s hypnotic grooves. What they don’t realize is these artists were part of a broader movement that asked a radical question: What happens when you make music with zero connection to blues, jazz, or rock and roll? When you start from actual zero?
This is the complete story of how West Germany rejected its musical inheritance, ignored Anglo-American rock entirely, and accidentally invented the blueprint for electronic music, ambient, techno, post-punk, and basically everything that came after. It’s about what happens when you’re too ashamed of your cultural past to look backward, so you create something that only looks forward.
By the end, you’ll understand why a generation of German musicians rejecting their parents’ crimes created sounds that still define music fifty years later—and why isolation might be the most powerful creative tool there is.
Post-War Experimentation: 1968-1972
Escape from Year Zero
West Germany in 1968 was a country still processing trauma. The Nazi past loomed over everything, creating what cultural critics called “Stunde Null”—Hour Zero—the idea that post-war Germany needed to rebuild culture from nothing. For young Germans coming of age in the late 1960s, this created a unique problem: they couldn’t embrace traditional German culture (too tainted by the Third Reich) and they refused to simply copy Anglo-American rock (cultural imperialism).
As Dieter Moebius of Cluster and Harmonia explained: “We were a lot of the times on the streets instead of studying. As young people we were not very proud to be German. We were all tired of listening to bad German music and imitations of American music. Something had to happen.”
The radical student protests of 1968 created space for this “something.” When student Benno Ohnesorg was shot by police on June 2, 1967, and activist Rudi Dutschke was nearly assassinated on April 11, 1968, German youth culture exploded. Communes formed, experimental art collectives emerged, and musicians began asking what German music could sound like if it ignored everything that came before.
That same year, 1968, saw the foundation of the Zodiak Free Arts Lab in Berlin by Hans-Joachim Roedelius and Conrad Schnitzler, which became ground zero for the psychedelic-rock sound spreading through Germany. Originally krautrock bands gave their records away for free at Free Art Fairs—part of the broader “Free Art” movement rejecting commercialism.
The Pioneers Who Rejected the Blues
Can formed in 1968 in Cologne, founded by Irmin Schmidt and Holger Czukay—two former students of avant-garde composer Karlheinz Stockhausen. Schmidt had traveled to New York and discovered the minimalist experiments of Terry Riley, Steve Reich, and La Monte Young, realizing rock music could be something completely different. With drummer Jaki Liebezeit (who developed the steady, machine-like “motorik” beat) and guitarist Michael Karoli, Can created something nobody had heard before.
Their 1969 debut Monster Movie featured vocalist Malcolm Mooney’s intense, improvised performances over extended jams that felt more like free jazz than rock. But it was 1971’s Tago Mago with new vocalist Damo Suzuki that exploded all boundaries—18-minute tracks like “Halleluhwah” combined funk grooves with avant-garde experimentation, creating hypnotic rhythms that predicted everything from post-punk to techno.
Jean-Hervé Peron of Faust explained the approach: “We were trying to put aside everything we had heard in rock ‘n’ roll, the three-chord pattern, the lyrics. We had the urge of saying something completely different.”
Amon Düül II emerged from a Munich commune, creating sprawling psychedelic epics that incorporated Eastern influences and spiritual themes. Guru Guru combined jazz fusion with psychedelic freakouts. These weren’t bands playing rock music badly—they were bands deliberately deconstructing rock to see what remained.
The Sound of Starting Over
What made early krautrock distinct wasn’t just what it included—synthesizers, tape manipulation, extended improvisation—but what it excluded. No blues progressions. No verse-chorus-verse structures. No cultural debt to American music whatsoever.
The instrumentation mixed traditional rock tools (guitar, bass, drums) with electronic experiments. Analog synthesizers like the EMS Synthi A and Minimoog enabled expansive soundscapes. Faust adopted lo-fi, DIY production embracing “dirty sounds” as artistic choice. Can recorded extended jam sessions, then edited hours of tape into structured tracks—a process that required bassist/engineer Holger Czukay’s constant interventions.
The sonic characteristics: hypnotic, repetitive rhythms (the “motorik” beat), extended improvisation, musique concrète tape techniques, and early synthesizers creating textures nobody had heard before. This wasn’t psychedelia trying to replicate drug experiences—it was something colder, more machine-like, more German.
Infrastructure: The Producer as Creator
Conny Plank became crucial to defining the krautrock sound. Born May 3, 1940, Plank attended new-music courses at the Rheinische Musikschule in Cologne taught by Karlheinz Stockhausen, Luciano Berio, and Henri Pousseur. He worked at West German Radio (WDR) studios in the 1960s, experimenting with sophisticated recording equipment and avant-garde composition techniques.
In 1970, Plank had a custom 56-channel mixing desk hand-built by himself, Peter Lang, and Michael Zähl. In 1974, he established Conny’s Studio in the rural village of Wolperath, near Cologne, transforming a farmhouse and former pig barn into a creative sanctuary. The desk featured bespoke EQ circuits and a non-standard 35-volt power supply that gave recordings their characteristic warm tone.
Plank wasn’t just an engineer—he actively shaped the music. He would manipulate tape loops, suggest arrangements, add his own performances, and embrace “noise” as musical potential. Michael Rother of Neu! recalled Plank’s contribution to “Hallogallo”: “I was in the recording room doing some overdubs, and Conny decided to turn around the tape, and that inspired me so much... You end up with the backwards and forwards flying guitars that you hear in ‘Hallogallo.’ That was a stroke of genius from Conny.”
When Klaus Dinger and Michael Rother formed Neu! after leaving Kraftwerk, they turned straight to Plank. He believed so strongly in their minimalist attack that he funded their self-titled 1972 debut from his own money (he hadn’t yet built his studio). The result introduced the motorik beat on opening track “Hallogallo”—an unrelenting, machine-like rhythm that would affect everything from punk to techno.
International Breakthrough: 1972-1977
The Breakthrough That Changed Everything
When Kraftwerk released Autobahn in November 1974, German music critics mostly ignored it. One reviewer dismissed it as something that “doesn’t even deserve to be released.” Wolfgang Flür of Kraftwerk later explained: “In Germany, artists are often not well regarded unless they’ve scored great achievements abroad. Our success in the US finally brought good headlines in the German newspapers.”
The breakthrough came unexpectedly. A Chicago radio station started playing an edited 3:27 version of the title track. The song climbed to No. 25 on the US Billboard Hot 100 and No. 11 in the UK. The album itself reached No. 5 on the US Billboard 200 by March 1975 and No. 4 in the UK album charts by May. Americans thought the chorus sounded like the Beach Boys singing “Fun, Fun, Fun on the Autobahn”—though Ralf Hütter and Florian Schneider insisted this was coincidental.
Autobahn represented Kraftwerk’s complete transition from experimental rock to electronic pop. Recorded primarily at Conny Plank’s studio, the album featured Minimoog, ARP Odyssey, and EMS Synthi AKS synthesizers alongside violin, flute, and piano. The 22-minute title track captured the experience of driving on German highways with vocoder-treated vocals and synthesizers mimicking engine sounds. It was accessible enough for pop radio yet experimental enough to feel genuinely futuristic.
Kraftwerk never repeated Autobahn‘s commercial peak, but the album proved electronic music could be both artistically ambitious and commercially viable. It laid the foundation for British synthpop, electro, techno, and basically every electronic genre that followed.
The Scene Expands Beyond Cologne
While Kraftwerk conquered America, the broader krautrock scene was diversifying. Tangerine Dream, formed in 1967 by Edgar Froese, moved from psychedelic rock toward pure electronic composition. Their 1974 album Phaedra marked a divergence from krautrock toward what became known as “Berlin School”—sequencer-driven cosmic synthesizer music. Producer Dieter Dierks helped them create expansive soundscapes that inspired ambient and new age movements.
Klaus Schulze, former drummer of Tangerine Dream and Ash Ra Tempel, released Timewind (1975) and Moondawn (1976)—double albums of analog synthesizer explorations that defined kosmische musik (cosmic music). This was the German artists’ preferred term for their work—”krautrock” remained a British marketing label. I’m placing Klaus Schulze’s Big in Japan Live album here which is worth listening to from start to end.
Cluster (originally Kluster), led by keyboardists Dieter Moebius and Hans-Joachim Roedelius, began in 1969 with keyboard-based electronic instrumental music emphasizing static drones. Their 1972 album Cluster II transformed dissonant electronics into structured ambient landscapes through Conny Plank’s production. They later collaborated with Brian Eno on Cluster & Eno (1977), anticipating Eno’s Ambient series by a year.
Harmonia, formed in 1973 by Cluster members plus Michael Rother of Neu!, created what Brian Eno called “the world’s most important rock group.” Their 1974 debut Musik von Harmonia blended Cluster’s ambient textures with Neu!’s motorik rhythms, creating hypnotic, lush synthesizer dreamscapes.
The Kosmische Vision
In 1973, producer Rolf-Ulrich Kaiser founded the label Ohr and later the Kosmische Kuriere, specializing in space rock and cosmic synthesizer recordings. His Cosmic Jokers project featured improvised sessions with krautrock veterans like Klaus Schulze and Manuel Göttsching. Kaiser brought in esoteric figures like Timothy Leary (collaborating on Ash Ra Tempel’s “Seven Up”) and created a small community around psychedelic and cosmic philosophies.
Ash Ra Tempel, founded by Manuel Göttsching, explored psychedelic rock improvisation with Eastern influences before moving toward electronic minimalism. Göttsching’s solo work, especially 1975’s Inventions for Electric Guitar, created trancey, space-minimalist essays using simple electronic effects.
Popol Vuh, led by Florian Fricke, became the first krautrock group to use an electronic synthesizer in 1970, creating what they called “kosmische musik.” Their 1972 album Hosianna Mantra blended ambient textures, spiritual themes, and Eastern influences, later gaining wider recognition through Werner Herzog’s film soundtracks.
The British Discovery
British DJ John Peel became krautrock’s crucial champion, playing German experimental music extensively on BBC Radio 1 and helping these artists find their first international audience. In December 1972, journalist Ian MacDonald covered the emerging German scene in three concurrent issues of New Musical Express, introducing British audiences to Can, Faust, Neu!, and others.
Virgin Records, founded in 1973 by Richard Branson, signed Can, Tangerine Dream, and Faust, providing distribution that brought commercial success. Faust’s innovative The Faust Tapes (1973)—several recordings from 1971-1973 sold at budget price—became a cult success, demonstrating appetite for experimental German music.
The term “krautrock” itself emerged from British music press—possibly coined by DJ John Peel or Melody Maker magazine, though the first documented use appeared in a full-page advertisement from Popo Music Management and Bacillus Records in April 1971. Most German artists disliked the term (it derives from the ethnic slur “kraut”), but it stuck. Faust later said: “When the English people started talking about krautrock, we thought they were just taking the piss.”
Peak Influence: 1977-1982
David Bowie’s Berlin Trilogy
Krautrock’s international influence exploded when David Bowie relocated to West Berlin in 1976, seeking sobriety and artistic reinvention. Working with producer Tony Visconti and former Roxy Music keyboardist Brian Eno—who had already collaborated with Harmonia—Bowie created what became known as the “Berlin Trilogy”: Low (January 1977), “Heroes” (October 1977), and Lodger (May 1979).
Bowie and Eno were infatuated with German experimental music. Bowie had exhibited krautrock influences on Station to Station (1976), particularly its title track. Eno had worked extensively with Cluster and Harmonia, bringing their minimalist, ambient approaches to the collaboration.
Low featured terse, emotionally raw vocal tracks on side one and ambient, synthesizer-heavy instrumentals on side two—directly influenced by Tangerine Dream, Neu!, Harmonia, and Kraftwerk. Critics noted Neu! as the biggest influence, with Neu!’s Neu! ‘75 featuring a similar song/instrumental split and even containing a track titled “Hero.”
The album’s drum sound, production techniques, and willingness to embrace electronic textures over traditional rock became massively influential. “Heroes”, recorded at Hansa Studios overlooking the Berlin Wall, deepened these experiments. The track “V-2 Schneider” explicitly referenced Kraftwerk’s Florian Schneider. “Moss Garden” featured Japanese koto, and “Neuköln” explored Berlin’s multiculturalism through experimental saxophone and synthesizers.
David Bowie’s friend Edgar Froese of Tangerine Dream introduced him to Berlin’s underground scene. Bowie later cited Froese’s solo album Epsilon in Malaysian Pale as a major influence and “soundtrack to his life in Berlin.”
Post-Punk Adopts the Motorik
Krautrock’s influence on post-punk was immediate and pervasive. When Manchester’s Factory Records acts Joy Division, the Fall, and A Certain Ratio began developing their sounds in 1977-1978, they drew heavily on krautrock’s minimalist, mechanical rhythms.
Joy Division drummer Stephen Morris discovered krautrock through David Bowie and Roxy Music: “I discovered krautrock about that time, and Can—I was into Tago Mago. Through Mac’s elder brother I got into Can and then, after Can, Amon Düül and Neu!” Ian Curtis requested that Kraftwerk’s Trans-Europe Express (1977) be played in venues before Joy Division shows.
The motorik beat’s steady, machine-like pulse became foundational to post-punk. Joy Division’s “She’s Lost Control” and “Interzone” demonstrated how krautrock’s relentless forward momentum could be applied to dark, emotional material. Peter Hook’s melodic bass lines and Bernard Sumner’s textural guitar work showed clear influence from Can’s extended improvisations.
Public Image Ltd, formed by John Lydon after the Sex Pistols’ collapse, incorporated krautrock’s mechanical rhythms and dub production into tracks like “Careering.” The Fall’s Mark E. Smith built entire songs around repetitive, hypnotic grooves influenced by Can and Neu! Wire, Gang of Four, Cabaret Voltaire, Killing Joke, and This Heat all incorporated krautrock elements—minimalist repetition, motorik beats, and electronic textures—into their experimental approaches.
Bauhaus bassist David J described his first exposure: “I heard a track on The Old Grey Whistle Test TV show. They played this track, ‘Dizzy Dizzy’ from Can’s Soon Over Babaluma record—and it just blew my mind. I just loved it so much.”
Simon Reynolds noted that post-punk’s experimental ethos—reintroducing art rock intellectualism and progressive ambition—owed enormous debt to krautrock’s pioneering rejection of rock conventions.
Electronic Music’s Foundations
Kraftwerk’s influence on electronic music cannot be overstated. Their precise, mechanical aesthetic and fascination with technology, automation, and modernity created the blueprint for synthpop, electro, techno, and house.
British synthpop bands like Ultravox, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (OMD), The Human League, and Gary Numan directly cited Kraftwerk as primary inspiration. Andy McCluskey of OMD recalled seeing Kraftwerk on September 11, 1975—”It was the 11th September ‘75 that I first saw Kraftwerk”—and being able to recall his exact seat showed how profound the experience was. He later stated: “Kraftwerk are probably the most important band in the history of music.”
Conny Plank’s studio continued as crucial hub for this transition. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, he produced pivotal new wave and electronic albums: Ultravox’s Vienna (1980), D.A.F.’s Alles ist gut (1981), Eurythmics’ In the Garden (1981), and albums for Devo, Killing Joke, and Echo & the Bunnymen. Plank’s innovative production techniques—tape manipulation, unconventional mic placement, embracing “noise”—directly influenced Martin Hannett’s production on Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures.
By the early 1980s, Kraftwerk’s Computer World (1981) was being sampled by pioneering hip-hop DJs in New York, while Detroit techno originators Juan Atkins, Derrick May, and Kevin Saunderson cited Kraftwerk and Tangerine Dream as foundational influences. The direct line from krautrock’s electronic experimentation to techno, house, and electronic dance music was undeniable.
Critical Reevaluation
By the late 1970s, what had been dismissed or misunderstood in Germany gained retrospective appreciation. Music critics began recognizing krautrock’s innovations: the motorik beat as precursor to electronic dance music, ambient textures predicting Brian Eno’s ambient series, the complete rejection of blues-based rock creating space for new genres.
Julian Cope’s 1995 book Krautrocksampler provided English-language critical framework, calling krautrock “a subjective British phenomenon” based on how the music was received in the UK rather than the actual West German scene. This book sparked renewed interest and reissue culture.
German labels like Brain Records (founded 1971) and Sky Records had originally released krautrock albums, but by the late 1970s, many were out of print. International reissue labels began recognizing the historical importance, setting stage for comprehensive reissue campaigns in the 1990s.
Legacy and Influence: 1985-Present
The Reissue Culture and Rediscovery
By the mid-1980s, most original krautrock bands had dissolved or evolved beyond recognition. Conny Plank died of laryngeal cancer on December 5, 1987, ending an era. But krautrock’s influence was just beginning to be fully understood.
In the 1990s and early 2000s, comprehensive reissue campaigns by labels like Grönland Records and Bureau B made classic krautrock albums available again, often with expanded liner notes and bonus material. Younger generations discovering electronic music, post-rock, and experimental genres found themselves tracking backward to krautrock origins.
Stereolab, formed in 1990, became perhaps the most direct krautrock descendant, incorporating motorik beats, vintage synthesizers, and hypnotic repetition into their “post-modern” sound. Their 18-minute track “Jenny Ondioline” rivaled Autobahn and “Hallogallo” as epic motorik journey. Guitarist Tim Gane explained: “Motorik was the total inverse of technique. You don’t have to be a good drummer—you just don’t change.”
Sonic Youth, Radiohead, Wilco, The Mars Volta, Porcupine Tree, and countless indie and alternative bands cited krautrock as major influence. Radiohead covered Can’s “Thief” and cited Can, Faust, and Neu! among their influences. Thom Yorke described Neu! as sounding “like joy. Like endless lines stretching on forever in parallel.”
Post-rock bands of the 1990s—Tortoise, Mogwai, Godspeed You! Black Emperor—built extended instrumental pieces using krautrock’s template of repetitive, hypnotic structures building slowly toward transcendence.
Contemporary Electronic Music’s Debt
Modern electronic music’s entire foundation rests on krautrock innovations. Detroit techno, Chicago house, UK techno, ambient techno, industrial, and virtually every electronic subgenre traces lineage back to Kraftwerk, Tangerine Dream, and Klaus Schulze.
Contemporary producers and DJs regularly cite krautrock as inspiration. The hypnotic, repetitive structures; the embrace of machines and technology; the willingness to create music that exists outside song structures—all krautrock contributions now considered fundamental to electronic music.
Berlin, once home to Tangerine Dream’s experiments and Bowie’s Berlin Trilogy, became global techno capital in the 1990s and 2000s. Clubs like Berghain and Tresor explicitly connected their aesthetic to krautrock’s pioneering electronic experimentation.
The Twenty-First Century Krautrock Revival
By the 2000s, “krautrock revival” became recognized trend, though many German artists disliked the term. As Faust’s members noted: “When you hear the so-called ‘krautrock renaissance’, it makes me think everything we did was for nothing.”
Modern German bands like Harmonia reunited for tours, Neu!’s Michael Rother continued recording, and Klaus Schulze remained active until his death in 2022. Original krautrock albums were remastered and expanded, with Kraftwerk’s catalog receiving comprehensive treatment culminating in their elaborate 3D live shows touring globally.
Contemporary bands incorporating krautrock elements include Oneida, Wooden Shjips, Moon Duo, Föllakzoid, Gilla Band (formerly Girl Band), Viagra Boys, and countless others. Gilla Band drummer Adam Faulkner explained: “There’s a very easy transition from listening to the likes of Can for eras and eras because it’s so repetitive, and then going and listening to minimal techno. You’re literally just changing the instruments, the ethos is the same.”
Industrial shoegaze artist Jesu (Justin Broadrick of Godflesh) cited krautrock as influence: “I might have a mad listening session of stuff from the seventies, some form of krautrock I loved when I was a kid and I’ll hear something that I could maybe re-interpret as a beat.”
From Swans’ post-rock epics to modern industrial minimalism to synth-punk revival, krautrock’s DNA is everywhere. The minimalist, repetitive approach; the embrace of technology; the willingness to create hour-long journeys rather than three-minute pop songs—all krautrock innovations now considered standard experimental music practice.
Why Post-War Germany? The Secret Formula
Geography as Creative Necessity
West Germany’s unique position created perfect conditions for radical musical experimentation. Divided by the Berlin Wall, isolated from both Eastern Bloc and fully integrated with the West, Germany occupied liminal space—neither fully American nor fully European in cultural identity.
This isolation bred experimentation because trends arrived late or not at all. By the time Anglo-American rock reached Germany, it was already evolving. Young German musicians couldn’t simply copy what was happening in London or New York—they had to create something distinctly theirs.
The physical environment mattered too. Long, empty autobahns stretching across landscapes. Industrial cities rebuilding from wartime destruction. The sense of starting over. All of this fed into krautrock’s aesthetic—mechanical, forward-moving, hypnotic, infinite.
Cultural Rejection and Rebuilding
The Nazi legacy created unique pressure. Traditional German culture—Wagner, Beethoven, the Romantic tradition—felt tainted. Conservative German entertainment like schlager music represented parents’ generation avoiding confronting the past. Anglo-American rock felt like cultural imperialism.
Young Germans needed music that was neither nostalgic German tradition nor imported American culture. They needed Year Zero—starting from nothing, building something new.
Author Christoph Dallach explained in Neu Klang: The Definitive History of Krautrock: “There’s no Krautrock sound, and these bands couldn’t be more different—but a whole idea keeps this together—starting at zero and creating something new. Not simply to be original but to get rid of the past and the Third Reich.”
This wasn’t just aesthetic choice—it was existential necessity. As Dallach noted: “They didn’t want to sound like the Beatles or the Stones—and not because they said the Beatles or the Stones are bad, but it’s not their history. They didn’t have the blues because it’s not their history. They’re not from Nashville or New York or London. They’re from Berlin, Düsseldorf, Munich, and Hamburg.”
Economic and Structural Support
Government arts funding in West Germany supported experimental music in ways impossible in market-driven American or British systems. Universities offered spaces for experimentation. Radio stations like WDR (West German Radio) employed experimental composers and sound engineers, giving people like Conny Plank training in avant-garde techniques.
Studios like Conny Plank’s rural Wolperath facility, Can’s converted cinema in Weilerswist, and Kraftwerk’s Kling Klang studio in Düsseldorf provided spaces where bands could work without commercial pressure. Many krautrock groups released albums on small independent labels like Brain Records, Ohr, and Pilz, which prioritized artistic vision over sales.
The lack of strong commercial music industry in Germany paradoxically helped—bands weren’t trying to make hits; they were trying to make something new.
Karlheinz Stockhausen’s Shadow
Avant-garde composer Karlheinz Stockhausen loomed large over krautrock. His electronic music compositions, his theories about serial music and sound organization, his courses at the Rheinische Musikschule in Cologne—all influenced the generation that created krautrock.
Can’s Irmin Schmidt and Holger Czukay were Stockhausen students. Conny Plank studied with Stockhausen. Kraftwerk’s Ralf Hütter attended courses where Stockhausen taught. Klaus Schulze performed Stockhausen’s works.
When asked if he was familiar with Can, Stockhausen replied: “Yes, I know about Can. They were former students of mine.” This connection between academic avant-garde and popular experimental music was uniquely German—taking the rigor and conceptual frameworks from academic music and applying them to rock instrumentation and pop sensibilities.
The Motorik Beat as Philosophy
The motorik beat—that steady, unchanging 4/4 pulse pioneered by Can’s Jaki Liebezeit and Neu!’s Klaus Dinger—wasn’t just a rhythm. It was philosophical statement about repetition, meditation, and forward motion.
Liebezeit explained its origin: “A guy came to me and said, ‘You must play monotonous.’ He said it with a voice and with an expression so I was quite impressed.”
The motorik beat rejected virtuosic drumming for something machine-like, hypnotic, endless. It created sense of forward momentum without development, of traveling without arriving. It was the autobahn—infinite highway stretching toward horizon.
This single rhythmic innovation influenced everything from post-punk to techno to post-rock. It proved that repetition wasn’t boring—it was transcendent.
Essential Krautrock Canon: Where to Start
Beginners:
Kraftwerk - Autobahn (1974)
Neu! - Neu! (1972)
Cluster - Cluster II (1972)
Intermediate:
Can - Tago Mago (1971)
Tangerine Dream - Phaedra (1974)
Harmonia - Musik von Harmonia (1974)
Advanced:
Faust - The Faust Tapes (1973)
Popol Vuh - Hosianna Mantra (1972)
Klaus Schulze - Timewind (1975)
Deep Cuts:
Amon Düül II - Yeti (1970)
Guru Guru - UFO (1970)
Ash Ra Tempel - Ash Ra Tempel (1971)