Friday, July 31, 2009
Deutsch Lolcats
I'm a dork with too much time on my hands. Look what I made myself for my birthday! More to come.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
What are you doing here?
For about a year and a half now, the first two questions I'm usually asked upon meeting a complete stranger are: A) What are you doing here? B) How long are you planning on staying? I realize these questions seem only natural for the asker, who is only trying to make polite conversation, but the cumulative effect of having to answer them on a nearly daily basis over such a long period of time is that I'm made to feel like a freakin' alien. Maybe I'm just bitter because I haven't come up with a good answer to either. I really don't know what I'm doing in Berlin. I'm not working much. I'm not studying much. I could lie and say that I'm gestating but mostly I'm just hanging out, going to parties, scribbling things into notebooks. I also spend a lot of time hoping I by some miracle (or cunninglinguis) continue to meet my visa requirements despite the government's attempts to suffocate us non-EUers in as much red tape as it takes. The stress of this coupled with the everyday strain of not being able to communicate clearly to the world surrounding me even the most basic of concepts (for example "I'm not an employee of Karstadt, fuck off old lady") inflated by the relentless stream of life-changing situations I've had to deal with on German soil has seriously started to get to me. Or maybe I'm just having one of those days where I'd rather be home and not need an excuse to be where I am or to explain how long I plan on being there. Maybe it's just one of those days and tomorrow I won't feel like I need the questions to stop that badly. I'll just smile and say, "Just living, and you?"
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
BavARia
This is my friend Michael, who is Bavarian. He wants you to know that not all Bavarians are elitist. Although some are.
[Photos taken at Ankerklaus KanalBar after lots of coffee]
Prinzenstrasse
The bubble gum pink lighting and rafters above Prinzenstrasse Ubahn. Notice anything strange? Know whose idea it was and where I can get their autograph?
The (New) East Side Gallery
This weekend I went by the East Side Gallery (the longest remaining stretch of the Berlin Wall used as an open air gallery) to see the new paintings. I can't say I'm 100% pleased with the results. Granted, some of the old paintings were a bit cheesy but some of the new ones are simply hideous. I don't know who curates these things, but I'm willing to bet the bureaucrats had something to do with it and as we all know bureaucrats are notorious for having terrible taste in art (Merkel still swears by Thomas Kinkade). Because I cherish you, dear readers, I've chosen NOT to share photos of the terrible bits of the wall that will make you gag and want to bludgeon your own eyes out with bottle caps. Instead, I've snapped a few of the good paintings, one restored, and some of the unpainted sections for contrast. Enjoy. (As always, click if you want it bigger, or just shout at your screen)
The Punk Boat
There's this boat docked on one side of the Landwehrkanal near Grimmstrasse that I've been wondering about for a year and a half now. At first it was just sitting there, abandoned, unloved, and full of what looked like a lot of rubbish and furniture. Then it started to get graffitied more and more. Then people started sneaking on to it at night to have beers. Then people started sneaking on to it in broad daylight to have beers and SOMEBODY (I don't know who) decided that a bunch of barbed wire was in order to detour trespassers. A week (or less) later the barbed wire was gone and people were jumping over to go drink booze and graffiti the hell out of the boat again. I still have yet to do either myself, although I'll admit desperately to wanting to do both someday, when the moment is right.
FINDS! From the Mauer Park Flea Market
Finally got around to getting back to Mauer Park last Sunday for the flea market. For those not in the know, it is the largest collection on unwanted things from another time available in this city. Even bigger and more undesirable than Humana! There are also a lot of vendors selling new things including hand made t-shirts with high contrast graphics of the Fernseherturm on them (hey, I can get away with it because I thought of it first) and hippie wear. There was even a lady selling hippie bags out of her hippie van while burning pachouli-scented incense. Phew! I did manage to find some good stuff this time around which I haggled decently for, although I still think I could have grabbed the table for funf euro less. Oh well. Maybe next time.
[Yellow, red, and blue 1950s table; heat-molded record bowl constructed from "The Sound of Young America Vol. 2"; Deep khaki patent alligator skin wallet vintage and make unknown; Text entitled "Berlin: Gestern und Heute" circa 1974]
[Yellow, red, and blue 1950s table; heat-molded record bowl constructed from "The Sound of Young America Vol. 2"; Deep khaki patent alligator skin wallet vintage and make unknown; Text entitled "Berlin: Gestern und Heute" circa 1974]
Graffiti Graffit Graffiti
We love the graffiti in Berlin. It is truly exceptional. Here are some examples (click to see a larger version).
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Moderat @ Maria Bass Berlin Festival Day 1
What happens when you mix Modeselektor's heavy ape-like bootie beats with Apparat's light and bubbly glitches? Absolute love. Moderat is the name of the collaboration between two seemingly dissimilar Berlin-based electronic artists who somehow manage to tow the line perfectly between pretty and down and dirty. The result is a sound that is truly unique, at times hard to follow, and in its best moments jaw droppingly hot.
Anyone watching the crowd at Maria am Ostbahnhof on opening day of the BASS Berlin Festival could see this clearly as soon as Moderat took the stage. At moments, the audience was bumping and grinding along to the tracks that carried overtones of Modeselektor's deep bass and grinding beats. And in another moment Apparat's floaty, melodic sounds would leave the crowd standing there, staring up at the stage as if they were in the presence of a symphonic orchestra. An odd combination, but one that works as a result of its unexpectedness. This is the sort of collaboration that challenges conventional expectations, breaking down the boarders between genres of electronic music and creating an overall appreciation of sound.
Neither artist is unique to using collaboration as a vessel for pursuing the rare, untapped waters of electronic music. Moderat is one of Apparat's many collaborations with popular artists who share his interest in producing strange and beautiful sounds. His first was with techno all-star Ellen Allien best known for her albums Stadtkind and Berlinette. Most recently together they produced the aptly named Orchestra of Bubbles, an airy, emotional collection which debuted Apparat's vocal "talents." The album is far more indie than bootie, which is no surprise as Apparat's focus has never been on producing dance music, although Ellen Alien's, at least occasionally, has. But for all that it is an absolute pleasure to listen to while lying naked on the bathroom floor.
It's hard to think of a major artist deserving of their attention whom Modeselektor hasn't collaborated with yet. So far they've combined oscillations with Thom Yorke, Puppetmastaz, Otto von Schirach, Pfadfinderei, and Rhythm and Sound, all quite successfully. It's either a testament to their flexibility as artists or a hurrah to the staying power of their own unique brew of bass and delay that they've yet to stumble when it comes to producing brain shattering music alongside other artists, no matter how dissimilar.
After witnessing (what now seems like) the only natural intersection of Apparat and Modeselektor in the flesh, I can tell you that it is an entirely different experience than listening to the recordings in the comfort of your own dirty, low rent apartment (which you can do on Soundcloud for free by the way...) The process is so transparent on the stage that it is almost humbling to look at. Front and center it looked like just three friends standing around drinking beers over a couple laptops while foreign sounds exploded through the speakers. In fact, I got so close to the trio that I could see up Modeselektor's nostrils, which are plenty handsome by the way. And I was so moved by the seamless interaction between man and machine exhibited by these three electronic MUSICIANS in the truest sense of the word that I'm afraid I'll never wash these ears again.
Anyone watching the crowd at Maria am Ostbahnhof on opening day of the BASS Berlin Festival could see this clearly as soon as Moderat took the stage. At moments, the audience was bumping and grinding along to the tracks that carried overtones of Modeselektor's deep bass and grinding beats. And in another moment Apparat's floaty, melodic sounds would leave the crowd standing there, staring up at the stage as if they were in the presence of a symphonic orchestra. An odd combination, but one that works as a result of its unexpectedness. This is the sort of collaboration that challenges conventional expectations, breaking down the boarders between genres of electronic music and creating an overall appreciation of sound.
Neither artist is unique to using collaboration as a vessel for pursuing the rare, untapped waters of electronic music. Moderat is one of Apparat's many collaborations with popular artists who share his interest in producing strange and beautiful sounds. His first was with techno all-star Ellen Allien best known for her albums Stadtkind and Berlinette. Most recently together they produced the aptly named Orchestra of Bubbles, an airy, emotional collection which debuted Apparat's vocal "talents." The album is far more indie than bootie, which is no surprise as Apparat's focus has never been on producing dance music, although Ellen Alien's, at least occasionally, has. But for all that it is an absolute pleasure to listen to while lying naked on the bathroom floor.
It's hard to think of a major artist deserving of their attention whom Modeselektor hasn't collaborated with yet. So far they've combined oscillations with Thom Yorke, Puppetmastaz, Otto von Schirach, Pfadfinderei, and Rhythm and Sound, all quite successfully. It's either a testament to their flexibility as artists or a hurrah to the staying power of their own unique brew of bass and delay that they've yet to stumble when it comes to producing brain shattering music alongside other artists, no matter how dissimilar.
After witnessing (what now seems like) the only natural intersection of Apparat and Modeselektor in the flesh, I can tell you that it is an entirely different experience than listening to the recordings in the comfort of your own dirty, low rent apartment (which you can do on Soundcloud for free by the way...) The process is so transparent on the stage that it is almost humbling to look at. Front and center it looked like just three friends standing around drinking beers over a couple laptops while foreign sounds exploded through the speakers. In fact, I got so close to the trio that I could see up Modeselektor's nostrils, which are plenty handsome by the way. And I was so moved by the seamless interaction between man and machine exhibited by these three electronic MUSICIANS in the truest sense of the word that I'm afraid I'll never wash these ears again.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Depeche Mode & The Writer From New York
So the first thing I did this morning was watch this video and eat toast:
I figured it would cure me of this feeling I woke up with.
It's difficult to explain, but long story short is that I'm beginning to think I hate other writers and maybe I don't want to pursue a career in journalism because the more writers I meet the more I realize what talentless, self-absorbed jerks they are.
Take for example this writer I met yesterday, whose name I've purposefully forgotten. I was introduced to him by a good friend of mine who told me he'd flown in from New York for a couple weeks.
This sort of thing happens all the time. New York artists are always popping up in Berlin, crawling out of the sewers or dropping out of the sky. We're practically being candy bombed with them.
Which is not to say we're the only ones in the NY Artists receiving department. Some other cities on the route include: Paris, Copenhagen, Barcelona, Madrid, San Francisco and, for some reason, Portland, Oregon. I'm not sure why this is. Call it the kuntsler migratory pattern. But for whatever reason the New York kunstlers are the loudest and seem to be the most abundant.
Anyways, I figured I'd be friendly, introduce myself, ask what line of kunstlering he was in, and so on. He answered that he had been working for the Advocate for 3 years and was now freelancing, looking forward to traveling, writing some travel articles for the New York Times, maybe if he had time, and wanted to go into an MFA program in the future. I asked him where and he said Hollins University, which I told him I hadn't heard of. And then, get this, he actually guffawed.
Now, never in my 25 years of life have I seen someone actually guffaw before, though characters in novels seem to guffaw all the time. So I was a little taken aback to see one in real life.
"Oh, you wouldn't know unless you were in THAT kind of circle," he said. "That's where the real writers are."
Now I had already told him by this point that I was a writer, but perhaps he'd forgotten or hadn't listened or didn't care. Or maybe I just wasn't a "real" writer considering I never worked for the Advocate or wrote for the New York Times. But by this point in the conversation I was about ready to toss my drink on the guy and walk away. Instead I asked him if he was planning on moving here.
"Oh I definitely want to. I'd love to do some writing for _____ and ______ and _______. There's probably a lot of money in it."
I politely suggested that Berlin was not a great place to make money, and that if he wanted to move here it would be better to do so when he had a good bit of savings to live off of. He took offense and insisted that I was "crazy" and that any real periodical would pay $2 a word for a 3,000 word feature from him and that would give him $4,000, which was more than enough to live off of in Berlin.
I decided to jump ship and go back to find Carlos at the bar and tell him how much I hated New Yorkers. And even though I did this, at great length, I still felt... annoyed.
Part of it was obviously annoyance that someone in New York had given so much work to a writer who can't even do basic multiplication while the rest of us in Berlin are sitting around starving to death, and part of it was anger at the publication process in general. But along with this there was this anger, this extreme disgust with how much networking has become a part of the art and writing world, and how good ol' fashioned talent has become at best unnecessary and at worst undesirable.
Okay okay, I'm not that naive. I know networking has ALWAYS been important. I suppose I've only been saved from it up till now because I only recently started to write for cold, hard cash. In the end this is probably why I settled on Berlin, hoping to avoid the constant, necessary mingling that occurs in busy cities like San Francisco and New York.
But in truth networking probably happens here more among the expats than it did back home. After all, as an artist you have a smaller potential audience here so you have to make every person (who speaks English) love you and want to come to your next show, see your next film, read your next article, etc. etc.
Lately I've begun to feel used. And, simultaneously, ignored. I'm really worried I'll be forced to become a smarmy, self-absorbed jerk in order to make a name for myself, make a living doing what I want to do instead of teaching Business English to the kind Leute at Deutsch Bahn. I hope this isn't the case, but the deeper I get into the business of writing the more I find myself wanting to run away screaming or stay and chew off my own fingers.
I figured it would cure me of this feeling I woke up with.
It's difficult to explain, but long story short is that I'm beginning to think I hate other writers and maybe I don't want to pursue a career in journalism because the more writers I meet the more I realize what talentless, self-absorbed jerks they are.
Take for example this writer I met yesterday, whose name I've purposefully forgotten. I was introduced to him by a good friend of mine who told me he'd flown in from New York for a couple weeks.
This sort of thing happens all the time. New York artists are always popping up in Berlin, crawling out of the sewers or dropping out of the sky. We're practically being candy bombed with them.
Which is not to say we're the only ones in the NY Artists receiving department. Some other cities on the route include: Paris, Copenhagen, Barcelona, Madrid, San Francisco and, for some reason, Portland, Oregon. I'm not sure why this is. Call it the kuntsler migratory pattern. But for whatever reason the New York kunstlers are the loudest and seem to be the most abundant.
Anyways, I figured I'd be friendly, introduce myself, ask what line of kunstlering he was in, and so on. He answered that he had been working for the Advocate for 3 years and was now freelancing, looking forward to traveling, writing some travel articles for the New York Times, maybe if he had time, and wanted to go into an MFA program in the future. I asked him where and he said Hollins University, which I told him I hadn't heard of. And then, get this, he actually guffawed.
Now, never in my 25 years of life have I seen someone actually guffaw before, though characters in novels seem to guffaw all the time. So I was a little taken aback to see one in real life.
"Oh, you wouldn't know unless you were in THAT kind of circle," he said. "That's where the real writers are."
Now I had already told him by this point that I was a writer, but perhaps he'd forgotten or hadn't listened or didn't care. Or maybe I just wasn't a "real" writer considering I never worked for the Advocate or wrote for the New York Times. But by this point in the conversation I was about ready to toss my drink on the guy and walk away. Instead I asked him if he was planning on moving here.
"Oh I definitely want to. I'd love to do some writing for _____ and ______ and _______. There's probably a lot of money in it."
I politely suggested that Berlin was not a great place to make money, and that if he wanted to move here it would be better to do so when he had a good bit of savings to live off of. He took offense and insisted that I was "crazy" and that any real periodical would pay $2 a word for a 3,000 word feature from him and that would give him $4,000, which was more than enough to live off of in Berlin.
I decided to jump ship and go back to find Carlos at the bar and tell him how much I hated New Yorkers. And even though I did this, at great length, I still felt... annoyed.
Part of it was obviously annoyance that someone in New York had given so much work to a writer who can't even do basic multiplication while the rest of us in Berlin are sitting around starving to death, and part of it was anger at the publication process in general. But along with this there was this anger, this extreme disgust with how much networking has become a part of the art and writing world, and how good ol' fashioned talent has become at best unnecessary and at worst undesirable.
Okay okay, I'm not that naive. I know networking has ALWAYS been important. I suppose I've only been saved from it up till now because I only recently started to write for cold, hard cash. In the end this is probably why I settled on Berlin, hoping to avoid the constant, necessary mingling that occurs in busy cities like San Francisco and New York.
But in truth networking probably happens here more among the expats than it did back home. After all, as an artist you have a smaller potential audience here so you have to make every person (who speaks English) love you and want to come to your next show, see your next film, read your next article, etc. etc.
Lately I've begun to feel used. And, simultaneously, ignored. I'm really worried I'll be forced to become a smarmy, self-absorbed jerk in order to make a name for myself, make a living doing what I want to do instead of teaching Business English to the kind Leute at Deutsch Bahn. I hope this isn't the case, but the deeper I get into the business of writing the more I find myself wanting to run away screaming or stay and chew off my own fingers.
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