TRESOR: OFF THE BEATEN TRACK by Lawrence Carlos

TRESOR OFF THE BEATEN TRACK Lawrence Carlos

Special thanks Dimitri Hegemann Mo Loschelder Julian Williams William Firebrace Elke KnĂśĂ&#x;-Grillitsch Antje Buchholz Adhyaksa Mardjuni Mike Slade Ihsan Hassan Jane Chew Matthew Hung and the Tresor family

CONTENTS Introduction Unlocking the Bank Vault

The Voids Of East Berlin Leipziger Strasse: From Modernity to Dereliction

Unplanned Urban Appropriation East Berlin: An Opportunity to Reconnect 29 Reclaiming the City 31 The Spaces of Techno 37 Facing The Music Threats to Sites of Alternative Cultural Value

After The Comedown Continuing the ‘True Spirit’: Lasting Impressions

Conclusion The Coexistence of Temporary Uses and Urban Planning 63 Endnotes 66 Appendices Appendix 01 / Interview Transcript 01: Dimitri Hegemann Appendix 02 / Interview Transcript 02: Mo Loschelder

71 85

Bibliography Books / Main Texts 97 Articles / Other Texts 99 Interviews 100 Selected Web Links 100 Selected Videos 102 List of Illustrations 103 9

BERLIN LOCATION MAP KEY 01

TRESOR, Leipziger Strasse 126 (demolished)

Interview location 01: Dimitri Hegemann TRESOR, Kรถpenicker Strasse 70 Interview location 02: Mo Loschelder MEDIA LOCA, Immanuelkirchstrasse 25 FORMER BERLIN WALL

MITTE

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5km

10km

TRESOR LOCATION MAP

LEIPZIGER

STRASSE

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200m

[fig 01]

INTRODUCTION UNLOCKING THE BANK VAULT

The success and longevity of Tresor nightclub in Berlin [fig 01] epitomised the appropriation of abandoned spaces within the city after the fall of the Wall by specific subcultural and creative groups. Its story surmised a period in Berlin’s urban history in which a thriving culture of temporary use redefined the image of the newly unified European capital. In this dissertation I examine the urban, social and political conditions which precipitated Tresor’s birth and how the club’s occupation of a historically significant site on Leipziger Strasse demonstrated an alternative approach to disused city spaces. In understanding the circumstances in which the post-Wall proliferation of vacant spaces arose, I reveal the particularities of the situation in Berlin and evaluate the effectiveness of such temporary use in reconfiguring patterns of urban activity. As a playground for alternative modes of occupation, Berlin has learnt to integrate traditional and officially recognised cultural institutions with the prevalence of spaces of subculture1, as explored by Dougal Sheridan. In order to understand the extent to which Berlin’s cultural identity was shaped by the squatters of the 1970s and 1980s and the creative collaborations of the 1990s, it is imperative to analyse the historic events which degraded many city spaces and allowed such interventions to occur. In the first section I read into Alan Balfour’s narration of the eventual urban decay of Leipziger Strasse and Leipziger Platz in the lead up to 1989. The several visions that failed to materialise in reconstructing this district of Berlin as well as 13

the physical divisions imposed upon it eradicated the majority of the city’s traditional building functions. In addition to the uncertainty of property ownership at the time of the Wende2, these conditions encouraged a bottom-up reclamation of areas of East Berlin. Tresor, along with an entire informal network of clubs and other creative spaces, emerged as the inadvertent suitors in reimagining these areas for recreational use. The unplanned nature of these appropriations and their significant impact on the cultural make up of the city today highlights their impact in revitalising underused areas. In the main section I assess the factors that affected the creation of temporary activites in found spaces in Berlin by extracting the insights of two protagonists from the underground scene during the 1980s and 1990s. This takes the form of interviews conducted in Berlin in the summer of 2013: Dimitri Hegemann [fig 02], co-founder and owner of Tresor and long-standing campaigner for youth entrepreneurialism, and Mo Loschelder [fig 03], an artist and head of the Media Loca (musician booking agency and artist management), who organised club nights at Elektro, Panasonic and Init. I emphasise the playfulness of these “urban actors”3 in their experimentation of spatial appropriation and how this has changed over the years as these activities have become more professionalised. By taking advantage of the set of the inner city circumstances presented to them, their actions and anecdotes convey a nonconformist attitude towards inhabiting the city’s spaces. Additionally, I discuss the influence of squatters on both the inhabitation of old buildings in West Berlin in the years prior to the fall of the Wall and the practice of likeminded creative groups in the early nineties in East Berlin. In particular, I underline how the changes to the legislative rights of ownership in dilapidated properties led to the “entrepreneurial squatting”4 that became so popular during the reunification. The ubiquity of the bohemian scene encompassed a plethora of unconventional amenities and juxtapositions of functions, but the central subject matter of this study is the repurposing of abandoned spaces as nightclubs and the importance of these places as social condensers. For a number of years after its opening in 1991 Tresor became Berlin’s pre-eminent club and it was significant in allowing 14

[fig 02]

[fig 03]

disparate subcultural groups to coalesce and engender a strong sense of community. Techno was the soundtrack of this great social upheaval and it was largely due to the informal network of clubs in the city that a new outlet for celebrating a newfound freedom was created. The excerpts from the interviews with Hegemann and Loschelder, supplemented by the oral histories as told in ‘Der Sound der Familie: Berlin, Techno und Die Wende’ by Felix Denk and Sven von Thülen, are vital in illustrating the relationship between music events, social gatherings and specific city locations during this period. The final section evaluates some of the challenges that temporary use ventures have had to meet in Berlin at the turn of the millennium and the notion of cultural value against the increasing forces of the economy and globalisation. Tresor has been a model of sorts for resisting traditional approaches to future planning yet it was not immune to those who perceived the expansive site next to the club as a lucrative development opportunity. In 2005 the club was forced to shut down and was subsequently demolished to make way for the ongoing redevelopment of Leipziger Strasse into a new office and shopping district. In 2007 however, Dimitri Hegemann relaunched Tresor within an old power station on Köpernicker Strasse following its disappearance from the club circuit for a couple of years. The issues faced by Tresor during this period of transition reveals the difficulty in maintaining offbeat cultural activities. Berlin is a city today in which increasing investment continues to provide planners and developers with projects that have squeezed alternative, temporary occupiers out of prime sites in the Berlin-Mitte and Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg districts. Tresor’s relocation contrasts with the spontaneity in which clubs moved sites during the 1980s and 1990s, in that its agenda today is with the view to diversifying its programme within a floor area5 comparable to other large, cultural institutions. More than twenty years on since the inception of Tresor, one of the few remaining bastions of early 1990s Berlin culture, I reflect on the consolidation of its activities as a permanent fixture in the city. More critically Philip Ostwalt, along with a number of urban theorists in ‘Urban Catalyst: The Power of Temporary Use’, have focused on Berlin as a primary case study for reassembling 16

the spatial order of areas in the city. From this I ascertain the lasting value of temporary uses in shaping the processes in which such spaces are curated and acknowledged as part of the wider urban environment. It is however, beyond the scope of this study to meticulously outline a comprehensive history of Tresor the club. The account of Tresor as recalled in the documentary ‘SubBerlin: The Story of Tresor’ released in 2012 provides a good reference point for the key characters involved (co-founders, DJs, producers and partygoers alike), their experiences of the music and token reflections on the club’s cultural value. In addition to the German text mentioned above by Denk and von Thülen (2012), Tobias Rapp’s ‘Lost and Sound: Berlin, Techno and the Easyjet Set’ gives a snapshot of the issues that Berlin and its clubbing scene have encountered at the turn of the millennium to the present day. Whilst intending to use these references more as a cursor to specific events, the focus here is to apply a critical urban appraisal to this specific period in Berlin’s history. In documenting the changes to Leipziger Strasse’s environs with photographs from excursions to Berlin, I continue the story of the city as historically depicted in Alan Balfour’s ‘Berlin: The Politics of Order 1737-1989’. As a set of visual references the photographs portray the perception of the districts of Berlin by the Wall as a former edge condition and subsequently the return of the area to a state of centrality. In addition, my photo surveys represent the persistent efforts by developers today to repair the urban scars of Berlin and restore a particular kind of grandeur to the city, which is often superficial. Nevertheless it is clear that a palimpsest of competing visions for the city has unfolded at Potsdamer Platz and Leipziger Platz. At the same time, photos of Tresor demonstrate the difficulty in representing the lived experience of the parties and instead illustrate the buildings as a backdrop to spaces of intense and fluid social activity.

[fig 04]

THE VOIDS OF EAST BERLIN LEIPZIGER STRASSE: FROM MODERNITY TO DERELICTION

It is important from the outset to understand the historical changes that caused an abundance of vacant spaces and sites in Berlin and its correlation with the emergence of temporary use in the 1980s. By tracing the sequence of events that led to the discovery of the basement of a former bank (hence the name ‘Tresor’, German for bank vault), a more holistic evaluation of the urban appropriation of this corner of the city can be made. Tresor’s occupation of a forgotten space was one of the most notable examples of the unofficial regenerative efforts in Berlin at the time; the value of this interim occupation is thus exemplified in altering the perceptions and relationships of people to a part of the city that had lost its identity for decades. The timescale of Tresor’s existence overlaps onto a district of Berlin which has experienced a series of a schizophrenic changes during the twentieth century. Tresor’s original location at 126a Leipziger Strasse represented the last remnants of the Wertheim Department Store [fig 04] which was, at the time of its completion in 19046, the largest of its kind in Europe. The rest of the site, however, lay barren with the ghost of the political tensions and conflict manifesting itself in the destruction of the buildings enclosing Leipziger Platz. Through the absence of both metropolitan activity, the buildings that conferred values to those activities and “whose accumulation in the texture of the city had given meaning to life”7, the lost monuments of a bygone era of prosperity only accentuated the desolation of this district. The tumultuous and colourful history of Leipziger Platz and 19

the nearby Potsdamer Platz in particular typified the liberation of buildings from political control. In order to comprehend the enormity of deterioration of Leipziger Platz’s importance as an urban centre, an overview of these architectural symbols is therefore needed. It was precisely the eradication of any former association with historic activity that presented “temporary users”8 with the blank canvas to invent new spatial meanings. At the turn of the twentieth century Potsdamer Platz and Leipziger Platz became centres of commerce. The rapid growth of Berlin’s population from two million in 1900 to almost three million in 1914 marked a shift in the city’s rise as a metropolis. Berliners were acclimatising to a new, fast-paced modernity; the humdrum routine of the workplace instilled a greater desire for material goods and leisure. The erection of the Jewish family-owned Wertheim Department Store, which bookended Leipziger Platz and stretched along Leipziger Strasse, expressed a confidence in Berlin as a capital for large-scale consumerism. Begun in 1896 to the designs of Alfred Messel, Wertheim was an opulent world in which its customers’ lofty materialistic wishes could be fulfilled. The highly-decorated and gilded interior with its bountiful stock of luxury goods [fig 05] offered “the illusion of an ordered reality, of time suspended.”9 In its heyday, its grand presence on Leipziger Strasse enhanced the promenade through Leipziger Platz as a gateway into modern Berlin. Concurrently this district of Berlin became known for its entertainment and nightlife, which enhanced the city’s reputation as a “Weltstadt”10. In the early 1900s, new types of entertainment in the form of variety shows and cabaret developed, offering an alternative to the formality of theatre and opera. The attraction of vaudeville halls along Friedrichstrasse, perpendicular to Leipziger Strasse, was an inherent reflection of the increasing affinities to consumerism and the “pleasure-urge”11 within the modern urban experience. Alongside these official establishments however, pubs and restaurants surreptitiously began to incorporate back of house late-night entertainment shows. The censorship enforced on outspoken political satire by the Wilhelmine and Weimar regimes had in turn created a more underground scene of pub-cabarets. People came in their droves 20

[fig 05]

[fig 06]

to these unofficial, tightly packed gatherings as these smallerscale events could continue to be liberal in the content of their shows. Unsurprisingly the authorities treated these decadent shows with a great degree of suspicion and police had to clamp down on their illegal practices (licensing problems, charging entry fees, inflated alcohol prices, prostitution, for example). It was acknowledged however, “that such activities were an unavoidable, indeed expected, aspect of big-city life.”12 Before the Nazis consigned these hedonistic types of entertainment to the doldrums, those who organised an undercurrent of nightlife amenities saw a need to appeal to members of the public seeking for modes of leisure away from the mainstream. Although the political context at the time was different, the operation of these events under the radar and using spaces for activities other than their intended use was an early precursor to the sort of practices that squatters and creatives employed in taking over found spaces decades later. The subsequent disappearance of these venues is a eerie reminder of the cultural activities that were such an inherent part of city life. Berlin’s wealth and emergence as a metropolis in the 1920s was evident in the extravagance of Leipziger Strasse. The political changes that followed however greatly impacted the sustenance of this period of affluence. With the arrival of National Socialism in Germany, an authoritarian ideology began to dominate the city of Berlin. The “Aryanisation”13 policies introduced during the 1930s had forced the Wertheim’s Jewish owners to hand over their extensive property to the authorities. Along with the surrender of other Jewish-owned department stores and businesses, this spelt the decline of Leipziger Strasse as Berlin’s avenue for consumerism. Consequently, Adolf Hitler and Albert Speer’s imperial vision for the city [fig 06] and the nation’s future overshadowed the richness of culture that Berlin had previously enjoyed in this district. As the attention of the Nazis turned to architectural statements of absolute power, the value of entertainment venues and retail stores as important facets of city life in Berlin diminished. The places which served to satisfy the individual had been superseded by the will to deprive the masses from any form of pleasure. As the nation entered global conflict, the fate of many of these symbols of 23

consumption was ultimately decided. The subsequent ravages of World War II left an urban landscape of complete annihilation [fig 07] with the disappearance of an entire concentration of “carriers of culture.”14 Even in the immediate aftermath, the question of rebuilding the city, though a very pertinent issue, was overshadowed by the split ownership between the Allies and Soviet leaders, and their respective approaches as to how the country should be governed. It is precisely in the few years after the War that East Germany, under Soviet authority, severed its infrastructural connections to the Western sector and hence split the urban development trajectories of Berlin indefinitely.15 Although the ruinous structure of Wertheim remained, it merely became a backdrop to further moments of political tension and conflict as Berlin’s citizens struggled to cope with the segregation of city space. In the uprising of 17th June 1953, Soviet troops and tanks deployed on Leipziger Strasse [fig 08] prevented an outbreak of violence from protesters against the intermediate East German government as working and living conditions were drastically strained during this economically deprived period.16 The centre of Berlin thus continued to be the site of much hostility, which only exacerbated the damage to the urban fabric. Wertheim was eventually razed to the ground in the mid-1950s which left an expansive gap around Leipzigerplatz; only the bank vault survived as the district was subject to further “Moments of Tabula Rasa”,17 producing “a restless urban landscape of ideological scars.”18 Culminating in the construction of the Berlin Wall, which changed the centre of the city into a peripheral zone, Berlin’s growth had not only been stunted but also effectively regressed. The decision made by the East German authorities to demolish properties which projected into Western territory had all but stripped Berlin of its core identity.

[fig 07]

[fig 08]

[fig 09]

The cleansing of the urban fabric reignited an interest in reconfiguring the city once again. With the demolition of old buildings and significant sites in the city centre becoming available, those who assumed power from different corners of Europe contested with projects to affirm to each how the city should be rebuilt. Even the international design competition ‘Berlin, Capital City’ organised in 1957 by West Germany19, in which the likes of Le Corbusier [fig 09] and Hans Scharoun were invited to draw up plans for a new Berlin, was not a plausible solution. Common to all of these plans was the burdensome responsibility of alleviating a deep loss of civic pride. Alan Balfour reinforced that these “utopian dreams, after all, are only the reflection of a dissatisfaction with the present order of things, and architecture the most convenient means of dramatizing the promise of reformation.”20 Berlin certainly did not have the resources to commit to a complete overhaul of its urban grain. This stagnation in Berlin’s recovery led to a period of austerity in which a disproportionate number of buildings that needed restoration became hugely problematic. It was evident then that, without a comprehensive regeneration of the city, a large number of spaces would become overlooked. Therein lay the origins of what would later become the test bed for temporary use.

The Berlin Wall accentuated the contrasting conditions in which East and West Berlin developed as separate urban entities [fig 10]. It was only natural that the concern of the authorities during this post-War period to address the housing shortage and the operation of its infrastructure independent from West Berlin. The East German authorities therefore pushed forward with housing programmes that relocated the bulk of residential neighbourhoods to the outer districts of Berlin, at the expense of rebuilding or refurbishing the apartment blocks in the city centre. The lack of investment in existing housing stock within the inner districts of East Berlin was one of the biggest factors in causing widespread abandonment of properties. The repeated deterioration of the urban fabric of Berlinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s historic inner-city districts led to an abundance of voids, affecting not only the physical presence of the city but also its perception. The struggle to repair the city as a whole, â&#x20AC;&#x153;stuck with an apparent insecurity that produces the desire to constantly rewrite its historyâ&#x20AC;?21 forms a large part of the reactionary attitudes by the community prior to the fall of the Wall. The strategies in informal occupation that deviate from the norm instigated the conversations between segments of the community and the authorities that would prevent the unnecessary purging of surviving buildings.

[fig 10]

UNPLANNED URBAN APPROPRIATION EAST BERLIN: AN OPPORTUNITY TO RECONNECT

It is useful, after having considered the compounding effect of the aforementioned historic events on Leipziger Strasse, to briefly assess the implications of the desolation on the sense of community in the city. More specifically, the prominence of the voids in the city, meaning both buildings that were empty and the historic perimeter blocks that had vanished, highlighted the loss of spaces which provided social cohesion and a continuum of urban activity. In turn the polarising attitudes towards the buildings that became vacant in the lead up to the fall of the Wall can also be understood in the context of their appropriation at the time of the Wende. The atmosphere after the Wall came down did not suddenly transform into a one of cultural openness and a straightforward regeneration of the city. If anything the desolation of central Berlin once the barrier had finally come down only began to reiterate the magnitude of what needed to be done for the city to move forward. Indeed the cityscape embodied an allpervasive bleakness rather than one of immediate opportunity as the city was still territorially disintegrated. From a social point of view, this bleakness was accentuated by the lack of decent telecommunications and infrastructure in East Berlin. This consequently created a very fragmented community in which neighbourhoods were isolated and this was especially evident in areas within close vicinity to where the Wall lay. In an interview with Mo Loschelder, held at her Media Loca office in Prenzlauer Berg, she was keen to emphasise that, amidst the thrill of the 31

reunification, this isolation made for an uninviting atmosphere for those who visited from outside of Berlin. Commenting on her experience when she first visited the Prenzlauer Berg district in East Berlin around twenty years ago: “It was totally dark and the houses were all grey. There were no shops, there were no cafes nothing, and there were some friends of mine that I wanted to visit and I felt like,“how can they live here?!” It’s horrible. People…the original Berliners, many of them were very unfriendly. You felt unwanted. Then there was no telephone. What I said before about the nightlife is the good thing but if you are trying to live in the daytime it was hard.”22 It is clear then that the disjointed sense of community in Berlin would only be resolved in gradual stages. The no-man’s land that straddled the torn down Berlin Wall had become an undesirable strip through the centre of the city, whilst still embodying a notional edge. Loschelder’s initial distaste for East Berlin epitomised the revelation and shock for West Germans in observing an urban way of life completely different to what they had been accustomed to. In contrast, West Berlin was more liberal and its tolerance for culture had meant that, during the 1970s and 1980s, it became an attractive “island where all different artists lived”23. The influx of youth to West Berlin arose mainly due to incentives from the authorities (exemption from compulsory military service for young men) in an attempt to keep people in the city and in doing so Berlin became “a magnet for ‘discontented youth’ from all over Germany”.24 The concentration of young people especially within the district of Kreuzberg generated pockets of political activists and creative groups to form an emerging alternative social movement. This undercurrent of subcultural activity helped to bring considerable attention to the appalling condition of residential properties within the inner-city districts. Up to “27,000 apartments”25 were uninhabited in 1978, with housing authorities “deliberately”26 allowing them to fall into disrepair to speed up the development of newer and more expensive properties. Consequently large numbers of West Berliners galvanised themselves in abandoned dwellings in occupational protest and thereby setting the squatting movement in motion 32

– an influential form of activism that eventually spread across a number of German and European cities. The mechanisms by which squatters adopted in occupying and appropriating empty spaces hugely shaped the practices of creative types and temporary use projects during the post-Wall period.

RECLAIMING THE CITY The presence of squatters in Berlin today gives good indication that their adept methods in the maintenance of old properties and resistance to sweeping urban development are of considerable value to the city at a local level. The acknowledgement by the German authorities of squatting and their willingness to negotiate housing policies with occupants only reinforces their influence. This section examines this long-established activity in Germany as a factor in realigning the ownership of property to the user and its direct influence on the prevalence of the underground scene in appropriating abandoned spaces. From a cultural point of view, the squatting movement of the late 1970s and 1980s branched out into several types of creative spatial practices, and it is from this that the well-known counterculture of the early nineties was born. In order to gain a more genuine insight into the motivations that spurred groups from West Berlin on to appropriate abandoned spaces in East Berlin, an interview was arranged with Dimitri Hegemann, the owner of Tresor, during a ten-day stay in Berlin in August 2013. At very short notice, an appointment with Hegemann was confirmed, located at Tresor’s office on Köpenicker Strasse. Wearing a navy blue t-shirt with ‘PROPER EAST’ printed in block letters, Hegemann exuded a dignified presence. Hegemann was only too happy to explain in depth about the unique spirit in Berlin during the early 1990s, the underlying reasons why people from all corners of Germany decided to participate in seizing abandoned properties for 33

creative uses and also the factors affecting the subcultural scene over the past twenty years. Among the various strands of Berlin culture that Hegemann touched upon, he declared that the creative underground scene at large was indebted to the squatting movement: “Because they stopped a lot of idiots who just wanted to bring the old buildings down and build this modern architecture nobody really likes…It is just proof that the complete movement, the squatting movement in ’82, there was one demonstration and one guy died27… the politics, everybody was shocked, the pain, the rights, and nothing happened for a while and then…for the movement, to squat, it was good to save old buildings because a debate started…Finally, the squats became contracted and could start to elevate the housing.”28 The scale at which squatting occurred was most notable within the Kreuzberg district, which was cut off from its relationship to the historic centre of Mitte by the Berlin Wall. It became a “depopulated cul-de-sac where property had lost its value as inner city real estate”29 and in 1981 there was a total of 165 squatted houses30 [fig 11]. Squatting therefore emerged as the substantial force against the one-dimensional urban planning in Berlin during the 1970s and into the 1980s. The Hausbesetzer31 in Germany not only acted as substantial opposition to unaffordable new housing projects but it critically influenced housing policy and the rights of personal ownership over properties. As a result of protests and revolts by thousands of squatters during this period, legal agreements were made for many house owners to sustain their alternative lifestyles within old housing stock. The demolition of inner-city neighbourhoods was prevented and squatters were given financial assistance to refurbish vacant properties to an acceptable standard. The rights of squatters and creative groups were, at the very least, tolerated by the state. From the inhabitants’ perspectives the opportunity to mix and integrate residential accommodation with other uses opened up the possibility for novel ways of spatial interaction; these uses included “theatres, cinema, venues, galleries, cafés, clubs and community spaces, allowing these locations to take on public, cultural, and political roles.”32 [fig 12] These functions, however, were arranged less strictly within conventional layouts and it 34

[fig 11]

[fig 12]

is with this hybridisation of uses that the underground scene in Berlin became more distinctive than in other cities around Europe. This form of “urban restructuring”33 had become a viable method for circumventing the traditional processes in the renovation of old buildings, and one that foresaw the explosion of temporary activities in buildings across Berlin in the 1990s. Despite the introduction of the “Zwischennutzung”34 or ‘interim use’ status, as an official recognition of the occupation of unused spaces on a temporary basis in order to promote urban development, most of the clubs that opened in the early 1990s did so on a much more informal manner. The acceptance of bohemian housing and temporary use practices thus had more of an implicit effect in the way parties were organised and held in these abandoned spaces. Both Hegemann and Loschelder reiterate in their interviews that the energy arising from the spontaneity is what accelerated this new culture of urban appropriation. With reference to the likeminded groups that collectively created a new network of informal cultural venues, Loschelder affirms that “of course, they did not know where it would lead. They were just doing what they thought…would be good to do.”35 The spaces that were discovered presented a “domain of unfulfilled promise and unlimited opportunity”36 for those who were able to occupy them before the authorities did. The key for these groups however, was to find and generate new ‘places’ of cultural expression as the character of traditional monuments had long disappeared. The circumstances in which legislation over property ownership was suspended gave these groups a playground to change the possibilities of spatial inhabitation. Loschelder reiterates the ease at which these spaces could be claimed: “…it was so easy in the nineties because it was such a special situation in Berlin. In a way it was like a blank sheet, which also meant that authorities were a bit lost. So there were many advantages that the scene could take from this special period. So talking about that it’s now become more difficult is just because the situation has somehow become more normal.”37

The fact that there were so many other events and ventures being set up on very short-term tenures gave many the platform to subvert the uses of old buildings and open spaces. These hives of â&#x20AC;&#x153;cultural productionâ&#x20AC;?38 came to establish a different type of order of inhabitation, one that could not have been designed or planned. Therein lies the value of activities organised from those who are directly living and using the space, and reorganising small-scale functions to form a patchwork of disparate, yet cohesive rituals. Whilst the cycle of party events occurring in experiences of heightened pleasure in clubs conveyed a celebratory use of space, the alterations made to spaces for everyday use uncovered a more seamless blend between life, work and leisure. The unexpected success of such temporary occupations therefore became a by-product of individual projects and aspirations to create pockets of culture, rather than fulfilling an obligation to improve the city in the long-term. Such types of urban appropriation engendered a collective desire from the young generation to seize their cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s spaces and reclaim a future once oppressed and only imagined behind the Wall.

THE SPACES OF TECHNO If we consider Tresor as a significant exponent of the practice of temporary use during the early nineties, it is worthwhile to go into some depth about the musical and cultural subtext in which club nights were hosted in the city. In recounting some of the events during the early days of Tresor and the characters involved, it is clear that a very close relationship between the collective use of space during parties and the specific locations in the city was forged. Whilst it is difficult to appreciate the vagaries of such club nights as they happened, the sentiments retold by Hegemann and Loschelder signify the rootedness to particular places that developed in the first few years of the 1990s. The importance of nightclubs as places where various subcultural groups from all over Germany converged to celebrate the reunification and as a platform for musicians, DJs and producers to showcase new music are the two most noteworthy themes that will be discussed in the context of temporary use. The serendipitous discovery of the Tresor bank vault on Leipziger Strasse was just one of the many idiosyncratic stories that were synonymous with the founding of the most renowned clubs of the 1990s era in Berlin. The ethos and motivation to find new spaces however derived from the same condition that many subcultural groups encountered – there were no spaces left in West Berlin to start anything new. Just before the Wall fell, Dimitri Hegemann had been involved in setting up Tresor’s predecessor clubs ‘Ufo’ and ‘Ufo 2’, both of which were shut down for hosting illegal acid house parties and for financial reasons.39 In order to showcase new music from both DJs from 39

[fig 13]

[fig 14]

Europe and Detroit, Hegemann needed another platform to facilitate the output of these relationships. With the fall of the Wall and the sheer number of spaces that were vacant or derelict, the difficulty for Hegemann and his “space explorer”40 partner Johnnie Stieler, was to find the appropriate one. On the site as a driver for an idea for temporary use, Kevin Ward, with reference to the subcultural appropriation of post-industrial buildings in 1980s Manchester, affirms that: “…temporary users know what sites and neighborhoods have fallen, not out of fashion, but out of the economy, and from within that pool they now seek out those spaces and sites that…possess an appeal, a special spirit, for themselves and their projects.”41 In this case, Leipziger Strasse was this deserted thoroughfare, which due to the historic events described earlier had shorn its value as a location at the heart of the city. Hegemann and Stieler had followed their curiosity in seeking to access all sorts of abandoned buildings in East Berlin, and eventually came across the one-storey building along Leipziger Strasse. By unlocking a steel door to what was formerly Wertheim Bank [fig 13] beneath the demolished department store, the pair had stumbled upon the ideal space. Ward continues: “What is important in the temporary user’s decision to choose a given site is the possibilities it contains. The determining factor is not its present state but the degree of inspiration it is capable of arousing. In this process, the original idea is influenced decisively by the site that is found.”42 The basement’s natural qualities, with its rusty steel deposit boxes, substantially thick walls and dilapidated, exposed surfaces [fig 14], lended the space an aura that could accommodate the industrial aesthetic of techno that Hegemann had envisioned. The existing condition of the space stimulated those involved in materialising the Tresor brand, but it was clear that a lot of work was required to make the space fit for public use. As is common with repurposing old spaces for new functions, Hegemann and his close acquaintances from the underground scene recognised that the building needed to be repaired and 41

[fig 15]

[fig 16]

refurbished. Aside from the prosaic tasks of cleaning and clearing the space of any detritus, they had to assume semiprofessional roles as site managers in reinstating electricity, water and telecommunications to activate the building once again.43 “By exhausting non-monetary resources,”44 Hegemann and his team could begin to create a cultural concept that would re-introduce value to the space. The installation of a forceful sound system into the cavernous main room combined with the DJs and producers playing techno produced a tremendously intensive sonic experience for partygoers [fig 15, 16]. The juxtaposition of this new function in an abandoned space with an unfinished, “raw charm”45 is what gave clubs such as Tresor its allure – an authenticity that could only have been imbued given the site’s turbulent history. Whilst this was originally envisaged as a temporary venue, the inherent quality of the space and the extent to which it was renovated suggested a more permanent usage, in stark contrast to many less formally organised clubs and spaces at the time. Hegemann sensed at the time that “the room was strong”46 but this was not without some apprehension; he continued, “I did not know how it would work out. It was a very small thing but the people did decide.”47 Such was the following of the club in its first few years that Tresor solidified its place as a constant fixture not only in Berlin’s underground music scene but also within the development of electronic music overall. It was a place that was receptive to new forms of electronic music from other cities in Europe and the US, but it also gave a geographic specificity for subcultural groups to coalesce. Tresor was instrumental in mobilising sectors of the fragmented community from both East and West Berlin, and from cities outside of the capital. Together with other famous clubs in the vicinity such as E-Werk, WMF and Elektro, Tresor quickly extended its influence beyond its locale to form a new cultural image for the city. Tobias Rapp aptly surmises the attention that the propinquity of temporary venues garnered: “…had it not been for this collection of small and large clubs in close proximity to one another, the friendships and hostilities, rivalries and alliances which accompanied it, and of course the excesses which were 44

played out here, then techno would probably have never evolved into the dominant sound which inhabited the charts for a certain time, and which drew hundreds of thousands of ravers to the city for Love Parade.”48 Evidently as part of this ensemble of clubs, Tresor’s cultural contribution to the city of Berlin could not be ignored. Despite the uncertainty in which all of the clubs around Leipziger Strasse operated during the 1990s, the growing popularity in this quarter prolonged their existence in Berlin-Mitte. The area outside the club, part of the former Wertheim Department Store footprint, was inevitably used for revellers who could not get in once Tresor was at full capacity – a visible sign from the street that the demand for the experience inside was overwhelming. This was part of the reason Tresor managed to survive for so long when many of its neighbouring clubs had disappeared, and it continued to renew its temporary three-month lease over a period of fourteen years. Of course, not all who had cast their eyes on this vast empty site surrounding Tresor could peel themselves away from a potential development [fig 17], but nevertheless the club’s presence inhibited the conventional approach to Leipziger Strasse’s urban renewal. The city of Detroit provides an interesting point of comparison to this period in Berlin’s history with regards to the difficulties faced by the state and planners to repurpose derelict spaces on an unparalleled scale. The dilapidation of Detroit’s grandiose monuments presented the city with one of the most extreme cases of empty urban space. It is almost mythical that these two cities have been the vanguard in electronic music despite the immense struggles that both have endured. The potency of the techno music coming from both cities could be attributable to the vacuousness of their abandoned structures once all else is eroded. In terms of music culture, many eminent DJs and producers from Detroit, even by their own admission, confirm that European audiences have a more informed understanding and enjoyment of electronic music. Whilst the Detroit music scene comprises of an insular community, Berlin managed to integrate different strands of electronic and popular music in communal settings more effectively. The rate at which 45

[fig 17]

prosperity and the subsequent urban decay that occurred in both cities highlights the challenges for governing bodies to address transient inhabitation on a macro scale. It was the spontaneity of Berlinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s creative generation following the monumental events of November 1989, in contrast to Detroitâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s gradual degradation and deeply entrenched social problems, which accelerated the conversations about urban remediation. The club nights held in these found city spaces and the social groups that frequented them together represented an amorphous collective that enabled sectors of the population to ease the transition from an oppressively governed city to one of unbound possibilities. The recollections of those directly involved in the scene reveals the production of new types of spatial creativity. In an implicit way, these voids offered overlooked sectors of the community to define a cultural presence in the city beyond their own expectations. Aside from the excitement and energy that came with the freedom to experiment with the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s neglected buildings, there was an unwritten scepticism about how long this honeymoon period in the 1990s would last for. Moreover, as the authorities eventually began to resolve the outstanding issues with regards to the governance of the city and the nation, it became apparent that many of the temporary uses that enjoyed the lack of regulation in the early nineties would have to adapt or be superseded.

FACING THE MUSIC THREATS TO SITES OF ALTERNATIVE CULTURAL VALUE

In charting the changes to a specific cultural enterprise over its lifetime, it is crucial that its position within the wider context of the urban landscape is taken into account. The fact that Tresor under its original guise lasted for fourteen years is a useful microcosm from which to consider the evolution of the city and how more recent developments have affected its place within the urban fabric. Indeed it was clear from the interviews that both Hegemann and Loschelder reiterated the unpredictability in which all these events happened. Their continued involvement as senior professionals within the â&#x20AC;&#x153;creative industriesâ&#x20AC;?49 is evidence of the consolidation of these temporary projects into more stable, official outfits. In this light, the integrity of places such as Tresor is safeguarded from numerous contravening factors, of which the most destabilising ones shall be discussed below. By nature, nightclubs are a transient typology. Each of the historically major capitals of electronic dance music in particular (New York, Chicago, Manchester to name but a few) have all been through purple patches; the auroras associated with specific places as a result of the evolution of certain types of music also diminish as soon as they disappear. What is more difficult to evaluate is the effect of the network of clubs and their closures on the city environment as a totality. If we extend this to other types of short-term uses and alternative creative ventures then the variables by which the city is affected becomes more difficult to quantify. In the case of Tresor and the clubs 48

around Leipziger Strasse, the waning techno scene at the turn of the millennium put into question their longevity in central Berlin. From a musical point of view, Tresor broke less ground as the years passed and the crowds grew familiar to the sound and experience it offered. Though it remained an important cornerstone for what sprung out of the nineties techno scene, the excitement associated with its early days had begun to thin out. Loschelder bemoans the refinement of the club’s sound over the variety of musical styles it hosted in its early days which made the experience of going to Tresor so exciting: “So Tresor stood for this special sound but at the same time there was also another flaw. This was happening in the basement normally, but also at the bar they had this small dance floor, and there was at the beginning a quite different sound. It was more housey…So even at that time there was a variation of music happening at Tresor that nobody talks about anymore. So, in a way, things have been standardised and so these playful aspects of club music has been gone. This is something that I regret because at the beginning it was much more…you didn’t really know what to expect, quite often.”50 As Tresor became more established the room for experimentation with the club’s sound was minimised. Although the club maintained a core and loyal following, a newer, more international crowd wanted to sample the visceral sonic environment for which it had made its name. The change in demographics over the years as these clubs became tourist attractions had begun to worry their respective owners with the fear of losing their original underground authenticity. Indeed this became a common concern for the squats that had remained in the city as they too began to be featured in tourist guides as alternative sights. The increase in media coverage of these various temporary activities had raised an unwanted level of exposure and critique from the authorities that threatened to undermine these places as havens. The combination of the post-reunification phase of urban development and increased investment in finance and commercial activity only hastened the conversation about what the future of these temporary uses would be. Tresor was forced into another corner beyond that which it occupied with the latest stage of Berlin-Mitte’s 49

regeneration as an inner-city district began to creep up towards it with the success of Potsdamer Platz’s new financial hub. Leipziger Platz was earmarked for a complete rebuild [fig 18] – a plan to complete the original “Achteck”51 once again and restore its physical urban presence. The land on which Tresor stood was eventually sold off to investors and the fear that “the magic could suddenly be over”52 had finally come true. The club’s operation was terminated in April 2005 after a month-long series of closing parties and shortly thereafter the building was demolished. The immense turnout for the final parties, in which extensive queues formed along Leipziger Strasse, was testament to the cultural hype accrued over a relatively long lifetime for a club of this nature. It was also an acceptance that Tresor’s spiritual home would be eradicated under the momentum of capitalist development. “Today, nothing on Leipziger Straße recalls that old Tresor which had seemed so indestructible. At a time when all other clubs had long-since moved on or perished, it still stood there as a rock.”53 Unsurprisingly no traces of the Tresor club were left on site under its new owners; Hegemann and his team did however manage to retain the bank vault’s features with a view to relaunching the club elsewhere. Following a photographic survey of Leipziger Strasse, the current stage in this district’s redevelopment is plain to see. The developer’s marketing strategy in appropriating the historic images of Wertheim’s retail empire clearly reasserts the value placed on consumerism to bring wealth back to the centre of the city [fig 19, 20, 21, 22]. Moreover, the complete omission of any recognition of the interim occupation of Tresor and its cultural impact only emphasises the transience of such urban interventions. Whilst Tresor’s termination was regarded as the end of a chapter, which saw Berlin’s subculture take a momentary foothold in the city, it can also be seen as another catalyst to the next stage in Mitte’s development. If we take into account the “multilayeredness”54 attained by Tresor’s present-day interventions and the distinctive aural experience of a club night against the bank vault’s retained 50

[fig 18]

[fig 19]

[fig 20]

[fig 21]

[fig 22]

historical features, then it is questionable that its complete erasure and the construction of a contemporary building could achieve a similarly genuine sense of place [fig 23]. The privatisation of the public spaces that this development encompasses (retail floor space, the immediate streetscape and the open space at Leipziger Platz, for example) invariably implies that codes of behaviour would act in corporate interests. Furthermore, the regulation of these new spaces would naturally preclude any alternative developments and effectively remove the potential for the types of alternative culture that briefly sprouted in this part of the city. This pattern of new construction and investment has become problematic for the interim uses that have occupied prime real estate not only in Mitte but also in the Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg district, where a significant number of Berlin’s countercultural community live and work. The “so-called MediaSpree, a new city district with offices for media firms”55, which has already seen phases of construction completed in the city, is a visible sign that the investment on large plots of vacant land is slowly pushing out temporary urban interventions. The various clubs that have adopted the banks of the Spree have begun to see the effect of this change in land ownership and hence the privilege of the informal use of public space. The outcry against such large-scale development has once again brought the future of the use of Berlin’s urban spaces to the fore; the ‘Sink MediaSpree’ petition, which in July 2008, saw “86.8% of Friedrichshain-Kreuzberg residents”56 vote against construction to go ahead, has proved to be successful in the re-evaluation of the proposals. This signifies an acceptance among the residents that the informal uses of the various plots of land are intrinsic to the district’s identity. The temporary uses in this instance have brought a previously dormant waterfront into use and added a cultural value to a prominent feature of the city. Whether such interim users are able to hold onto their enclaves remains to be seen, but the opinion of Christoph Klezendorf (co-founder of the now closed down Bar

[fig 23]

25) is poignant reminder of what these types of spaces mean to the subcultural community in Berlin: “Berlin has not turned out as people imagined it would, it has remained what it always was, a capital of culture. A city for creatures of leisure and free spirits. These development plans are destroying a lot of the spaces, which, for many people, are places to live their lives and express themselves. This is what we are fighting against.”57 It also brings attention to the uncertainty that still exists as part of the approach to Berlin’s urban development, that has so often seen the city as a region for misguided grand visions. As long as the marginal spaces that continue to be claimed by members of the community are free to implement alternative uses that implicitly question the status quo, then such interventions have an important bearing on the perception of the city’s spaces.

AFTER THE COMEDOWN CONTINUING THE ‘TRUE SPIRIT’: LASTING IMPRESSIONS

In extracting a few key themes from the lifespan of Tresor as a temporary venue on Leipziger Strasse and reflecting on the values it upheld within an urban context, a critical appraisal of its inherent cultural value can be underpinned. The question at the heart of the subject revolves around temporary uses maintaining a presence sufficiently long enough to create urban activity that extends beyond its lifespan: how then can the types of unconventional practices, which crystallised across Berlin in the early nineties, be seen as a model in transforming neglected parts of the growing city? The hindsights of both Hegemann and Loschelder represent an informed estimation of the future curation of temporary uses within marginal city spaces. Of course, this study does not suggest a better alternative to traditional modes of urban planning, but there are certainly principles that can be derived from the example of Tresor that could be more wholesomely considered with regards to revitalising parts of the city. The cross-pollination between the qualities of the informal appropriation of city spaces and the traditional methods of implementing projects at an urban level can be extracted from Tresor’s original tenure. Hegemann and his acquaintances in organising music events and clubs since the early 1980s “were in a way…prepared”58 for the potential of appropriating “the infrastructure for all these new adventures”59 in East Berlin – in this sense, they had already built up a logistical know-how before they had even found the abandoned bank vault. From the 59

time that the lease was secured, the team took the necessary organisational steps to achieve the short-term goal to open the club to a community of partygoers. The increase in “professional cooperation”60 between Hegemann’s team and building maintenance professionals during its operation had raised the status of the venue to that which would extend its occupation. In turn, this level of organisation, in addition to the social networks engendered from the running of club nights, legitimised their interim ownership of the space. Although Tresor was faced with “announcements of its imminent closure”61 which often “turned out to be false”62, the activation of the networks of employment63 (musicians, DJs, promoters, managers, security, and so on) became the club’s most important asset. If anything, the “existential endangerment of a temporary use community tends to reinforce it rather than lead to its dissolution”64. The club’s impact on this part of the city is thus not as clear-cut as being a nighttime entertainment venue that became a cultural beacon – it cannot be considered as a project which kickstarted the regeneration of Leipziger Strasse. Rather, it was an interim substitute that preceded the construction projects that would eventually restore the perimeter block in the long-term. It is therefore misleading to define its agenda as part of solving the urban crisis in Berlin. If we also consider Tresor as an interim use that produced value, one that developed an established presence in the city, then its role evolved from simply being a clubbing venue to one that upheld a set of social values among a wider subcultural community. The relaunch of Tresor in Kraftwerk Berlin in 2007 is a conscious effort by Hegemann to deploy an alternative approach to cultural production within an empty space of unparalleled scale in Berlin. Hegemann was keen to show me around the vast power station interior [fig 24], and pointed out that Tresor only occupies a small proportion of the overall space. He explained how the rest of the space was used for the relaunch of Berlin Atonal65 and the visions for other potential projects in the future. It was refreshing to hear that the aspirations for

[fig 24]

an institution as established as Kraftwerk Berlin is being used to continue the ethos of what had developed in the nineties. Above all else Hegemann’s principal attitude is that, with the management of a finite set of resources and by tapping into the social networks available, organised cooperatives are able to confer a “symbolic meaning”66 to a cultural product “which is far higher than their functional value”.67 Whatever the project’s scale may be and the scope of work that it entails, a temporary use fundamentally enables people to activate networks which may give rise to new strands of cultural use within the city. If the value of a temporary use is to be ascertained on the basis of an end product, then its objectives are more ambiguous, if not misunderstood. It is precisely within the dynamic processes and rituals that occur over a period of time that constitutes the ‘goal’ of temporary use. To ensure that the cultural integrity of temporary uses is longlasting, they must form a substantial part of the initiators’ lives; indeed such was the level of involvement Hegemann in his projects past and present that it became “a lifestyle against the mainstream.”68 The fulfillment for those involved that comes as a result of cultural production, as opposed to say “capital growth”69, plays “an important role in the creation of lifestyles, the representation of and on a way of life”.70 A consistent work ethic in the approach to informal uses gives the individual or the team the opportunity to create conditions which induce eccentric outcomes. Extending this philosophy of temporary use as a model for other cities in Germany, Hegemann is proactive in promoting the creative entrepreneurialism of young people today. For Hegemann, the crucial ingredient in maximising the cultural potential of empty spaces is the production of art and the crossover of different types. He maintains, above all else, that it is the creativity that arises out of social interaction that is beneficial to the city’s cultural identity. In order to continue the ‘true spirit’71 however, there is an increasing need of mentorship from those who were originally involved in the Berlin scene of the 1990s to assist young people with the first step but also how to negotiate the logistical issues that require good management. It becomes clear however that Hegemann’s attempts in trying to convince mayors and politicians from other German cities 62

(and even in Detroit) that the concept of “Freiraum”72 or ‘free spaces’ (spaces which are led from the grassroots level and not from higher power structures) for the creative-minded youth to develop their own projects have largely been met with pessimism. There remains a lack of trust and close-minded thinking among the authorities and investors that such initiatives are viable from the outset and can ever produce a substantial return in the long-term. In order to foster a better relationship between alternative practices in marginal spaces and those with ample resources to provide support that so many of these lack, Philip Ostwalt highlights that temporary uses must be included as a vital component of future developments: “The creative city profits from people operating at the margins, outsiders to the established order. They do not expect a warm welcome, but they also do not want to be excluded from opportunities.”73 A degree of independence is desirable for creative groups in appropriating marginal city spaces and this is essential in materialising the authentic potential of a place. For informal cooperatives to feel a sense of empowerment, the absence of authority or abstract means of control allows for a more fluid and organic practice; these circumstances are conducive for a culturally productive atmosphere as opposed to an economically productive one. At the same time these ventures require a level of attention from those overseeing cultural development to ensure that these activities are considered in conjunction with its immediate context. Alongside the increasingly globalised forms of urban activity, the role of the temporary user is also one that is subject to flux. In responding to particular urban conditions but also the ways in which these spaces are controlled from a distance, temporary users will continue to possess “the ability to make local and citywide power relations, the commercial and ‘other interests’, visible.”74 The integration of the singular qualities of temporary uses within spaces that begin to accommodate more economic or commercial exchange is a desirable aspiration for the city of Berlin. It is perhaps a starting point from which to apply the aberrant practices of the nineties to the city today.

“Cultural production cannot prosper without connection to the local situation. Globalization is not the issue, but localization: the embedding of global processes in local conditions.”75 This statement underlines Mo Loschelder’s anticipation of a return of clubs and other related temporary uses to an emphasis upon the “local scene again and to have the local influences, the local identity.”76 Her involvement in the running of various clubs in the underground scene of the early nineties epitomised this; the activity in Mitte was “embedded in a scene of artists”77 where “there were many conceptual things happening.”78 The close geographical relationship between various projects at the time created a new cultural centre within the derelict, historic centre of Berlin, and this imposition of different contextual meanings enhanced the specificity of these urban activities. Although the “urbanite”79 could have inhabited any available empty space in the city during the post-Wall period, the accumulation of activity in the Mitte district, which ignited further start-ups, is what caused such exciting and innovative cultural practices. For Loschelder, the far-reaching popularity of the clubbing scene in Berlin in more recent times, which largely emerged from the cheap flight phenomena,80 has reached a saturation point. The onus, Loschelder claims, thus lies with the generation of today to draw from the spontaneity of the early 1990s, but also to question the homogeneity of what is deemed ‘alternative’ today, in the creation of new forms of spatial play within the city of Berlin.

CONCLUSION THE COEXISTENCE OF TEMPORARY USE AND URBAN PLANNING

A final reflection is needed in order to summarise the timescale of the original Tresor’s tenure within the context of the urban development of Leipziger Strasse, from which the club’s cultural value within its locale in the city can be evaluated. The case study of Tresor, illuminated by the insights of Dimitri Hegemann and Mo Loschelder, not only exemplifies the role of interim uses within the urban environment but also provides a critical mirror in which conventional regeneration tactics employed in the city can be placed under scrutiny. Common to the experiences of both of these influential players of the early 1990s was a sense that anything was possible, but this was instilled as a result of the specific political and urban conditions which allowed them to exploit Berlin’s situation in an uncompromising way. Their optimism is important in pushing the ethos forward to the cultural scene in Berlin today, but in applying the principles gained from the rich period in the nineties against a changing set of parameters that define the current developments of the city. The voids that unintentionally became an intrinsic part of Berlin’s identity owing to the erosion of the city’s historic and cultural symbols, opened up the interpretation of the future of its urban fabric. The indiscriminate destruction of the entertainment and consumerist institutions along and around Leipziger, which Berlin’s citizens enjoyed during its period of rapid growth and prosperity in the 1920s, was the beginning of an incremental deprivation of urban activity. The post-War 65

ruinous condition of the city and the divided governance of Berlinâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s city territory led to the eventual failure by different authorities to resolve its urban crisis. As a result, the neglect of much of the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s old buildings, together with the enforced segregation of the Berlin Wall, initiated the squatting practices that engaged the authorities in reconsidering their approach to overriding old building stock. Whilst the squatting movement during the 1980s was primarily politically motivated, the transformation of housing policy in Germany allowed several types of informal occupation to develop. The radical methods of inhabitation by squatters had slowly begun to redefine the culture of the city by preserving endangered buildings. The cultural focus and enterprising types of spatial appropriation is what set apart the club founders of the early 1990s from the reactionary practices of squatters in the early 1980s. The spate of informal uses and creative projects, which reactivated parts of the city after the fall of the Wall, thus became influential in providing the first attempts to address the immediate gaps in social cohesion. In the activation of a new set of social processes within the context of a burgeoning techno scene, Tresor became a major cultural fulcrum from which the communal values of subcultural groups could generate a new optimism for the city. Despite losing the battle to remain at Leipziger Strasse, Tresor is a pertinent example of being one of the very few club institutions that has adapted its initially informal occupation to stabilising its cultural production within the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s increasingly globalised climate. It has become apparent however, especially in the recent history of temporary uses within the city environment, that the authorities and investors recognise and seek to capitalise upon the cultural effect of idiosyncratic projects. A duty of care must be implemented to ensure that the processes that arise from both informal use and the planning and regulatory frameworks allow flexibility in their end product. If there is a lesson to be taken forward from the clubs and associated temporary activities in the Mitte district, it was evident that for a certain period of time, alternative cultural creativity and the historic city coexisted without compromise.

ENDNOTES

1 Sheridan, Dougal, “The Space of Subculture in the City: Getting Specific about Berlin’s Indeterminate Territories”, field, Vol. 1, September 2007, Tyszczuk R. and Petrescu, D. (eds.), pp. 97-119. 2 The reunification in Germany in 1989-1990. 3 Kohoutek, R. and Kamleithner, C., “The Economy of Temporary Use” in Ostwalt, P., Overmeyer, K., Misselwitz, P., Urban Catalyst: The Power Of Temporary Use, Berlin: DOM publishers 2013, p. 89. 4 Pruijt, H., quoted in Holm, A. and Kuhn, A. “Squatting and Urban Renewal: The Interaction of Squatter Movements and Strategies of Urban Restructuring in Berlin” (English translation by Andrew Winnard), International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, Vol. 35, Issue 3, May 2011, pp. 644-658. Retrieved from: http://onlinelibrary. wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1468-2427.2010.001009.x/abstract (accessed 30 November 2013). 5 The floor area of Kraftwerk Berlin is over 8,000m2. Retrieved from: http://www. kraftwerkberlin.de/en/booking/kraftwerk-berlin.html (accessed 22 August 2013) 6 Balfour, A., Berlin: The Politics of Order 1737-1989, New York: Rizzoli 1990, p. 51. 7 Ibid, p. 157. 8 Ostwalt, et al., 2013. 9 Balfour, 1990, p. 48. 10 Jelavich, P., Berlin Cabaret, Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press 1993, p. 12. 11 Ibid., p. 23. 12 Ibid., p. 93. 13 Article on Aryanisation: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aryanization (accessed 18 December 2013)

14 Cupers, K. and Miessen, M., Spaces of Uncertainty, Wuppertal: Müller und Busmann 2002, p. 79. 15 Balfour, 1990, p. 142. 16 Article on the “Uprising of 1953 in East Germany”: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Uprising_of_1953_in_East_Germany (accessed 18 December 2013) 17 Cupers and Miessen, 2002, p. 77. 18 Ibid. 19 Balfour, 1990, p. 168. 20 Ibid., p. 244. 21 Cupers and Miessen, 2002, p. 62. 22 Loschelder, Mo, Interview by author, 27 August 2013. 23 Hegemann, Dimitri, Interview by author, 23 August 2013. 24 Katz, S. and Mayer, M. ‘Gimme Shelter: Self-help Housing Struggles within and against the State in New York City and West Berlin’, International Journal of Urban Research, Vol. 9, Issue 1, March 1985, pp. 15-46, quoted in Sheridan, 2007, p. 101. Retrieved from: http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1468-2427.1985. tb00419.x/abstract (accessed 31 December 2013). 25 Bodenschatz, H., Heise, V. and Korfmacher, J., Schluss mit der Zerstörung? Stadterneuerung und städtische Opposition in Amsterdam, London und West-Berlin [‘An end to destruction? Urban renewal and urban opposition in Amsterdam, London and West-Berlin’], Berlin: Giessen 1983, p. 301, quoted in Holm and Kuhn, 2011, p. 645. 26 Holm and Kuhn, 2011, p. 645. 27 Klaus-Jürgen Rattay, an 18-year old squatter, died on 22 September 1981 after being knocked down and killed by a Berlin Transport Authority bus, in an attempt to avoid the police. 28 Hegemann, Interview, 2013. 29 Sheridan, 2007, pp. 100-101. 30 Koopmans, R, Democracy from below: new social movements and the political system in West Germany, Westview Press: Boulder, CO 1995, quoted in Holm and Kuhn, 2011, p. 646. 31 ‘Squatter’ in German. 32 Sheridan, 2007, p. 103.

33 Holm and Kuhn, 2011. 34 Hegemann, Interview, 2013. 35 Loschelder, Interview, 2013. 36 Cupers and Miessen, 2002, pp. 80/83. 37 Loschelder, Interview, 2013. 38 Ostwalt, et al., 2013, pp. 134-135. 39 An oral account of the Ufo clubs can be found in Denk, F. and von Thülen, S, Der Klang der Familie: Berlin, Techno und die Wende, Suhrkamp Nova: Berlin 2012, pp. 87115. Also, “Ufo (Club, Berlin)” article: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ufo_(Club,_Berlin) (accessed 01 November 2013). 40 Hegemann, Interview, 2013. 41 Ward, K., “Urban Centre Reloaded: Subculture in Manchester’s City Centre”, in Ostwalt, et al., 2013, p. 81. 42 Ibid. 43 For more detail about setting up the club and the problems in the building maintenance of Tresor during its operation, refer to the chapter ‘Bürgerkinder feiern Weltuntergang’ in Denk and von Thülen, 2012, pp. 135-158. An edited and condensed English version by Kári Driscoll can be found online: http://www.redbullmusicacademy. com/magazine/nightclubbing-tresor (accessed 15 April 2013) 44 Ostwalt, et al., 2013, p. 11. 45 Rapp, T., Lost and Sound: Berlin, Techno and the Easyjet Set (English Edition), Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 2009. (English edition published by Innervisions, 2010), p. 35. 46 Hegemann, Interview, 2013. 47 Ibid. 48 Rapp, 2010, p. 34. Love Parade was an annual electronic dance music festival that began in West Berlin 1989. It was also held in other German cities until a crowd rush in 2010, which killed 21 people and injured hundreds, forced the festival to be permanently cancelled. 49 Hegemann, Interview, 2013. Hegemann states that the cultural projects and ventures from the period in the 1990s, which have since been formalised as businesses, are considered to be included in what is labelled today as the ‘creative industries’. 50 Loschelder, Interview, 2013.

51 Balfour, 1990, p. 16. The ‘Achteck’ or ‘eight corners’ was a geometric plan for Leipziger Platz conceived in 1737 as the first attempt to impose a rational order on the medieval structure of the city. It was initially part of one of the new gateways into Berlin during the time of Prussian rule. 52 Rapp, 2010, p. 35. 53 Rapp, 2010, p. 59. 54 Ostwalt, et al, 2013, p. 56. 55 Rapp, 2010, p. 35. 56 Rapp, 2010, p. 42. 57 Christoph Klenzendorf quoted in Rapp, 2010, p. 45. 58 Hegemann, Interview, 2013. 59 Ibid. 60 Ostwalt, et al., 2013, p. 55. 61 Rapp, 2010, p. 59. 62 Ibid. 63 Ward, K., “Urban Centre Reloaded: Subculture in Manchester’s City Centre”, in Ostwalt, et al., 2013, p. 74. 64 Ostwalt, et al., 2013, pp. 55-56. 65 Berlin Atonal is a sonic and visual art festival founded by Dimitri Hegemann in Berlin in 1982, which was held every year until 1990 before Tresor opened, and relaunched in Kraftwerk Berlin in 2013. 66 Ostwalt, et al., 2013, pp. 134-135. 67 Ibid. 68 Hegemann, Interview, 2013. 69 Ostwalt, et al., 2013, p. 222. 70 Reijndorp, A., “Cultural Generators”, in Ostwalt, et al., 2013, pp. 134-135. 71 ‘True Spirit’ is Tresor’s slogan and features as the title of Tresor’s music compilation releases. 72 Hegemann, Interview, 2013.

73 Hemel, Z, Creatieve Steden! Creative Cities!, The Hague/Amsterdam: VROM 2002, quoted in Ostwalt, et al, 2013, p. 136. 74 Kohoutek, R. and Kamleithner, C., “The Economy of Temporary Use”, in Ostwalt, et al., 2013, p. 89. 75 Reijndorp, A., “Cultural Generators”, in Ostwalt, et al., p. 136. 76 Loschelder, Interview, 2013. 77 Ibid. 78 Ibid. 79 Cupers and Miessen, 2002, p. 83. 80 Rapp, 2010.

APPENDIX 01 INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT 01: DIMITRI HEGEMANN (TRESOR) 23.08.2013 11:33am Tresor office, Köpenicker Strasse 70, 10179 Berlin, Germany Lawrence Carlos (LC) Dimitri Hegemann (DH) DH: …We had this festival and…there were some bands, Berlin Atonal you know, there were some bands that came from the last century…like more of an ensemble you know. It was about feeling and passion in a group. So we had this discussion if the Abletons can reach this, you know. Most of the acts played…it looked quite boring but the visuals were great. LC: This was recently, no? DH: Yes, quite big…for six days we were here in the big space, quite a big space. If you haven’t seen it, maybe I can show it to you later. LC:

Okay.

DH: The situation is, you know, before we talk, is I have to leave about a quarter past twelve or something… LC:

That’s fine…that’s fine…

DH:

…and then…you wanna record something or you want to write down…?

LC: Yeah, I have a recorder…so yeah…I’ll just leave it on…but…yeah I mean, obviously Tresor is very well documented as I’ve seen from articles and documentaries so I don’t think we have to talk too much about what already has been said. So I think with my research, I’m trying to find a slant or an angle, which I don’t know specifically what it is yet. But first of all I try to do something personal and secondly, because I study architecture as well, and also I’m very interested in sound and this comes into my taste with music as well. So yeah, the spaces which I’ve experienced in Berlin seem to revolve around sound more so than perhaps, maybe many clubs around the world… DH: Yeah, I mean, you must go deeper into the subject. The thing is…West Berlin, West Berlin, the music you know, that was very important…because West Berlin has collected over years the intelligence from the small cities…People look for possibilities to live an alternative life or maybe had problems in home cities or didn’t want to join the army and so on, you know. They moved to Berlin, to West Berlin. And so in West Berlin a special subculture grew in different forms. It was really different from other cities like

Hamburg or Frankfurt. It was this island where all different artists lived and also the story of Berlin was that it was a very political thing, high conscience…When I came in ’78 I also was really…I was 22, I was really…surprised …I was really…overwhelmed, with what I’ve seen and what is possible. It was a shock and especially also in Munich… and then I was watching what was going on and I liked many things, so I felt home. The city I came from was a small village. I actually didn’t want to leave it, but I was open and I said “go”…my plans like, living together with friends. Things like that were standard…from a farm country house, or a cottage. So this kind of problem faced many youngsters. They all came to Berlin and then came together and created something new. So these subcultures grew in the moment when the Wall was down. I said this is no secret. The problem we had in West Berlin was missing space and when the Wall came down we found, in East Berlin, the infrastructure for all these new adventures. And it was, for us…we were in a way like prepared. We have had some progress, and not just music; art, the way…to run a cool restaurant, fashion store or different things. So this was actually the beginning and the second thing was, there were no authorities. Why? Because the authorities from West and East had to get it together…manage the traffic. So we have had, I think, three or four years and in these years a special spirit was grown. Because there was so much property and when you asked or when you found who[m] the owner was then, you didn’t find answers and you just took over. It was…we were quite resolute, we just did it, many did it…So it was like an illegal movement. But, I must say, some things have been born like, we called it Zwischennutzung (‘temporary use’) because the question was not clear who was the owner of this building…’til we find out we can stay for three months or something. This was the story also of Tresor – three months over fourteen years. And this timing…the timing was interesting because before the Wall came down I was working with people from Detroit…so we had this bridge, this connection. Also the music did change. We listened here…in the eighties we listened to just…acid house just made it. Marshall Jefferson was around. It was not so popular. House was not so popular. I think it was special gay parties, it was house…Chicago. I think we were waiting for something different. So it came together this input from Detroit, these machinery sounds, these hard sounds. Then, this political situation, this big chance, you know. And, this euphoria…the kids came all over to us, it was amazing, these days, the first two years, really crazy [chuckles]…and also we were lucky to find this old vault, this Tresor, which was located in the heart of the city, not somewhere outside…and the room was strong. This was actually the beginning and I did not know how it would work out. It was a very small thing but the people did decide, you know. It was a thing that happened between…together, a common thing, kids from East and West Berlin, they said this is our music…techno. And it worked, you know… finally it worked, it was not that acid, let’s do more promotion, or let’s bring them, it just worked. It became bigger, and then we had this Love Parade. Love Parade demonstrated images from dancing people in the streets via CNN. This music has formed a kind of new image for the city. So it came in the right moment and everything together. But still the rules in this growing subculture today, twenty-three years later, after the Wall came down, they call it creative industries. LC:

It’s become more formalised, I suppose…

DH: It became formalised, but the spirit is still there. Berlin has learned, conscious is high, space is still there and the prices are OK. So it has developed from the moment the Wall came down. Looking back, I must say, because I just do work on a project in

small cities around Berlin…yeah, people move away because they have similar problems [that] I have had…no chance to find a platform where they can…more inspiration from movies or music and so on. So they move away, come to Berlin and get desperate, get lost here…frustrated, end up as taxi driver or whatever, and so my research went into, brought me to a small city and I talk to the mayor, because I told him there is this problem of emigration, that people go away…emigration? LC:

Yeah, emigration…

DH: Emigration…and I told him, what we learnt from Berlin, is to trust these young kids, trust and say “yes, we need you, we want you, do it” and say it really loud, and give them space and let it be. Give them maybe a good coach who can help you and so I work on this kind of project. I find out that it is not easy because they don’t…they cannot let it go, you know, they just…[shakes head]… But this…it’s interesting that this problem, they have not had…in Berlin there was this moment because there were no authorities and there was a strong group who wanted to change something and just took this, realised their visions. But in the countryside and in all the small [counties] and maybe also in other European countries, the people like the mayors, who are responsible, let’s talk about ten-, twenty-, thirtythousand people, don’t trust them and they are not open minded. They don’t believe in art and me and my team, we think art is the key… LC: Absolutely… DH: It can give them space, they start organising some parties, and they start talking, they get inspiration from other kids around. Today we have the internet… LC:

Of course…

DH: They can find out what is the theme of our city. They begin with small start-ups. They start with urban farming, things like that. They make it…they bring more ‘shining’ into the city. This is what I am working with. But I see the resistance of some of the older ones, they don’t wanna…they don’t understand, you know, but they have to move. I have learned this plan, from the development of Berlin. These days Berlin has to take care that we don’t bring so many visitors…here with the [tourist] board, they registered what they could register, not these half-legal or these ‘airbnb’ things. The public figures are 24 million registered visitors. Two-thirds of them, let’s say 16 million, came because of this wide programme of subcultural, cultural events. Two-thirds. Also, everybody brings 200 euros for spending in a day. So this movement became an economic factor and also it has prepared a field for other genres like art and fashion, because businesspeople said “hey, something is going on here”. If I look into this area I live in, Kreuzberg, and before the Wall came down I still lived there, how it has changed, but most of the people…I mean most…nobody makes money. It’s another inner attitude, that this crazy plan “I must make money!”, it’s not so dollar-orientated… LC:

Sure, the rat race…

DH: Yeah, stuff like that…so we have to really to take care to not become too big in Berlin. I visited the Berlin office…they really, they have now 25 minutes, but now they want to…to 30 minutes, but I doubt if we can keep the quality. Quality is the answer for

this good atmosphere. LC: Do you think that’s the reason why Berlin, in the last two decades, hasn’t rapidly developed like other major cities in the world because of this current of subculture, which remains and still does not explicitly express their desire to not make money for example? DH: That is one point. On the other side, sure, a lot of million[s of] dollars get pumped into the city. We don’t have so many big buildings. We have laws that don’t allow this. It’s slowly…it is also, if we talk about, for instance, the music or the party, or the art and the fashion, there is not this big business. I mean, the music is…one or two clubs make money but they invest it again, but most of the clubs just survive. LC:

It’s more of a labour of love.

DH: Also the bars, they just survive. But if you go there and find the right places, they give you…they encourage you…the euphoria you know. They inspire you to do something. So we also spy in London…all over, like these sweet foods and things like this…and the music…but I think the quality is better here. We take care that not too many people move here, otherwise everybody will be [a] DJ. At the moment I think, we already have 50,000 here. LC: [laughing] DH: Also the fashion for instance, this is not Paris, it’s not Milan, it’s not New York. It is zum bisschen (‘somewhat’) streetwear and stuff like that…and also, I think this will not change. LC: But this is what gives the city…at least for me, when I go to major cities, you have…you’re there for a very short time, but you see fashion as one of the most obvious symbols of how people would like to express their status. I guess with Berlin I get the sense that there’s…there’s more a liberal attitude, but this is more widespread in the centre of Berlin, and obviously in areas like Kreuzberg and Friedrichshain. DH: Yeah, that’s true. This is true. It is also…on the one side it’s really good, at the doors, in the clubs, it does not make such a big difference. Sometimes, they take…in Berghain, I don’t know… LC:

[laughing]

DH: …this side, sometimes it’s weird, but in the very end, I mean, most clubs are open. We must see, I always decide between kind of a ‘glamour’ clubs, like Pacha and so on, and the trash clubs…clubs which find home in ruins…and I must say… we belong to this ruin romantic spaces. We love that also. There is another thing, the conscience is high here, you cannot do what you want. Really big business people coming…completely change the city. You must wish they have to expect that there is resistance. I tell you also, in 1981, -2, -3 in West Berlin, we have had one hundred and eighty-five squatted houses – one hundred and eighty-five. Maybe now we have one here in Köpernicker[strasse]. Today I’m working with somebody on a film project who makes really good images and the film we want to do is to tell the squatters, to say thank you. Because they stopped a lot of idiots who just wanted to bring the old buildings down and build this modern architecture nobody really likes, seventies, eighties stuff. It

is just proof that the complete movement, the squatting movement in ’82, there was one demonstration and one guy died. So the politics, everybody was shocked, the pain, the rights, and nothing happened for a while and then…I mean, for the movement, to squat it was good to save old buildings, because a debate started, pro and contra. Finally the squats became contracted and could start to elevate the housing. But Berlin, I think, the city is not so much dominated by big money. On the other side, I still don’t know or I doubt if the politician…if they arrive at this subculture, which became very important factor for tourism and the economics. They did not…much for it, nothing you know… LC: Do you think there’s a struggle with maybe officials, with government, with politicians…there’s a question of cultural value that’s difficult to quantify. When you mention the mayors for example, they find it hard to grasp… DH: Yep…yep LC: …they cannot see it in figures, they cannot see it in graphs, that it’s something more long[lasting]…more permanent in the long-term? DH: Berlin, this might be different, but in the country[side] it definitely takes time…but in Berlin it is beneficial. We have big articles, I’ve just put one up here [points to newspaper article pinned up on the wall] and you can find interesting figures. ‘Freiraum’, you know what it means? ‘Free space’… LC:

Right, okay, yeah…

DH: …in the city, like Tresor. Could you imagine?...We also have…we have sixty people working here, they’re all still in bed… LC:

[laughing]

DH: They are happy to just find the drive…we have other people working here who bring sound and stuff like that. But can you imagine that in London, in West London, you can’t afford to rent a power station, it’s big, the price…or in Manhattan no way. This is all possible…I think these people, this community I still know…will go, this…keeping together thing. I still believe in it. But I must also say that I’ve seen so many people here in Berlin speaking English only or carrying their beer bottles. This has changed. LC:

This mainstream, kind of, tourism…

DH: Yeah, alcohol…I don’t wanna be near [it]. It would not be good if they just come to get lost, but it is not like this. But on the one side sometimes it’s visible… it’s visible in Kreuzberg, and when you take a train at night at 3[a.m.] you see many people…not drunk, but always carrying alcohol. LC: Yeah, I was here a few years ago in Kreuzberg where Luzia Bar is, maybe 2010, it still felt very different. When I came back earlier this year it became more, of course, popular and I was a bit surprised. Of course, as something gets popular people flock towards it. You have more fashionable people coming along. It was still nice but it was very different to when I went [there] three years ago. But I guess that’s just how it develops.

DH: This is how it works. This is also politics like maybe what Berghain is doing with the door, really controlled hardcore, that these new fashionable people…come in and destroy or come and discover this for them[selves]. The club can risk…was heisst den ‘verlassen’? (‘what does ‘to abandon’/‘to leave’ mean?’)…The real scene, nobody comes by… LC: Yeah… DH:

…the caravan goes somewhere…

LC:

It becomes more consumerist…

DH: Yeah…it is already. I must say, today we have eighty per cent tourists already… -five, seventy to eighty [per cent] in the summer. We have international holidays, I just get new figures [browsing on the internet on a laptop] from the ‘visitBerlin’ [website]…12.4 million [visitors]…one thousand two hundred visitors come per hour to Berlin…if you want to get figures, you should maybe go to this page, it is called ‘visitBerlin’, you can find it also in English. LC:

Are these the official figures from the tourist board?

DH: Yeah…January to June 12.4 million [visitors], this half year. 12.4 [million], this is already 2 times… LC:

Three or four times…[the population of Berlin]

DH:

You can find it also in English.

LC: Yeah. DH:

…and you have lists, where they come from, it’s interesting…

LC:

Yeah, that’s…I guess it’s changed a lot…

DH: …This is kind of new…and for instance there’s one thing…[browsing the internet]…the city invests into culture…[scrolls though internet webpage]…I just wanted to give you some big figures. I think it is not even…ah yeah, here it is...they put into culture, 773 million euros…let’s say established culture, per year…and the ‘off ’ scene gets about…like ‘off ’ theatres and so on, especially the complete ‘off ’ scene, maybe not more than, I think, 5-6 million euros. This relation is also not…you’ll find it there [on the website]. So sometimes it’s not fair…ah no, they get 10 million euros for the ‘free’ scene…1.5 per cent. This scene they give 1.5 per cent. This guarantees the city an income of two-thirds of tourists. So they should care more about ‘free spaces’, [they] should sell it, like this power station. LC: I mean, one of the interesting quotes from Tobias Rapp’s book is that the clubbing scene ranks second or above more official tourist destinations like museums and theatres and opera…and obviously these facts of investment… DH:

Yeah, but the…because it was always the case, it was the same. This culture

we’re talking about, or these ‘creative industries’ thing you know, it is quite new, it’s fresh… LC:

Yeah, it is yeah…

DH: My opinion you know, if I city can keep these two parties, the established culture and the ‘off ’ culture on a level somehow maybe…not regarding the investment, but maybe the… LC: …the attention? DH: …attention ja, from the city. I mean, if the city just looks at the established as the theatre scene and there is no attention…zero in here, the city will stay grey. What I also said in front, this is the ‘off ’ scene, maybe some clubs, rock halls, music halls and so on, whatever you know, some IT guys doing this. They have like 80-20 or 70-30 then that means…there are clubs for young creative people [who] would stay. They can ask, “can we work here?” “can we start…?” but most of the city said nothing. They are just as established, they don’t understand “why do all these young kids go away?” But the problem is [that] not everybody has the interest and intelligence. The guys that could possibly move something, they leave because they don’t find… LC:

…or they struggle to establish themselves…

DH: …and they come here and they are frustrated…I have been thinking for a while to do already…to start an academy where they can interview…because they won’t find these places…very few jobs…and I coach them and ask them “What do you want? Ah, you want to run a gallery? Okay” and I coach them and I say, “I’ll coach you and I’ll give you really good contacts for half a year, but then…we bring you…we form you, but you must go there. I talk to your mayor and you get a space”…“You’re in your home city…you can shine. You are great. You are somebody who could make it. I guarantee that you get a job in your home city.” Because what I can do is to convince these mayors. But these coaches are really needed. The coaches they have in the small cities, they have no planning, they don’t know what this is in Berlin, they don’t know this power. I have a lot of guys over the last years, they may be just organising drinks and organising gigs or whatever, really good guys, they know, they really know, silent helpers…and this is a potential, this know how, how to make it. I had a discussion at the American embassy about Detroit. Detroit recently went bankrupt. LC:

Yeah, I saw it, I’ve followed the news.

DH:

Thank God because now they can start again.

LC:

Exactly. It’s best that it did happen.

DH: It’s best, yeah. We’re already in touch…talked to Mike [Banks] (DJ and producer from Detroit) about it. I want to see him soon. I have had the plan before in the beginning of the nineties but it was very difficult. It was totally different…but I was so full of euphoria and wanted to say “thank you Detroit…now I wanna give you some ideas”…but it was not the right moment. But what I want to say is that the coaches in the small cities are now people who have studied but at 7 o’ clock [on a] Saturday evening, they say, “Ohh, kids I must close it down. My wife has called me”…no plan, no enthusiasm, old-fashioned.

LC:

You separate work and pleasure.

DH: And it is so important because I know very, very, very few cities where this kind of independent communications is out there and they do something good. It’s not just the parties, the parties [were] maybe the first step, but bringing people together. This is the role, the value of the space, the people, the kids like. Mostly they like rooms. Not just the white room where everything is already done. LC: Or where they’re not told what to do? DH: I believe…I believe in this kind of help, what Berlin can bring. It’s just a question of organisation. When I was in London last time, I talked to a guy who sent me a draft about the idea [of] creating a living archive for subculture and electronic [music]. A living archive, because like me, I’m 58 and some other people from the early days, they all have this know how. This living archive could bring a lot of young kids [together] and give them inspiration with this answer of how we made it in Berlin. Nobody has had this big money but they have had space. That’s it. They get space and do something, so they will do something, I think. This is the message you know and I am really completely convinced that through art cities can be helped. LC: Absolutely. DH: This is what we learnt out of Berlin…this is also why Berlin still rocks, because clever people don’t have much money on their mind, they just want to do something you know, instead of hanging and killing time. So they work in all areas like music, films, IT, design and fashion and art, whatever, food also. LC: There was a good book I was reading called “Music, Media and the Subcultural…” or something to do with dance music, but by Sarah Thornton, this American writer, written in the early ’90s. She talks at the beginning of the book, and she talks about Pierre Bourdieu’s ‘Critique of the Judgement of Taste’ and there’s a whole definition inside about communities having different types of capital. There’s monetary capital obviously, and in this book she focuses on subcultural capital, or cultural capital, which again, it is hard to weigh up against money. I guess Berlin is a living example, and its recent history is rich in that. DH: It is. This was a discussion I had with a representative of the city of Detroit. They had no plan…they had no plan, no idea about their music history. Iggy Pop… or Motown you know. They had no techno…so many groups they have, and how they could use it. They have no idea what they could do with the empty buildings. America is different…They have this history and if you bring up…these tax breaks…But the city, they have no connection to the base, what’s going on, they don’t know. The same thing is going on in the small cities. The mayor does not know what’s going on. They don’t know what the kids think. And this is a serious…it’s a fact and a problem, but it could be solved. Berlin has enough cultures in a way, like ideas, and some cities could…and it’s also maybe, good for Western cities or open-minded states in a way. Techno…nobody in Africa knows techno, about this thing…but the question [is], if it is transferrable into other continents. If we were to check, I think most of Germany or in West Europe or so you know, art and culture could be really changed a lot. I remember when I was young I really did not want to go away, I was so happy where I lived, but there was nothing.

That’s why…I didn’t want to leave my home city and I was there, really happy and I also see it in other cities but also if there’s nothing…but on the other side it’s so funny, they don’t want anything, they just want to have a room and respect, and they would work like wizards. LC: But I guess in Detroit there are let’s say…I haven’t been to Detroit, but there must be deeper social problems that… DH: You can see it’s the education also, and it’s black and white. This money you know, TV is the biggest enemy. The TV tells you twenty-four hours a day, make money…and the dollar…I was shocked you know. Then they ask, “do you have money or you have no money?” LC:

[laughing]

DH: But this education they…[looks at laptop]…the problem…it will take time, but I mean Detroit, Detroit techno, it’s still there and these guys are…there are many guys that also discovered the, let’s say, anti-spaces, the ‘free’ spaces, also people from art and so on. Something could start…the mayor should…I had the idea the mayor should be more open. I had the idea [of] maybe forming like teams, for brainstorm[ing]. I could know a few guys here from Berlin who could test it, where we could consult and give them…try to convince the mayor, because we have this ‘Berlin’, like we say “hey what happened here?” Be more open and this and that. I mean they have different social problems, but I could start a little bit you know. Just it is sometimes only about the hype…the hype is important. When I was in the ’90s I said to Mike Banks, “If you guys do an underground club, a techno club, Underground Resistance (it was this Detroit techno…was very strong)…” the evening press would eat it you know. LC:

[laughing]

DH: Everybody would love it. This is the chance, this is the moment you know. I don’t know [about] today but it’s still very strong, UR you know…but in those days I was completely convinced. LC: Even in the age of the internet right now and I’ve grown up as a product of this telecommunications age, even I don’t know what clubs are in Berlin for example. No, no! Sorry! Not Berlin, Detroit… DH: But the club is not…this is the problem, the clubs [are] mostly run by people who want to run a discotheque. They don’t know what’s going on. LC:

…but many of them…

DH: But we came from the music you know. I made friends at the club only because I made a label and I had things like up in Sheffield like Clock DVA…and from Detroit and so on, but nobody wanted to listen to this music. I read some reviews but…so I made the club to have a space where these acts could play. That was the reason behind [it]. So I came with my team from the music, from the label side you know. Mostly these people come from the bar… LC:

Yeah, it’s the end of the night rather than…

DH: …or from another thing, but I like [it] if it comes from a…if the people [who] run clubs or start some[thing] they say, “you know we, we just come from the music…” For us it wasn’t a good combination, to run a label and have their own stage where the groups could perform and it worked like that. In the delivery, it’s a club. If the club was busy you had some dollars, I gave him the cash and they gave you the…and then you release the next week, a week later. But this is another problem today also, the sales of records and so on, CDs exchange. But on the other side it’s good, people play… play more. We still release, per month, an album or a twelve[-inch], but it’s good. It’s no business but it’s more for the promo, to keep the brand high. I just did this thing with Moritz [von Ostwald] and Juan Atkins, a very strong album. I like this new way of dub. We did a [DJ] Hell mix, it’s okay, it’s no big…but you know, people write about it in some magazines and they talk about it. LC: But I think, at the end of it all, say for example with the last location Tresor was at, the label is still the legacy I guess. After all of the places that have gone, the things that have changed, if this all disappears and if all succumbs to development, then…hopefully not, but the label is still the sonic representation of Tresor. DH: I think it is also the sonic representation and also the…Tresor for me became a lifestyle against mainstream. Start with nothing, do something. Take a…find a vault you know, get together and start something together. What is it? ‘Der Aufbruch’ it means this thriving you know…it’s about sharing also, the East and West. We also found this symbol, this circular thing [pointing to the Tresor logo on the wall], it is like a rising sun, and it was hammered in the doors. This is an old image…the old Tresor you see also the lockers [pointing to photos of the old Tresor on the wall]…it was a Jewish bank. LC: I was at Leipzigerstrasse yesterday, I was taking pictures and it is interesting you can see the hoardings around the building site. There’s a lot of construction work going on. I was looking at some of the pictures on the hoardings of the Wertheim department store that used to be there… DH: Yeah… LC: …Obviously the developer is trying to promote it as…this used to be the centre of the world in terms of shopping and one of the biggest department stores in the world and yet, there’s an omission, there’s a complete, blanket erasure of what happened recently. They’re trying to obviously use this history for their profiteering gain, to try to sell to their potential customers. For me it’s a very interesting juxtaposition… DH:

Have you seen our own film?

LC:

I’ve seen most of it yeah.

DH: It is like an accusation you know. It was [always empty]. I made one [document] in which we have something which is about the spaces [scrolling through a document on the laptop] and these days [referring to photos of the old Tresor], and this was East Berlin [photos of East Berlin]…cars and grey and grey… LC: I get the feeling that if these investors are coming in they’ll…you’ll have to prepare a document to apply for planning and all of this kind of stuff is what they’ll just leave out for example…

DH: Completely. This is the engine you know…for cool, good people. So this is what it looked like and then these clubs started…This is how it looked before the Wall came down. We had also two walls…a minefield…West Berlin you see the Wall and the tanks…and this Tresor, it was just this barrack you know, we passed by here, but this is all gone but here was a warehouse in Wertheim. We found the vault was still underneath. The East German government bombed it away, then we got these stairs… and this is what it looked like [photos of the interior of Tresor]…and I was aware that something will happen…it was these days when Christo came. In these days, if you know the Wall came down, political changes take place, things are possible. LC: I understand that you’ve kept, you’ve retained a lot of the features, like the deposit boxes…do you think it’s more of a shrine or do you still think it retains some genuine quality to it? DH: I would say it was the whole development of everything you see today. It comes out of these kind of cells, it’s still alive. So this spirit, if you like, thinking you can do what you wanna do, if it’s okay in a cultural way in Berlin you find a platform, you find friends who support you…and we have…in Berlin it’s proof, I think Berlin is like the capital of electronic music and party time. This city is…they built this, we had these parties, also open air, these things…with Sven [Väth] in the ’90s, nine thousand… people came for the last days…Richie Hawtin. Yeah, and then we went here but cleaned it up. LC:

But it’s obviously much larger than what the old Tresor was.

DH: No, no. You know this power station it is...you know what I wanna do with the power station is kind of a…let’s say it’s like a Tate Modern, but the club is only five percent. It’s on [its] own. It’s nice, it’s really nice, you should come maybe. You should come in the day or tonight or whatever. It’s different like Berghain but we plan very soon some spaces, parties in different spaces, but I want to combine it with more let’s say like Bar 25, you know that…? I wanna combine it with… LC: It’s interesting when you said…I was at the Pergamon Museum for the second time. Historically explorers would find some artefacts or ruins, they’d ask permission from the Turkish government whether they could remove the friezes, and then they would transport it to their country and build a museum, and that’s a representation of their culture…For me it’s an interesting way… DH: I think what will happen, maybe I misunderstood your question. But I think, definitely, it is music history you know, in a way. But together with this lifestyle, it’s not…it is like a culture… LC:

It is yeah…

DH: …it is not just the music and partying all night long. It has influenced so much. All the other art forms and design. But also today I think it’s therapy… LC: Yeah… DH:

…because the stress in these Western countries is so strong, people working

in the post office or something in Madrid or so, it is really stressful… LC: Absolutely DH: …they’re coming here and they just want to…they want to hear nothing, they go, they wanna enter a space, go through the door and leave the world behind and find a parallel world. It’s not about the beat, the drugs, I don’t know, I’m not sure, but it’s just… LC:

…it’s a release…

DH:

…a release, you know…

LC:

Of course, yeah. That’s what I see it as.

DH: Yeah, I see it really. I taught this activity in China,…this is a Berliner… [showing me some images on the laptop]… LC:

I mean, that’s very similar to the Turbine Hall in Tate Modern.

DH: We do some exhibitions and so with the festival…When I was in London I saw this [referring to a photo of The Weather Project Turbine Hall installation by Olafur Eliasson] LC:

I missed this. I’m gutted I missed this.

DH: It was [on for] six months, and people, two million people…so I went home and thought that we can use this space for big experiments… LC:

Absolutely, yeah.

DH: We have six hundred galleries [in Berlin] for small [exhibitions] but we need a big space, where you can hammer a nail to the wall…we have a great spaces, they are all fully booked. So I’m working to get it legalised, it takes so much energy [sighs]… LC:

I can imagine…

DH:

…time…because it is so expensive.

LC: Do you think clubs need to diversify in order survive? A lot of clubs disappear… DH: But normally clubs also come and go. This is normal in history…Are clubs like The Rolling Stones were? LC:

[laughing]…the new rock and roll?

DH: Yeah, I mean…I’m not sure, why not? I had a debate with friends about how I want to live when I’m getting older. The pension, it’s horrible… LC:

[laughing]

DH: …how this housing…so we developed a new ‘house’. So I get a lot of input from there and there about how we can do it. I saw this page in America, ‘Grass for Grannies’ [chuckles]…there’s some countries where they smoke marijuana… LC:

[laughing]

DH:

…instead of the anti-depressants…

LC:

I think it’s stimulation as well…

DH: It is, also why not? I am happy to have a job where you can work and get a pension, you can go on…I have to say, many, many people still wanna…party. But what is party? It’s just getting together to have some fun… LC:

It is [a] gathering, yeah…

DH: [That’s what] it’s all about…and enjoying it somehow and this is okay I think. I must say, my strategy was…after the Tresor was closed in 2005, it was a year when Berghain started…It took some time, and then people came to me and said… because I’m a kind of space explorer…and then I found this space, and I’m not sure. I was on another trip actually, but I have invested fourteen, fifteen, sixteen years in Tresor, I said, “okay”…then I start[ed it] again but we hadn’t had enough money, so we could not really finish it… LC:

Sure, yeah…

DH: …and it took time and time, and a lot of energy, but it was opened in 2007 or 2008, slowly…with the big hype we made some big mistakes. I had a partner who was not right. Sometimes you find [a] partner, you think “okay, this guy is good for the structure and I wanna be the more…” But he was not right guy. To get rid of him took months and it was a big damage for the club, because there was huge interest to open the club again, but it did not work as I wanted. I met in New York, Milton Glaser, an old designer, [this was] about the ’80s now, and I asked (it was two years ago) [him] to give me advice…you must know him, he made this ‘I♥NY’, this heart… LC:

Oh right okay, I see…

DH: He was really nice. He said, “Never make business with people you don’t like.” And then I remembered, “Oh God, we did this Tresor”… LC:

It sounds like common sense, but it’s…[chuckles]....

DH: So I remember these words, I keep it in mind. But now we came to a really good point, we are really through by the end of this year, and then we can do great events…We were supposed to do the David Bowie [exhibiton]… LC:

Oh right, I see…

DH:

…in London, ja.

LC:

The exhibition?

DH: Yeah, I saw it last month…It depends, maybe they come in or they come to another part, but I think in Berlin there should be a place like this. LC:

Yeah, it seems very fitting with David Bowie in the ’70s…

DH: a ruin…

…and yeah, Berlin…it would be great if you would find one of these kind of

LC:

…and he lived there obviously…

DH: …He has a special status, a special popularity, we [shall] see…So something is coming up…I am happy with my job, with my mission, to bring my experience into the countryside, or maybe discuss Detroit. I’ve been in Detroit again. In my age now, I can also talk to mayors and so on, and tell them this and that… LC:

You have more authority...

DH: …and it’s just my expense. Not too crazy somehow [smiles]…but I can say these are facts, these are the figures, if you look at this. LC:

You’ve done it for so long.

DH:

I don’t tell them any fairytales. It’s the choice...It could really…

LC: So do you feel responsibility then, to kind of continue this spirit? In an age where there are more visitors, as you said, eighty per cent tourists… DH: It’s going up…and when you have the tourists now in their holidays from July to beginning of September, then we go through…but easyjet makes it possible, the internet helps, they know exactly where to go… LC:

I an exact product of these new crazes.

DH: In the nineties we have not had this. No internet, no Handy (‘mobile phone’). A fax machine maybe…and then East Berlin, no connection…no Handys…I wonder why? Shall I show you the space for a minute? LC:

Yeah, if you have some time that would be great.

APPENDIX 02 INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT 02: MO LOSCHELDER (MEDIA LOCA) 27.08.2013 3:13pm Media Loca office, Immanuelkirchstrasse 25, 10405 Berlin, Germany Lawrence Carlos (LC) Mo Loschelder (ML) ML: …I forgot to mention that because this was, kind of, about this underground scene of the early nineties. In a way it was about this scene where I was involved in, in contrary to the official clubs like Tresor and E-Werk, whatever there was. Because I think…of course in the early nineties all these venues were located in special locations because they were there. But there were so many artistic groups, who were into electronic music, who were also installing themselves in short periods. How do you say that in English? LC: Temporary? ML: Temporary spaces, you know. They were much more experimental with sounds. So sound was much more connected to the space there. Like how they were using speakers and in a way, this was, for me much more exciting than just a regular club thing. So what Berghain is doing now, in a way this is like the end…the monument of what was happening at that time, using the entire space. I mean, even the way where people are standing in line, this is part of the space of course. It’s also part of the thrill, you know. To see the big line in front of this really big building and not know if you’re going to get in…[laughing]. So, I mean everything is used there. This is, I think, the most professional, experimental space. In the early nineties there were people who were part of the scenes that are now happening but also many just disappeared. They started to get into architecture because they were already then studying architecture, many of them; which was also something to me, at that time, very astonishing that there were so many architects into electronic music. Actually, at that time I explained it to myself that this kind of electronic music, let’s call it techno, was in a way very minimalistic. So the structures were very clear. There was…normally it was instrumental, so no meaning of words. For some reason many architects or architectural students at that time were organising venues and using different spaces. LC: So do you think…because now, in the last decade or so, it’s become a more commercialised activity or…? ML: No, I don’t think so. Actually, I think, there always had been these two parts. In a way, it’s now more established like Tresor and Berghain, and Watergate. I mean, there’s really many beautiful spaces that are used now for clubbing and of course, it’s more commercialised, but it’s just more established. But then there is also because electronic music went into so many varieties, I mean, now there’s so much variation

of what you can call electronic music. There is also so much experimental electronic music that there are spaces that are used for concerts. All this is evolving from that period of the early nineties because people at that time were already active and of course, they didn’t know where it would lead. They were just doing what they thought it would be good to do. So, there were a lot of very independent, small spaces and it’s still happening. I mean, there is still a growing scene of spaces. So I don’t think this is like, the commercial end, you know, like a dead end. It’s still happening and yeah, in a way it’s still…it’s getting harder to find something and establish yourself, but, in a way, it’s not so bad. It depends on how open-minded you are to look for some spaces. Actually there are still temporary spaces these days. Also, what happened since the nineties is that the scene has become more international. Because, at the beginning, of course there was, after the Wall came down, there were many people from all parts of the world coming here, and they were involved in building up the scene. But still, it was…you felt kind of isolated from the outside world. For example, it was very rare that you would hear somebody speaking English on the street. It really felt like “connection to the outside world! Yes!” [laughing] But now, talking about being established, also internationally, people were coming from all parts of the world, who are now organising events and venues in Berlin. That is something much more normal these days. So, in a way, the development has been very positive. LC: So do you think…I mean, a lot of investors see space, you know, potential space with certain things in mind whereas creative people have a certain idea of what they would like to create. Do you think there’s…as you said, it’s more difficult to establish yourself today, but do you think it’s harder to go up against these more formalised bodies or organisations that have the money to try and have a different kind of space? ML: I don’t think so. Talking about that it has become more difficult is talking also about that it was so easy in the nineties because it was such a special situation in Berlin. In a way it was like a blank sheet, which also meant that authorities were a bit lost. So there were many advantages that the scene could take from this special period. So talking about that it’s now become more difficult is just because the situation has somehow become more normal. It was pretty crazy then! I mean, for example, we were running various clubs, the first club was Elektro, and this was right next to Tresor, and to E-Werk. This was embedded in a scene of artists, and there were many conceptual things happening around, but we were like a regular club with regular nights. There was also hip-hop, but yeah, house and techno. It was a squat. The whole building was a squat. Of course, sometimes we were having trouble with the police, but it was not so bad. Then we also had another club in another squat house and so our advantage was that we didn’t have to pay rent, so we didn’t have to ask for entry. That was already making things much [more] different from nowadays. Because if you don’t have to pay to get in and there is nobody at the door, there’s no door policy. So it already changes the crowd and it just changes everything. But you can only do it as long as things are this way. And then when police came, we were telling them, “well, this is the café of our squatted house!” Of course they saw that there was nobody at the door, I mean we didn’t do it for that reason, but for them it was kind of clear so they just left. They were very friendly, sometimes they were even having a beer at the bar! LC:

Wow, okay. [laughing]

ML: [laughing] So yeah, it was a special period and that changed, so I don’t really think that it’s…things are so difficult now because times are more difficult these days. But just because this very wild and easy period, obviously has been and gone. I mean, it was clear then, for everybody it was clear that this was only for a certain period and then it’s over. This was also part of the enthusiasm of everybody. LC: I guess with the increase of the internet for example…and I’m a product of that, learning about this history, so I was too young to remember any of the news that was going on at the time. So for me it’s…I’m looking back, even though it happened during my lifetime, I was very young. But before this explosion of the information age, for you guys, there’s no internet, there’s no e-mail, a common use of e-mail. So it seems to me that the focus is really on the spaces and the people you meet, and that those were the most important things. Whereas now, I can find out about something across the world and all the information is there. So, like you said before, things have become more international now. So do you think that it becomes even more important to have these kind of spaces, as places to keep this spirit and enthusiasm alive, but also local? That it can only exist in these spaces in this city, for example? ML: I’m not sure I understand what you mean. Maybe, if I think that the scene here, that it’s important that it’s something intimate? Or…? LC: Yeah. ML: Actually I think…yeah, everything has changed because of the internet, and also the music has been changed because of the internet. So, in a way…I think right now, we’re at a certain point where things are starting. Actually I believe that it will be very interesting to look back to the current where we are now, in twenty years. Because what we’re looking at now when we’re talking about the nineties, like the past twenty years, is a special period, in a special area, in Berlin, or in East Germany. That was just a start for one part of the scene but now, because everything is connected it also means that everybody has the same tools. Talking about music of course, as well, about production of music. So, in a way, these days it makes it a little bit confusing because everything looks the same, or sounds are the same. I mean, one could say that on a very superficial surface. So [the] next step will be that it will be [about] getting into the local scene again. This is my vision of how it will develop. For example, at some point here in Berlin it was very important, and maybe still is, to have this typical minimalistic techno sound. It was in certain clubs, wherever you went, it was the same. So, in a way now, no matter if you are in Berlin or in Asia or maybe even somewhere in Africa that we don’t know of yet, because Africa is not so connected to this kind of scene, but also certainly South America…I mean everywhere is kind of the same. Yeah, I think it will be time to get back to the local scene again and to have the local influences, the local identity. So, I dunno, does it have something to do with your question? LC: Yeah, maybe I said a complicated question, but maybe the way you explained it and the way I see it is that, do you think that the origins of certain sounds…or there’s a certain geographical association with a type of music? So, people always say Berlin techno or Detroit techno, UK bass music; it revolves around a certain local scene and somehow the scene kind of distributes or diversifies. But do you think this comes from…how do I say it? Maybe, not just one place but it’s like the concentration of places within a city contributes to this kind of new scene or a future scene that you envision? That things will start to come from…rather than the tools that everyone will have and

more of the superficial ideas that it will come back to where your environment is and how things start to influence you from the art you look at, the city you are in? I mean it’s always been like that but…I’m kind of losing myself in what I’m asking [laughing]. But even with architecture for example, the whole of modernism was about a universal language, trying to get rid of decoration, trying to live quite a minimal life. Like with minimal techno, there are minimal techno scenes everywhere, so it’s kind of like there was a template. In New York for example, there’s a record label now which is run by someone who owns a record store [referring to Ron Morelli of L.I.E.S. Records], and he talks about how the most interesting record labels are the ones from a very specific point or area in the world, and that there’s something very interesting going on there, whereas other record labels will pick certain artists to fit their aesthetic. So for me that was interesting because as I’ve listened to their record label, there’s a certain aesthetic, it feels like it cannot come from London for example, and I guess with Berlin, I mean Berlin techno has become quite big, and many people might have an idea of Berlin techno. But then, unless you’ve kind of lived here or gone to these parties and searched a bit deeper, you can’t find the small differences…I don’t know, from your experience… ML: Actually, I think in a way, what is now called Berlin techno has been very much labelled by these kind of minimalist DJs or producers like Richie Hawtin and Luciano. They were bringing here a scene of their own and they were really putting a lot of impact on then what turned out to be Berlin techno. But when you’re talking about the early days of course there is somebody like Dimitri [Hegemann] with Tresor who had this connection to Detroit and Chicago artists, and he was bringing them here. So Tresor stood for this special sound but at the same time there was also another flaw. This was happening in the basement normally, but also at the bar they had this small dancefloor, and there was at the beginning a quite different sound. It was more housey and there was also Gudrun Gut, she was doing Ocean Club at Tresor. So even at that time there was a variation of music happening at Tresor that nobody talks about anymore. So, in a way, things have been standardised and so these playful aspects of club music has been gone. This is something that I regret because at the beginning it was much more…you didn’t really know what to expect, quite often. LC: So do you think clubs, or established clubs need to take more risks in order to push certain…even their own original values forward or to still make themselves relevant? ML: Yeah, I think, I mean as I said before, there is still a lot going on and there are still many new venues and also new music being played. Also at certain venues, they are not only focusing on one style, but they’re having different nights. But this is rather a real underground scene than the now than the so-called Berlin club scene. So this is still happening, but in this, what I call established scene this is not really happening so much anymore. Like if you look at the programme of Tresor or Watergate or Berghain, talking about club nights, not about what they do aside from it, because they are also having extra nights, but talking about club nights it’s something that you can kind of already expect what to find there. I think these big clubs, from the beginning they were focusing on this. I mean they were really like just going [down] their [own] paths, so this is where they are ending now. This is why I said, where Berghain is standing right now is like the monument where you must end if you follow this path. I mean, for me, I really adore what they are doing because they are so…consequent, it’s really fascinating [laughs].

LC: In this essay [referring to ‘The Berlin Underground: The Myth Of Berghain’ essay, written by author, March 2013], one of the reasons why I wrote it was because… even before I started to think about writing this this year, the first time I had an encounter was in 2010, trying to queue and I got rejected for the first time, and then I came back earlier this year with the hope of going in and still I got rejected, so two rejections. So I was thinking this is something that I’ve not experienced before, and then I went last weekend, and just talking to the people that I know here, but also trying to experience the nightlife in a more holistic way. So, I went to KaterHolzig first and we stayed until the morning, just trying different times to go, and in fact, I was meant to go to Tresor but we didn’t manage to get in, and that was the day I had an interview with Dimitri, and then we just decided, “OK, let’s try to go to Berghain again” and we got in, successfully. Berghain was closed, but it was very early in the morning now, so it was like 8:30 in the morning, so I went to Panorama Bar. I mean it’s always difficult to make an experience objective when you’re in that emotional state and you might have an altered state of mind. And then coming out of the party and being in the city again, and going to sleep, and you wake up again, and then there’s only a few hours until the next one, for example. Even the people, who I met that night, who I knew, they were already asking me to go out next time. So this is something, for me I’ve never had this kind of long weekend of parties. So it seems to be the way the city has developed and has allowed people to kind of do what they want, this comes from the point at which Berlin has been a very restricted place in the past, so on the opposite end it has become more liberal… ML:

East Berlin…

LC:

…East Berlin.

ML: West Berlin was always a special case because it was much more loose than West Germany. In West Berlin there was never a closing hour, which in German is called ‘Polizeistunde’. In West Germany, we had that. During the weeks it was 1 o’ clock closing and on the weekends maybe 3 o’ clock or so. So, I mean, you’re from the UK, you know what I’m talking about… LC:

Yeah, sure…

ML: So, in a way, to me this is also one very important part about Berlin club life, that they followed these rules of former West Berlin. Yeah, this is very special and I’m used to these limited hours of clubbing, of course there was always some underground after parties going on, where people started going only at 4 o’ clock or so. I mean this was happening but the regular thing was finishing at 1[a.m.]. This also made it very intense. I can see the good part about it. It also makes the people go out earlier, which is really something you have to deal with in Berlin, that if you’re organising a club night you must face the fact that people will not come before 2 o’ clock. If you’re opening at 12[a.m. midnight] it will be like a dead end until people finally start to come. So for me, personally, at my age it’s hard to go out. I’m still taking care now, I’m doing this booking agency and so I’m still taking care of some DJs, and if they are playing at Berghain, like from 4[a.m.] to 7[a.m.] I know I won’t be attending their set. Yeah, that’s the bad thing for me [laughs]. This certainly has to do with Berlin club life, this really long weekend that can start at any point during the week and can last until Monday next week. I think many people who are coming here as tourists, they’re partying for one week. Just have some breakfast in between [laughs]. LC: But it seems like the city is set up for that, that you know, leaving the club it’s

not such a harsh coming back to reality, like going back to work on Monday morning for example. There are still cafes open in the morning, whereas for example in London it’s all closed, transport is all closed, it’s a very abrupt end. So it seems like the nightlife is more holistic here as well. I guess with the parties you organised or the clubs you were involved with, I guess you had that in mind that you were still creating art and organising club nights but it was more seamless in a way, that you weren’t just doing clubbing, it wasn’t just art. It was more of a lifestyle or a philosophy. This is something that Dimitri mentioned to me as well. The way you say it’s an underground scene, not just a Berlin club scene, it means that it’s something deeper than just going out to get drunk and party. So I guess with what I’m researching, it’s more about this kind of… that the club isn’t just somewhere that’s entertaining. It’s where people gather to kind of escape something or it’s a part of their life and it’s something that shouldn’t be ignored. I guess for you…and for me, having not had that experience in the nineties, do you feel that there is a responsibility for you and for some of the people who were living during that time to kind of continue it now? Or, I guess things have changed, you have your media agency now but do you still feel like a need to educate or inform others that this is where today has come from? ML: Yeah, I have a daughter, she is now fifteen or fifteen and a half. She’s not going to clubs yet because probably she wouldn’t be let in. But of course there, also because of her and her friends I’m aware of what is happening right now and how the clubs are working. If it’s a healthy scene and talking about healthy I mean, if the idea of the club is connected to the people who are doing the door, like Berghain definitely is – I mean, this is part of the thing that you don’t know if you’re coming in or not. They have their bouncers that they’re working with all the time. So in this way it’s still not really commercialised. I think the scene is still very healthy in Berlin because they are not focusing on megastars. They are creating something special every night, even if, for some people, like me sometimes it feels like they are all doing the same thing [laughing], but still I can see that they are working on it. So this is a great difference to other cities in the world. I think this is also because the economics here are a bit different; because these clubs, even the bigger ones, probably they are still paying decent rents and deent fees to their employees. So everything is still on a quite realistic level and so you don’t have to totally freak out and do something mega-, mega-, mega-outrageous to get the crowd. It’s something still kind of relaxed. Yeah, I think there is some responsibility for the scene to stay like this. I believe that the people running these clubs are aware of this responsibility. LC: Dimitri showed me some statistics from the tourism board saying how there are a certain number of visitors, like for the first six months of this year there were 12.4 million visitors, which is like 1,200 per hour… ML:

To Berlin…

LC: …to Berlin. They are attracted to this scene and then also the government spending for culture is very skewed. So for museums, opera, theatre and things like this it’s something like 98.5 per cent is spent on these venues, and 1.5 per cent is spent on clubs and bars, yet clubs create more than half of the revenue that the city gets. For me that’s very interesting, that even though it’s only been going for twenty or more than twenty years that the government or politicians have not yet fully recognised this impact.

ML: But opera and museums and so on, they always have been substituted [correction: subsidised] and they could not survive without it. So their costs and income are really on different levels, and this is what I mean, the club scene here is still kind of grounded because they are not facing these extreme costs. So I think there it’s much easier to make some kind of a level… LC:

A profit…

ML: Yeah, probably even some profit [laughs], you know? I cannot see it like this. I cannot see that 98.5 per cent is spent on opera houses and museums, whereas clubs are attracting more tourists. Also, one big change that one can see looking at the tourists is that right now there are much more elder tourists coming. There was a period when there were only youngsters. The club scene was really big, also ‘Love Parade’ was there. There were all these major events that made people come and you had to come to Berlin to party. But now it’s also that people feel they have to come to see culture. So in a way, talking about 12.5 million tourists, I don’t believe that it’s the same percentage of clubgoers that are coming here now than some years ago. This is changing rapidly, so in a way, of course I can hear Dimitri crying but I see it a bit differently. Also, there is a lot of funding in Berlin and Dimitri is a guy who knows how to get these funds. LC:

[laughs]

ML:

Believe me [laughs].

LC:

I guess this comes with having the experience and…

ML:

Yeah, I mean, it also think it comes with a certain mentality.

LC: Yeah. He is a crusader almost, you know. He’s going out to meet officials, even in Detroit, saying what they can do there, because it has become bankrupt recently. But also how to…not make it easier, but to give the opportunities to young people, that things are still possible. He was talking about things like creating an archive of what has happened. Do you think that there’s…do you feel that there’s space for trying to document this stuff in a more organised way, so that people can look at it in the future and say, “Hang on, okay, this wasn’t just people doing what they wanted.” If you trace the history of it, that one thing led to another, and that these spaces were important even though they don’t exist anymore… ML: I mean, there [are] documents, not very much, because the thing is, it was pre-facebook. LC:

Of course, yeah…

ML: There were hardly people running around with cameras. We have this ‘Elektro Musik Department Group’ on facebook, and whenever somebody is posting some photos of that period, everybody is crying, “Ah! Wow! Who did this photo!?” [laughs] So of course it was a period where people were not interested in documentation. Now there is a wave of exhibitions, publications and yeah, you feel like you’re being followed by people who are trying to document this period. LC:

Even me, for example. [laughing]

ML: [laughs] So in a way, I already…personally, I had the feeling, “Okay, it’s enough.” Really, you feel like you’re some retired [person], sitting in your…surrounded by old people [laughing]… LC:

[laughing]

ML: …and then there’s all these people like, “Oh, I did that at the time!” Also, there were some discussions, I told you about this exhibition that was just finished this Sunday at Bethanien. It was called ‘Wir sind hier nicht zum Spass’ (‘We’re not here for fun’). It was about this underground scene and there were also some panel discussions. We were talking about this phenomenon that people in the early nineties didn’t really want to document that period, because, as I said before, this is just a temporary period and nobody knew how long it would last, but it was also depending on police structures and everything. Also, telephone, there was no telephone, it [Berlin] was not connected, which was good because it meant that wherever you were, you were kind of isolated. It also made whatever you did at this isolated spot more intense. So, I don’t know. To make a museum of this period now feels to me like, what for? There’s other periods in music history like hip-hop in the eighties, maybe there is some hip-hop museum somewhere, but do you think it would be fun to go there? [chuckles] I don’t know, it’s something that, in a way… LC:

…doesn’t need to be official. It’s more about the present.

ML: Maybe Dimitri could set something up in his living room, we all could go [laughs]…and visit! [laughing] LC: Like you have The Beatles museum now or you know. But this is like looking in rather than having to experience it yourself. Over here, it’s more of an unfolding history rather than something you’re looking at in a gallery. So in this sense it’s unique. Not that it has to already be like what are in these other museums. But with your media agency now… ML: It’s a booking agency… LC:

A booking agency, okay…

ML:

It’s called ‘Media Loca’. I saw your last name is Spanish, well, why’s that?

LC:

I’m from the Philippines, there’s a lot of Spanish names.

ML: Okay. Because ‘Media Loca’ is Spanish and it means it’s the female of ‘half crazy’. In a way, of course, it’s easy to remember if you’re into music something with media, but it doesn’t really have to do with media, just it’s the ‘half ’. LC:

So are you still involved with parties or is it more about managing individuals?

ML: Well, I’m still…All the artists that I’m taking care of, they’re electronic musicians or DJs. So I’m still part of these scenes but normally I’m focusing more on the concert…which also has to do with opening hours…rather go to a concert that starts at 9 o’ clock in the evening but also right now I’m involved in…I’m part of a curating team organising a festival in September here in Berlin. September 12 to 14 noon, and this is

an all-female festival. So, this will be some…more experimental live shows happening in the early evening but for the rest of the night it will be full club nights. LC:

Okay. That’s very interesting.

ML:

Yeah, still part of this…

LC:

Yeah, and is this getting a lot of exposure?

ML:

Yes. A lot. It’s called ‘Perspectives’.

LC: Okay, I see. Yeah, so it seems like a lot of these more established clubs, they’re starting to do something different, with ‘Masse’ at Berghain, ‘Atonal’ at Kraftwerk, with Tresor and you mention this festival. So do you think clubs have to try and do something different in order to remain relevant? ML: Well, this festival that we are doing has been…it started, the idea started when there was a debate on sexism happening here in Germany in March or February. It started because of some stupid politician acting really machismo against one female journalist. Anyway then, because of that there is a database called ‘female:pressure’. Actually it’s international, but there are far too few women from the Far East. Actually, I just checked, because there was one guy looking for a female artist, an electronic artist or DJs from Indonesia and from Bangladesh or Philippines – there were none. There are just none involved. So anyway, because of this debate we started doing statistics of relevant festivals, international festivals and looking for how many male and female acts were represented. In the end we only found it was eight to ten per cent female which was shocking for us, because at some festivals that we are connected to, or we feel very connected to, numbers were the same. We didn’t realise that before. So talking about relevancy there certainly is a need to make female artists be more relevant to the scene. LC: Absolutely. ML: So it’s not that we’re organising this festival just in order to attract another crowd or to get more people into this special space but because we feel the need to organise it. But there we are getting a lot of press response. I think it will be quite busy. There are also some panel talks, workshops… LC:

That sounds very positive.

ML:

I’ll send you the link.

LC: It’s a shame I can’t be here for it. I’ve seen many things to do with…a lot of adverts at the moment to do with the Russian anti-gay laws. Even a party I tried to go to on Saturday, I didn’t get into, but there’s certainly this current. It feels a lot more… there’s a lot more things here than when I go back to the UK even though it’s mentioned in the news that, yeah, maybe to do with how close it is to Russia. Because Berlin is a very, it has been and is still, a liberal city, that all these voices are starting to come up now… ML:

And it’s a very gay city. So that’s also part of a certain awareness of this.

LC:

And it’s an example of how society is today and that it’s not…

ML: But, another thing that needs to be mentioned is racism. This is something I never really understood why this is happening in Berlin because for example at Tresor you hardly were meeting Turkish people. At the very beginning when the wall came down, of course there were all these people from West Berlin, not all of them but many, were coming over to East Berlin to experience the nightlife. It was a fact that if you were coming to clubs like Tresor and you were a Turkish guy with four or five Turkish friends, you would not come in. LC: Okay. ML: They were not letting you in because you are a group. There also were some drug dealers and some naughty boys but in a way it was still a very racist thing to do and it worked. So in the end you hardly find Turkish people or coloured people in the clubs. I was just in June for ‘c/o pop’, which is a music fair, I was in Cologne. I was going out there and it was a totally different group. It was much more mixed and you could just tell that you could just tell they are people living in the city and they are partying together. This is always something that disturbed my feeling about Berlin. It has to do with door policy but also with the philosophy of the club. For example, at Berghain it’s very hard to get in if you are a group of Spanish… LC:

I see, okay.

ML: …because they don’t want Spanish friends hanging out there because the Spanish they like to party among themselves. They like to be, like a group of Spanish on the dance floor and have fun and so it’s not this weaving thing that they want. So if you’re coming there as a Spanish tourist with your eight best friends you can be sure you won’t get in. If you’re coming there by yourself, like each one by one then you might have a chance. LC: Yeah, that’s very interesting, that the philosophy of a club and a dance floor is that it’s kind of utopian in a way. People mix and can express themselves whatever their sexual orientation or age or race but again there are these undertones that still happen. With the door policy it’s selection and then how do you select people? It’s something I talk about here in this essay [referring to ‘The Berlin Underground: The Myth of Berghain’ essay], that you just talk about it with your friends you know, “How come you didn’t get in?” or “Did you try this? Did you try that?” ML:

[laughing]

LC: …and you never really know what the rules are. In some documentaries they say, “Okay, we need to preserve this feeling.” But again it’s still very vague and you said it disturbs you for example. Yeah, sometimes you may think, “Is this because of the way I am?” and yet this goes opposite to the way…the city attracts people, that it is liberal. So do you think in the way they operate it has more of a social power, but not an obvious social power. It [the club] has more of a responsibility to uphold what it really believes in rather than operating on this level, that you just have to let a certain number of people in. It has a greater effect obviously. I guess these are other issues in the future that could be addressed because it happens so often now. So do you think clubs need to be scrutinised in this way as well? Even though in society we talk about sexism…

ML: Yeah, I think this is a part of being established because the established clubs are run by the same people all the time. They are not taking some youngsters to their side to maybe change their philosophy at some point but they are just following their path. So I think that probably at Tresor or Berghain of wherever, it won’t change. Then it also depends on how structures within the clubs are done – how close [you are] to the people working behind the bar and at the door. So how much of a family is there? I think at Berghain it is pretty much a family because they have this ritual before the night starts, everybody is coming together, really everybody and having one shot of vodka and, “Okay, we drink to the night.” I don’t think this is happening anywhere else at any other club. But also Berghain is also run by two guys and they are like the big bosses. This is the same with everybody with every other established club. So I don’t think this kind of philosophy will really change because they are not changing their minds. So what I hope is that there will be new clubs of a new generation and this is where my daughter is coming in. When I see what kind of people she is connected with, it’s an interracial group of friends and the music they are listening to is really, totally…with a lot of variation. It’s not something that you can just put a focus on and say, “Okay, let’s make a this-and-this club them.” So I’m very curious what they will find for themselves and in the end I hope they will make up something of their own. LC: Of course yeah. Something different. Something fresh as well. But it comes in cycles I guess… ML: Yeah, this is also what I meant. For me it was just a certain period that we’re in now and things will develop. This is something that the people who are here already for so long, they tend to forget. They have this feeling already we experienced thirty years, or twenty years and things have changed so much, so it’s really so hard. Also, I lived in this area for twenty years I can tell how much it has changed since then. When I first came here to this area I felt scared. It was totally dark and the houses were all grey. There were no shops, there were no cafes, nothing, and there were some friends of mine that I wanted to visit and I felt like, “how can they live here?!” It’s horrible. People… the original Berliners, many of them were very unfriendly. You felt unwanted. Then there was no telephone. What I said before about the nightlife is the good thing but if you are trying to live in the daytime it was hard. So if you wanted to visit somebody or if you wanted to connect with somebody you had to go there. You had to drive on your bicycle, get there, and if the person was not there you had to leave a note on the door, “I will try again tomorrow at 3 o’ clock. Please try to be here!” Otherwise how can they get together? So obviously things have changed a lot and there’s many people who are saying, “Ah…there’s so much gentrification and rents are exploding and things are changing for the worse!” Of course many things are going in a bad direction but it’s still just a certain point where we are now. Let’s see how things will develop in the next twenty years. I don’t think it will go on like this because also here in Berlin there is a certain…I mean, at some point the market is full. There is no hunger anymore because also at some point the prices are getting close to where we are with other cities. It’s the same about the clubs. The music…let’s see what will happen in the next twenty years. LC:

Much to look forward to.

ML:

Yeah, I mean you’re probably one of those making it. [laughing]

LC:

We shall see. I have certain ideas in my mind. Yeah, we’ll see. I think on that

note we should wrap up. It’s been a good discussion, very fascinating to hear. I hope to send you some stuff. ML:

Yeah, okay.

LC:

Thank you very much for your time.

ML:

So when are you leaving, Thursday or?

LC: Thursday yep. I still may visit a couple of places and maybe meet one or two people but yeah, it’s been a very fluid process. ML:

But would you want to meet some more people or?

LC: I don’t know if…I’ve been very happy to have two interviews already and it’s been very rich, both of them. I don’t know with the short timescale whether something can be organised but it’s already been bountiful. So yeah, it’s been great. Thank you very much. ML:

Yeah, you’re welcome.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

BOOKS / MAIN TEXTS

Balfour, Alain. Berlin: The Politics of Order 1737-1989. New York: Rizzoli, 1990. Cresswell, Tim. Place: A Short Introduction. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing 2004. Cupers, Kenny and Miessen, Markus. Spaces of Uncertainty. Wuppertal: M端ller und Busmann, 2002. Denk, Felix and von Th端len, Sven. Der Klang der Familie: Berlin, Techno und die Wende. Berlin: Suhrkamp Nova 2012. (In German). Gelder, Ken. Subcultures: Cultural histories and social practice. Abingdon: Routledge, 2007. Gelder, Ken (ed.). The Subcultures Reader (Second Edition). London: Routledge, 2005. Gilbert, Jeremy and Ewan Pearson. Discographies: Dance Music, Culture And The Politics Of Sound [e-book]. Ipswich, MA: Routledge, 2002. Available from: eBook Collection (EBSCOhost). Accessed 04 March 2013. Gerstenberger, Katharina. After the Berlin Wall: Germany and Beyond. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. Greil, Marcus. Lipstick Traces: A Secret History Of The Twentieth Century. London: Faber & Faber, 2001. 99

Gutmair, Ă&#x153;lrich. Die ersten Tage von Berlin: Der Sound der Wende (e-book). Leipzig: le-tex publishing services GmbH, 2013. (In German). Hall, Peter. Cities of Tomorrow: An Intellectual History of Urban Planning and Design in the Twentieth Century. Oxford: Blackwell, 1990. Malbon, Ben. Clubbing: Dancing, Ecstasy and Vitality. London/ New York: Routledge, 1999. Miles, M., Hall, T., Borden, I. (eds.). The City Cultures Reader. London: Routledge, 2004. Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Connor, Justin and Wynne, Derek (eds.). From the Margins to the Centre: Cultural Production and Consumption in the PostIndustrial City. Aldershot: Arena, 1996. Ostwalt, Philipp, Overmeyer, Klaus and Misselwitz, Philipp. Urban Catalyst: The Power Of Temporary Use. Berlin: DOM publishers, 2013. Rapp, Tobias. Lost and Sound: Berlin, Techno and the Easyjet Set (English Edition). Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag, 2009. (English edition published by Innervisions, 2010). Redhead, Steve (ed.). Rave Off: Politics and Deviance in Contemporary Youth Culture. Aldershot: Avebury, 1993. Reynolds, Simon. Energy Flash: A Journey Through Rave Music and Dance Culture. London: Picador, 1998. Rose, Brian. The Lost Border: The Landscape of the Iron Curtain. New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 2004. Thornton, Sarah. Club Cultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Middletown CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1996.

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ARTICLES / OTHER TEXTS Goulding, Christina, Avid Shankar and Richard Elliott. “Dance Clubs, Rave, and the Consumer Experience: an Exploratory Study of a Subcultural Phenomenon”, in E – European Advances in Consumer Research Vol. 5, eds. Andrea Groeppel-Klein and Frank-Rudolf Esch, Provo, UT: Association for Consumer Research, pp. 203–208. Holm, Andrej and Kuhn, Armin. “Squatting and Urban Renewal: The Interaction of Squatter Movements and Strategies of Urban Restructuring in Berlin.” (English Translation by Andrew Winnard). International Journal of Urban Regional Research, Vol. 35, Issue 3, May 2011, pp. 644-658. Retrieved from: http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/ doi/10.1111/j.1468-2427.2010.001009.x/abstract (accessed 30 November 2013). Katz, Steven and Mayer, Margit. ‘Gimme Shelter: Self-help Housing Struggles within and against the State in New York City and West Berlin.’ International Journal of Urban Research, Vol. 9, Issue 1, March 1985, pp. 15-46. Retrieved from: http:// onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.1468-2427.1985. tb00419.x/abstract (accessed 31 December 2013). Riley, S., More Y., and Griffin C. ‘The “Pleasure Citizen”: Analysing Partying As A Form of Social and Political Participation’. Young 18:1 (2010), pp. 33-54. Sheridan, Dougal. “The Space of Subculture in the City: Getting Specific about Berlin’s Indeterminate Territories”. field journal: Vol. 1, Issue 1, September 2007, Renata Tyszczuk and Doina Petrescu (eds.), pp. 97–119.

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INTERVIEWS Hegemann, Dimitri. Interview by author (61 minutes). 23 August 2013. Loschelder, Mo. Interview by author (65 minutes). 27 August 2013.

SELECTED WEB LINKS ‘Help The Tourists are Coming!’: Berlin Neighbourhood Fights Invasion of the EasyJet Set http://www.spiegel.de/international/germany/help-thetourists-are-coming-berlin-neighborhood-fights-invasion-ofthe-easyjet-set-a-749470.html (accessed 25 February 2013) ‘Nightclubbing: The Birth of Tresor’ http://www.redbullmusicacademy.com/magazine/ nightclubbing-tresor (accessed 15 April 2013) ‘Tracing West Berlin’s 70s and 80s subculture’ http://www.dw.de/tracing-west-berlins-70s-and-80ssubculture/a-16615845 (accessed 21 April 2013) ‘The closure of Berlin’s Tacheles squat is a sad day for alternative art’ by Jonathan Jones http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/ jonathanjonesblog/2012/sep/05/closure-tacheles-berlin-sadalternative-art (accessed 21 April 2013) ‘Authorities shut Berlin’s iconic Tacheles arts squat’ http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-19473806 (accessed 21 April 2013) 102

‘Berlin torn between wealth and cool’ http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-17538025 (accessed 21 April 2013) ‘Counterculture Vs. Capitalism: Iconic Berlin Squat Fights Its Last Battle’ by Sven Becker, Sebastian Erb and Wiebke Hollersen’ http://www.spiegel.de/international/germany/ counterculture-vs-capitalism-iconic-berlin-squat-fights-itslast-battle-a-715167.html (accessed 21 April 2013) ‘Last stand of Berlin’s bohemians’ by Jason Burke http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2008/sep/14/germany (accessed 21 April 2013) Berlin in the ’90s: An interview with Tobias Rapp (Resident Advisor feature) http://www.residentadvisor.net/feature.aspx?1434 (accessed 21 August 2013) Locations lassen sich überall finden (in German) http://www.faz.net/aktuell/feuilleton/buecher/rezensionen/ sachbuch/anja-schwanhaeusser-kosmonauten-desunderground-locations-lassen-sich-ueberall-finden-11071382. html (accessed 28 August 2013) ‘Tresor Reflects on 20 Years’ http://www.littlewhiteearbuds.com/feature/tresor-reflects-on20-years/#.UsnJ8mRdXTB (accessed 01 November 2013) ‘Interview with Harvard Professor Svetlana Boym: ‘Ruins Are at the Core of Berlin’s Identity’ http://www.spiegel.de/international/germany/interviewwith-harvard-professor-svetlana-boym-ruins-are-at-the-coreof-berlin-s-identity-a-709160.html (accessed 01 November 2013) 103

SELECTED VIDEOS Real Scenes: Berlin (Resident Advisor) http://www.residentadvisor.net/feature.aspx?1405 (viewed 18 February 2013) The Fall of the Berlin Wall (PART 1) – East Germany opens the gates (BBC News 9th November 1989) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjNz1lvXgzU (viewed 04 March 2013) The Fall of the Berlin Wall (PART 2) – East Germany opens the gates (BBC News 9th November 1989) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFlT46JwEJE (viewed 04 March 2013) ‘Technocity Berlin 1993 Doku full version’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-OLEyOYC6P4 (viewed 30 April 2013) ‘SubBerlin – The Story of Tresor’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRZoNWcTkGI (viewed 20 September 2013)

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Inner front ‘Tresor crowd, original location, 1991’ http://www.xlr8r.com/features/2013/10/labels-we-lovetresor (accessed 04 November 2013) Berlin Location Map / Tresor Location Map drawn by author 1 Photo of Tresor, taken by Lutz Artmann, Berlin 1996 http://www.flickr.com/photos/lunamtra/4795952255/ (accessed 10 October 2013) 2 Photo of Dimitri Hegemann, taken by Marie Staggat http://www.platoon.org/dates/berlin-legends-dimitrihegemann (accessed 04 November 2013) 3 Photo of Mo Loschelder http://www.bln.fm/2012/05/von-wegen-25-mit-moloschelder/ (accessed 04 November 2013) 4 Kaufhaus Wertheim Department Store in the 1920s http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Kaufhaus_Wertheim,_ Leipziger_Platz,_1920er_Jahre.jpg (accessed 23 July 2013) 5 Balfour, A., Berlin: The Politics of Order 1737-1989, New York: Rizzoli, 1990, p. 52. 6 Ibid., p. 70. 7 Photo gallery: Berlin after WWII (source A. C. Byers/Hein Gorny/Collection) www.spiegel.de/fotostrecke/photo-gallery-berlin-after-wwiifotostrecke-77169-18.html (accessed 17 December 2013) 105

8 Balfour, A., Berlin: The Politics of Order 1737-1989, New York: Rizzoli, 1990, p. 188. 9 Ibid., p. 171.

10 Ibid., p. 62. 11 Sheridan, D, “The Space of Subculture in the City: Getting Specific about Berlin’s Indeterminate Territories”, field journal: Vol. 1, Issue 1, September 2007, Renata Tyszczuk and Doina Petrescu (eds.), p. 100. 12 Kunsthaus Tacheles, Oranienburger Strasse. Photo taken by author, 09 November 2008. 13 ‘Wertheim Bank & Versicherung’ http://www.porto-club.de/Wertheim-Bank-Reisen.htm (accessed 18 December 2013) 14 ‘Die nächtliche Revolution: 20 Jahre Gesamt-Berliner Clubleben’ (source: picture-alliance/dpa/dpaweb) http://www.n-tv.de/panorama/Die-naechtliche-Revolutionarticle578830.html (accessed 24 September 2013) 15 ‘Labels We Love: Tresor’ http://www.xlr8r.com/features/2013/10/labels-we-lovetresor (accessed 04 November 2013) 16 Jeff Mills at Tresor, screenshot retrieved from: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1hwosEAAdE0 (accessed 04 November 2013) 17 ‘Site next to Tresor, Leipziger Strasse, Potsdamer Platz, Berlin Mitte’, Cupers, K. and Miessen, M., Spaces of Uncertainty, Wuppertal: Müller und Busmann, 2002, p. 180.

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18 ‘Leipziger Platz Quartier’ website http://www.leipzigerplatzquartier.de/intro.html (accessed 05 December 2013) 19 Leipziger Platz. Photo taken by author, 23 August 2013. 20 Leipziger Platz. Photo taken by author, 23 August 2013. 21 Leipziger Platz. Photo taken by author, 23 August 2013. 22 Leipziger Platz. Photo taken by author, 23 August 2013. 23 126 Leipziger Strasse. Photo taken by author, 29 October 2013. 24 Kraftwerk, Berlin. Photo taken by author, 23 August 2013.

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