I am sitting on the spacious windowsill in the kitchen. A candle in front of me. The lights from the corridor falling in through the door. A warm spring Sunday night. A few stars above. A nice breeze in the trees and on my cheeks. My mind’s adrift. I am sure, soon I am gonna miss Hamburg’s peace and quite. But tonight there is a bottle of French red wine just for me. Its ruby red colour in the glass. Its dry taste in my mouth. There is the latest Whitest Boy Alive album in the stereo. Its happy beats keep me warm. Its bittersweet vocals keep me company.
I know, you might say every song sounds the same. You might make fun of the repetitive style; of Erlend’s limited vocal expression… but I couldn’t think of a better soundtrack for this night. It’s perfect.
2009/04/27
2009/04/25
Splendid
Happy jingling guitar tunes that might have been straight off a 80s pop song; a bass you can only feel, hardly hear; soft echoing vocals, as if coming from the back of your head rather than from the stage; and all of that covered up and floating weightlessly in a sea of swaying shoe-gaze-guitars. This excellent mixture, sometimes sad, sometimes bittersweet, always mesmerising – that’s the Ruling Class and I was fortunate to be there when they played the tiny stage in Hamburg’s newly renovated “Gruener Jaeger”.
A warm spring evening, a Tuesday night actually, and going to see the young London-based indie-band was almost a last minute resolution. I had seen the posters of the band the Saturday before when Darling, one of my flatmates and me hit the club for some serious boogie… In any case, apart from knowing one or two songs from the bands MySpace, I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into. What a favourable surprise, when I figured that it wasn’t going to be one of those equal-stage/audience-ratio concerts with three undecided guys sitting in the back and two dressed up but drunk birds dancing uninspired in front of the stage. Quite the contrary. No concert tourists at all. Rather, half of Hamburg’s indie scene had gathered to take a serious look at that up and coming band. So here I was again, in the middle of many familiar faces and even a bunch of friends, blown away by the sound and – simply – happy. A splendid night.
A warm spring evening, a Tuesday night actually, and going to see the young London-based indie-band was almost a last minute resolution. I had seen the posters of the band the Saturday before when Darling, one of my flatmates and me hit the club for some serious boogie… In any case, apart from knowing one or two songs from the bands MySpace, I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into. What a favourable surprise, when I figured that it wasn’t going to be one of those equal-stage/audience-ratio concerts with three undecided guys sitting in the back and two dressed up but drunk birds dancing uninspired in front of the stage. Quite the contrary. No concert tourists at all. Rather, half of Hamburg’s indie scene had gathered to take a serious look at that up and coming band. So here I was again, in the middle of many familiar faces and even a bunch of friends, blown away by the sound and – simply – happy. A splendid night.
2009/04/24
Reading between the lines
So, I revived my “business relations” to the Hamburg Express, simply because they opened a blog-section and I am always eager for more readers. Wagging tongues might even claim that there is a connection between the switch of this blog to the English language and the outlook of blogging there…
But let’s not get into that again…
In any case it only took a few hours after my first post on The Hamburg Express until my former boss and chief editor of the online-publication approached me with the invitation to a concert he was supposed to attend and write about and wasn’t going to be able to. So here it was, my first official writing assignment again after more than a year’s journalistic absence. Too bad, the concert didn’t particularly correlate with my own personal musical preferences and writing a slating review after getting invited to the concert wasn’t really an option… Oh well, I guess you simply have to read between the lines then…
A charmer and a gent (okay, lets stick to the visual, since the acoustic wasn’t my cup of tea): Duncan Townsend and his band performed at Hamburg’s “Uebel & Gefaehrlich” on Wednesday night, and the handsome lad (many, many pretty young girls in the front row with stars in their eyes) from Nottingham (funny… wasn’t there a character in the Robin Hood movie called Duncan, too… it’s all connected: Sheriff of Nottingham – Duncan… can anyone think of a Townsend connection here? The Who and Robin Hood? … am I making sense?) had all of Hamburg at his feet.
It was the first major gig for Duncan Townsend and his “Townsmen” and yet it would have been difficult to squeeze in any more people into the slightly downsized room of the “bunker-club” (partially explicable by the five-page long, single-spaced guest list).
The story Duncan Townsend tells about his journey to Hamburg is almost as romantic as a fairytale (sigh… and from a marketing point of view this makes a lot of sense since a lot of the cute front-row girls might like that type of thing…): It was love that brought him here. He bravely followed the woman he loved to a foreign country. But “stranded on the German shore”, his good fortune failed him, leaving him love- and penniless (sigh the second… I wonder if there is any special point to the emphasis of his single status…). He started playing in bars in St. Pauli, earning some money and soon also a reputation as an excellent musician and songwriter (from rags to riches, if you will). Today, five years after his original arrival in Germany luck seems to be on his side again. His first album “Out of the Red” is about to hit the stores and his first single “Go! Go!” suspiciously sounds like it might be this summer’s radio hit (and I mean it. Sounds like the perfect radio hit. Actually I have to admit that some of the more speedy tunes aren’t bad… just the love songs are awfully cliché – just like the entire “poor love-seeking boy stranded in Germany to become a star”-story).
The concert, in any case, forecasted a great career (if my review wasn’t the only one about it that might actually be true). The audience was enthusiastic, singing and dancing along (apart from at the back – where I decided to hide after the third song, sipping beer, folding flyers into small ships models and then ripping them into neat triangular pieces…), and even calling for a second encore, which was gladly given by Townsend and his four-piece band (all very friendly Hamburg folk). A great show that left little to wish for and plenty to look forward to (I am sure Duncan would look nice on the tube, he’s a friendly lad). One better keep an eye – and an ear - on that charming gent (did I mention his remarkable inclination to wear a bit too formal clothing? Maybe some sort of reference to the singer /entertainer tradition of the 50s – almost Sinatra-style…) from Nottingham. (It’s all marketing. Wonder where it gets him…)
But let’s not get into that again…
In any case it only took a few hours after my first post on The Hamburg Express until my former boss and chief editor of the online-publication approached me with the invitation to a concert he was supposed to attend and write about and wasn’t going to be able to. So here it was, my first official writing assignment again after more than a year’s journalistic absence. Too bad, the concert didn’t particularly correlate with my own personal musical preferences and writing a slating review after getting invited to the concert wasn’t really an option… Oh well, I guess you simply have to read between the lines then…
A charmer and a gent (okay, lets stick to the visual, since the acoustic wasn’t my cup of tea): Duncan Townsend and his band performed at Hamburg’s “Uebel & Gefaehrlich” on Wednesday night, and the handsome lad (many, many pretty young girls in the front row with stars in their eyes) from Nottingham (funny… wasn’t there a character in the Robin Hood movie called Duncan, too… it’s all connected: Sheriff of Nottingham – Duncan… can anyone think of a Townsend connection here? The Who and Robin Hood? … am I making sense?) had all of Hamburg at his feet.
It was the first major gig for Duncan Townsend and his “Townsmen” and yet it would have been difficult to squeeze in any more people into the slightly downsized room of the “bunker-club” (partially explicable by the five-page long, single-spaced guest list).
The story Duncan Townsend tells about his journey to Hamburg is almost as romantic as a fairytale (sigh… and from a marketing point of view this makes a lot of sense since a lot of the cute front-row girls might like that type of thing…): It was love that brought him here. He bravely followed the woman he loved to a foreign country. But “stranded on the German shore”, his good fortune failed him, leaving him love- and penniless (sigh the second… I wonder if there is any special point to the emphasis of his single status…). He started playing in bars in St. Pauli, earning some money and soon also a reputation as an excellent musician and songwriter (from rags to riches, if you will). Today, five years after his original arrival in Germany luck seems to be on his side again. His first album “Out of the Red” is about to hit the stores and his first single “Go! Go!” suspiciously sounds like it might be this summer’s radio hit (and I mean it. Sounds like the perfect radio hit. Actually I have to admit that some of the more speedy tunes aren’t bad… just the love songs are awfully cliché – just like the entire “poor love-seeking boy stranded in Germany to become a star”-story).
The concert, in any case, forecasted a great career (if my review wasn’t the only one about it that might actually be true). The audience was enthusiastic, singing and dancing along (apart from at the back – where I decided to hide after the third song, sipping beer, folding flyers into small ships models and then ripping them into neat triangular pieces…), and even calling for a second encore, which was gladly given by Townsend and his four-piece band (all very friendly Hamburg folk). A great show that left little to wish for and plenty to look forward to (I am sure Duncan would look nice on the tube, he’s a friendly lad). One better keep an eye – and an ear - on that charming gent (did I mention his remarkable inclination to wear a bit too formal clothing? Maybe some sort of reference to the singer /entertainer tradition of the 50s – almost Sinatra-style…) from Nottingham. (It’s all marketing. Wonder where it gets him…)
2009/04/14
Past, Present and Future
Maybe it is true and the things closes to one’s heart are the hardest to express. Maybe that’s what had kept me from writing about this very special night.
Yesterday, we sat on the grass in a park in the centre of Stuttgart, eating ice cream and chatting, when he told me that he was still waiting for a review about that one particular concert, that one particular night. And for a second I was totally confused. I was even convinced that I had already written about it. But I hadn’t. I guess I always had it on my mind but I never did it.
It was a strange night. Returning to all those bits and pieces that made up my youth: This awful little town where freedom is made only of wheels and a driving licence; the dark and deserted streets on a Friday night, roamed only by a few drunken under-eighteens on their way to find more booze; the run down, small town youth club with painted walls and wasted couches, forever populated by the same people, wearing the same heartbreaking Kurt Cobain style.
That particular night carried them all back to me. Those awful memories, those naïve dreams and miserable hopes… But don’t get me wrong: I am not saying I wasn’t happy back then. I surely had a great time and there are a bunch of memories I won’t want to miss… But let me say one thing: I know better now.
So there I was: meet and greet, hugs and kisses. People I used to know, people I didn’t know, people I always wanted to know, people I would have never expected to meet, people I call my friends – well, actually only one of the latter kind… Anyway…
Getting drunk. Sidekicks 44 played some decent Blues. Not bad entirely. Energetic and fun. If you like that sort of thing – and if you know it. Most of the lads in the back of room looked like they didn’t and clung to their bottles of beer or to the rods of the table football next door. Break and set up for the second band. I called the Darling and drunk on. I don’t know what I was expecting. Guess I was just curious what had happened to the band the last five years. And honestly, it turned out it wasn’t much. Much of the same songs, much of the same sound. Only different faces. Dead end Alternative Rock. Non-committal, uncontroversial, nice to the ear. The fact that I wrote most of those songs maked it even worse…
But the most important, the most exciting part of the night was yet to come: Hawelka! This wonderful, cosmopolitan, bohemian, free-spirited mixture of plain blues guitars, The Doors organs, electronic beats, East-European tunes and rhythms and catchy lyrics. This whirl-wind of musical outré; at one instance, both sweepingly happy and touchingly thoughtful.
You know I was always rather cautious about German bands and German lyrics – I was brought up with the overwhelming oligopoly of British and American Pop music, I can’t help it… But this one is different. Different in any possible way – and refreshingly so.
The three guys on stage, drew us out of the dark corners, drew us in, kept hold of us, took our dancing shoes hostage and released them only reluctantly one hour and many glorious tunes later.
So here it was, boiled down to one single night: my narrow-minded small town past and my (admittedly rather snobbish) cosmopolitan present. They met, shook hands and after a few enjoyable hours of music went separate ways again.
A strange night. But a good one.
PS: if you are wondering, where the “future” part of this blog entry can be found: well, it is in the hope for this funny, little cosmopolitan present to extent into an even bigger, world-embracing open-minded future. A future in which a truly innovative band like Hawelka would be honoured for their creative affords instead of being punished for their non-conformism…
Yesterday, we sat on the grass in a park in the centre of Stuttgart, eating ice cream and chatting, when he told me that he was still waiting for a review about that one particular concert, that one particular night. And for a second I was totally confused. I was even convinced that I had already written about it. But I hadn’t. I guess I always had it on my mind but I never did it.
It was a strange night. Returning to all those bits and pieces that made up my youth: This awful little town where freedom is made only of wheels and a driving licence; the dark and deserted streets on a Friday night, roamed only by a few drunken under-eighteens on their way to find more booze; the run down, small town youth club with painted walls and wasted couches, forever populated by the same people, wearing the same heartbreaking Kurt Cobain style.
That particular night carried them all back to me. Those awful memories, those naïve dreams and miserable hopes… But don’t get me wrong: I am not saying I wasn’t happy back then. I surely had a great time and there are a bunch of memories I won’t want to miss… But let me say one thing: I know better now.
So there I was: meet and greet, hugs and kisses. People I used to know, people I didn’t know, people I always wanted to know, people I would have never expected to meet, people I call my friends – well, actually only one of the latter kind… Anyway…
Getting drunk. Sidekicks 44 played some decent Blues. Not bad entirely. Energetic and fun. If you like that sort of thing – and if you know it. Most of the lads in the back of room looked like they didn’t and clung to their bottles of beer or to the rods of the table football next door. Break and set up for the second band. I called the Darling and drunk on. I don’t know what I was expecting. Guess I was just curious what had happened to the band the last five years. And honestly, it turned out it wasn’t much. Much of the same songs, much of the same sound. Only different faces. Dead end Alternative Rock. Non-committal, uncontroversial, nice to the ear. The fact that I wrote most of those songs maked it even worse…
But the most important, the most exciting part of the night was yet to come: Hawelka! This wonderful, cosmopolitan, bohemian, free-spirited mixture of plain blues guitars, The Doors organs, electronic beats, East-European tunes and rhythms and catchy lyrics. This whirl-wind of musical outré; at one instance, both sweepingly happy and touchingly thoughtful.
You know I was always rather cautious about German bands and German lyrics – I was brought up with the overwhelming oligopoly of British and American Pop music, I can’t help it… But this one is different. Different in any possible way – and refreshingly so.
The three guys on stage, drew us out of the dark corners, drew us in, kept hold of us, took our dancing shoes hostage and released them only reluctantly one hour and many glorious tunes later.
So here it was, boiled down to one single night: my narrow-minded small town past and my (admittedly rather snobbish) cosmopolitan present. They met, shook hands and after a few enjoyable hours of music went separate ways again.
A strange night. But a good one.
PS: if you are wondering, where the “future” part of this blog entry can be found: well, it is in the hope for this funny, little cosmopolitan present to extent into an even bigger, world-embracing open-minded future. A future in which a truly innovative band like Hawelka would be honoured for their creative affords instead of being punished for their non-conformism…
2009/04/06
Repeated Offender
I have to admit my Saturday started considerably late. You might want to blame the midnightly idea of watching some good-looking but rather absurd pseudo-cartoon film called “The Spirit” which ironically enough – due to its film noir/ hard-boiled crime atmosphere – perfectly fitted my Master thesis, but had little more to offer than funny costumes and a surprisingly large number of ‘class A’ Hollywood stars…
In any case, I was woken that Saturday morn, by the sun when its happy, vernal rays fell through my freshly cleaned, westward window. After an extensive newspaper reading breakfast and an hour or two of mindless this and that, I was left with only one hour of thesis writing until I had to head off for my date.
The date consisted of two separate concerts of one and the same band. The Rifles, a bunch of cool, down-to-earth, London lads with a crisp indie guitar sounds and sing-along tunes. They first performed in Hamburg’s no. 1 records shop, Michelle, and after that at the sold out “Uebel & Gefaehrlich”. And yes, of course I had to see them twice. Repeated Offender.
I was late. The shop was already crowed with people when I got there at 10 to 6. A full set of instruments, including an entire drum kit, guitar amps and a keyboard were squeezed into the little shop-window of Michelle records, and the only places left to stand were almost on top of the guitar effects pedals or in the face of the singer. Fortunately however, there was Cat standing right there in the front row and I felt authorised to illegitimately join her and a friend in the ‘best seats’ even though I was late. By 6 o’clock, even more people had come in, pushing yet closer to the place where the band was supposed to stand and outside the window a cloud of people had started to gather.
Finally, the band made their way through the crowd, shouldered their instruments and played a nice little set songs. A pleasant mixture of ‘old’ sing-alongs and the new tunes from the recent album that electrified even the one’s in the crowd that just happened to be ‘in the neighbourhood’. The band was in a splendid mood and ready to jest about any stupid comment from the audience. But after six songs and with little intention of coming back for an encore, they vanished into the small backroom of the store. The crowd dispersed just as fast as it had gathered and while we lingered in the shop a little bit longer, sipping on a lemonade, making plans for the rest of the evening and admiring Cat’s miraculous connections, the band slowly reappeared, signed a number of photos, took pictures of one or another funny piece of decoration, called out a few words at us (as we seemed to be the only fans left) and left the shop with a small side trip into the CD racks.
Cat and her friend dropped me off at Uebel & Gefaehrlich on their way to see Simone White at Hasenschaukel that night and I was happy to take my favourite spot in front of the stage just below the ‘balcony’. All I had to do was survive 30 minutes of The Knights. The young and trendy Hamburg support band of the Rifles, looked like the graduation class of the Hamburg School and Music and also sounded like it: A ambitious mixture of rock, pop and electro, with souly vocals and simple lyrics. The very second they started their first song with “oh-ooh-ooooh!” I knew it couldn’t lead anywhere decent. The Knights might be the perfect band to make it to the top of the charts and break many teenage hearts (hey, that line could have been from the Knights…), but what for Christ’s sake were they doing supporting the Rifles?!?
But the good news is that no support gig lasts forever and luckily the DJ had decided to play nothing but the Clash while the stage was set up for the main act. So I had a good time, making myself at home in the second row and singing along to the “Guns of Brixton” while more and more people where gathering in front of the stage.
Then, the lights went out, the spots went on and there they were again: the same guys and in just as good a mood as before. But how could it be any different? The crowd was frantic, eager to dance and sing along with every single tune. Near the end of the concert, their eagerness was almost comic, when people just couldn’t stop repeating the “oooh-oooh-oooh” part of “Romeo and Julie”. The band only smiled and gave the crowd a special, second acoustic version of the song to satisfy their singing urge. I felt a bit like in a football stadium… After a beautiful version of my beloved “Narrow-minded Social Club” and the obligatory “Local Boy”, they were gone. One and a half hours of vocal cords-straining, breath-taking and sweaty indie rock’n’roll was over.
But the night was not… I could go on, making fun of the fact that Hamburg is such a small place when it comes to indie music, and that the same people will always show up at the same places. I could jest about the fact that everybody - whether German or not - starts to speaking in their fake British accent once Brits hit a party, or about the fact that the best music is actually played in the elevator to the club and not in the club itself.
But that’s a different story…
(picture: courtesy of Cat)
In any case, I was woken that Saturday morn, by the sun when its happy, vernal rays fell through my freshly cleaned, westward window. After an extensive newspaper reading breakfast and an hour or two of mindless this and that, I was left with only one hour of thesis writing until I had to head off for my date.
The date consisted of two separate concerts of one and the same band. The Rifles, a bunch of cool, down-to-earth, London lads with a crisp indie guitar sounds and sing-along tunes. They first performed in Hamburg’s no. 1 records shop, Michelle, and after that at the sold out “Uebel & Gefaehrlich”. And yes, of course I had to see them twice. Repeated Offender.
I was late. The shop was already crowed with people when I got there at 10 to 6. A full set of instruments, including an entire drum kit, guitar amps and a keyboard were squeezed into the little shop-window of Michelle records, and the only places left to stand were almost on top of the guitar effects pedals or in the face of the singer. Fortunately however, there was Cat standing right there in the front row and I felt authorised to illegitimately join her and a friend in the ‘best seats’ even though I was late. By 6 o’clock, even more people had come in, pushing yet closer to the place where the band was supposed to stand and outside the window a cloud of people had started to gather.
Finally, the band made their way through the crowd, shouldered their instruments and played a nice little set songs. A pleasant mixture of ‘old’ sing-alongs and the new tunes from the recent album that electrified even the one’s in the crowd that just happened to be ‘in the neighbourhood’. The band was in a splendid mood and ready to jest about any stupid comment from the audience. But after six songs and with little intention of coming back for an encore, they vanished into the small backroom of the store. The crowd dispersed just as fast as it had gathered and while we lingered in the shop a little bit longer, sipping on a lemonade, making plans for the rest of the evening and admiring Cat’s miraculous connections, the band slowly reappeared, signed a number of photos, took pictures of one or another funny piece of decoration, called out a few words at us (as we seemed to be the only fans left) and left the shop with a small side trip into the CD racks.
Cat and her friend dropped me off at Uebel & Gefaehrlich on their way to see Simone White at Hasenschaukel that night and I was happy to take my favourite spot in front of the stage just below the ‘balcony’. All I had to do was survive 30 minutes of The Knights. The young and trendy Hamburg support band of the Rifles, looked like the graduation class of the Hamburg School and Music and also sounded like it: A ambitious mixture of rock, pop and electro, with souly vocals and simple lyrics. The very second they started their first song with “oh-ooh-ooooh!” I knew it couldn’t lead anywhere decent. The Knights might be the perfect band to make it to the top of the charts and break many teenage hearts (hey, that line could have been from the Knights…), but what for Christ’s sake were they doing supporting the Rifles?!?
But the good news is that no support gig lasts forever and luckily the DJ had decided to play nothing but the Clash while the stage was set up for the main act. So I had a good time, making myself at home in the second row and singing along to the “Guns of Brixton” while more and more people where gathering in front of the stage.
Then, the lights went out, the spots went on and there they were again: the same guys and in just as good a mood as before. But how could it be any different? The crowd was frantic, eager to dance and sing along with every single tune. Near the end of the concert, their eagerness was almost comic, when people just couldn’t stop repeating the “oooh-oooh-oooh” part of “Romeo and Julie”. The band only smiled and gave the crowd a special, second acoustic version of the song to satisfy their singing urge. I felt a bit like in a football stadium… After a beautiful version of my beloved “Narrow-minded Social Club” and the obligatory “Local Boy”, they were gone. One and a half hours of vocal cords-straining, breath-taking and sweaty indie rock’n’roll was over.
But the night was not… I could go on, making fun of the fact that Hamburg is such a small place when it comes to indie music, and that the same people will always show up at the same places. I could jest about the fact that everybody - whether German or not - starts to speaking in their fake British accent once Brits hit a party, or about the fact that the best music is actually played in the elevator to the club and not in the club itself.
But that’s a different story…
(picture: courtesy of Cat)
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