BerlinBlog

FAHREN AWAY

I’ve been meaning to post while it’s still Spargel season, but a panapoly of life’s horrible little happenings have gotten in the way, and it would appear that some other topics have naturally arisen, so I shall address those. Still, the close connection Germans feel with their asparagus is equal and perhaps in excess of the passion the average Midwestern David Brooks hero feels for his semi-automatic; the topic will be broached at some point soon. Naturally, the existence of asparamania is not of as much interest as the Spargel-denial that occurs during the other forty-five weeks of the year. It is one of the few instances where the stereotype of German discipline stands up to the rigorous standards of stand-up comedy. More on this later.

But the nexus of cultural clichés concerning Germany is an enlivening one for writers on a deadline – even for Germans, who, by the standards of these clichés are very good with deadlines. I was recently parsing an old issue of The Wire (6/99, with Karlheinz Stockhausen on the cover, natch. Just a half-decade old, the issue seems to reflect some period of antiquity before the snobs were swallowed by the stupid) with an article by Biba Kopf in their Undercurrents series -- The Autobahn Goes On Forever: On the Road with Kraftwerk, Neu!, Wim Wenders (no link, it would appear) in which Kopf attempts to merge the metaphor of the Autobahn with a certain type of German identity as reflected in the Motorik music of the Seventies (much in vogue a half-decade ago). And there certainly is a theme of Wanderlust that runs through many strains of German art from the last, say, four hundred years: the Herz Mountains somehow getting replaced by the trailer homes of Wisconsin during the 1970s.

However, all of the bands Kopf concentrates on – the ones listed in the article title, as well as Harmonia and La Dusseldorf – come from the same Kraftwerkian scene, and, in fact, all had myriad falling outs and falling aparts -- Rother and Dinger from Kraftwerk, Rother from Dinger, the Kraft heads from the Kraft bodies (and if you’ve read Wolfgang Flür’s book: What bodies they were!) -- precisely because of the diversity of their attitudes. Kopf alternates between making claims for the Autobahn as a symbol of speed, hypnosis and engineering, then attempts to shoehorn all bands to represent all things. The template for Motorik is Neu!’s “Hallogallo” a song which doesn’t attempt to value acceleration as much as use it as the monster in the closet at the end of the piece. It’s the ultimate serial killer soundtrack (Kopf should have brought it in during his discussion of the Autobahn’s Nazi origins).

After all, Motorik was an attempt to replace the Rock-ist values of hard and heavy with a type of moving stasis representing a distrust of the idea of progress implicit in the 1968 generation’s rejection of the German past. Which, I suspect, if what drew Kopf to the Autobahn metaphor (along with watching lots of early Wenders films with those Can soundtracks – Can isn’t addressed in the piece, for some reason, though drummer Jaki Liebzeit is the Motorik king. Neither is the pharmaceutical speed, the drug that ran both the war, the Motorik revolution, and Berlin for as long as I have known it). Of course, Kopf was writing a trend piece on a deadline, even if it’s on a subject of interest to him. These sorts of articles are, by definition, facile, and I assume that he’s still rewriting it in his head today. Revision and regrest: the long, never-ending road…

Kopf’s article can be found in UNDERCURRENTS: THE HIDDEN WIRING OF MODERN MUSIC (Continuum Books, 2002). More here:

http://www.thewire.co.uk/shop/undercurrents_info.html

I’ll try to make more Sauerkraut jokes in my next post.

WHITE RIOT

Having slept through the May Day riots this year, I was eager for news on any fire sales on firebombed BMWs, but events appear to have been relatively tame, with 111 arrests an only a couple of cops suffering any serious wounding. News reports try to make more of it than it is, of course (as you can see here):

http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/L01484478.htm

Fifty-eight police felled in the headline, but fifty-five were treated for only minor injuries. It appears a bit more bloody here:

http://www.deepikaglobal.com/ENG4_sub.asp?ccode=ENG4&newscode=51692

Note that but a single car was set on fire. I can’t really believe the restraint. Also of interest is that the rioters are repeatedly referred to as Leftists and not drunkards – neither sobriquet ignoble, in my opinion.

If you speak with police during the semi-annual riots (during which the Imbißes of Kreuzberg do a bang-up business), you’ll detect more bemusement than concern. I mean, this is a city that practically sanctions a couple of riots per year in lieu of actually dealing with its myriad social and financial problems. Could you imagine if a tradition like this were to flower in any American city (excepting perhaps San Francisco)? With Love Parade evidently scuttled I would suggest that the Berlin Tourist Board consider promoting its May and Reunification Days as an opportunity for middle class travelers to safely get a sense of the situation in Iraq that they’re missing on television. Also, the inaccurate water tanks are fun, assuming they don’t roll over your feet.

Also of note is a long-ish article on U.S.-German relations by New York Times Berlin Berlin Bureau Chief Richard Bernstein:

http://www.nytimes.com/2004/05/02/magazine/02GERMANY.html

Bernstein is an interesting guy, but despite a few nuggets slipping out, the article suffers a bit from a Timesian tendency to draw conclusions which are no conclusions, either because the situation has been exaggerated (after all, the average German isn’t anti-American – quite the opposite -- but anti-Bush administration) or because any long-term effects are, at this juncture, inconclusive. But Bernstein does indirectly imply a rather wise, if underdiscussed thought: that in its attempts to influence German foreign policy (and specifically by encouraging German military activity) the Bush Administration, is actually hastening an Germany’s increasing independence from U.S. hegemony. And as Europe realigns itself as a rival power, the situation is only going to become more severe. Even Bush seems to understand this – the withdrawl of Spanish troops from Iraq was reported more mournfully than angrily, with few “paella-eater” style insults. For now.

Also, it should be noted: Poland in da haus!

THE MUMMY'S RETURN

I am a terrible blogger. I have been travelling around, and spending time in bed, and I have offered no new sustinance for my non-existent audience. Still, those that might stumble upon these attempts deserve a window into German life while I get my shit together. And here it is:

Start at:

http://www.ke4.de/

Then scroll down to the fourth item. Alas I have not found a way to link to this without giving away the surprise.

You shall be hearing from me shortly.

OH, WHAT A RELIEF IT IS.

Is anybody reading this? Am I? Well, I have been working on some tossed off reviews and am recovering from food poisoning for the second time in a month. Berlin is not a city one expects to become poisoned in, but then I had not figured that my own penuriousness would force me to ravage my own refrigerator for inedibles. And consume them. One can only wonder what effect this has on my writing – think Burroughs on Yage.

Now that that self-same miserliness has allowed me the luxury if expressing my thoughts and jotting my memories down rather than linking to outrages and answering strangers’ emails, I thought I might write a bit on my first trip to Berlin over decade ago, during which I took over the identity of a dead man and befriended another, dodged Neo Nazis and bees, and generally came of age during the last period when one could do that sort of thing. Now, of course, everyone is aging backward and I am of the last generation not to indulge in annual plastic surgery. Which is not to say that I do not need my medicines. In fact, my stomach may not allow me to continue this anecdote at this time. Wait a day or so. It may well be worth it. For someone.

THE MAN WHO WASN'T THERE

It might be supposed that if I am to establish any sort of credentials for an endeavor such as this, I might give some background on why I presume myself an apt commentator on the city of Berlin, what with my incapability of learning German and my general fear of leaving the house. Well, Berlin remains divided (stunted, too) and one cannot help but draw a parallel between subject and author. This project shall not concentrate on its creator -- although I am born from a generation incapable of writing in the third person -- but I will provide a little background over the next few entries for those whom might stumble upon this in their search for Elisa Cuthbert photos. No doubt other tidbits will slip out over time. Little begging will be needed.

For a decade I lived in a rent stabilized apartment in Manhattan, churning out record reviews and what might loosely be called essays for a variety of magazines and newspapers. Although at one point considered a writer of some promise, I never did feel comfortable with the transformation of “writing” into “media” and so I long ago hit a self-imposed glass ceiling. Which is to say, that for a considerable period there simply were things that I would not do. Needless to say, I will do them now. Age and experience has not sharpened my talent, nor have they dulled my envy.

In fairness, it should be added, I am extraordinarily lazy. And pathologically shy, despite my generally brash demeanor. I had no desire to talk to people for a living, and the demand for my opinions had noticeably receded. So, armed with a German passport (to be explained in a future entry) and the belief that my lack of responsibility somehow touted me as an artist, even at this late date, I decamped for Berlin certain that that novel would soon establish some credentials for my sense of self-worth. It very well might have, if not for a series of unfortunate instances. They shall not be enumerated at this time, so let us say instead, that it very well may. And that this blog looks to be more about its author than he had hoped. At least until I pay Blogger so that I can include all sorts of funny links. Who doesn’t like funny links? And charticles!

New Yorkers are no doubt primarily curious about whether I continue hold onto my Manhattan apartment. I do, but it hasn’t been easy. As you can read here:

http://www.observer.com/pages/story.asp?ID=8788

As for my current credentials -- I'm a Music Editor at an English language monthly here. To be found at www.exberliner.com. Recent information suggests that I am its newly former sex columnist, so perhaps even that dull sun has chosen to set upon me. I continue to write for American papers with ambivalence. But it’s an honest ambivalence. I may even like it. Either way, I hope there will be more of it. The drunk has to eat.

HE HAS RISEN

Eastertime in Germany means that as Jesus rises, the country falls to nothingness: shops close down until Tuesday, streets empty out, students gear up for the trip back to the womb by silently mouthing requests for money. I recall an Easter trip to Nürnberg a couple of years ago during which the residents of the city would wander the empty shopping platz, staring through plate windows at unattainable merchandise as if they were extras in Dawn of the Dead. Apt that that platz was the locus of the most hideous night of the Kristallnacht.

As for Berlin, it may not take religion very seriously, but it certainly worships at the altar of disposable time. And as I wish to dispose of a bit of my own, I have created this blog -- an expat blog, alas -- as a locus for discussion, rant and etc. on this most frustrating yet captivating (and I choose that word carefully) of cities. Allow us to see what develops from this.