Welcome to Silberland – where the streets are paved with strobes. Home to neon lights, straight lines and open roads, this futurist fantasy was first founded in the mid-seventies, when Germanys creative class chose musical therapy in order to indulge their shared hallucination of a new Europe. Fuelled by the catalytic fusion of globalisation and new technology, the world was turning ever faster and the kosmische generation were ready to keep the pace. With synthesisers, rhythm computers and human metronomes turned to a gallop, these electronic innovators set modernity to a motorik beat, and Bureau Bs second trip into Silberland cuts right to the thrust of the genre.

The set begins with the propulsive opener from Harald Grosskopfs 1986 LP Oceanheart, in which pristine sequences play in counterpoint atop a mechanical kick, hurtling forward until the rest of the kit catches up.

Live drums take centre stage for Clusters feverish Prothese and the time travelling Elektroklang by Conrad Schnitzler, which foreshadows industrial and techno innovations while maintaining a primal punch. You offer astral ascension on Son Of A True Star, weaving proggy square waves and pulsating arps around an irresistible shuffle from mysterious percussionist Lhan Gopal (Grosskopf in disguise), before the optimistic Fr Dich fuses classic kosmische chords with Thomas Dingers pummelling beat. Asmus Tietchens detuned keys and drum machine samba are imbued with a punk spirit shared by Moebius Plank Neumeiers discordant jazz-tanz jam Search Zero. Beat For Ikutaro, plucked from a mid 80s demo tape by Camouflage keyboardist Heiko Maile, swerves into icy electroid territories where moonlit melodies ride robotic riffs and a whirring low end. The cassette energy continues with the mechanised boogie of Lapres Flokati, a funkier take on the style in wonderful contrast with Adelbert Von Deyens breakneck, straight shooting Time Machine, a massively motorik night drive down the A7 which finally runs out of gas at the compilations midpoint.

Gnter Schickert takes us inside the fuel pump on the weird and watery Puls, while the charmingly disruptive Faust complete the pitstop via the blasted blues of Juggernaut, a fuzzbox stampede which builds from ratchet whirrs to a V8 purr in no time at all. Moebius & Plank return sans Neumeier for the deep and dubby Feedback 66, all murmured vocals and surging pedals powered by a seismic bassline from Holger Czukay, whose collaborations recur throughout the duos 1980 classic Rastakraut Pasta. Wheels spun and rubber burned, we move up through the gears via the airy tones of Roedelius to arrive at the high tension electronics of Serge Blenners Phonique, an anxious amalgam of insistent percussion and agitated sequences from the French imports 1981 release. Moebius & Beerbohms Subito follows in a flurry of tribal drumming, guttural distortion and corrosive drone, a synthesised translation of punk spirit which mellows into the soft focus serenade of Tyndalls Wolkenlos, a thrilling contradiction of pastoral motifs and breathless tempo.

Pyrolators 1981 creation 180 maintains the lightening pace, lurching forward in bursts of chaotic drum programming and sampler abuse, sending us spinning out into the strange beauty of Die Parteis Guten Morgen In Kln. Enmeshing fragments of musique concrte and yearning guitar with throbbing sequences and a rigid rhythm grid, the duo signpost a melodic destination finally delivered by Streetmark keyboardist Dorothea Raukes under her Deutsche Wertabeit alias. A fitting finale, Auf Engelsflgeln radiates human warmth and cosmic wonder, serving electronic emotion from start to finish.