The leather-clad rock star halted his gyrations across the stage to deliver the controversial message to legions of blue-shirted youths and Communist Party functionaries:
"We do not want a new ice age caused by the kamikaze nuclear arms race," he said to a polite round of applause. But the approbation faded to nervous discomfort when he added: "No Pershing missiles in the West, and no SS20s in the East."
After weeks of breathless excitement on both sides of the Berlin Wall, one of West Germany's leading pop singers, Udo Lindenberg, had succeeded in bringing his version of the "zero solution" along with the heavy metallic music of his "Panic Orchestra" into East Berlin's Palace of the Republic.
The 4,000-seat hall, which normally serves as East Germany's parliament, was transformed Tuesday night into a socialist pleasure dome for a World Peace Concert sponsored by the East German Communist youth organization.
Most of the performances adhered to the one-sided slogan "Away with NATO's rocket decision" that was flashed on giant screens and propagandistic themes ascribing the roots of world evil to American foreign policy.
Harry Belafonte dedicated his rendition of "Island in the Sun" to "the hope that the people of Grenada will one day be free." Belafonte said that "the United States, after having destroyed the island's independence, has now sent troops to invade the island."
Canadian Perry Friedman and his workers' folk group crooned "Michael, Row the Boat Ashore" with a new refrain--"Amis Americans out of Lebanon." A boy then sang a lilting balad entitled "Nagasaki."
But for young Germans in East and West, the most spectacular event of the evening was the appearance on an East German stage by Lindenberg, a 37-year-old singer in the raffish, preening style of Mick Jagger who has built up a personality cult by infusing slick German into rock music.
Like other West German celebrities who have joined the crusade against nuclear weapons, Lindenberg has begun to speak out more assertively against the Soviet missiles pointing at the West.
"Both German states should be free of nuclear weapons," he said in a talk after the concert. "I think it is important to speak of the dangers on both sides, in East and West."
The growing concern that both Germanys are caught in the vise of a superpower nuclear arms buildup has given impetus to the ideal cherished by many Germans in East and West that the only possible course to eventual reunification lies in a nuclear-free zone in Central Europe.
The East German regime, noted for its loyality to Moscow on security issues, has sought to suppress mutual disarmament supporters and to muffle any criticism of the SS20s.
Besides his even-handed concern about missiles on both sides, Lindenberg hardly endeared himself to the regime here when he released a satirical song earlier this year mocking East German leader Erich Honecker for not allowing him to perform in the "workers' and peasants' state."
In "Special Train to Pankow," sung to the tune of "Chattanooga Choo-Choo," Lindenberg describes the rigid Communist boss as a clandestine rocker who secretly dons a leather jacket and locks himself in the toilet to listen to western music on the radio. The song rose to the top of the charts in West Germany and tapes pirated from West German radio were widely disseminated in East Germany.
After such ridicule, it might seem unlikely that East Germany would let Lindenberg perform in a peace concert underwritten by the communist party. But the East German government has shown signs in recent months that it wants to insulate its channels to the West, at least for credit to finance its huge debts, from the tensions likely to arise when new Pershing missiles will be deployed in West Germany starting in December.
Recently, Lindenberg may have gained merit in the eyes of East German officials when he attacked President Reagan and his "idiotic armament plans" in an interview with the East German youth paper.
After that song, an East German rock promoter received approval for Lindenberg's appearance at the concert. Lindenberg's managers said one of the conditions for his appearance here was that he not sing "Special Train to Pankow."
The East Germans sought to minimize Lindenberg's impact by packing the hall with functionaries and dutiful cadres of young party militants wearing light blue uniform shirts.
Lindenberg's four-song act was wedged into the program between The Sands Family, a group of Irish protest singers, and an East German rock group called No. 55, whose song against neutron weapons was illustrated by film of West German tanks juxtaposed with Nazi marching scenes.
But the rock singer's appeal in East Germany was vividly demonstrated by several hundred youths who gathered outside the hall early in the afternoon hoping to catch a glimpse of their idol. Most wore blue jeans, scarves and berets, all bearing Lindenberg's name and picture.
When Lindenberg came out to greet them, the mob pressed forward shrieking, "Udo, Udo." Hoisted on the shoulders of his entourage, Lindenberg told his young admirers that he hoped to have a week-long concert tour through East Germany next year with tickets made available to the public.
Back in West Berlin, the weary rock star was pleased to learn that East German television had not censored his remark about the SS20 missiles.
"There was a lot of stress over there today," he said. "A lot of stress."
But he clearly felt the ordeal was worth it.