krossie
Well-Known Member
“Who art thou, then?”
“Part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good”
Goethe - Faust
I was here den I disappear
Ich bein ein Berliner reads kind of funny in the Berlin of 2006.Where Berliner is a fairly tacky beer reserved mostly for tourists (though I saw some German guzzlers). Even worse shit to be avoided at all costs, Renne informs us, is the Berliner Kindl.
He, in turn, finds it highly amusing when I point out that all lager in German is called “hell” despite his excellent English he had never made this particular connection….
Almost 4 am and this is still going strong. We’ve had some superb stuff from Miriam Ingram, the one crazy auzie badman called Hardoff, plus Herv and the Last Sound.
Now SausageForest are well into their second hour at the Zentral Raundlage. These crazy fecks are veterans of so so many outfits: Troubled Perpetrator, Troubled Penetrator, Double Adaptor and a new variant is hatching on the plane of immanence. This one will be called Oest Ear (austere get it! Or East ear) ….
Roy and Keith conform to every stereotype of krazy kreator kliche you’ve ever had in your head and also have no bother improvising more of their own devising.
Keith is like a crazed stick puppet scarecrow ting on a half hours sleep a week, Roy stares down his laptop and midi controller feeding them with shafts of pure, dark concentration. Over a mud fest of broken, cracked, compressed and pitch shifted beats the names of U stations are being screamed out: Schonhausser Allee. Pennesburg allee! It’s a good bit funkier then words can do justice to but we must try! The drummer rejoins them stripping of his t-shirt hard core punk style (muddling and stirring the remaining memories of yesterdays wonderful squat gig by Kid Blunt) He mashes into his kit. Keith brings out the guitar and does virtuso wheeling solos – the laptops crunch on – Hard off stumbles back in a drunken haze – fires up his laptop and contributes some random squelches completely perpendicular to what the lads are at. It works. Every thing works. Do not adjust your mind it’s merely reality that is malfunctioning or good functioning – sar goot. You like this sound? – I make it myself. Do not attempt to fix it. Indeed sir/madam please break it a bit more! Barry last sound is plugged in and attempting to DJ as is our host Renne.
It has about it something of the feel of a long night.
The venue is an x army canteen. The over priced beer (cheap by Dublin standards) is keeping it alive. So I buy another bottle and fall asleep/drink a toast.
I was here then I disappear.
Yeah I bought records and, also, in a complete fit of desperation, a very expensive pair of under pants! (What’s the story in Berlin do all the men go commando? – Jocks at an extreme premium)
Speaking of men - I also saw a band called menfolk who were a savage blend of Gang of Four and No Means No. They could go far IF they change their god awful silly name though there was something fiercely laddish about their brawny emo twisting – so may be not. Also Kid Blunt on their way to ten Polish gigs. Hello Damo – tour manager!
Also I was drinking.
I was here then I disappear.
Berlin at 4.30 am is like that film 28 days later. There is a reason that there are so many amazing and mostly legal squats and hundreds of nice places for the bohemians to live in and that we get a huge apartment for about 30 each a night.
That reason is simple. Nobody lives in East Berlin.
I exaggerate of course – but not by much. There’s a hell of a lot of empty space. Sometimes it feels like New York pitch shifted down into a gear that’s low to non existent. Every spare space though is a kind of palimpsest of inky doodles. Each corner - a work of art. Like over there some one has just stuck old paint covered tape boxes all over a wall, here there’s a coin operated mechanical bat and that rail side shed is transformed into a giant work of art: a huge spoon and the words “eat your own shit and die” These taggers are roof monkeys too –giant, beautiful arial pieces at 10 stories up and more and sometimes an extra message “get you own patch”. There’s feck all white space and few folk on the streets. Artists, musicians and creative types abound and yet it’s hard to really make a living. But you can dine like a king for close to nothing – everyone is fierce quite and very easy going. Berliners are lovely. That stuff you heard about jay walking is a myth in Berlin any way… When you wake up in the morning there’s an inky snail painted on the path outside your gaff – aha so some one lives here after all. Rene informs us that the native Berliners are marrying and fleeing for the country.
I was here then I disappear.
Yes there are fascists. Or at least they are a menacing presence some where - defined precisely by their absence. OK Krossie less of the philosophical psychobabble…..
But they do have some of the force of the Lacanian Petit Object A – think Rebecca in the Hitchcock film. A massive presence that weighs on the mind but is defined by its (apparent) non existence – it’s “out of place-ness”. I never see an actual fascist but I see forests of antifa graffiti, gigs, meetings, festivals, pins, badges, patches.
These things cannot exist for no reason. The dark precursor is out there and some times it marches. Worryingly according to Derbheala when it marches these days it often marches virtually unopposed. The squat scene rocks on though.
My favourite place “the hole” – you literally go down into a hole in the street to this lovely punky pub – sort of like a quiet corner of Leitrim just moved.
There was some sleeping.
I feel at this stage.
OH yeah
That night of Irish Merriment was organized by Go Away records and you have to buy their fantastic product especially the new ones from Herv (Customer – suit you sir!) and The Last Sound (1meyes) – http://www.gowayrecordings.com – they have myspaces and all that linked from there – Ja - indeed
It was foolish indeed to finish of all that stuff with a sleepy visit to Dun Laoghaire’s world festival of cultures.
Dun Laoghaire, for those who don’t know, is a sort of hellish cultural vacuum somewhere south of Dublin city. It’s run by a useless fop haired “comprador” bourgeoisie who drink shitty over priced capo chinos, vote Labour/PD and drive SUV. The rest of the general geographical area which has descended into a heroin night mare from which it may never recover. Quite a lot of writers come from there. It is also a very boring place. My main worry was that it would simply go from cultural vacuum to multi culturalvacuum (yum mutli kultur goot goot ja Oxfam tee shirt sar goot). But despite the tight control by the council and the cops (or good “organizing” if you prefer) madness must out and did so in a mental Fire house skank session held with massive Jamacian irony in the Kingston Hotel! The Firehouse system was in full, throbbing sub basal effect – myself and young Stephen schemed as to the possibilities of robbing same but heck they’re just too nice. Larry crooned and growled like a sands pit Horace Andy and the beats were roots radical, smoooooth and sweet.
I also witnessed a slightly more restrained but excellent performance by Transglobal underground combining brilliantly with the ethereal and astounding vocals of those mysterious three Bulgarain grannies that sound like Liz Frazer on helium.
Thanks to Mark, William, Anthony, Rachel, Liz, Stephen, Davida, Hellser, Ann and Ian for beer and company. While I’m bigging up must mention Paul (who I hadn’t seen for 10 years!), Dearbhla and Shorty for being sar goot Berlin hosts.
Phader out
I was here then I disappear.
“Part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good”
Goethe - Faust
I was here den I disappear
Ich bein ein Berliner reads kind of funny in the Berlin of 2006.Where Berliner is a fairly tacky beer reserved mostly for tourists (though I saw some German guzzlers). Even worse shit to be avoided at all costs, Renne informs us, is the Berliner Kindl.
He, in turn, finds it highly amusing when I point out that all lager in German is called “hell” despite his excellent English he had never made this particular connection….
Almost 4 am and this is still going strong. We’ve had some superb stuff from Miriam Ingram, the one crazy auzie badman called Hardoff, plus Herv and the Last Sound.
Now SausageForest are well into their second hour at the Zentral Raundlage. These crazy fecks are veterans of so so many outfits: Troubled Perpetrator, Troubled Penetrator, Double Adaptor and a new variant is hatching on the plane of immanence. This one will be called Oest Ear (austere get it! Or East ear) ….
Roy and Keith conform to every stereotype of krazy kreator kliche you’ve ever had in your head and also have no bother improvising more of their own devising.
Keith is like a crazed stick puppet scarecrow ting on a half hours sleep a week, Roy stares down his laptop and midi controller feeding them with shafts of pure, dark concentration. Over a mud fest of broken, cracked, compressed and pitch shifted beats the names of U stations are being screamed out: Schonhausser Allee. Pennesburg allee! It’s a good bit funkier then words can do justice to but we must try! The drummer rejoins them stripping of his t-shirt hard core punk style (muddling and stirring the remaining memories of yesterdays wonderful squat gig by Kid Blunt) He mashes into his kit. Keith brings out the guitar and does virtuso wheeling solos – the laptops crunch on – Hard off stumbles back in a drunken haze – fires up his laptop and contributes some random squelches completely perpendicular to what the lads are at. It works. Every thing works. Do not adjust your mind it’s merely reality that is malfunctioning or good functioning – sar goot. You like this sound? – I make it myself. Do not attempt to fix it. Indeed sir/madam please break it a bit more! Barry last sound is plugged in and attempting to DJ as is our host Renne.
It has about it something of the feel of a long night.
The venue is an x army canteen. The over priced beer (cheap by Dublin standards) is keeping it alive. So I buy another bottle and fall asleep/drink a toast.
I was here then I disappear.
Yeah I bought records and, also, in a complete fit of desperation, a very expensive pair of under pants! (What’s the story in Berlin do all the men go commando? – Jocks at an extreme premium)
Speaking of men - I also saw a band called menfolk who were a savage blend of Gang of Four and No Means No. They could go far IF they change their god awful silly name though there was something fiercely laddish about their brawny emo twisting – so may be not. Also Kid Blunt on their way to ten Polish gigs. Hello Damo – tour manager!
Also I was drinking.
I was here then I disappear.
Berlin at 4.30 am is like that film 28 days later. There is a reason that there are so many amazing and mostly legal squats and hundreds of nice places for the bohemians to live in and that we get a huge apartment for about 30 each a night.
That reason is simple. Nobody lives in East Berlin.
I exaggerate of course – but not by much. There’s a hell of a lot of empty space. Sometimes it feels like New York pitch shifted down into a gear that’s low to non existent. Every spare space though is a kind of palimpsest of inky doodles. Each corner - a work of art. Like over there some one has just stuck old paint covered tape boxes all over a wall, here there’s a coin operated mechanical bat and that rail side shed is transformed into a giant work of art: a huge spoon and the words “eat your own shit and die” These taggers are roof monkeys too –giant, beautiful arial pieces at 10 stories up and more and sometimes an extra message “get you own patch”. There’s feck all white space and few folk on the streets. Artists, musicians and creative types abound and yet it’s hard to really make a living. But you can dine like a king for close to nothing – everyone is fierce quite and very easy going. Berliners are lovely. That stuff you heard about jay walking is a myth in Berlin any way… When you wake up in the morning there’s an inky snail painted on the path outside your gaff – aha so some one lives here after all. Rene informs us that the native Berliners are marrying and fleeing for the country.
I was here then I disappear.
Yes there are fascists. Or at least they are a menacing presence some where - defined precisely by their absence. OK Krossie less of the philosophical psychobabble…..
But they do have some of the force of the Lacanian Petit Object A – think Rebecca in the Hitchcock film. A massive presence that weighs on the mind but is defined by its (apparent) non existence – it’s “out of place-ness”. I never see an actual fascist but I see forests of antifa graffiti, gigs, meetings, festivals, pins, badges, patches.
These things cannot exist for no reason. The dark precursor is out there and some times it marches. Worryingly according to Derbheala when it marches these days it often marches virtually unopposed. The squat scene rocks on though.
My favourite place “the hole” – you literally go down into a hole in the street to this lovely punky pub – sort of like a quiet corner of Leitrim just moved.
There was some sleeping.
I feel at this stage.
OH yeah
That night of Irish Merriment was organized by Go Away records and you have to buy their fantastic product especially the new ones from Herv (Customer – suit you sir!) and The Last Sound (1meyes) – http://www.gowayrecordings.com – they have myspaces and all that linked from there – Ja - indeed
It was foolish indeed to finish of all that stuff with a sleepy visit to Dun Laoghaire’s world festival of cultures.
Dun Laoghaire, for those who don’t know, is a sort of hellish cultural vacuum somewhere south of Dublin city. It’s run by a useless fop haired “comprador” bourgeoisie who drink shitty over priced capo chinos, vote Labour/PD and drive SUV. The rest of the general geographical area which has descended into a heroin night mare from which it may never recover. Quite a lot of writers come from there. It is also a very boring place. My main worry was that it would simply go from cultural vacuum to multi culturalvacuum (yum mutli kultur goot goot ja Oxfam tee shirt sar goot). But despite the tight control by the council and the cops (or good “organizing” if you prefer) madness must out and did so in a mental Fire house skank session held with massive Jamacian irony in the Kingston Hotel! The Firehouse system was in full, throbbing sub basal effect – myself and young Stephen schemed as to the possibilities of robbing same but heck they’re just too nice. Larry crooned and growled like a sands pit Horace Andy and the beats were roots radical, smoooooth and sweet.
I also witnessed a slightly more restrained but excellent performance by Transglobal underground combining brilliantly with the ethereal and astounding vocals of those mysterious three Bulgarain grannies that sound like Liz Frazer on helium.
Thanks to Mark, William, Anthony, Rachel, Liz, Stephen, Davida, Hellser, Ann and Ian for beer and company. While I’m bigging up must mention Paul (who I hadn’t seen for 10 years!), Dearbhla and Shorty for being sar goot Berlin hosts.
Phader out
I was here then I disappear.
