When we played at the ICA, we had this Utopian idea of leaving the stage from underneath. The plan was to dig through the stage into the tunnel system underneath the venue, which is supposed to go all the way to Buckingham Palace. Obviously, the venue had no idea of our intentions. We'd already been banned from a lot of venues for using fire and drilling the walls, but the Concerto for Voice and Machinery was billed as a highbrow art thing. There was no connection made to rock music.
I think the ICA probably started to realise something was afoot when a cement mixer was set up on stage, alongside electric drills and jackhammers. There was a piano, too, but that would be smashed to pieces. In those days, we'd often take the stage under the influence of substances or alcohol but this time I think we were particularly aware of the potential for danger so we were pretty much straight. When we took the stage, the euphoria was so intense. It felt ritualistic, meditative, like we were samurai.
There's a lot of controversy over who was actually on stage. Contrary to rumour, Blixa [Bargeld, the singer] did appear, but pretty late. He came on in the last quarter and sang one word, Sehnsucht, which means "addicted to desire". Frank Tovey, who performed as Fad Gadget, was singing freestyle stuff, these sort of om-like mantras. Genesis P Orridge was also on stage but I can't remember if he was handling a chainsaw or a pneumatic drill. Because we were using petrol-driven chainsaws, very soon the whole room was filled with smoke, the stench of petrol everywhere. It sounded like a cross between a building site and war. Because I was very young, the others wouldn't let me near the heavy machinery so I stood, wearing protective gloves and a visor, throwing milk bottles into the cement mixer, which smashed and flew into the crowd.
But we would have kept it pretty straightforward if we weren't inspired by the reaction of the audience. There's a famous Walter Benjamin essay about the destructive character, and he says: "The destructive character knows only one watchword: make room. And only one activity: clearing away." And that's how it was. We were thinking, "Actually, it's not us doing anything. The audience are tearing the place apart!" People were fighting over the drills and sledgehammers. Cables and machinery were pulled into the audience.
The thing about these situations is that no matter how wild it gets, people do instinctively take care of each other. I'm sure there were moments when we thought it was getting out of hand but it was all so quick, it went "Snap", like a switch being flicked and everyone going berserk.
When I ran out of bottles, I wandered off the stage so I could look at what was happening from in the crowd. There were heated discussions going on between officials at the entrance. They couldn't really throw themselves into the fray, it was hopeless. After 21 minutes they pulled the power. It was the only thing they could do. But the audience just carried on banging things.
By the end there was a big hole in the stage but we didn't make it through to the actual stone structure of the venue, so we failed. That's why I have no idea how they're going to recreate it. I won't really be able to give advice. But I hope this time they actually make it down the tunnels, and pop in to see the Queen.
· Alexander Hacke was talking to Dave Simpson. Concerto for Voice and Machinery is re-enacted at the ICA (020-7930 3647) on Tuesday. Alexander Hacke's current album, Sanctuary, is available on KoolArrow. Einstürzende Neubauten are touring the UK in April