Warum ich liebe Deutschland

Wed 3 April Berlin -  On arrival at wind blasted Tegel I thought it would be wise to head straight for the venue, but a re-think led to an attempt to get to Ebs place in Neukölln. Getting on the wrong bus was a bad move and valuable time was lost in the labyrinthine search for Hauptbahnhof, and when this monsterous building was eventually found, platform 15 was located without much fuss or use of brain cells and with a charmed eye the cityscape view from the window of the S-Bahn was a welcome respite from the views of the past few weeks. Berlin always seems like the New York of Europe....or is NYC the Berlin of the United Police States Of America?

Located Ebs domicile and later we ventured to far-flung Schliemannstraße 31, picking up Karin along the way. My Swedish friend Anders sent a text (as is the fashion these days) to say he was in Potsdam and would make it to the following nights show. Following a quick soundcheck in the basement of Intersoup we repaired to the upstairs bar. Who walks in only Anders having changed his mind about Potsdam. With him, another Anders who just happens to be Slick Andys Dad! And his Mom too. (Slick Andy-drummer with The Last Souls) Anders #1 met Anders #2 & his missus on the U-Bahn. They had one of those “what are you doing here” conversations. Anders #1 explained he needed to get out of Sweden for a while “but Im now going to see Eamonn Dowd play?”

To which Slick Andy’s Dad replied. “Eamonn Dowd?..he’s in Berlin?”
So we all had a drink and everyone reflected on this odd meeting and odd gathering of folks in a small strange venue down a sidestreet on a bitterly cold Wednesday night in Berlin. I however didn’t find it odd in the slightest. These things tend to happen all the time. After the gig it didn’t take long to realize we were in the same room as possibly the worst DJ in Europe. All his records sounded like Fleet Foxes B sides if they were written by that twat in Coldplay with the designer stubble.

 

Eb was fading fast. We found a restaurant and I ordered red wine and spaghetti. An intrusive TV screen hung overhead. Men from Malaga and Dortmund were kicking a football around a big field. The realization dawned that we had eaten here seven weeks previously. A poster on the door told us Portishead were playing soon. They still exist? A flyer for another gig sported a photo of a girl who looked like Gram Parsons. The clock said 1.15am. 

 

Thurs 3 April Berlin – Right part of town, wrong time. Tried to hook up with Anders #1 but he had already moved on to another neighbourhood. Passed by the Anti Racism shanty town, snow strewn streets, Tentsville in a park beside Oranienplatz. After a long ramble through Kreutzberg I had a drink in Zum Elefant on Oranienstrasse where the grumpy mishapen barmama slowly slowly poured the drinks just to prolong the agony. But The Clash were on the stereo and nobody bugged me. A red and golden car with magnificent Arabic script was parked across the way but the artistic affect was ruined by the dust. A few doors up I purchsed good quality granular incense imported from Oman. The Vietnamese food tasted more like Thai. On Weinerstrasse I finally met Anders and Eb having taken a few lomo type photos of Gorlitzer Bahnhof. Not in possession of a Holga or a Diane analogue camera the app on my phone did the job just fine and didn’t cost anything. Its ok to slip into tourist head-space every now and again.

 

The gig at Gaudy was a rockin’ affair with support from London/NY country outfit The Wildfires and Jon Mills, also from London Town. Nice folks them all. Had good fun with Wildfires Paul and Christina afterwards, a few light refreshments, stories and the swapping of CD’s, email addresses, ideas, some good, some bad. Im sure we’ll see each other again.

 

Fri 4 April, Wolfsburg – Somebody found a dead child in a charity laundry bag around the corner. Cops marked the crime scene. TV ran the story. Life is cheap for some people. Purchased a 25 Bahn card. Had an adios amigo beer with Eb in one of the train stations and a couple of hours later I was on a mission to find edible food in Wolfsburg. The gig was hard work but I got paid and nobody complained. Chatted to Janeranne and her shy boyfriend. She flicked through my black moleskin note book containing half written songs, imaginary LP titles and the rambling scribblings of somebody who is compelled to write and document various ideas that memory could never store.

 

Sat 5 April, Essen – The Hagebergkrug Hotel up on Grauhostrasse is one place I hope to never see again. Arriving downstairs from my smelly room at 9.55am I was informed that breakfast was over. But I protested saying that last night I was told 10. Yes, said the young lady, but you have to order it by 9.45. Eventually, with the aid of google translation I convinced her to russle up something for me. After 10 minutes a cup of tea, two slices of shiny generic cheese, a piece of bread of questionable freshness and a solitary tomato arrived in front of me. I’m then handed a bill for 6 Euro. Since when does one pay for a breakfast in a Hotel? I stopped drinking the tea and told her to take it away. I could get a proper meal in a cafe for less that 6 Euro. A beer was politely requested, and I would pay for that. 2 euro 50 cents changed hands for the beverage. Dreadful music was on the stereo. When the execrable Depeche Mode came on with their insipid nursery rhymes I had little choice but to order a taxi and get out of there.

 

Sometime later I was able to catch up on emails curtsey of the wifi in an overpriced Vietnamese restaurant. But at least it did taste Vietnamese and not Thai. Had I known the venue later that night provided a meal, I would have done with an apple.

 

Slept all the way to Essen and walked the streets of a town I’d never visited before. Johannes Delemere and Petra arrived and we chatted about their old friend (and client) Nikki Sudden. Wild stories were told, bad habbits dicussed, the autobiography was mentioned and the soon to be released 6 x CD box set debated at length.  After the gig photographs were taken and I also met Danial Teusner, cousin of Chris. A 3am taxi to the lonesome train station preceded an hour long train ride to the airport and a sleepless night followed in order to catch the plane to Copenhagen and onwards to the cold heart of anywhere and nowhere.