Love, Sex, Beauty and a Heavy-Metal Guitar

How do I sum up this wonderful evening with the Swedish singer-songwriter Moto Boy at Hamburg’s magnificent Hasenschaukel?
Do I start with talking about his astonishing debut in Hamburg during the Reeperbahn-Festival 2008, where I almost accidentally stumbled right into the middle of his musical cosmos of “love, sex and beauty”?
Do I begin with doting on the unique Hasenschaukel with its lampshades made of dolls, its ever-burning fireplace, beautifully tiled ceilings and tasteful turn-of-the-century furnishings that simply make you want to spend time there?
Or do I declare the angelic hymns of Moto Boy to be the ultimate autumn-soundtrack everyone should include into their seasonal music-almanac?
I am not sure. It almost seems like I would have to get metaphysic to do the evening justice. I would have to claim some sort of magical vibration of beauty in order to account for the wonderful atmosphere of the concert; to explain the hushed awe of the audience in face of Moto Boy’s magnificent falsetto and shiny heavy-metal guitar; to rationalize the frolic enjoyment of the handsome Swede himself, who constantly teased the audience with a hilarious fake German accent and (quite disappointingly) informed his listeners that “Ride My Wild Whore” was not the correct song title, but rather “Ride My Wild Heart” (and I can assure you that it gets exceedingly difficult to sincerely listen to a love-song while simultaneously considering the change of meaning that might be caused by replacing every “heart” with “whore”…).
But I am not the kind of person to believe in metaphysics. I just believe in music. And Moto Boy offered the sweetest kind of it. Simply beautiful.

The Admiration of a Fan

Who would have thought that after all this time – after so many different, unmentioned concerts – it would be a bunch of Frenchmen performing a Bob Dylan song that would revive the urge in me to pick up the pen again to write about music?

It was the acoustic set of the French indie band Phoenix organised by Hamburg’s local radio station N-JOY for approximately one hundred lucky winners. Now for an indie band like Phoenix that is heavily reliant on funky beats and ringing guitars an that had actually just released an album strongly influenced by electronic sounds and grooves, an acoustic gig appears to be a rather odd thing to do. And so it was. The four cute little boys on stage openly admitted to the fact that this was their first entirely acoustic set ever and their insecurity and discomfort with the situation was
obvious throughout the entire show. They hardly managed to squeeze out more than a few words and I am still convinced that the keyboard player did not look up from the keys once while he was on stage. But overall it was still nice. Former dance tunes were suddenly carried by the airy strumming of the acoustic guitar. Unfortunately, the songs that lacked the rhythmic drive soon turned rather tasteless.

In this situation, what could be worse for your own reputation as a professional musician and songwriter to fall back on the nasty habit of covering? And what ill-fated decision made those boys then pick a song by one of the greatest songwriters in history, thereby further diminishing their own proficiency? The answer to those questions? Just one thing: the admiration of a fan.

It was a performance of Bob Dylan’s “Sad-Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands”
that imitated Bob Dylan’s singing to the point where you were able to tell it had to be a Dylan song just by the thin melodic line, and in that performance you could simply feel these French boy’s admiration for Dylan’s songwriting. If you listened closely, you could almost see them: Two boys 10 years ago, sitting together in their livingroom in Paris, playing the acoustic guitar, trying to gather the right chords
from the original recording, playing and replaying that same song over and over again, singing it, considering the lyrics and the way the song was arranged.

These are the pop music moments that keep the system going: the moments of pure admiration from just one silly little piece of music. The moments when you simply cannot stop listening to the song because it speaks to you somewhere within and makes you feel. That’s what pop music does. That’s why it is so often larger than life.

That one contemplative performance of “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” by Phoenix reminded me of this simple truth.

Truly, from a professional point of view, these French boys could not have made a larger mistake; setting their poor songwriting next to that of Bob Dylan, but from an emotional point of view I can only say: I liked it. For that single song the guys on stage admitted that they were fans, too – just as vulnerable to the power of pop as you and me.

Fun on the Adventure Playground

I am a little late again and i am sure, if i don’t write it now i never will (did i mention that i am heading off to London tomorrow?!).
So what is it all about?
A splendid, exciting night at Prinzenbar last Friday!!
It was Adventure Playground #5 (not that i had been to any of the (apparently) four preceding...) with the super-line-up of Uni & her Ukulele, Gary Olsen (of Ladybug Transistor), A Smile and A Ribbon & the beautiful Lucksmiths.

The small & stylish club was already pleasingly crowded with people when i reached the top of the stairs leading to the main room, and Uni was happily playing the last song on her funny, little instrument, looking like the living reincarnation of the sixties window curtain at my grandparent’s. Too bad i had missed out on that.
The second show was performed by Gary Olsen of Ladybug Transistor, supported by the guys of The Lucksmiths. It gave a nice picture and far better: it sounded fantastic. Maybe it is true and all i needed from Gary Olsen was to open his mouth – because honestly i completely fell in love with his deep, warm voice – but supposing the five boys hadn’t played together too much it still gave a good band sound, even leaving occasional room for a nicely old-fashioned guitar solo and a few notes on the trumpet (which from my point of view, is a very cool add for the classic band sound).
Too bad the second to last band, A Smile and A Ribbon was the extreme contrary. Stylishly made up in original sixties fashion with cute shirts and dresses, dinky hairdos and even a pair of cat eye glasses, they however lacked a lot when i came to the actual music. An obvious case of “well intended but badly executed”, they lacked both timing and feeling for instrumentation. I was very tempted to simply walk out on that musical blur of unconnected melodies. Very sad. Let’s just hope the Swedes where hung-over, extremely nervous or hadn’t played together on a stage before.
But thank God The Lucksmiths were there to sweep all the bad karma and unhappy moments away. They performed a delightful, entertaining and diverse set of great tunes. The four guys from Australia are a charming and harmonic team that shows the perfect balance of band routine and personal excitement on stage. It was pure pleasure even for someone (like me) who didn’t know the band too well. No wonder the audience wouldn’t let them go until they had played the second encore!
Once again, a great night.





PS: The great pictures are courtesy of Christoph from http://www.konzerttagebuch.de/ (great blog by the way...)

A Different Kind of Boat-Trip – or: What Shall We Do With The Drunken Sailor?

Okay, okay… I have to admit, I just felt like using that subtitle although it has really very little to do with the actual topic of this post. Maybe it is just some secret childhood wish to just once use that line in some way or another – and I couldn’t resist…

What is blog entry is really about is the most gorgeous and exciting, crazy and charming, happy and inspiring boat trip I had in my entire life (and I know what I am talking about, my uncle owns a sailer). And this boat trip took place last night on the planks of the Frau Hedi.
The boat itself is of course nothing spectacular. It is basically the same kind of barge most of the tourist companies use to ship American and Italian camera men (and women) up and down the Harbour district. What makes it special, is it’s usage: it is a swimming club, complete with sound equipment, bar and a (ground level) stage.

The waves were rising quite high at that particular evening and just standing in the middle of the boat was at times quite a challenge. But even the wind and the rain were easily tolerated, in the face of what we got in return: The charming, New Zealand duo Little Pictures, who performed their witty, bouncing tunes and stirring beats with a delightfully fresh air (and I don’t refer to the wind). The band had brought with them two sets of drum pads, a glockenspiel, a clarinet and a saxophone, along with a whole bunch of samples and even a virtual rapper – and before our eyes (and ears) it all combined and unfolded into those magnetic little pop hymns that radiate rainbows and bubbles (both of which quite amusingly could be seen on that particular boat trip). No wonder most of the audience was up for a second round when the boat ran into the Landungsbruecken of the first time and happily listened to a second (though not entirely new) set of the band.

A truly magnificent experience. I’m definitely up for another of those kind of boat trips!

Off The Record

I know I have an indie-reputation to defend… – and what am I doing?
Until now, I didn’t bother to mention the brief but pleasant guest performance of Lissy Trullie at Molotow’s Motorbooty club a few weeks ago and – far worse than that – I didn’t even attend Germany’s first Shoegaze Weekender at Knust the very same day, although the beautiful Pains of Being Pure at Heart were playing and it certainly was the true height of the season for anyone willing to dance along to The Jesus and Mary Chain and Joy Division… (and secretly I could still kick myself for that star-crossed decision to stay home…).

After all of that; after missing out on the last true highlights of the scene, before the seemingly never-ending summer break comes down on all of us and forcing even the most desperate music geek to get tanned and spend their evenings at some half-hearted barbecue party eating well-intended but badly executed soy-sausages and drinking lukewarm beer… After all of this, here I am, writing about a jazz concert.
Not just any jazz concert: the magnificent jazz concerts at the NDR on June 11 & 12.
Two perfect evenings with two truly great shows.
The wonderful Bobo Stenson Trio did the first set of the show, taking my heart by storm with that emotional yet witty, sometimes almost funny, but sincere performance. The trio itself is the most charming team of outstanding musicians. What could there be left for me to say about Bobo Stenson – one of the true pioneers of European and particularly Scandinavian jazz, who’s magnificent lyric piano play is captivating and inspiring at the same time. In his trio, he is joined by the wonderful bass player Anders Jormin – I still remember his amazing flageolet soli with awe. Simply beautiful. – And by Jon Fält on drums. Jon is a generation younger than his fellow musicians but his part in the band is as organic as it can be. What would this band miss without that crazy, delightfully resourceful and passionate play? Watching (and of course hearing) them interact and create something new every moment really made me remember how a band is supposed to work. It was pure delight.
The second set of the show was no less exciting. The NDR Bigband and the NDR Choir performed Colin Towns amazing ‘jazz oratorio’ “Today is a gift”. It was a great collage of different musics, narration, sounds and noises. – And how could Anne – the crazy that dedicates 100 pages to one single piece of collage-work by John Zorn – how can someone like me not be completely taken in by a piece of this kind. It was one hour of groove tunes, sweeping swing, noise fractions and touching ballads. The combination of the NDR Choir, which is usually, mostly focused on classical music but had to do some crazy shouting and hooting in this piece; the brass sounds of the band and plenty of samples and noises was skilfully woven into an artful “day in a life” story. Surprising and simply beautiful.

PS: I know, I am forever late with blogging these days… my apologies for that.

New Mexican Accordion Players, Violinists from the Windy City and English Girls who play guitar

I was tempted to call it my All American Week – with two wonderful musicians from the states coming to Hamburg only within the short time span of two days. But then there was this little blond girl from Hampshire, England, who turned everything upside down…

Beirut was coming to town. An event I had actually been waiting for, for more than a year. Only a few weeks short of the gig in Hamburg, Zach Condon had cancelled all the remaining concerts of his tour, leaving me – and a few hundred of other fans - with nothing to hold on to but a little piece of plastic to turn over and over in the player... That was in late 2007. Today, there is a new small, round piece of plastic in the player and the band is up on the road again.
Actually I didn’t really know what to expect. I only knew that, after the Bloc Party concert in February I had sworn never to set foot into that nasty club again: Docks. And had I known that Beirut was going to play there, I guess I wouldn’t even have bought the ticket. But as things were, the concert had been moved to the Docks only after I bought the ticket and I could only hope for a better climate and less people than at the Bloc Party gig. The first came true – the second didn’t. It was sold out and as crowed as it could get. A nice mixture of old and young, trendy and alternative, music snobs and event-concert-goers occupied the vast space in front of the stage. A strange setting for music like that.
Until we finally got to hear the beautiful melancholic tunes of Beirut, we were however forced to go through – an awfully long – half-hour of Winter in Alaska. Hearing parts of his songs on his Last.fm profile I was actually quite curious about this very special brand of indietronic. And at first the funny video performance that turned the one-man-band into an orchestra, and the catchy beats of the song had serious charm. Too bad however, that this charm wore off just as fast as the modulated voice of Brandon Bethancourt started to strain my ears (and nerves). But as they say: even the worst support band does not play forever. And we were finally compensated with a solid hour of beautiful solemn tunes, originating somewhere between Mexico and the Balkan.
Beirut was in good shape and seemed particularly pleased with the enthusiasm the crowd showed to very single brass solo or accordion intro. A splendid gig by all means. But not as stirring as I had pictured it to be. I blame it mainly on the club.

Only 48 hours later, there was another long-awaited concert of me: Andrew Bird and Laura Marling played Hamburg’s Uebel und Gefaehrlich. What an incredibly lucky twist of fate that brought two of my most treasured musicians together on one stage, at one night? I was not alone in my excitement, and even though the concert was far from sold out, I found myself surrounded by my own private Laura-and-Andrew-lovers-clique.
Unlike Cat, who had seen Laura perform twice already, it was the first time for me to see that talented, fair-voiced young girl perform. The half-hour was over in an instance. The girl in the red shoes was gone, but her beautiful melodies still seemed to linger in the air while the stage was being set up for Andrew Bird.
I had actually seen him before. Hardly knowing him at all, I had watched him from afar while he – and his violin and guitar alone – had enchanted an entire four-story theatre hall at The Hague’s Crossing Border Festival in late 2007. But this time everything was different. Not just because I had grown to know and love his magnificent tunes and thoughtful lyrics, also because this time he had taken along his four-piece band. Due to his musical support we got to see less of his magical loop-technique that enables him to slowly rise from a single whistled tune and a few chords on the violin onto the heights of an entire orchestral soundscape… – the band support was however able to transform Andrew Bird’s chamber-music into driving rock songs and catchy pop hymns. Surprising, delightful, simply beautiful.
Cat has been calling that concert by Andrew Bird and Laura Marling the gig of the year. And even though the year is quite far from its conclusion I am quite inclined to agree.


pics: © Cat!

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.

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…)

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…

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)

Bored of Cheap and Cheerful

Eine Rock’n’Roll-Blues-Band ohne Bass und Schlagzeug. Nichts weiter als zwei Gitarren, zwei Stimmen und eine Drum-Machine. Einfache Songs, straight forward Blues-Lines, Beats, die direkt in die Hüften gehen und Gesang, der mitreißt, kleben bleibt. Tape Song.
Sie klammert sich an die Stange ihres Mikroständers und lehnt sich weit über den Bühnenrand hinaus. Sie ist überall, zu jeder Zeit. Wildkatze in Lederstiefeln. Klimpernde Armreifen. Leoparden-Jacke. Gitarren wie direkt aus Rolling Stones’ Bitch. Sie klettert auf den Lautsprecher-Turm. Ihr langen Haare wirbeln durch die Luft. Hook and Line. Sour Cherry. Es ist ein Tanz. Sie werfen sich Blicke, Akkorde, Textzeilen zu. Ihre Gesichter nur wenige Zentimeter von einander entfernt. Ihre Körper im gleichen Takt. Rock’n’Roll-Tango. Last Days of Magic. Zauberhaft, sexy, energiegeladen.
Die Kills erinnern mich daran wie einfach und zugleich erfrischend Pop-Kultur doch sein kann. Nostalgisch und trotzdem am Puls der Zeit: What New York Used To Be...



PS: Eine durchaus lobende Erwähnung der Supportband 206 will ich an dieser Stelle nicht vergessen. Auch wenn sicher nicht alle Kills-Fans von der Wahl angetan waren und ich selbst auf das Schlimmste vorbereitet war, als ich etwas von „deutsche Punk-Band“ las... (schließlich macht man so seine Erfahrungen mit Supportbands...) Aber 206 waren eine positive Überraschung. Ein charismatischer Frontmann mit leicht androgynem Charme, Songs mit feinem Sinn für Melodik und Songtexten, die ins englische übersetzt auch als solche von Kurt Cobain durchgehen könnten... Not bad, at all!

Noel, Liam und Lady Grey

„Ich hätte wirklich nicht damit gerechnet, dich hier zu treffen,“ sagte er und ich hätte wohl selbst nicht damit gerechnet mich dort zu treffen. Es war ein Impuls des Augenblicks gewesen. Das Produkt vieler unterschiedlicher Faktoren, die an einem Punkt spontan zusammenliefen. Ein Freund hatte mich geduldig mit seiner Begeisterung und einem wohl konzipierten Sampler umgarnt, ich war auf der Suche nach passenden Abendattraktionen für den Hamburg Aufenthalt meiner Schwester und dann war da noch das neue Album, das immer wieder an die Oberfläche meines itunes-Meeres trieb und mich jedes Mal aufs Neue mit einer angenehmen Mischung aus energetischem Brit-Rock und einer tiefen Verbeugung vor den Beatles angrinste und mich kess einlud mir doch noch eine Tasse Lady Grey einzuschenken. Gesagt, getan, ebay aufgerufen und zwei Tickets gekauft. – Oasis live, die Dig Out Your Soul Tour 2008 in der Alsterdorfer Sporthalle in Hamburg. Und Anne ist dabei – verrückt.
Eine Woche später schwamm ich dann also irgendwo in der Menschenmasse des Foyers der Sporthalle, versuchte zwei Bier zu organisieren und verfluchte die ganze Idee. Zu groß, zu viele Menschen, zu Kirmes-mäßig. Gab es dort in der Ecke tatsächlich einen Stand der Crèpe und Hotdogs verkaufte!?! Jeder Vierte sah so aus als wäre er zu betrunken sich morgen überhaupt an das Konzert zu erinnern. Event-Konzertbesucher. Was machte ich hier?
Der kratzige Sound der Supportband, Twisted Wheel, drang schon durch die schweren Türen zwischen Foyer und Oberrang und wir warteten immer noch auf unser Bier. Die Vorband ging im kulinarischen Spießrutenlauf unter – kaum jemanden kümmerte es.
Das kühle Bier schließlich in der Hand wurde ich allerdings überrascht von der Leichtigkeit mit der wir uns in den 10 Meter-Raum vor der Bühne schlängelten – vielleicht hatten große Venues ja tatsächlich auch Vorteile. Twisted Wheel packten ein, die Roadies bauten auf. Pfiffe und O-A-SIS-Chöre, dann Licht aus – Spots on. Und dann standen sie da. Plötzlich und unvermittelt. In 10 Meter Entfernung, und sie sahen aus wie man sie schon tausendmal gesehen hat. Wie als kenne man sich seit Jahren.
Die Show lief an. Rock’n’Roll Star. Liam in altbekannter Pose, die Knöpfe an seinem Pea Coat mit hochgestelltem Kragen glänzten golden. Routinierte Lässigkeit. Die Maschine rollte, das Publikum bebte. Der Sound war besser als ich erwartet hatte. Professionell. Genauso wie die live-Übertragung auf die vier schmalen Leinwände über der Bühne. Amüsante Videofetzen und schön postierte Nahaufnahmen. Nach der Hälfte des Konzerts zog Noel seine dunkle Jacke aus und hängte sich die Gitarre über ein blau kariertes Hemd. Ein blau kariertes Hemd. Wie als wolle er einen Gegenpol bieten zu seinem, noch immer in die zugeknöpfte Woll-Jacke gehüllten Bruder. Über so viel eigenwillig bodenständige Fashion-Ignoranz konnte ich mir ein Grinsen nicht verkneifen. Es gehört wohl dazu...
Weiter im Text. Mit überraschend wenigen Songs vom aktuellen Album (nur The Shock of the Lightning, Waiting fort he Rapture, Ain’t Got Nothing, I’m Outta Time und Falling Down waren vertreten). Mein geliebtes Bag It Up blieb ungehört. Dafür kramte die Band „erschreckend“ viele Songs aus der Schatztruhe, die sich auf dem zweiten, in meinem Besitz befindlichen Oasis-Album finden: (What’s The Story) Morning Glory. Verstreut auf das gesamte Konzert kam alt und jung auf seine Nostalgie-Kosten und durfte nach Herzenslust mitsingen bei Morning Glory, Wonderwall, Don’t Look Back in Anger und Champagne Supernova. Ich fragte mich wie man als Band so lange dieselben Lieder spielen kann ohne verrückt, narzisstisch oder weltfremd zu werden. Ich fragte mich ob Liam wohl irgendwann Rückenprobleme bekommen wird und dann sein Mikro doch auf die richtige Höhe einstellen muss...
Doch trotz all dieser Überlegungen nahm der Sog auch mich mit. Schickte mir Don’t Look Back in Anger – gesungen von 7000 Menschen – einen Schauer über den Nacken, sprang ich mit bei Rock’n’Roll Star und Supersonic, freute mich wie ein Schneekönig über I Am The Walrus. Es war ein Konzert das einem Oasis-Fan alle Wünsche erfüllt. Aber keines, das aus Neugierigen Fans macht. Schön einmal dabei gewesen zu sein.
„Ich hätte wirklich nicht damit gerechnet, dich hier zu treffen.“ Ich weiß, kommt auch nicht wieder vor – wahrscheinlich... ich trink jetzt erstmal ne Tasse Lady Grey.

Zum Start der neuen Saison

Nun sind wir tatsächlich auch musikalisch im neuen Jahr angekommen; und es schmerzt mich wenn ich daran denke, dass einige echte Highlights des letzten Jahres völlig im vorweihnachtlichen Alltags-Strudel untergegangen sind und gar keinen Eingang in diese kleine Konzertchronik gefunden haben. Somit wage ich zum Start des neuen Jahres noch einen schnellen Blick auf diese "verlorenen Jungen" des vergangenen Jahres zu werfen. In chronologischer Reihenfolge wären da zu erwähnen:
The Cold War Kids im Knust und MGMT im Übel und Gefährlich – zwei Konzerte, die - obwohl musikalische grundverschieden – irgendwie sehr ähnliche Miseren verdeutlichten. Beide Konzerte waren gut gelaunte, wohlklingende Erlebnisse mit tollen Melodien und amüsiertem Publikum. Nur blieb bei mir der Eindruck, dass die gute Laune auf der Bühne und das Amüsement vor ihr wenig miteinander zu tun hatte. Keine Verbindung. Die Cold War Kids performten ihre intelligent-kritischen Klang- und Textwelten mit dem auf sich selbst bezogenen Gestus, der beinahe verächtlich auf die klatschende Menschenmenge hinunterblickt – wie als versuchten sie ihren eigenen Erfolg zu ignorieren.
Das MGMT Konzert legte jedoch noch ein paar extra Steinschichten auf diese imaginäre Mauer zwischen Band und Publikum. Wie als planten sie das Publikum ganz des Hauses zu verweisen oder wenigstens auf den Boden der Tatsachen zurück zu holen, präsentierten sie den kleinen Teenage-Mädchen in ihren bunten, Neo-Hippie-Kostümen und Stirnbändern zuerst einmal ihre befreundete New Yorker Supportband A Place to Bury Strangers, die mit ihre Stroposkop-Lichtshow und ihrem nicht ganz leicht bekömmlichen Cocktail aus Electrobeats und Gitarrenwänden die auftoupierten Haare der Erste-Reihe-Mädchen flachfönten. MGMT selbst zeigten sich dann in verwaschenen, grau-schwarzen Heavy Metal-T-Shirts und verbeulten Jeans, ohne große Lichtshow und dem aus Video und Promo-Fotos bekannten Space-Indianer-Look - wie als wollten sie sich nach all diesen Musikbusiness-Exzessen auf die handgemachte Musik an sich besinnen. Sympathisch für jemanden wie mich – Weltbilder-zerrüttelnd für kleine Neo-Hippie-Mädchen.
Das Jahresende beschlossen schließlich zwei Konzerte, die sich ebenfalls unter einem gemeinsamen Label zusammenfassen lassen. Die Konzerte waren Ra Ra Riot im Molotow und The Dodos im Headcrash, und das Label ist schlichtweg: großartig. Kleine, aber feine Konzerte mit toller Musik. Die junge, inspirierte, sechs-köpfige Kombo Ra Ra Riot aus Syracuse, New York (wo auch immer das ist) – komplett mit Cello und Geige und einem Wirbelwind aus hüpfenden Beats und charmanten Melodien - und ein paar Tage später dann das energetische Duo aus San Francisco, California – komplett mit Celeste, völlig zerbeulter Mülltonne und einem Gitarren-beschleunigten Drive, der unter die Haut geht. Perfekt.

So, und damit sei auch den letzten Konzerten 2008s genüge getan.
Willkommen in der neuen Saison!