ISSUE 01
SUMMER 2016
LOLAMAG.DE
+ Konrad Langer Herbert Schmidt Berlin GAA Sara Jordenö Horse and Pony Sarah P. Barry Cliffe John Kameel Farah Nikias Chryssos Larry Tee Grönland Records Ben Jones Caroline Clifford
MARK REEDER A LIFE AT THE HEART OF BERLIN’S CULTURAL REVOLUTIONS
FREE
Summer 2016
Editorial
‘AN IMMIGRANT’S LOVE OF BERLIN’
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few years ago I watched the documentary Page One: Inside The New York Times, and at one point the late journalist David Carr, star of the film, made a comment that really stuck with me. David came to the New York Times late in his career as a journalist, and in his life he had already dealt with drug addiction and raised two girls as a single dad. He didn’t arrive at the newspaper via the same route as his colleagues, and he said he had “an immigrant’s love of the place.” This phrase, ‘an immigrant’s love’, really resonated with me. I thought it had an amazing sentiment, and reflected the idea of how you can feel differently about something when you come to it as an outsider. For me, this phrase describes how I feel about Berlin, and how I think a lot of other people feel about the city too. Although I know native Berliners love their city, I think when you come to here from another place you have a different perspective. It may sound cliché, but there really is an atmosphere in Berlin that is different from anywhere else in the world. It attracts people, and holds them here.
Publisher & Editor In Chief Jonny Tiernan Executive Editor Marc Yates Associate Editor Alison Rhoades Sub Editor Linda Toocaram
Photographers Julie Montauk Daniel Müller Viktor Richardsson Robert Rieger Writers Stuart Braun Jane Fayle Ben Jones Alexander Rennie Hanno Stecher Stephanie Taralson
On a personal level, I love the pervasive liberal attitude and sense of freedom, the idea that anything is possible and you can truly be yourself. I love the mix of cultures and nationalities. I love the simple things: the fact that I can take my dog almost anywhere with me; that there is great vegetarian food on every corner. I love that not only is there the best nightlife in the world here, but also great art, film, and easy access to nature. I could go on forever. LOLA Magazine reflects this passion for the city and its residents within its pages, and our first cover star Mark Reeder is someone who exemplifies that completely. Mark moved to West Berlin from Manchester in 1978, fell in love with the city, and has lived here ever since. It’s the kind of move that no one else was making at the time, but it is now increasingly common. In that sense Mark was a pioneer, blazing a trail that so many have now followed. The Berlin he moved to might have changed superficially since his arrival, but the spirit remains the same. Throughout the magazine it’s that spirit that we are celebrating. It’s our immigrant’s love of Berlin. Jonny
Special Thanks Sarah-Rebecca Gerstner Mark Hunt Rebecca Johnston Melissa King Aysha Manori Katrina Marie Ryback Jack Pendleton Katja Spanke Emma Taggart Connie Wagner
Summer 2016
LOLA Magazine Jonny Tiernan Gorlitzer Straße 50 10997 Berlin For editorial and advertising information jonny@lolamag.de Printed in Berlin by Oktoberdruck AG www.oktoberdruck.de
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Issue One
Mark Reeder – photo by Robert Rieger
Contents
Contents 04. Berlin Through the Lens: Kon-
rad Langer “Meeting creative and adventurous people inspires me to push my own boundaries and try something new.” 08. Herbert Schmidt “People told me:
‘Oh my God, why would you want to move to Kreuzberg? You will be dead within two years.’” 11.
Berlin GAA “It’s a little piece of Ireland for us right here in Berlin.”
20. Mark Reeder “The waitresses were
all trannies on roller skates, it was fucking brilliant.”
38. Larry Tee “I’m ferocious – always 26. Sarah P. “Whoever says that they
don’t want to reach all the people out there shouldn’t be making music, in my opinion.” 28. Barry Cliffe “I guess people just
don’t expect there to be such a high standard among local bands so it’s always nice to see that stunned, impressed look on their faces.”
14. Sara Jordenö “We were surprised
because we thought we brought forward a very radical discussion, and we didn’t know if people wanted to hear it. Now I’m starting to think there’s a hunger for it.”
also live in our heads; in our own little worlds.”
32. John Kameel Farah “Organs are
ancient synthesizers. Instead of twiddling knobs and faders, you’re pulling stops, or different combinations of stops together, to get different effects.”
have been, always will be.” 39. Grönland Records “The ethos has
always been to enable musicians to release their music even if it might not fit into the everyday mainstream.” 40. Dispatches: Ben Jones in Lesbos
“The boats would just arrive on the beach, 50 or 60 people crammed together on a craft that was designed for 12.” 44. Last Word: Caroline Clifford “I feel
guilty that my cat is bored.”
18. Horse and Pony Fine Art “Here you
can say you’re an artist and no one asks you what you really do.”
34. Nikias Chryssos “We agree on a
certain reality in some way, but we Summer 2016
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Berlin Through The Lens
Konrad Langer
Berlin Through The Lens
KONRAD LANGER’S FRESH PERSPECTIVE
Things are changing in photography. The unstoppable rise of social media is bringing an end to the days of an artist honing his craft before taking it to an audience. It was, in fact, the immediacy of social media that awakened this Berlin-based photographer’s passion and led him to his profession.
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Konrad Langer
Berlin Through The Lens
K
onrad Langer started taking photos with his first smartphone, posting them on Instagram. Since then he has photographed his surroundings almost every day, using the app to help him produce increasingly better pictures. Konrad’s Instagram channel is full of colourful, often geometric shots of Berlin, but what keeps us so engaged is the constant stream of deftly original images with which he provides his followers. From rooftop vistas in Kreuzberg to overlooked corners of U-Bahn stations, Konrad’s Berlin is one you’ve never seen before, and we love it. Earlier this year, Konrad had his first public photographic exhibition at Aufbau Haus, where a selection of his stand-out images were displayed before a throng of enthusiastic fans. Since then, Konrad has been toting his camera across the world, and so we were very grateful when he took the time out to make this special selection of his photographs for us and answer some questions. You’re really beginning to make a name for yourself on Instagram. Tell us how it all began. I started with Instagram in August 2013 and I use it daily for private and work purposes. What I like the most is the community behind it. Within just two and a half years I managed to get in touch with hundreds of inspiring, creative people all over the world – online and offline. Some of them I can call close friends now; I will always be thankful for that. Also, the app allowed me as an amateur to go deeper into photography in a very short time, so that now I can even make a living out of photography and visual storytelling. I still wouldn’t call myself a photographer though, at least not in a narrow definition. Do the constraints of Instagram influence your work? Yes, I would actually say a lot. The best thing is, I feel engaged to take photos every day to keep my gallery and storytelling updated. Also, the format requirements clearly affect my visuality. In the beginning, I took most of my pictures in square format; when Instagram decided to accept all formats I changed to mainly portrait, and I still don’t post in landscape format very often. The style of my images is – maybe a bit too much – influenced by the network. To be seen and recognised on Instagram, your feed has to have a very consistent flow and visual language. Deviations lead to less engagement and a loss of followers, at least in the short term. Also, a single picture itself needs to be as significant as possible. On Instagram, unfortunately, there is not much room for images that seem random and reveal their meaning only after looking closely for minutes. I guess this is the other side of the coin, when it comes to instant visibility.
community is becoming more and more diverse and scattered here in Berlin, most of the people know each other and also meet and work together on several occasions. You mentioned that style is important for engagement; how did your aesthetic develop? First, I always loved good pictures of interesting architecture. That often involves the use of composition and geometry, to capture it in an interesting way, so I was inspired by architectural photographers at a very early stage. Second, I think because I’ve used my smartphone for all of my pictures on Instagram so far, the limitations of a fixed lens with a rather two-dimensional optic remind you to focus on the given structures in order to create perspective and space. Finally, I publish most of my photographic output directly on social media, so I don’t have a lot of time to curate a certain series before I drop them online. Pictures that have a focus on structure help me to keep my gallery clean, dynamic and consistent, even though the pictures might have been taken in different cities or even different countries. Having a curated, consistent-looking gallery is always the next level, because it is very difficult to achieve. Where do you draw inspiration from? A lot of my inspiration comes from travelling and finding new places in general. Going abroad to see things literally in a different light always motivates me, even after I come back home. Meeting creative and adventurous people also inspires me to push my own boundaries and try something new. We really enjoyed your exhibition at Aufbau Haus. How did that come about? Martin Adler, a friend of mine who works as a printer in Berlin, encouraged me to showcase my best pictures of 2015. He helped me, finding the space and also with the layout for printing. Was it weird seeing your work in large format print rather than on a smartphone screen? For me, it was very rewarding to see my digital stuff finally hanging on a wall, and it also motivated me to do more photo projects for offline use. Sounds promising – does that mean there are more exciting projects on the horizon? There are a few bigger brand collaborations coming up, some of them even outside of Instagram, which makes me very happy, as I see this as a next step. Apart from that, I try to travel as often as I can, to keep me inspired and to show people places that they might not have on their bucket list yet.
Follow Konrad on Instagram @konaction to keep up to date with all of his travels and to appreciate his unique photographic take on Berlin and the world.
Do you feel part of a community of Instagrammers in Berlin? Yes, I do. Although the Instagram
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Konrad Langer
Berlin Through The Lens
Above Berlin-Mitte, December 2015 Left Berlin-Kreuzberg (Schlesisches Tor), November 2015
Above Berlin-Kreuzberg, February 2016 Right Berlin-Treptow, July 2015 Below Berlin-Charlottenburg, August 2015
Summer 2016
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Local Hero
THE FRISBEE JESUS OF GÖRLITZER PARK Words by Hanno Stecher Photos by Robert Rieger
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Herbert Schmidt
Local Hero
HERBERT SCHMIDT ON LIFE AS A KREUZBERG LEGEND Berlin is widely regarded as a city of constant change and renewal, but not everything changes here. Some things have been the same for years, shaping the city’s identity in a profound way. One such example is Herbert Schmidt, a fixture of Kreuzberg’s Görlitzer Park; a place both ugly and wild, free-spirited and unpredictable.
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o many people Herbert is a legend and a mystery, because he is known for a very specific reason: every day, no matter the temperature and whatever the weather, you will find him in the ‘kettle’ – the dip in the middle of the park – practising his passion, frisbee. The fact that the grass has ceased to grow in the spot where he usually stands is but one impact Herbert has had on this infamous place. We meet with the tanned frisbee junkie to find out what motivates him to visit this place every day. It is late afternoon, Herbert’s favourite time to come here. He is articulate and relaxed, with a clear vision and a calling that goes far beyond having fun with a disc. And as we find out, he is not alone. It seems like there is a whole group of people that gather to play with you regularly. Yes, this is the time when they all arrive, the frisbee junkies. Over the course of the years, many friendships have evolved. There are people here I’ve known for more than ten years. John for example, I’ve known him for 12 years. But he only plays the backhand, and that can get a bit boring after some time. Sometimes I need a forehand. So I am always happy to play with new people.
When did you start throwing the frisbee? I’ve known the frisbee sport since 1967, but it didn’t really interest me back then. Most of the people who played it knew only a few throwing techniques and I found that boring. I preferred playing soccer. I only started getting interested in it when I saw two frisbee players at the Englischer Garten in Munich who had some really cool throwing techniques. This is when I decided to learn it. So you are originally from Munich? I am from Bavaria. I lived in Munich for five years and moved to Berlin in 1985 or ‘86 when I was in my late-twenties. The company I worked for at the time had just gone bankrupt, but the director didn’t want to shut it down, so they decided to move it to Berlin. Back then companies could get financial benefits if they moved to Berlin; the economy was so bad here because of the Wall. They asked the employees if they wanted to move with the firm. This was my chance – I had always dreamed about moving here. What was it that made you dream of moving to Berlin? For me it was about the challenge. It had this really negative reputation. People told me: ‘Oh
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Local Hero
Herbert Schmidt
« I DO IT TO HAVE SOME BALANCE IN MY LIFE. AND OUT OF PASSION. IT IS ALSO A KIND OF MEDITATION FOR ME. » my God, why would you want to move to Kreuzberg? You will be dead within two years. You will become a junkie or someone will kill you!’ That’s what people told me, they were really scared of this place. Did you start playing frisbee here right after you moved? I continued what I had started in Munich. For me playing frisbee means essentially being able to execute different throwing techniques and get the frisbee from A to B as precisely as possible. So I took my knowledge from Munich to Berlin and started to develop my own throwing techniques and tried to expand the whole thing. At that time Freestyle was coming up, a style of playing frisbee where you hold the disk and do different postures. I saw reports about freestylers in the US and thought it was amazing. Freestyling looked much cooler and eventually many people started doing it. But they also stopped caring about the throwing techniques. I was determined to push this aspect more. That was something I did first of all for myself. But today many people come here to learn these techniques. I would have never thought that what I do here would get such a big response. Tell us a little bit about these responses. There are really a lot of people who come here to learn frisbee techniques, it is crazy what I’ve experienced here. There are even two movies that feature me: Der Adel vom Görlitzer Park [The Gentry of Görlitzer Park] and Open Souls by Berlin-based director Volker Mayer-Dabsich. And there are a whole bunch of YouTube videos about me with names like Mr Frisbee or Frisbee Jesus – these are the names they’ve given me. There is always something happening here. Just two days ago two younger guys, who were totally fascinated by what we are doing here, joined us. And we also have a lot of children who play with us. It is important for me to pass my knowledge onto the youth. It is in my own interest that there are always enough people here to play with. [Laughs] What’s your favourite time of day to come here? I usually arrive around half past three. In wintertime I come at half past two, because of the time shift. That has to be corrected of course. If it gets really hot here in summer I sometimes arrive only around four or half past four, once the heat is gone. So you really are here every single day. Yes, I do it to have some balance in my life. And out of passion. 10
It is also a kind of meditation for me. And I really enjoy the fact that it is so international here, I constantly meet new people. It might all be connected to the fact that my childhood was a total catastrophe, so the whole thing might be more than just a game and a passion. “It is a place where I find peace,” to quote an English composer whose biography I recently saw on TV. He had a horrible childhood as well and found peace in music. And actually, I see what I do here as a dance. I even listen to music on my headphones all the time when I play: jazz, funk, soul, sometimes rock and electronic music. Whatever fits to what I’m doing here. What do you do if the weather is really bad? Do you still come here, no matter what? We also play in zero degree weather. We just can’t play in the kettle when there is snow, because it gets too icy and once the snow starts melting it turns into a lake. So we usually play a bit further down the park, where the ramp is, next to Das Edelweiss. It’s just when it’s raining like crazy that it makes no sense to play. The disc has no grip then, which is important to throw it properly. Do you have a regular job here in Berlin? I have learned several different jobs. I was trained as an information technician in communication technologies and additionally was trained to work in micro-processing technologies. Before that I had an education as a building fitter and welder, that was my first job. But I do much more today: I make music and do graphics. I am an autodidact, and I have a big interest in physics, astronomy and biology; these are fields I am really very invested in. From your perspective, how has Görlitzer Park changed over time? Well, there is a lot that has changed. The ‘gentry’ is no longer here, for example. The gentry? Yes, that’s what we used to call the alcoholics who were always sitting here at the edge of the kettle and making a show. A lot of people came here just for the spectacle, and there was always something going on. Generally speaking, I would say that the people who come to the park have become much younger and there are more drug dealers here than ever. At the same time, fewer residents are coming here, most of the people here are completely unknown to me. Did you ever consider playing frisbee somewhere else? No, I always stayed here. What has happened to me in this park has been a very unique experience. I have been welcomed here in a way that is completely different to anywhere else, and I have met a lot of people here. I have been received as a friend, and that’s what makes it so special for me. I had never experienced anything like that before.
You can enjoy watching Herbert throw his frisbee every day from around 3pm in Görlitzer Park, Kreuzberg. Issue One
Das Edelweiss Popular cafe Das Edelweiss occupies part of the original Görlitzer Bahnhof. Although badly damaged in WWII and demolished in 1975, it wasn’t until 1990 that the land the station occupied became Görlitzer Park.
Berlin GAA
A Sporting Society
IRISH SPORTS ARE THRIVING: ONE CLUB’S SUCCESS AGAINST THE ODDS If you happen to be strolling through Tempelhofer Feld on a Wednesday evening or Saturday afternoon, you might spot something a little unusual. On a patch of grass opposite Albert Speer’s iconic terminal building, the Berlin Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA) convenes twice a week to practice Gaelic football and hurling. The story behind their inception and what they’re achieving today is touched by tragedy and profoundly inspiring. Words by Alex Rennie
Photo by Jan Baldszuhn | oneeyeview.de
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efore explaining how Berlin ended up with a fully-fledged and thriving Irish sports club, we should properly introduce Gaelic football and Ireland’s largest sporting association, the GAA. So, a history lesson: In 1884, a group of determined Irishmen got together in a hotel in Thurles, a small town in County Tipperary, and set about founding what is now one of the most celebrated amateur sporting associations in the world. The ethos instilled in the GAA has remained largely unchanged since its birth 134 years ago: it is an institution of volunteers devoted to the promotion of traditional Irish sports within, and now outside of, the country’s borders. Today, the GAA is an enormous entity, its headquarters standing beside Dublin’s famous Croke Park stadium. As of 2010, it owned assets worth a staggering €2.6 billion and its declared revenue fell somewhere in the region of €94.8 million. Crucially, what sets the GAA apart from the profiteering likes of FIFA, for example, is that 80% of the money made from gate receipts is pumped back into local clubs and the communities that they are a part of. For a club to be able to compete, it needs to become affiliated with the GAA. To achieve that status, a club must have at least 11 members, a committee, and an AGM. Once it meets these criteria, it is then allowed to put the fabled acronym after its name (e.g. Summer 2016
Berlin GAA). According to the GAA’s own website, there are more than 2,200 such clubs in Ireland, and an estimated 450 abroad. To grasp what Gaelic football and hurling actually look like, it’s probably easiest to have a quick browse through YouTube. Nevertheless, the former is a 15-a-side hybrid of soccer, Aussie rules, handball, and basketball that involves kicking, hand-passing, bouncing and chipping the ball. The goals are like rugby posts with a soccer net in the bottom half; you score one point by kicking it over the crossbar, three by slotting it underneath. Hurling on the other hand is quite similar to hockey, in that you play it with a wooden stick – a ‘hurley’ – and a much smaller leather ball called a ‘sliotar’. Owing to the long distance you can hit the sliotar, and the fact that you can also use your hands and feet, the game is played at a lightning pace. Being 15-a-side, it’s also definitely not for the faint-hearted! In many respects, the origins of Berlin GAA have a lot in common with that fated meeting in 1884: a band of spirited folk collaborating to foster something extraordinary. In a bustling Kreuzberg bar, Anthony McDermott, Berlin GAA’s incumbent chairman, tells us how the club got to its feet. It all began when he and former Berlin GAA chairman Chris Hennessy decided to forge an Irish sports association. The pair first 11
A Sporting Society
Sadly, Chris passed away at the age of 40 the following January, two months after his dream had begun to evolve. Talking to Anthony, you get a real sense that although Chris’ passing was acutely saddening and far too premature, it fuelled those involved to really kick things forward. “Chris’ father told me that one of the last things he said was that he hoped we’d
« NOT ONLY IS IT A SPORTS CLUB, IT’S A SOCIAL COMMUNITY AS WELL. » do well,” he says. “Chris was the guy that brought the balls down every week, even if there might’ve been nobody there. We wanted to keep pushing on for his memory.” Whereas others may have fallen by the wayside, Berlin GAA went from strength to strength. In April 2015, the club ventured south to Munich and played in their first official European tournament. Clad in
Photos by Viktor Richardsson
met in an Irish pub as they were watching a Gaelic football match between their two local teams from back home – Cavan for Anthony, Kerry for Chris. Having hit it off instantly, and after Chris spoke of his weekly sojourns to Tempelhof to play Gaelic football with his son, the two set about building the club. “Things really got going in the summer of 2014,” says Anthony. “Chris contacted the GAA, but they told us that we needed to get more members.” Undeterred, Chris reached out to his counterpart at Dresden’s GAA, who agreed to host a tournament to raise awareness for the fledgling club. “They said they’d put it on for us, and they did,” Anthony says. “We got a team together and went down there; that was October, 2014.” In a cruel twist of fate, Berlin GAA was dealt a huge blow not long after their trip to Saxony. “For a while, Chris had been hobbling about with a sore back – he couldn’t even play anymore,” says Anthony. “That tournament was the last day he was ever outside; a week and a half later he was diagnosed with cancer.” On November 5th of the same year, their diligence paid off when the club was officially recognised as a GAA. “After Chris found out he was ill, we just kept going and made sure to finish the rest,” Anthony recalls.
Berlin GAA
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their brand new green and white kit, kindly sponsored by Chris’ family and friends, the team ended up fifth overall, having won two games, drawn one and lost another. And that was only the start of things to come. At last count there were approximately 95 GAA clubs scattered throughout Europe. Furthermore – and in stark contrast to Ireland – Europe is classed as one whole county, which means that teams often have to travel thousands of kilometres to play competitive matches. To make things easier, the body tasked with organising these events – the European County Board – divides Europe into sub-regions. Berlin GAA falls within the board’s Southern Europe grouping; its rival competitors come from cities in countries such as Austria, Italy, Poland, Slovakia and the Czech Republic. Given that playing a match doesn’t have the same roll-out-of-bed ease you would associate with a Sunday league kick-about, one might wonder how Berlin GAA manages to attract its members. Suffice to say, they genuinely don’t appear to be having any issues on that front. During our initial encounter, Anthony enthusiastically invited us down to watch a training session on the proviso that we took part. More surprising than the unseasonably
A Sporting Society
Photo by Jan Baldszuhn | oneeyeview.de
Berlin GAA
warm spring weather was the 30-strong horde of people, both men and women, gearing up for a two-hour marathon of Irish sports. After an intense and very sweaty runaround, Robert Henneberg – the club’s secretary and Anthony’s right-hand man – chats about Berlin GAA’s meteoric rise: “It’s been spectacular to see how the club has grown over the last 15 months. It started out as the five of us with a ball, worrying how we were going to fund it and get players involved. Now we’re a bona fide club with 40-odd members.” Born and raised in Köpenick, Robert speaks English with a strong Irish lilt. Impressively, the linguistics student is also fully fluent in Irish and spent some time in Wexford Town teaching German in a school. “Founding the club has taken a lot of time and effort but it’s been absolutely worth it if you see where we are now,” he says. Robert goes on to discuss the club’s success in a range of tournaments, including the Gaelic football side making their first final, the ladies’ squad clinching their first match, and the hurling team winning their first competition last year in Dresden – the aptly named Chris Hennessy Cup. He adds: “These milestones remind me of Chris. He’d come out all those years ago in the winter, 3°C, pissing with rain, him and his little son. He didn’t care if it was just the two of them, he’d still be here. I like to think that Chris is looking down and he’s proud of us.” Arguably, the club’s biggest milestone is
right around the corner: this June, they will host Berlin’s inaugural GAA tournament. “Because we’d travelled to three competitions last year, we’re entitled to put one on in 2016,” says Robert. “The county board told us they’d love to give us the opportunity, and we’re all massively excited about it.” As you’d expect, the majority of Berlin GAA’s players are Irish expats. Even so, on separate occasions both Anthony and Robert are quick to point out that the club’s membership is strikingly varied. “We’ve also got players from the UK, Germany, Australia, France and the Netherlands,” Robert says. With the exception of the Antipodean cohort, their player demographic isn’t as Eurocentric as the above suggests. Upon our second visit to Tempelhofer Feld, we encounter Amjed and Ahmed Samaraie, two Iraqi brothers who have recently discovered Gaelic football. “By chance my brother met a guy who plays here and he asked us to come and join in. We were both very curious,” says Amjed. “For now playing is just for fun, but we’ll get better. It’s nice to be able to meet new people in Berlin this way.” Amjed’s comments completely confirm Robert’s earlier observation about Berlin GAA: “Not only is it a sports club, it’s a social community as well.” The same Saturday that the Samaraie brothers are taking part, Paudie O’Neill is standing on the touchlines. Paudie, a former school headmaster and hurling coach for Tipperary GAA (a team he refers to as “the Summer 2016
Manchester United of GAA”) is on hand to clarify the global dissemination of Gaelic football and hurling. “It’s a worldwide phenomenon that’s happened on the back of the Irish diaspora,” says Paudie. “There was a lot of emigration due to the economic downturn and Irish people established these clubs wherever they ended up. They’re great for networking and they give people a feeling of identity whilst living in a new city.” Only in Berlin for the weekend and clearly eager to get involved, Paudie swiftly peels off at the end of our chat to breeze through a series of hurling drills with the team. Paudie is spot on with his remarks on migration. Following the 2007-08 international financial crisis, an estimated 34,500 people left Ireland. Anthony counts himself as part of that exodus. “It’s the connection to home I was looking for when I first arrived and that’s why I love it,” he says. “It’s a little piece of Ireland for us right here in Berlin.” Another important figure at the club is Pat O’Leary, the man who coordinates the squad’s coaching regime. For him, Berlin GAA also serves a communal function. “The social aspect is as important as the sporting side of things,” says the coach. “I wouldn’t have met so many people in Berlin if it wasn’t for the club, it really settled me here.” Still, his focus is on honing the team’s skills. “Everybody gets stuck in. Sometimes there’s a bit too much yapping but that’s OK – once they’re playing they give it their all and I get a big buzz out of that.” Whether it be their accomplishments on the field or the bonds formed off it, it’s obvious that the fulcrum of Berlin GAA is an unswerving camaraderie. “When Irish people come to Berlin, many of them are searching for things they might recognise from back home,” says Robert. “Our club provides a setting for both Irish and nonIrish people to integrate and to immediately be part of a social group.” After a measured pause, Robert reflects: “Maybe the sport is just the common denominator.” Midway through the team’s customary post-training match, a father and son walk past the ensuing game. “Papa, warum spielen die da Fußball mit den Händen?” the young boy asks. It may well be a while before the German masses are initiated into the nuances of Gaelic football. Yet it’s heartening to see how Chris’ vision has been achieved and what the club means to its members. For Berlin GAA, it’s much more than just a game: it’s family.
To keep up to date with all the Berlin GAA goings-on, or to get involved yourself, visit facebook.com/BerlinGAA 13
Berlinale-Winning Documentary
Sara Jordenö
THE ONGOING IMPACT OF SARA JORDENÖ’S AWARD-WINNING DOCUMENTARY KIKI Words by Marc Yates Photos by Robert Rieger
It’s Berlinale 2016, and we’ve just watched the first ever public screening of the documentary, KIKI. There is a palpable atmosphere in the room, as though we’ve just witnessed something truly special.
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fter the screening, a number of the film’s protagonists and production team take to the stage for a Q&A session. An audience member takes the microphone. She doesn’t have a question, but just wants to say how thankful she is that the film has been made. She is a trans woman, and while she isn’t sure if she will start hormone treatment again, the film has given her hope, a hope that she thought was lost. You can hear the emotion in her voice. One of film’s main protagonists, Gia Marie Love, comes down from the stage to embrace her. It’s an incredibly touching and intimate moment. When Gia returns to her place on stage, she has tears in her eyes, and we understand the importance and power of what we’ve just witnessed. Clearly, this is a documentary that not only reflects the strength of its characters, but one that also gives strength to a community. KIKI is the latest documentary to reignite the conversation started by Jennie Living-
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ston’s seminal 1990 documentary, Paris is Burning. Like its predecessor, KIKI is a startling, touching and intelligent look at New York’s ball culture – a thriving scene of black and hispanic LGBTQ individuals and their chosen families (houses) who support them through the hardships of homelessness, drug addiction, illness and violence, before ushering them onto the runway in full, dazzling drag. As the film’s remarkable coming-of-age story unfolds, we meet a community on intimate terms with death tearing up catwalks for the chance of a trophy, its members becoming the new legends of New York. When we meet director Sara Jordenö, it is in the lounge of a Berlin hotel with the Berlinale whirlwind in full flow around us. In the midst of it all, Sara sits with an almost permanent smile on her face. She is still visibly buzzing from the night before as we sit down to talk about what it took to make KIKI and why the stories emerging from this marginalised group of New Yorkers continue to resonate. Issue One
Summer 2016
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Berlinale-Winning Documentary
“I was on some little clouds the whole night, you know?” Sara laughs, beaming from the reception that the film received at Berlinale. “There were so many people that stayed for the Q&A, it was touching. We had standing ovations at Sundance. Now that is very much a film audience and they embraced it, which was so overwhelming. We worked on it for so long, I don’t know if we realised this day would come.” Production on KIKI began in 2012, and Swedish-native Sara embarked on the process of documenting the film’s subjects over some years; a process that would see her become one of the family. The fact that KIKI is the result of a unique insider–outsider collaboration only begins to explain the spirit of this documentary: it is unmistakably political, but its message is deliberately filtered through the stories of its characters. Stereotypes and preconceived notions of transgender issues are addressed with simple humanity rather than harsh rhetoric, providing far greater impact and effortlessly winning over audiences. “I respect documentaries like that,” explains Sara, “that bring up an issue and bring it home and create change, but this is a film about these particular individuals and their friends. It’s a portrait of friendship, and that is universal.” With KIKI being co-written by Twiggy Pucci Garçon – a gatekeeper of the Kiki scene and a central figure in the film – in addition to Sara being on intimate terms with the people she was filming, one might wonder if the intimacy necessary to make the documentary influenced Sara’s portrayal of her subjects. “Twiggy and the others were very open about this,” Sara says. “They were like: ‘You should not sugarcoat it.’ These people are not perfect, the community is not perfect. I do think that it’s a love letter,” she adds, “but that’s because they deserve it. Obviously I admire them a lot and we formed this bond, but I wanted to make an honest film. This was also a discussion I had with the cinematographer and editor. We wanted to shy away from the stereotypes that exist in storytelling around this group.” KIKI is a patchwork of stories as diverse as the characters we get to meet during its 94 minutes: Gia, the blossoming trans woman whose identity is awoken in the ballroom; Chi Chi Mizrahi, the house mother who opens up about his struggles with addiction; the dauntless and articulate Symba, who speaks about his HIV diagnosis; and Twiggy Pucci Garçon at the head of it all – youth advocate, ballroom legend and unwavering pillar of support for the people around him. The depictions of Kiki ball preparations become a framework through which discussions of very real issues in the Black and Trans Lives Matter movements can be explored. As a result, KIKI is marbled with awareness and acceptance, its central figures literally looking the audience unflinchingly in the eye.
Sara Jordenö
Twiggy Pucci Garcon Among the many prestigious awards Twiggy has received for his advocacy work are the New York Black Pride Ballroom Leadership Award, the HEAT Program’s Outstanding Leadership and Community Service Award, Gay Men’s Health Crisis and House of Latex Project’s Hector Xtravaganza Excellence Award, and the Kiki Scene’s Community Organizing Award.
In an industry where the mainstream is dominated by white, heterosexual, cis male narratives, it can seem like an uphill struggle to get a film like KIKI noticed. “There is this idea that stories like this do 16
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not have mainstream appeal, and maybe will not fill theatres,” says Sara. “There’s the beginning of a diversity discussion within the mainstream of the mainstream, at the Oscars, and it’s interesting it’s happening there. The audiences want more, it’s a total misconception that we can’t fill theatres. It’s interesting to see the response because there’s almost this relief. When you see the audience … there was this response of ‘Yes!’ We were surprised because we thought we brought forward a very radical discussion, and we didn’t know if people wanted to hear it. Now I’m starting to think there’s a hunger for it.” Sara’s desire is for the film to be used as a political tool, a platform upon which the issues the Kiki community face – homophobia, transphobia, homelessness, HIV/AIDS, and more – can be discussed. And despite the film’s incredible head start on the festival circuit, she is quick to stress that the hard work to publicise the film has only just begun: “As with any non-mainstream political opinion, you have to fight to get it heard.” As much as KIKI is a political film exposing us to the plight of a marginalised community, it is also a portrait of this dazzling and colourful scene. In the ballroom, the focus is very much on fun and acceptance, with unmissable overtones of scalding competition. One competition in particular has been familiar to the mainstream for more than 25 years: Vogueing. This highly competitive dance is central to KIKI and has been a staple of the ballroom scene for decades. The dance takes its name from the magazine, because many of the movements mimic the poses of the models featured within its pages, although it has since evolved into a high-energy, gymnastic art form. “[Vogueing] has mainstream appeal because people know about it through Madonna,” Sara explains. But Madonna’s brand of
Sara Jordenö
Berlinale-Winning Documentary
« IT’S STILL AN EXTREMELY RADICAL THING NOT TO FOLLOW THE GENDER THAT YOU WERE ASSIGNED AT BIRTH. » vogueing, the vogue that has been appropriated by the mainstream, is fundamentally different to the vogueing we see in the Kiki ballroom. This vogueing is just as politically relevant as the discussions of transgender experience we see in the film. As Sara asserts: “Vogueing is political. Ballroom is political.” Because it’s political, it isn’t always safe: “You see, vogueing is dangerous for people on the scene. A lot of it is a stylised femininity, it’s really an exploration of a set of gestures we code as ‘feminine’, and because of that it’s really dangerous to vogue in the wrong areas of New York. You see a moment in the film when Gia is attacked by these kids on the street, for example – the danger is always there. Trans women get killed, we know this, so these people have absolutely been forbidden from expressing themselves in this way. When they come to the art form, to vogue, there’s this pent-up energy. It’s a ‘finally’, an enormous pleasure in it, and an urgency in expressing it. If a white, cis, heterosexual woman does it, it just doesn’t mean the same thing. I feel that sometimes people don’t get it, how radical it is.” And radical it still is. Although KIKI allows us to share Twiggy Pucci Garçon’s joy as he walks into The White House – invitation in hand – for a reception with the President, it is clear that it still takes courage to face the fear, discrimination and violence encountered by the Kiki community. “I think that certain people would say ‘Oh, you know it’s not dangerous anymore to be LGBTQ’,” Sara continues, “but they just don’t know what they’re talking about. It’s still an extremely radical thing not to follow the gender that you were assigned at birth.” Throughout the film we hear insults hurled at trans women on the street, see the ballroom star Divo flamboyantly dancing on the West 4th Street subway platform before explaining that there is “no way” he would do the same in the East New York neighbourhood he grew up in, and hear Gia’s biological mother speak tearfully about an LGBTQ friend who was killed. This again recalls Paris is Burning, in which Angie Xtravaganza – visibly sick with AIDS-related illnesses – talks about the murder of her house daughter Venus, a young trans woman strangled in a New York motel in 1988. Although we hear President Obama himself defiantly declare in KIKI that, “This is an issue whose time has come,” the status quo for the community in 2016 is sometimes indistinguishable from that of 1990. There is still a long way to go.
North Carolina Earlier this year, the state became the first (and only) to require transgender people – by law – to use bathrooms assigned to the sex on their birth certificate. The state motto is ‘Esse quam videri’ [to be, rather than to seem] and was introduced in 1893.
Summer 2016
Audiences approaching KIKI with expectations of entertaining catwalk spectacles and in-depth gender politics will not be disappointed, but they will be surprised. While KIKI and documentaries like it might be regarded as terrific examples of voices being given to marginalised groups, this film is far less about giving the Kiki community a voice rather than amplifying the many intelligent, determined and unwavering voices that it already has. Sara elaborates: “There is this surprise. People are saying, ‘Oh they’re so articulate,’ and I was also surprised. I also had the same stereotypes. When you hear about ballroom – and this is also true of LGBTQ people of colour in particular, I think – there is this idea that they’re interested in fashion, that they want money, they’re not intellectual. There are a lot of stereotypes like this and they are simply not true.” This is a point that KIKI brings home with remarkable and genuine effectiveness. “Wasn’t that a question during the Q&A?” Sara asks, “People were like, ‘Do you really talk about this? Do you really sit around and talk about gender?’ And Gia was like, ‘Of course!’” The Kiki community is one that tells its own stories; all we have to do is listen. The costumes and noise of the ballroom frame a dialogue about struggle, resilience, and unbreakable family ties. As Twiggy Pucci Garçon, founder of the international Opulent Haus of PUCCI, concludes: “We’re strong as fuck.” The success of KIKI shows no sign of slowing down. It won the Teddy Award for Best Documentary and Essay Film at the Berlinale, and the Kathleen Bryan Edwards Award for Human Rights at the Full Frame Festival in North Carolina. KIKI will continue to light up screens on the international film festival circuit throughout 2016, reaping the praise it deserves everywhere it goes.
Read more about KIKI and watch clips from the film at kikimovie.com. Keep up with the latest news about the film at facebook.com/kikithefilm 17
Cultural Hotspot
Horse and Pony Fine Arts
THE ARTISTS WHO TURNED A DÖNER FACTORY INTO A CONTEMPORARY ART SPACE Words by Alison Rhoades Photos by Robert Rieger
Horse and Pony Fine Arts certainly looks like a gallery, but also like a work of art in and of itself, proudly wearing the remnants of its history like so much of Berlin. Distressed walls partially clad with coloured tiles that recall a ‘70s kitchen, or maybe a Turkish Haman. Several moveable white walls stand upright against exposed brick, the ceilings lined with ornate baroque-style molding. Once a Dönermanufaktur, and before that a butcher shop, the property is now home to an exciting new art space featuring curators, artists, writers and musicians from around the world. Built essentially from the ground up, it is the product of four years’ hard work by its co-founders, American artists Carrick Bell and Michael Rocco Ruglio-Misurell.
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t only took two or three visits to Berlin for Carrick and Rocco to decide that they wanted to make the city their home. “We liked the contemporary art scene here, and what the city still had to offer, being unbuilt or incomplete in some ways,” says Rocco. Looking at his meticulously crafted sculptures and installations produced with wire, granite, Plexiglas and other found materials, it is easy to see why he was drawn to the city both physically and conceptually. Carrick, who works in video, preoccupies himself with themes of cultural nostalgia and the affective mediation of current events or pop culture icons morphed into abstracted narratives. After they received their MFAs from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago in 2008, Berlin seemed like an ideal city to build on their practices while discovering a new culture. “It feels like a space where you can actually explore,” explains Carrick, “and maybe be a little less bound by what you had been doing up to that point. And maybe that’s just what you need after several years of grad school and then being spit out into the deepest darkest part of the recession.” It’s no exaggeration to say that 2008 and 2009 were the darkest years in modern history for young people entering the workforce, perhaps especially in the arts. With the economy in shambles, artists were forced into minimum-wage jobs – if they could find jobs at all. Quality of life was also deteriorating. Carrick and Rocco saw a strong resurgence of gun violence during their last summer in their former Chicago neighborhood of Pilsen. “In the States, in Chicago or New York, to start something from the ground up without a lot of capital, you’re really putting your life at risk,” explains Rocco. “Whereas here, we saw an opportunity. This was known as a dangerous area, but it was laughable compared to what was happening in Chicago.”
Horse and Pony Fine Arts
Berlin at the time was an ideal setting for artists looking for affordable space, a relatively low cost of living, and lots of creative energy. “What happens when a recession happens and you still can live through it?” Carrick asks. “It’s a city that, after total economic destruction, was able to survive.” Indeed, a 2009 Der Spiegel article explains that because of more than 40 years of staggeringly high unemployment, little to no industry, and debt from some hundreds of thousands in bad loans given out in the early 1990s; in terms of the recession, Berlin had a more or less ‘been there, done that’ attitude. The piece quotes Marc Glimcher, president of PaceWildenstein art galleries in New York: “In Berlin, it’s always a recession. That’s what being an artist in Berlin is all about – in this evolutionary cycle, they’re perfectly adapted for survival.” In 2009, Rocco was awarded a Fulbright scholarship to study Ad Hoc Architecture post-1989 at Humboldt University, and that autumn the pair set off. “It was a parachute,” Carrick says of the Fulbright, as it allowed artists the time, space and resources to begin figuring out how to actually sustain a life here for a longer period of time. “The research had a practical outcome,” says Rocco. While studying squatted buildings and wagon villages, he stumbled upon an exciting prospect: “As I was doing the research on what was happening in the decades prior, we came across an agency that was hooking up businesses and artists with landlords who were having a hard time renting out their spaces. So there we saw an opportunity to actually build something ourselves.” The agency, Zwischennutzungsagentur, ran monthly tours of up to ten spaces. Altenbraker Straße 18 had already been empty for about a decade and was in a state of total disrepair. The fact that the pair was interested in a large, multi-faceted space, coupled with the fact that the interior was in dire need of renovation, worked to their advantage as people were generally looking for something smaller and in better condition. “The agency was actually really supportive of us because, in a way, they were really excited that we were willing to take on such an ambitious project,” says Carrick. The process of acquiring the space began in winter 2010 and after a lot of waiting and paperwork, Summer 2016
Cultural Hotspot
they finally got the keys in September 2011. Initially, there were no windows or doors, which the agency took care of, but renovating the ceilings and floors, and taking down and putting up walls, proved to be a labour-intensive project for the new tenants. After the rental agreement was completed, they set about organising the space in the back of the unit, which was to be their home. They were then able to focus on building the studios, which they now share with several other artists. Their project space, Horse and Pony Fine Arts, kicked off in September 2013. Their shows have featured an impressive roster of German and international artists. “Basically we’re pretty open about our programming,” says Rocco. “We invite artists or curators or other programs into the space and we really give them free range and support them in the ways that we can. I have a background in installation art and Carrick makes videos, so between the two of us we’re pretty good at putting together the shows.” Their goal is to support the artists and curators in whatever way they can, be it meeting regularly to discuss ideas with the participants or hanging nails on the walls, whilst allowing those occupying the project space the liberty to do what they want. “We’re not agnostic to what goes on in the space,” says Carrick, “but we are interested in bringing people in whose other practices interest us and to see what they bring.” Both artists work with recycled materials, be it found objects or YouTube footage. The space is likewise constructed to pay tribute to its past lives. The artists consider the space as a platform, something they built that keeps on growing. “We created a space with such a strong visual identity that, with the programing, we can be really open and really diverse,” says Rocco. “To see those new ideas come in or new challenges come in, it changes things up for those of us who see it every day. I think we know something about it, but then just by using it differently, or having different works interact with it, it changes our perception every time.” The space is transformed with each exhibition, from the evocative printed cut-outs in Cheryl Donegan’s The Softest Punk to Nightmare City’s psychedelic installation, RICH EVIDENCE ↔ THE PHOTIC WAVEΘ, to a large group show commenting on the limits of the body in the digital age, entitled Hands Off! and curated by Francesca Gavin. After five years, it’s safe to say that the artists are at home in Berlin. Although, as for many Americans, the lackadaisical pace of life in Berlin can still take some getting used to: “We have friends in New York and family in New Jersey and I used to joke that we could travel there to gather stress energy and then coast through Berlin for the rest of the year on the inertia of that!” says Carrick. Still, it’s nice to be in a place where art has a real presence and value in society: “Here you can say you’re an artist and no one asks you what you really do.”
Horse and Pony Fine Arts is located at Altenbracker Straße 18. To find out what’s on view, visit horseandponyfinearts.com. You can find Carrick Bell’s work at carrickbell.com and Michael Rocco Ruglio-Misurell’s work at mmisurell.com 19
Cover Story
MARK REEDER THE TIRELESS PIONEER OF BERLIN’S COUNTER CULTURE Words by Stuart Braun Photos by Robert Rieger
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Mark Reeder
Cover Story
A witness to, and then driving force behind, Berlin’s creative and cultural evolution across nearly five decades, B-Movie protagonist Mark Reeder is startlingly modest. “Why would anyone be interested in my life?” Mark asks, wearing his Mao-esque militaria, sitting in a Kreuzberg cafe before jetting off to promote the film that has, if inadvertently, made him a Berlin icon. “I know I’ve done a lot of daft things in my life but I didn’t think it was particularly interesting to anyone.”
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s we meet Mark, he is about to fly to Taipei to talk at a screening of B-Movie: Lust and Sound in West Berlin, a celebration of hedonistic excess and artistic anarchy in ‘80s West Berlin. Mark is the main protagonist of the film, also acting as a script consultant and writing the score. The film, already a cult classic a year after its release, is also a biopic of sorts; the story of a 20-something from Manchester who, “stranded” in the divided city, became an unlikely eyewitness to, and participant in, an unparalleled decade of sex, drugs and countercultural revolution. After Taiwan, Mark will DJ at the Sydney Opera House with New Order, for whom he recently remixed a track, ‘Singularity’, the video of which is composed of footage from B-Movie – Mark helped inspire the band’s electronic sound in the early 1980s after taking Bernard Sumner to some Berlin clubs. Despite all of this, the Mancunian sitting before me, in the same neighbourhood he has lived in for over three decades, never expected to become the figurehead of an era he struggles to even remember at times. The film never received a cent in funding and was done for the hell of it; a bunch of enthusiastic friends pooling resources to remember a time that was rapidly being forgotten. Mark has never courted fame, never cultured some grand narrative of his life. In the same way he came to Berlin for a short visit in 1978 and somehow never left, he tends to just fall into things. But if you think about it, Berlin might not be Berlin if it wasn’t for B-Movie’s humble protagonist. Mark was the one who suggested to Nick Cave that he move to Berlin from London (the singer arrived on his doorstep soon after); he brought Joy Division to play their only show in West Berlin shortly before his friend Ian Curtis died; he signed Paul van Dyk to his label MFS and introduced the DJ prodigy to trance music; he was among the small crowd of friends at the first Love Parade in 1989; before that, he staged illegal punk rock gigs in East Berlin, despite the Stasi watching his every move. Right time, right place, perhaps. “But who cares?” Mark would say. It’s always been about simply doing your thing – no matter if a few collaborators get famous along the way. It’s certainly never been
about the money. Mark is still in Berlin because, despite all the changes, it still inspires him to do his thing. He believes it’s the same for young people coming to the city today. When 20-year-old Mark Reeder was travelling around West Germany in 1978, looking for obscure krautrock and synthesiser records by the likes of Tangerine Dream that he couldn’t find in the UK, he finally hitchhiked to the half-destroyed former capital that he describes in B-Movie as being “in a state of emergency.” As Mark approached West Berlin along a gloomy East German transit road, he had no idea what to expect apart from some clichéd images from Cold War spy movies. But he was very curious. As he passed glitzy Kurfürstendamm and entered warscarred streets, this city felt strangely familiar. It somehow felt like home. The student who gave Mark a lift to Berlin offered him free accommodation – an apartment in a soonto-be-torn-down building. It had six rooms, parquet floorboards, four-metre-high ceilings, and a white marble bathroom. Coming from a council house in Manchester, Mark had never seen anything like it. He ended up staying for eight months without paying a pfennig in rent. In the end, some activist squatters from Kreuzberg moved in and saved the tenement from the wrecking ball by throwing Molotov cocktails at the police, some of them from Mark’s former balcony. On Mark’s first morning in Berlin, he went out to get some change so he could call his mum. Walking down Winterfeldtstraße in Schöneberg, he noticed a small bar that was open. As he entered the Eckkneipe and asked if anyone spoke English, he was greeted by a very tall transgender woman with bright red hair and ‘horror show’ white make-up. “This is like 10 o’clock in the morning,” Mark remembers. “It was that moment of realisation that you’re in Berlin.” For someone who always felt like an outsider in Manchester, he sensed he might have found a home here. This slight young man soon took to wandering around Berlin wearing his favourite military uniforms, or a long black leather coat with wide lapels that made him look like a member of the Gestapo. But nobody cared. “Berlin was full of people like me,” Mark tells us, referring to the sea of draft
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dodgers, misfits, and artistic outlaws who wandered into the enclave of West Berlin. Not only was the city demilitarised, meaning that you didn’t have to join the army, but rents and social insurance were also subsidised to keep people in this western outpost within East Germany, despite staggering unemployment. And of course it had a big ugly concrete wall around its eastern edge. Mark would start to cross the Wall almost daily in the ‘80s, often strapping banned music tapes to his body to give to friends in East Berlin. He always felt comfortable on both sides of the city. B-Movie starts with Mark working at a small Virgin Records store in Manchester at the height of England’s punk explosion, but he was also listening to a lot of obscure German electronic music from the likes of Neu!, Klaus Schulze and Popol Vuh. When he got to Berlin, he soon realised that the punk rock or new wave bands here were nothing like the Buzzcocks or The Sex Pistols – or even his own band, the Frantic Elevators. Berlin was different. It was exciting because no one cared about being a star. Mark had a friend who worked at an arthouse cinema, the Arsenal, and who invited him to see a gig by a band called Mania D around 1979. “What they did was so unique and original, it really captivated me,” says
« THE WAITRESSES WERE ALL TRANNIES ON ROLLER SKATES, IT WAS FUCKING BRILLIANT. » Mark of the all-girl post-punk act. He later managed Mania D under the name Malaria! and took them on tour with Nick Cave’s band, The Birthday Party. The music was experimental, dark, spontaneous, unrehearsed. The women weren’t musos, but rather artists who made sounds with instruments. The drummer was Gudrun Gut, who worked in a record store where unhinged musician-artist-filmmaker friends like Blixa Bargeld hung out and where Mark soon gravitated towards. Gut and Bargeld formed the first iteration of experimental noise band Einstürzende Neubauten in 1980, spearheading a scene sometimes known as the ‘Genialer Dilletanten’ [Ingenious Dilettantes] – named after a 1981 festival of the same name that Mark played at with his depressive disco band, Die Unbekannten [The Unknown], featuring long-time Bad Seeds drummer Thomas Wydler. “Everything is allowed,” said Bargeld of Berlin’s musical underground in 1981. “Everyone can make their own, individual music. There are no boundaries.” These young Berliners celebrated music that was amateurish, avant-garde, adventurous – free. Mark says this scene was also sometimes known as the ‘Berliner Krankheit’, or ‘Berlin Disease’ – the slogan for a 1981 German tour by Berlin bands like Neubauten Summer 2016
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Cover Story
and Mëkanïk Dëstruktïẁ Kömmandöh that attracted controversy, and beer bottles, as West Germans reacted angrily to the dissonant, fractured noise. “For me, it was exciting because it wasn’t driven by commercial aspiration of any kind,” says Mark of the West Berlin scene. “You just expressed yourself and did what you wanted. You didn’t have to conform to anything.” In Manchester, by contrast, every band was desperately trying to get a record contract with a major label. Mark flitted between myriad scenes. He mentions the short-lived, controversially named Cafe Vaterland – later a new wave club called Exxcess – which the infamous artist Martin Kippenberger plastered with pictures of the Kaiser. In the early ‘80s, he’d see Jayne County around, the transgender punk pioneer who had moved to Berlin from New York via London, and was hanging out with the likes of trans nightclub owner Romy Haag, Bowie’s former girlfriend. Then there was Berlin’s first video roller burger bar. “The waitresses were all trannies on roller skates, it was fucking brilliant. And all they showed was a 50th-generation copy of a fake copy of Star Wars.” Mark recalls being taken to a Kneipe in Charlottenburg called Lützower Lampe, where the majority of the transgender clientele looked like Hermann Göring in drag. Berliners liked Mark Reeder and accepted him into the fold. They liked the fact that he 24
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was from somewhere else, and still do. That’s how he became the protagonist in B-Movie. “The way the directors saw it, I was a Brit coming to Berlin as an outsider and was looking at what’s going on from my British perspective. But I was also involved, and that was unique. I wasn’t just a visitor.” These days, a lot of people come to Berlin and stay put. But Mark was a pioneer. In the ‘80s, few had the wherewithal to stay in a city that appeared to have no future. But Mark knew the value of living without boundaries. B-Movie has inspired people from around the world who are searching, less for nostalgia, but with a belief in the idea that such free creative spaces can actually exist. The period covered in the film inevitably laid the foundation for the Berlin of today. As befitting the Berlin portrayed in the film, B-Movie is a labour of love paid for by the filmmakers themselves. The funding bodies didn’t think anyone would be interested in a documentary about West Berlin in the 1980s. It took Mark four years alone to reconstruct the music from Joy Division demos and the like. The sublime theme song, ‘You Need The Drugs’, by cult Berlin DJ/producer Westbam, features a vocal track that The Psychedelic Furs’ Richard Butler sang into a laptop one morning. Meanwhile, scores of people donated their decaying video footage from the time. Mark himself uncovered forgotten tapes from 1980s BBC and ITV documentaries on West Berlin that Issue One
he had produced and hosted, which became the basis for Mark’s role in B-Movie. So in true Berlin style, they just did it. And now Mark’s heading off to discuss the film in Taipei and DJ with New Order at the Sydney Opera House. But again, the film, like Mark Reeder’s life in Berlin, has never been about money, fame or success – which was why Bowie also loved Berlin, because he could be anonymous and people took him at face value. “It’s not a success story. It’s a story of failure, if anything. I don’t drive off in a Porsche into the sunset at the end.” No, he ends up getting murdered while having sex in a schlock horror film (acting in splatter films was one of Mark’s many day jobs). The Berlin that Mark has lived in for nearly four decades is ultimately a place of self-discovery. “You come to Berlin to find yourself; it’s a great place to discover who you are. In your early 20s, it’s a great place to find what you’re really about, you know, what your direction’s going to be. Maybe you leave afterwards, but you can find yourself here. In the film, the person on the screen is the same age as many of the people now watching it. That’s why they can identify with the character.” Mark reiterates that nowadays, he’s doing what he’s always done. He goes to his studio and works. Never enamoured by playing on stage, or even performing the DJ gigs that more and more frequently come his way, Mark prefers the solitude of his dark studio where he has just spent months remixing a New Order track. When we meet on a gloriously sunny Sunday, the 58-year-old had been bunkered down in his studio, working mostly on his upcoming album, the first that he has exclusively performed himself. Mark is also helping to plot the B-Movie sequel: E-Movie will chart the techno revolution of the ‘90s in East Berlin, which Mark’s record label MFS (Masterminded For Success – a play on the official name of the Stasi, or Ministerium für Staatssicherheit) was an integral part of. Mark’s faith in Berlin’s future is refreshing. The city may be barely recognisable from the halcyon ‘80s, but he believes that in fundamental ways it hasn’t changed. Still, Berlin’s radicalism, its political struggles that are well-documented in B-Movie, especially the squatter movement, must continue. “There are many things that this city has to confront in the future. First of all, we have to fight for our right to party. If you purge Berlin of that, then you have a ghost town. No matter how many office blocks you build, it’s all going to be gone.”
For music, videos and news from Mark, visit 5point1.org
Mark Reeder
Cover Story
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« WE HAVE TO FIGHT FOR OUR RIGHT TO PARTY, IF YOU PURGE BERLIN OF THAT, THEN YOU HAVE A GHOST TOWN »
Even as a child Mark wore army surplus clothes. His working class background placed utility higher in his parents’ priorities than style or expense. In Berlin, his fascination with uniforms has developed thanks to the plentiful supply of military clothing in second hand shops.
New Music
Sarah P.
THE ARTISTIC VISION OF SARAH P. Words by Jonny Tiernan Photos by Julie Montauk
Amid a sea of male solo artists and all-male bands at a recent edition of DNA BLN – the showcase event focused on new music and art – one person stood out and shone brightly. She was set apart not only by the fact that she was the only female on the bill, but also by her captivating performance, unique look, and fresh sound.
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he artist in question was Sarah P. On stage, she was a powerful presence, looking natural and at ease, yet totally alert and aware of her movements. Her dress was adorned with artificial flowers, and throughout the course of the performance she would pluck them from her dress, play with them in her hands and drop them to the floor. These moments were seemingly simple, but they were at once emotive, expressive, and engaging. She was accompanied by a three-piece band, the four of them playing electronica with a pop edge, traversing dancier territory with expressions of a whimsical and ethereal nature. We wanted to learn more about the person behind the performance, to find out what drives the abundant creativity that was expressed so clearly on stage. It was time to meet Sarah P. Off and on the stage, Sarah P. cuts a striking figure. She is petite in stature and carries herself with strength and poise. During our conversation, her responses are considered and deliberate. She doesn’t rush, taking time to think about what she wants to say – it’s apparent that Sarah has a clear idea of how she wants to present herself and her art. It isn’t that she is in any way contrived, far from it; rather, she has a clear vision and goal. It feels like she has been steadily working towards the point at which she presently finds herself, and it is the culmination of a lot of learning along the way. Born in Athens, Sarah grew up as the only child of her devoted parents. Her father was an amateur singer–songwriter, and from a very early age he would encourage Sarah to sing with him, the two
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often recording duets together on tape. Singing became a staple of her life, and she performed in choirs as well as taking piano lessons. Although her parents were encouraging of her musical education, Sarah believed that music would remain a hobby and she initially pursued a career as an actress. Acting has remained part of her life and work, but in 2010 a chance meeting would pull her into the
Issue One
Sarah P.
music world and hold her there. Through a mutual friend, she was introduced to music producer ∏ . He was looking for a singer for a new project and he really liked Sarah’s voice. From here, she took the chance to become frontwoman of the duo that became Keep Shelly In Athens. For Sarah, the opportunity came along at the perfect moment. “I was 18 or 19 years old and my parents were getting separated,” she explains. “It was my final year of acting school and I just needed an escape, a way to get out of it all.” It marked the beginning of a whirlwind period for Sarah. Keep Shelly In Athens quickly garnered praise and press. Their style of chillwave was in tune with the zeitgeist of the time, setting them alongside acts such as Washed Out, Neon Indian, and Toro Y Moi who were grouped under the then-burgeoning genre. It put them on the receiving end of much internet hype that would help take them on tours of Europe and North America. The pair released two albums together, along with remixes and guest appearances on other records. The creative duties were split between the duo. “ ∏ would write the music and the vocal lines and I would write the lyrics; then we would go to a studio and perform the songs,” Sarah explains. “I’d also take care of everything that comes with being the frontperson of a band.” Coming straight from university with no experience of the music industry, Sarah really made the most of this time. “I was almost like a sponge; any information was good information. I was grateful for the chance, and it was a great school for me,” she says. Over the coming years, Sarah got to know more about the business side of music, how it operates and how things run. As with a lot of learning experiences, once you acquire
the knowledge it can change the way you think and feel, and in January 2014, she announced that she had decided to leave Keep Shelly In Athens. “I guess that I grew up and grew out of it,” she says. “I used this information to become more knowledgeable about the structural parts of the music business. ∏ and I were not on the same page any more. That’s honest and it happens.” After leaving the band, Sarah became involved in a new musical project, which is what brought her to Berlin. It was another case of seizing an opportunity that came her way: “I didn’t have anything to lose and I wanted to try something new. Everybody said that Berlin would suit me so much so I said I’d give it a go, and if it didn’t work out I’d move back to Athens or [go] somewhere else.” While the project didn’t get off the ground, Sarah decided to stay in Berlin and started working on solo projects. This was another learning process, with Sarah journeying deeper into the role of producer as well as songwriter. It seems as though this is a strong trait of Sarah’s – an innate desire to work things out for herself and understand the mechanics. It’s a desire that even led her all the way to starting her own record label. From leaving Keep Shelly In Athens in early 2014, to producing fully-fledged solo material later the same year, to releasing her debut EP Free on her own EraseRestart label in December 2015 – the last couple of years have been meteoric for Sarah. Taking control of her life and career in this way has had a great effect on her. “Creatively, I feel empowered by learning and practicing on my own,” she tells us. “I also feel empowered from the business side, through having my own label, taking care of everything, and having a basic knowledge of what my rights are. I feel that this is most important.” FamilSummer 2016
New Music
iarity with the law is key for Sarah, and she is keen to pass on her learning. “If there is any advice that I would give to anybody in the world, it is to get educated about their rights and what they own. This, and having a good lawyer, are the most important things.” Right now, Sarah is working towards releasing her debut album. She has penned all of the songs and is deep in the recording process. Thematically, she is influenced by the current state of the world and events that are unfolding every day. She is aware of how this may be unusual: “I realised that there are not that many songs written about politics and about society. There is no commentary,” she continues, “I find it very sad because these are historical times we are living in. I mean, of course we are all inspired by our relationships with other people but there are other things. There can be a song about the ex-boyfriend or girlfriend but there can also be a song about what’s happening in North Africa.” There is a distinct lack of fear in Sarah’s approach to the music business, and to life in general, for that matter. She is ready and willing to face everything head-on. It’s an admirable attitude and one that is taking Sarah places that she clearly wants to go, as she explains: “Whoever says that they don’t want to reach all the people out there shouldn’t be making music, in my opinion. So of course my ambitions are big, but to make them happen you need a method, and this is what I’m working on at the moment. But I have great ambitions.” We would say ‘more power to her,’ but we think she might have more than enough.
Be the first to get news and new releases from Sarah P. at soundcloud.com/sarahpofficial and facebook.com/sarahpofficial 27
Independent Spirit
Barry Cliffe
THE INDIE CITY: PROMOTER BARRY CLIFFE IS ON A MISSION FOR BERLIN’S INDEPENDENT MUSIC SCENE Cranky Booking is synonymous with quality independent music in Berlin. When you see ‘Cranky Presents’ on a gig poster, you know that even if you’ve never heard the bands before, they will certainly be worth seeing. The same goes for Späti Palace – a record label that showcases some of the best indie music in Berlin with each release. Barry Cliffe is a driving force behind both ventures, powering them with his passion for music and the spirit of the city he’s come to call home. Words by Jonny Tiernan Photos by Viktor Richardsson
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ometimes it’s a mix of hard work and happenstance that allows someone to discover their true calling, and this is surely the case for Barry Cliffe. Originally from Dungarvan on the southern coast of Ireland, Barry moved to Cork for university in the mid ‘90s but, despite the halfway decent indie music scene that was burgeoning in the city at the time, he knew it wasn’t really the place for him. “Cork is really nice and a good city to live in,” he explains, “but the property boom was in full swing and things were getting out of control; robberies, people getting followed, beaten up and mugged, and the city centre on a Saturday morning was covered in vomit. It wasn’t good.” In the early 2000s, Ireland was in the grip of real estate fever. It was big business, with people flipping houses or investing in developments left and right to board the gravy train, so to speak. Barry was noticing a knock-on effect that he didn’t like. “There was something changing about Ireland,” he says. “There was too much money around, things were becoming so different from the environment that I had grown up in and I didn’t want to stick around to see what would happen. Everybody was just so full of themselves, and it was all based on how much
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cash they had in their pocket. I expect more from life than that.” With most people employing an ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ attitude and getting in on the property game, Barry had a different idea: “I packed in my relationship, my job, everything, and left town. I went travelling and six weeks later found myself in Berlin. I thought straight away, ‘This is somewhere I can breathe a little bit, there’s lots of space here and lots to do.’” After making the move to Berlin, Barry spent his first few years working various jobs and enjoying the lifestyle. He underwent the obligatory techno induction, dancing at free techno parties outside until the sun came up, marvelling at the unbridled freedom of Berlin. It was at one of his jobs where he met Dan Haak, an Australian who was to provide the spark that would ignite a new passion project. Dissatisfied with the information available about local gigs, Dan decided to set up his own blog – Blitzgigs – to remedy the lack of information at the local level. Barry, who already knew most of the of the local venues and had a working knowledge of local bands, was a natural choice to join the team. Things spiralled quickly. “Within a couple of weeks I was just spending hours happily enjoying writing Issue One
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Independent Spirit
previews of gigs,” Barry remembers. “That was really enjoyable, telling people why to go to a gig instead of just reviewing it. Reviews of gigs I find somehow redundant now; a preview is much more important.” As writing gig previews took Barry deeper into the live music scene, it revealed the impact that Blitzgigs was beginning to have. “I started to notice local bands playing support shows here and there,” he begins. “At that time, there were a lot of people moving to Berlin from all over, especially English speakers, and they were starting to form bands – really good ones at that. When they noticed that I’d written a preview of them, they were genuinely very grateful. It was then that I realised the lack of press for local stuff; people would be so thankful of the coverage because it just wasn’t there before.”
« FINDING MY OWN PLACE WITHIN BERLIN’S MUSIC COMMUNITY HAS BEEN THE MOST REWARDING BECAUSE I FEEL PART OF SOMETHING, TOO. »
Barry Cliffe
one. “It really gave me a lot of pleasure to see that happen and to think, ‘Well, I helped a little bit towards all of these people getting together’, you know? Mostly I love working the entrance, giving people a welcome schnapps, talking to them and wandering around throughout the night, making sure it all runs smoothly. I suppose finding my own place within Berlin’s music community has been the most rewarding because I feel part of something, too.” The success of the gigs revealed not only a demand from bands for this locally focused type of show, but an audience for them too. “There is a big crowd of people who are really into going to local gigs, and what I like the most is the quality of the crowd with all sorts of people mixing that you don’t really expect to find in one place. It happens all over Berlin, but it’s nice to see it at your own shows too. It’s also important for me to point out the quality of the bands; without them, it wouldn’t work, and I’ve been lucky to be able to champion more than a few new bands in town who have really impressed people. I guess people just don’t expect there to be such a high standard among local bands, so it’s always nice to see that stunned, impressed look on their faces. It’s nice to see them giving feedback to the bands and for me to get feedback from them too – it gives you a good buzz.”
Meeting this demand for local press also made Barry aware of other gaps in the local music scene. “We had bands from outside Berlin writing to us at Blitzgigs trying to get some attention in the city. When someone is writing and asking you to book a tour for them when you’re obviously only a music blog, then you know there is something very wrong. There wasn’t necessarily a lack of people that were willing to book band tours, the bands just weren’t finding their way to them. I recognised a definite need for more shows for emerging local bands. I thought I could do it for them, and so I just started putting on my own gigs.” And with that, Cranky Booking was born. The first Cranky Booking gig was in late 2011 at Knochenbox. Barry managed to fill the place and was even able to pay two local bands at the end of the night. Promoting live events is a notoriously difficult game, so to be able to pay two bands after your first show is an achievement in itself. These first successes gave Barry the break he needed and he started organising shows at Friedrichshain’s Antje Øklesund. They worked out straight away: “I did my first gig there in February 2012 and 100 people showed up. I was like ‘Jesus!’ You know, I put a lot of effort into it and people came.” Since then, Barry has been promoting non-stop, averaging almost 30 shows per year. As he describes it, it sounds like a hell of a ride: “It has been four years of great times. Seeing bands come and go, stay and develop, release records with other labels, meet and form other bands simultaneously.” For Barry, the process has been a rewarding 30
Issue One
Antje Øklesund Despite having numerous closing parties since 2013 due to an imminent threat of demolition, the venue is still standing. It is set to be torn down to make way for a new property development, and will be gone before the end of 2016. Maybe. Probably. Who knows.
Barry Cliffe
Finally, we asked Barry if there is anything he feels is missing in Berlin’s indie music scene, or where he thinks there might be room for development. “There’s a huge hole for a new venue. When Antje Øklesund gets torn down in the summer or autumn or who knows when, there will be a massive hole. Along with Schokoladen, it is very much like the home of alternative music in the city. I would love to open a venue, because it’s a question of creating it for the city and doing it right, not just opening another big money-making machine.” There’s that motivation again: identifying a need in the community and finding a way to fulfil it. With the way things are going for Cranky Booking and Späti Palace, we wouldn’t put it past Barry to find himself running a venue in the not-too-distant future. We’re hoping he does, because if the ethos and style follow in the same vein, live indie music in Berlin is in safe hands.
Get the latest from Cranky Booking and Späti Palace at facebook.com/crankybooking and facebook.com/spaetipalace
CLIFFE NOTES: BARRY’S TOP FIVE BERLIN BANDS OF THE MOMENT Slow Steve slowsteve.bandcamp.com Remi, aka Slow Steve, has been developing his band for a few years now, and his recently released debut album Adventures has been well worth the wait. A stylish mix of those vintage synths he’s been hauling around for years, sparkling guitars, and a pop sensibility that at once speaks of the future while nodding respectfully to the past, it’s a glimpse of a bright future, for sure. He’s also gathered a great band around him in Joe from Mother of the Unicorn, solo artist Helen Fry, and Charley of Tetron. Recent live shows have been impressive to say the least, be sure to catch ‘em soon. Mother Of The Unicorn soundcloud.com/ motheroftheunicorn I more or less pushed Joe into playing a show in 2012 as Mother of the Unicorn because I couldn’t believe how good his first EPs were, which he casually mentioned he had recorded some months after I first met him at a gig. He then forced his brother to play with him and he’s never looked back since. Within a couple of months Mother of the Unicorn grew into a proper band, and I had them play at Antje Øklesund in front of full houses. The Späti Palace release I’m most proud of was their debut album Variations which came out in April. Girlie girlie.bandcamp.com Girlie played at one of my shows last May and by the end of the second song, I knew I wanted to release them. These boys just have it. Their sound falls somewhere between classic ‘90s indie rock (although they’ll swear they’ve moved on from that now), pop punk, and their more recent krauty-type jams. Their debut EP sold out very quickly, and every time they play it’s a
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Slow Steve – photo by Joshua Obliers
One quickly realises that Barry’s motivation for working within the local music scene isn’t fuelled by money or recognition, but by identifying needs in the community that he is in a position to help fulfil. It was this motivation that led him to set up the record label Späti Palace with close friend Amande Dagod. After some notable success as a promoter, having a record label seemed like the logical next step: “You can get the bands a little bit more recognition, and then maybe they can get a booking agent and get put on tours. That’s the basic model that I realised needed to come out of booking the shows. We just offer them whatever is within our means, a small release that benefits both the label and the band, just to push it out a little further. One release feeds the next one; that’s basically the way we go.” As Späti Palace doesn’t have the budget or scale of larger or more established record labels, Amande and Barry have come up with an inventive way of making sure the music gets out there. “As a label doing small editions, there is not much point giving the releases to record shops because then you have to keep track of them all. It takes too much time and effort when you have normal jobs too. Instead, we do a nice release show in a cool location that the band wants and then give away a cassette or CD with a download code as part of the entry fee. I feel that people should get something when it’s a release show, and people are into it too. It’s just another way to involve people; as a concert goer, it’s great to be spoken to nicely at the entrance and be given a tape or whatever, right? We have a nice community feeling, and it shows in the crowd’s reaction to the releases and the bands.” This model is working for Amande and Barry. Progress is steady and building, much to Barry’s delight: “It has been very pleasing to see the label start to get more attention. After two and a half years it’s still early days, but we’re getting there. We’re hoping to do another vinyl release soon, hopefully in the autumn. It has been nice to learn how to have a label and what makes it work.”
Independent Spirit
pleasure to watch their energetic, fun shows. They’ll play Cranky Fest in July – plug plug. Kala Brisella kalabrisella.bandcamp.com This three-piece boasts the type of live show any band would work years to achieve: noisy, controlled, driven and absolutely rocking. Drummer Anja is a pleasure to watch playing, and it brings a smile to your face to watch how these three interact and how into it they are. It’s post-punk noise at its best. Their first release Bilder on Coszma Records is a great tape – get your hands on it. Pigeon pigeonpitgenpigeon.blogsport.de This is a post-punk four-piece that have really hit their stride recently. Drummer–singer Denes Bieberich drives this band, as he seems to do with every other project he’s involved in. He’s one of the most talented musicians around and has also fronted the band for a time playing guitar, but now he’s drumming again, the band is playing its best shows. They’ll have a record out soon. Watch this space.
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Avant-Garde Musician
John Kameel Farah
PONDERING INFINITY: JOHN KAMEEL FARAH’S SPIRITUAL SOUND
Words by Stephanie Taralson Photos by Viktor Richardsson
Composer, free improviser, classical pianist, electronic musician, Canadian, Berliner, expat – John Kameel Farah grapples with a multitude of identities. Speaking with John, we map a Venn diagram of both the man and his art, which these days manifests as concerts of spatial organ and synthesizer music. A curious mixture of analogue organ tones, textural synth loops, highly technical pre-composed scores, and wildly expressive improvisations, this is the sound of history turning futuristic and frequencies colliding in the apse of Kreuzberg’s Taborkirche.
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Taborkirche The church organ was built by Gebrüder Dinse and is still intact. The tin organ pipes were used to manufacture ammunition in World War I and replaced in 1922.
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e meet John Kameel Farah in his local bakery, heavy spring rain clouds gathering outside. As fellow expats, there is a certain ease to our conversation; the foreign made familiar, shared cultural norms – or at least the perceptions of them. As John speaks, vowel sounds turn elastic in his Canadian accent and we get the sense that he is pressing ‘unmute’ on an internal dialogue, sharing soundbites of the thoughts and ideas that run in an endless, evolving loop through his mind. He pauses halfway through wayward sentences and lands suddenly at the start of new ones, leaving the old ideas unfinished. After decades in Toronto as a fixture of the free improvisation scene, John moved to Berlin in 2010. “Berlin has these certain advantages: the artistic open-mindedness and hunger that people here have, for example,” he says. “I know that Berlin is more than 800 years old, but you don’t feel that. You feel the last hundred years when you’re here.” Nevertheless, he is adamant on giving credit to the nurturing environment where his career began. “The musicians in Toronto are as good as anywhere in the world in jazz, indie rock, electronic music, classical. The problem is that the population of Toronto wants to be more comfortable. Here, you have a much more active population.” And Berlin’s enthusiastic concert-going public has been stalwart ever since John launched his most recent project: a series of concerts for organ and synthesizers, usually held in Kreuzberg’s Taborkirche. Issue One
As with many of John’s musical projects, inspiration came quietly. A choral commission provided the seed of what would become his current series, when he was given the option of using the concert venue’s organ in his composition for Berlin-based vocal group Vox Nostra. Obsessed with Bach and educated as a classical pianist, John turned his hand to developing his organ technique and experimenting with the intersectional possibilities of merging this instrument into his genre-bending oeuvre. “I definitely emerged from classical music and sort of left it, but I’ve always kept one leg in it,” he admits. “I never felt comfortable with how the classical world is structured, how you’re supposed to go about doing it. Entering competitions as a composer? It seemed so contradictory.” This unease with the constraints of operating in the classical music strata extends to how John feels about musical prescriptivity. He loathes being labeled ‘world music’, despite growing up in a Palestinian–Canadian household that exposed him to Arabic music and endowed him with a curiosity for its non-uniform rhythms and modal scales. Equally so, he doesn’t want his inclusion of Baroque influences to be read as simply ‘Bach with a twist’. When John describes his areas of interest, one senses an attentiveness that makes him patient enough to take an almost childlike joy in discovering the possibilities of his work as a musician and improviser. “If my mind is like a workplace, it’s a completely filled-up studio with little bits, gadgets, and things that have
John Kameel Farah
been stuck together,” he says wryly. In this giant mental workroom, ideas don’t compete for attention, but are simply set down and picked up amongst an array of eye-catching baubles. “It’s my own way of being a science fiction writer, of trying to project either where I think things are going, where I want things to go, or where I don’t; dystopias, utopias...” John trails off. His imaginative musings could come across as absentminded, but rather it seems that his inner world is so rich and colourful that the external world must struggle to keep up. Classical music looms large among the collection of influences that have captured John’s attention, strengthened by a fascination with his adopted country’s saturated history. “Musically speaking, you have several major Amazonian rivers running through Germany: Baroque, Romantic, post-war serialists. The German Romantic period is this gigantic, bloated monster to me. Everything is gorged in sound, orchestration, theme – washing around like a massive thing from Revelations,” he enthuses. But two world wars left their mark. The population was exhausted by years of warfare, disillusioned with turn-of-the-century optimism, and swallowed up by dictatorship, and music took a similarly abrupt turn in unimaginable directions. John describes the 20th-century shift towards “super concise, streamlined, minimalistic, futuristic, bleak” music: “There are these threads, and I’m living in all of those things. They’re all relevant to me.” Despite that, his universe isn’t populated with black holes and dying stars. The heart of his outlook is creation and generation, building strands of musical DNA and watching how they twist around one another. The intertwining that is on display in John’s organ and synthesizer concerts has partial origins in his time as an undergraduate at the University of Toronto, where he was exposed to electronic music by his roommate. “I wanted to use the textures and beats that I was hearing in electronic music, and I thought it would be amazing if I could use them with complicated rhythmic structures that you would find in Bartók or Prokofiev. I wanted to create pieces that are structurally deep – not dance tracks, but composed pieces,” he explains. His piano music – which he describes as “maximalist” – has benefitted from this for years, but now John has found another bridge between his classical and electronic modes. “Organs are ancient synthesizers. Instead of twiddling knobs and faders, you’re pulling stops, or different combinations of stops together, to get different effects.” The complex potential of this instrument drew John and his music into a new realm of composition, improv-
isation, and performance. Meanwhile, his synthesizer experiments found fertile musical material: “Looping offers spontaneity, the chance to make up something on the spot and create a texture of many sounds that are orbiting each other. The pieces are like free-floating meteorites.” The vaulted ceilings and reverberant acoustics of the Taborkirche also lend a powerful emotional component to his concerts that John relishes. “I wanted to provide an opportunity to ‘ponder infinity’, and churches are meant for that kind of thing,” he remarks. Pondering infinity or not,
« I WANTED TO PROVIDE AN OPPORTUNITY TO ‘PONDER INFINITY’, AND CHURCHES ARE MEANT FOR THAT KIND OF THING » John’s concerts are an atypical experience for the average Berlin club goer or electronic music devotee. More than six years into life in Berlin, he is reluctant to give trite, recycled opinions on life in Germany’s capital, but he admits to noticing a stratification of Kieze and lifestyles. “There are these two halves of Berlin, beyond East and West. There are two sides that don’t know each other; which are the institutional, Museumsinsel side, and the chaotic, Neukölln-ish side with its mixture of different ethnicities,” says John, speaking with jaded know-how. “They feel
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Avant-Garde Musician
unaware of each other. One side is breathing and present; the other is there to preserve, to be institutional reminders or repositories for the continuum of civilisation, for the canon.” As a self-professed ‘armchair historian’ with a passion for the past, John’s comments don’t belie any sarcasm, to which he seems impervious anyway. Even when making observations about Berlin’s social mechanisms, there is a preoccupation to his manner, a sense that he is interested in dialogue but that his mental energies are resolutely in pursuit of other creative ideas. John speaks in the present tense more often than not, imbuing his storytelling with a sense of timelessness as he spins out elaborately imagined dialogues between himself and ‘proper’ organists, for example. For someone like John, consumed with the minutiae of the world in which we live and blessed with seemingly infinite patience, Berlin is a playground for discovery and a breeding ground for change. He says, almost perplexed, “I wrote a piece after I’d been here for two years, and my friend said: ‘I can tell that you composed this in Berlin and not Canada.’ It was imperceptible to me. Apparently it’s coming out in my music, my surroundings are affecting me very much.” Although he expresses surprise, it seems appropriate. In John, a fearless desire to explore the unknown marries a willingness to stand still and find the intriguing in the familiar. Speaking about improvisation, John is elaborating on the idea of musical motives that shape themselves organically, but he could be speaking about Berlin all the same: “Reality is infinite possibilities sprouting in real time, and the universe inventing itself in every second.”
Keep up to date with John’s performances and releases at johnfarah.com
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Issue One
Nikias Chryssos
Offbeat Filmmaker
C UNDERGROUND DIRECTOR NIKIAS CHRYSSOS AND HIS TWISTED DEBUT FEATURE Words by Alison Rhoades Photos by Viktor Richardsson
From masochistic power play to riotous absurdity, Der Bunker is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Is it a sadistic thriller? A dark comedy? Camp horror flick? Who is to say. Whatever the case, what’s certain is that independent cinema has been given a gift in the form of Nikias Chryssos.
« I WANT TO USE HUMOUR AS A MEANS OF ANARCHY. »
hopin’s Nocturne Opus 9, Number 2 is heard from a vintage stereo, a kitsch Roman statue perched on a shelf looks on ominously. In the forest green kitchen, its indisputably retro cabinets furnished with faux-wood panelling and a hefty stack of canned food in the corner; a mother, father and child sit at the breakfast table, quietly discussing the weather. “Something’s brewing.” says the father. “A storm?” The mother asks anxiously, noticeably unnerved. “I’m afraid so, yes. Let’s hope our guest will find his way.” The child looks up from his plate as a hooded young man trudges through the snowy woods, marching towards Der Bunker. Within the first minute and a half, we’ve already been introduced to the four characters that constitute the entire cast of the bizarrely brilliant debut feature film from Berlin-based writer/director Nikias Chryssos. ‘Der Student’ (Pit Bikowski), who believes he has rented a quiet room in the countryside that will allow him to finish his research on the Higgs particle, is thrust into the mysterious world of a sadistic family burrowed away in a Cold War-era bunker in the middle of the woods. ‘Der Vater’ (David Scheller), a self-aggrandising family man, waxes poetic about topics that, frankly, he appears to know nothing about, while ‘Die Mutter’ (Oona Von Maydell), who oozes a horrifically enchanting sexual energy, is governed by an alien-god named Heinrich that speaks to her from a wound on her leg. Through lessons on the global finance system, Heidegger, and frequent use of corporal punishment, the parents are preening their eight-year-old son Klaus (Daniel Fripan) to be President. Within a day, they manage to manipulate their guest into becoming Klaus’ private tutor. But when the student finally encounters Klaus, he is astounded to find that the eight-year-old, still struggling to learn the capital cities, appears to be a significantly older man dressed as a little boy (Fripan is in his 30s). The student finds himself drawn into the twisted life of this family until escape seems like a far-off dream. Born in Heidelberg to German-Greek parents, Chryssos discovered his passion for movies at a young age, playing with his grandmother’s Super 8 camera and watching Roman Polanski films when he was sick in bed. He had an affinity for Humphrey Bogart and loved films where children found themselves in fantastical circumstances, such as Home Alone or The Goonies. As he grew older, he discovered the filmmakers that would later influence his visual style, such as David Lynch, Quentin Tarantino and Andrei Tarkovsky. His avid reading of such authors as Franz Kafka, James Joyce and Vladimir Nabokov would also have a profound effect on him as a screenwriter and storyteller. When talking to Chryssos, you become acutely aware of the vast span of his interests, from the arts and psychoanalysis, to architecture and fashion. Cinema became a medium through which all of his passions could coalesce: “If you make a movie you can talk about architecture with the production designer, and music and sound with the composer, and fashion with the costume designer, and I think that’s so rich in a way – and also, of course, if you write you start researching … there’s just a lot of things to explore when you make a movie and I think that’s very fascinating.” After completing an internship at a TV station and spending several years in Munich undertaking various gigs at film production companies and shooting short films with friends, he landed a place at the Filmakademie Baden-Württemberg in Ludwigsburg on one of the most prestigious directing programs in Germany. Driven by his interdisciplinary approach to artmaking, Chryssos spent his time in Ludwigsburg exploring different styles and genres, but it’s not difficult to find through-lines in his work. Among other themes, the director preoccupies himself with the question of how we come to accept a given thing as truth, be it socially, psychologically or even physically. “I’m interested in people who build their own worlds,”
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Offbeat Filmmaker
he explains. This is evident from various projects, from the documentary Man Liebt Hund [Man Loves Dog, 2011], a sensitive if upsetting portrait of a pair of zoophiles living with their animals, to his prize-winning short film, Hochhaus [Tower Block, 2006]. Set in a social housing tower block in Halle, Hochhaus tells the story of a young boy whose older brother viciously ridicules and abuses him, compelling him to befriend a junkie living in neighbouring apartment. The boy imagines his new friend as a heroic cowboy, a renegade defender of honour who helps the child cope with his problems. “He’s not actually a saviour, even though the boy wants him to be,” explains Chryssos. He describes the film as, “dreamy, [a] mixture of reality and imagination.” Like Polanski or Lynch, Chryssos likes to construct a world into which the viewer can almost insert themselves, but that then ruptures: “Someone drifts off into a fantasy world, or (the real world) blurs into imaginary worlds.” The inspiration for Der Bunker came from a bunker-style room in his grandparents’ holiday home in Switzerland, which was mostly used to store skiing equipment but was helpful to have in case, you know, a nuclear war broke out. “I liked this image of someone going to look for a nice room in the countryside, and then he basically gets locked up,” says Chryssos. Then he got to thinking about who this person could meet there: maybe a couple, who perhaps have a son. “This controlled or closed setting allowed me to put a lot of themes or topics that I was interested in into the movie because only these four characters were there, and they brought their own neuroses and idiosyncrasies into the story, and I was just curious what would happen if they’d all meet in this place. And of course there
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Nikias Chryssos
was some fantastic element of having Daniel Fripan play the child,” he says. Film financing in Germany is usually a mixture of film funds and television money. Chryssos had already been rejected for another project and wasn’t interested in repeating the process: “I was really eager to shoot a feature and didn’t want to go through the same process again. You send it out, you wait three months, maybe you get a response, it takes a lot of energy and it can take forever, then you just receive a ‘no’, and then you start financing for another year to get all the money. I wondered if we could do it another way.” Additionally, a genre-crossing tale of a weird family camped out in a bunker in the snowy woods of east Germany with an adult–child son was, understandably, hard to sell to the famously conservative German television stations. “This is a project that is hard to pitch and hard to imagine if you just read it on paper, and for me it was always an experiment that was evolving in many ways,” he explains. With all of this in mind, Chryssos planned the film with a relatively small budget. In the end, he set up his own production company, Kataskop Film, working with father–daughter team Hans and Hana Geißendörfer of Geißendörfer Film- und Fernsehproduktion as co-producers. The film was shot close to Berlin in a former family home that recently became empty, contributing to the morbid atmosphere. The location was key here. “I see the bunker as a sort of fifth character in the film,” says Chryssos. Once they found the location, they set to work. “We were really lucky to find a team that put so much into the story. Every department really enriched the film,” he explains. Melanie Raab’s set design, for example, creates a feeling of being frozen in time that is exuberant and quirky, yet somehow
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Nikias Chryssos
Switzerland A building regulation law passed in the early 1960s ensured that all residences built after 1978 contained a shelter able to withstand a 12 megaton blast at a distance of 700 metres. In 2006, Switzerland had enough shelters for 8.6 million people, 114% of the total population.
repressed. Henrike Naumann’s costumes contribute to this mood, from the mother’s ‘70s beige shawls to Klaus’ bizarre wardrobe of retro pullovers, schoolboy uniforms and traditional Bavarian garb. “Sometimes Klaus looks like a boy scout, or a little lord, or a sailor; the mother kind of decorates him,” says Chryssos. Additionally, Leonard Petersen’s entrancing yet haunting music, which recalls the keyboard-heavy soundtracks of ‘70s horror films with a touch of industrial noise music, provides an essential backdrop to the beguilingly unnerving narrative. Chryssos had previously worked with all of the actors, and their input was vital to the process. “Before the first draft I talked with each of the actors about the story, the characters, and their roles, and I think some things really developed from there,” he says. Heinrich, for example, came out of a conversation with Oona Von Maydell where she spoke in a lower voice. Fripan spent a day at his former elementary school, carefully studying the mannerisms and idiosyncrasies of young children. All four actors are traditionally cast in ‘rougher’ roles, but Chryssos’ personal relationships with them allowed them to explore characters that they aren’t normally associated with: “Pit is very smart, and has this analytical, student thing. Danny is a very lovable person in real life, even though he often plays criminals or skinheads. I think that many things came from the actors’ personalities.” Like Lynch, Polanski and Tarantino, writing has always been an important part of Chryssos’ practice. Because of the unsettling, occasionally outright disturbing tonality educed by the performances, sound and lighting, upon reflection, one might forget how painfully funny the film is. Chryssos is steadfast in his belief that humour is one of the most important components of a good film, be it a comedy or tragedy. From the father’s pathetic and clownish Summer 2016
Offbeat Filmmaker
wit to the outrageous exchanges between Klaus and the student, it is clear that Chryssos’ directorial skills are rivalled by his talent as a writer: “I want to use humour as a means of anarchy. That’s what some of my favourite comedies do.” It’s easy to see the influence of Chryssos’ cinematic heroes reflected in his films, from the slapstick humour of the Marx Brothers, to the surrealist dreaminess of David Lynch, to the masochistic realism of Stanley Kubrick. “The student gets caught in this world, and he either has to get sucked in, or he has to leave, which he tries to do very late, but he can’t. And suddenly he is part of the whole thing,” says Chryssos. The film calls to mind Kafka’s The Castle, in which a man turns up in a village, tasked with a certain job, and is suddenly enmeshed in a web of toxic bureaucracy, manipulation and corruption. It also bears a painful resemblance to the experience of being a foreigner: turning up somewhere where you don’t fully understand the rules, which slowly become normal somehow. Chryssos suggests that the bunker acts as a metaphor for complacency, not opening yourself up to other points of view: “That’s why it’s so important to not live in a ‘bunker’, so you have these other influences and that you realise that maybe your view is just one possible way, and that there are possible ways of understanding the other side.” Art, then, can function as a vehicle for bridging those gaps. “We agree on a certain reality in some way,” he says, “but we also live in our heads; in our own little worlds. And through things like art we can connect or share something.” Initially, Chryssos came to Berlin after finishing his studies in Ludwigsburg to work with a screenwriter. His thinking was: “OK, I’ll get a room here and see what happens.” Of course, the city has changed in the past decade, and the more people come, the more expensive it gets and the more difficult it is to survive here as an artist. But Chryssos isn’t concerned, and feels it is the best city to live in as a filmmaker in Germany: “It’s very open, creative, it’s a city that feels very alive. It doesn’t feel like it’s settled, unlike Munich or Hamburg. There’s still a good energy here.” And things seem to be going well. After its premiere at the 2015 Berlinale, where it was hailed as “stylish and darkly absurd” by Der Spiegel, Der Bunker has been touring festivals worldwide, winning a myriad of prizes, including Best Picture and Best Director at Austin’s Fantastic Fest, and the Jury Prize at Paris’ Festival Mauvais Genres. Fripan was also awarded Best Actor at Fantaspoa in Brazil. During our interview, Chryssos briefly excuses himself to answer the door and returns with a giant computer screen. “It’s part of the prize from Fantastic Fest,” he explains. At first perplexed at the scale of the thing, the director suddenly lights up: “I think it will be good for watching movies!”
Der Bunker is out on DVD in Germany in July 2016, and in the US in August 2016. Chryssos currently has several projects in development, including a science fiction drama set on a Greek island. 37
DJ x Designer
Larry Tee
SPLICING MUSIC AND FASHION WITH FLAMBOYANT PARTY MACHINE LARRY TEE Words by Jane Fayle Photos by Daniel Müller
How many people can say they are friends with legendary drag star RuPaul, partied as one of the (in)famous Club Kids of NYC, coined the name for an entire music genre, built a successful career as a DJ and music producer, and run their own fashion label? Larry Tee can.
F
or Larry, it all started back in Atlanta with some of drag’s biggest names. Alongside friends RuPaul and Lady Bunny, he made his move to New York in the late ‘80s. Amidst all the feathers and fur, the trio carved out their creative insignia through performance and music. Eventually, they caught the eye of the notorious nightlife figure Michael Alig. The club scene vortex sucked them in and it has yet to spit Larry out. Not one to hide behind a mask, Larry is open and honest, with a brash, fizzing energy that is a refreshing contrast to the reserved iciness that one sometimes encounters in Berlin’s fashion world. After more visits than he can remember, Larry became a permanent resident less than a year ago. In that time, he has launched the new queer party KRANK, and has continued to refine and expose his fashion label TZUJI. We spent some time with Larry to find out more about his colourful history and vibrant future.
good at the time. There was all this great new wave/electro stuff happening: New Order, even stuff like Yazoo that we think is really mainstream now, back then in Atlanta that was just craziness. If anybody played that they were out of their minds. So, when I started it became kind of popular too; suddenly I was a big DJ in Atlanta. But the reason I’m a big DJ is because I’m ferocious – always have been, always will be. I care about the crowd and I try to move them through a musical conversation. Can you tell us a bit about how you coined the term ‘Electroclash’? When I got clean from drugs and alcohol in the late ‘90s I had to rethink what I loved about music because I didn’t like what was happening.
Tell us more about the ‘Club Kids’ years. How did it all begin? I tend to think my involvement started when I was in Atlanta, where I became part of the scene with RuPaul and Lady Bunny. We used to dress up, but not in the way the Club Kids did; we were just dressing up to put on a flamboyant backyard show. When we all moved to New York, Michael Alig approached us because all the colourful people had just died. We roared in on a van filled with feathers, furs and bad outfits and really took over the town in two seconds; Alig saw that we had a lot of energy. Club Kids tended to be just about dress-up and we were more about performance, putting on unique parties, and making music. How did that evolve into DJing? The DJing thing started because in Atlanta, nobody was playing the music that was so 38
Issue One
I thought music was stuck. At the time, Fischerspooner was a local act. When I saw them live I felt that fire again, it was something really creative, it was dance and performance art. I remember just being thrilled! I felt the same about Chicks on Speed and their Riot Grrrl politics, about Peaches and her sexuality, and the big Chicago House DJ, Felix Da Housecat. That’s when music is exciting, when someone takes some things and puts them together in an oh-so-amazing, sexy way. I decided to do a festival to promote this new sound that I was so passionate about, and it needed a name. I came up with ‘Electroclash’, and suddenly every fashion magazine in the world had articles on this glamorous, flamboyant and politically modern festival, and the name stuck. How was Berlin Alternative Fashion Week? This is the fourth time that we’ve done [a show] here. It’s normally a five-minute show – you march out and that’s it. It’s almost like a hand job; it’s not enough to really satisfy. When I do Fashion Week, I always get dressed up. I tried out my new Transition Jacket this year which I’ll demonstrate for you now. I’m looking all discreet in black but see, it’s bright green on the inside! You can have the TZUJI, but you can also run to the grocery store. Do you feel your music still plays a big part in your work with TZUJI? Yes, it does play an important part and the musical heritage is maybe one of the reasons why the brand makes sense; you get that there is a history behind these extravagant pieces.
Larry Tee / Grönland Records
You were in London before and New York prior to that. What brought you to Berlin? Every day I listen to Esther Hicks and she tells you how to create the things you love instead of having a life that’s given to you by accident. After about five years in London I found myself saying, ‘God, if I could have anything in the world I would have a place in Berlin and one in LA’ but if I’m going to be a designer, which is my dream, then I want to be able to enjoy the process without feeling I have to pay a lot of money just to live in London. I felt so pressured being there and I didn’t have any spare time. Something wasn’t working. Before I knew it, I was out of town. A year ago, I didn’t know I was going. I’ve only been here for nine months. I love it! What are your thoughts on Berlin as a place to push musical boundaries? It’s one of the only places left! It used to be where you’d go into exile if you had alternative music views. You’d hide in Berlin and you’d get a following. Since it’s too expensive to be creative in all the big cities, it’s the last city in Europe that still has the microphone. Berlin is getting louder and louder. What made you start your KRANK parties in Berlin? When you run a cool party in a major city you’ll meet all the fun people: the artists, the creators, and the musicians. When I got here I said, “Well what’s missing?” I think the music is great and the options are plentiful, but I didn’t really feel like there was a place with a lot of creative people all in one spot. I send out personal invitations so when you come, you do immediately think, ‘cool crowd’. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that even the worst clubs here kick dust in the face of any other city. Berlin is the Paris of the ‘20s, it’s the New York of the late ‘80s, it’s the London of 2001. Finally, if you could pick a track to get us into summer party vibes, what would it be? The first thing that popped into my mind: ‘Veto Plank’ by Ondo Fudd. The second is Polo & Pan’s ‘Dorothy’.
For more on TZUJI clothing head to shop. tzuji.com, and to keep up with Larry’s KRANK parties and DJ action, connect with him on Facebook at facebook.com/larryteedj
Label of Love
GRÖNLAND RECORDS Founded in 1999 by German pop legend Herbert Grönemeyer, the initial purpose of Grönland records was to make the albums of seminal krautrock duo NEU! available again. Over time, they began to release music from other artists in a way that is driven by creativity and incubating talent, rather than solely by commercial motivations. It’s an ethos that stands to this day, and their roster includes outstanding international talent. Here, Label Manager Mareike Hettler reveals more about the world of Grönland. What were the circumstances that led up to the launch of the label? Herbert Grönemeyer was quite in love with NEU! but their music wasn’t available at that time, so his aim was to reunite the duo. He got them together and actually re-released their albums NEU!, NEU!2, NEU!75, NEU!86 and a special, previously unreleased single, ‘Crazy/Euphoria’.
internet helped us reach an international audience, but at the same time it made it harder to cut through the noise.
When founding the label, was there a particular ethos you wanted to espouse? Yes, to enable musicians to release their music even if it might not fit into the mainstream, and to give them the opportunity to grow over time at their own speed.
What new artists are you excited about? The success of our German-based artist Philipp Dittberner has been amazing. Also, we are working with a fantastic songwriter from Dublin who calls himself I Have A Tribe.
Can you put your finger on a definitive Grönland sound? There are actually three different sounds. There is songwriter and jazz–folk with William Fitzsimmons and I Have A Tribe; there is pop with BOY, GLORIA, Philipp Dittberner and Philipp Poisel; finally there is ‘early-electronic-music-from-Germany’ with bands like NEU! and Harmonia. But all of them share an alternative sound and a strong focus on musicians who are following their own vision.
What’s coming up next for the label? We will release I Have A Tribe’s debut album, and then we’ll re-release Holger Czukay’s Movies. In the summer, we are planning the second edition of a sampler about electronic music from Düsseldorf, Electri_City. But there is loads more to come!
The record industry has changed drastically since Grönland was founded. How have the changes affected the label? We are very lucky to have an extraordinarily strong back catalogue. We have fans all over the world that are still willing to buy physical copies – vinyl – and that probably means that we are little less affected by the changes. Nevertheless we have had to adjust to modern music consumption, of course. The
Summer 2016
What are the biggest challenges of running the label? The biggest challenge was – and still is – to find the right relationship with the right artist. We have to fall in love with their music.
Keep up to date with Grönland’s news and latest releases at groenland.com
Photo by Viktor Richardsson
« I’M FEROCIOUS – ALWAYS HAVE BEEN, ALWAYS WILL BE. »
Label of Love
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Dispatches
Ben Jones in Lesbos
Below A child is comforted on the beach after landing on Lesbos Right A refugee waits for the Athens ferry in Mytilini
Dispatches
FILMMAKER BEN JONES ON THE SHORES OF THE REFUGEE CRISIS, LESBOS Our Berlin-based contributors have fascinating stories to tell from other parts of the world, and Dispatches is our place to share them. In this edition, documentary filmmaker Ben Jones reports on his recent trips to the Greek island of Lesbos, where he filmed and witnessed the response to the refugee crisis. Words and Photos by Ben Jones
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Issue One
I
’ve been a documentary filmmaker for 13 years now. I got my start by making a social-issue documentary about suicide in a rural town in Northern Ireland. Since then, I’ve been making documentary films alongside other projects, such as music videos, corporate productions and community arts workshops. My brother Sam has also been a documentary filmmaker for the past ten years, living between Russia, Germany and Ireland. Earlier this year, Sam and I were having a conversation about making a film about the refugee crisis in Europe. Sam suggested filming the migration of refugees across Europe from the Balkans. I was sceptical of the idea at first, as it’s a complicated issue to document logistically, but I liked the subject, especially as Berlin has opened my eyes and influenced my thinking on the crisis. A few months later, I noticed a Facebook post from a friend back home in Belfast about a guy who was putting together a rescue response initiative to help prevent refugees dying at sea. I was really inspired by this and thought that it was the story that we could tell, especially as it had a connection to our hometown. I did some research on the person behind the initiative and it seemed that there was mileage in the idea of following what he was trying to do. This was somebody responding to a situation who had no expertise in the area, and I liked the enthusiasm and madness of what he had planned. After many conversations with him, we decided to go to Lesbos and follow him taking a rescue boat to try and have a direct effect on the crisis.
Ben Jones in Lesbos
Dispatches
Left A balloon seller passes a Greek coastguard boat, Mytilini harbour Below Lifejacket landfill dump, Lesbos
Summer 2016
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Dispatches
We went out in February, and that was the first time I saw the other side of the news, through this surreal experience of getting up at 6am to film boats arriving on the beach from Turkey. The boats would just arrive on the beach, 50 or 60 people crammed together on a craft that was designed for 12. Sometimes they arrived in quite a relaxed state, when the weather was good; at other times, the weather on the crossing was rough and people would arrive more agitated and distressed. It was a real mixture of people, a cross section of ages and backgrounds. There were old people, babies, young people, families, people on their own, people in wheelchairs. It was only when they came up on the beach that we started to see individuals, not a mass of people. We started to see human stories, people’s characters: an old guy clutching a Koran, or a mother and father with a tiny baby. We’d see these people become human beings before our eyes, and we felt the emotion of what they had done, crossing the seas to Europe. I think that’s when it all became very real and not just a distant story on the news. I had a camera in front of me, but it became very weird to witness this arrival. We stayed and filmed for two weeks on the island, in a small village of 300 people on the north coast. It was wild, unspoiled and idyllic, but also an epicentre of the crisis. It was a strange contrast, having people arrive from a war zone full of trauma and stories, landing on this holiday island. After the two weeks, we came back to Berlin and heard that we had received some development funding for the film, so we planned a second trip to follow the story further. When we returned in April,
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Ben Jones in Lesbos
everything had changed. We were in a different place – Mytilene, the capital of the island – and because of the new EU directive and the agreement between the EU and Turkey, the arrival of the boats had really slowed down. For three weeks, we didn’t see one boat arrive. The boats were being picked up at sea by the coastguard instead of arriving at shore. Now people were being collected at sea by a much more officious coastguard service, processed, and taken to refugee camps. Before that, they would have been greeted on the beach by small NGOs, given cups of coffee, medical attention, dry clothes and blankets. It really affected the rescue initiative that we were following. They felt that they were becoming part of an authoritarian response, rather than the humanitarian response that they were set up to be a part of. Suddenly, the reason they were there became questionable. Some other NGOs left because they didn’t want to be part of the change that had been made. However, people were still on the beaches waiting for boats that may have slipped through the coastguard cordon. At the end of the trip, the situation at sea seemed more under control, but we weren’t sure if we were witnessing the end of these mass illegal crossings, or just a prolonged lull in the crisis. It all depends on the agreement between the EU and Turkey. In the end, only time will tell if the agreement works, but in the meantime, the wars rage on and people still need refuge.
For more information on Ben Jones and his projects, visit hooptedoodlefilms.com
Issue One
Bottom left Pine wood, Mytilini Bottom right Fruit and Veg shop at dusk in the village of Skala Sikaminias
Ben Jones in Lesbos
Dispatches
« IT WAS A STRANGE CONTRAST, HAVING PEOPLE ARRIVE FROM A WAR ZONE FULL OF TRAUMA AND STORIES, AND LANDING ON THIS HOLIDAY ISLAND. »
Top to bottom Refugee boat lands on Skala beach; a volunteer takes a well earned break by the beach; greenhouses next to Mytilini airport; discarded Iraqi passport cover lies on the beach still wet with sea water.
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Divine Comedy
Caroline Clifford
The Last Word with
CAROLINE CLIFFORD
Who was the last person to offend you? An audience member after a gig said my set was “quite satisfying.” I’m not a sandwich! I’m an ‘artiste’. Mostly, people shouldn’t say anything to me after a show. Less is more with compliments. Once someone said “that was so great” – they should have stopped there – “but my father just died so anything seems fun compared to that.” When was the last time you offended someone? I offended a man with a Belgian accent by saying it was the weirdest accent I’d ever heard. It was. When was the last time you had a fistfight? I’ve never been in a fight, I’m too much of a coward. I daydream about punching people all the time though. What was the last regrettable decision you made? At We Are Not Gemüsed, we very often regret people we put on; the irony is that they don’t even know who they are. All the good people hate themselves and all the lousy people think they are the best. What was the last good film you watched? Diary of a Teenage Girl, watch it! Love me a non-Marvel comic book adaptation. What was the last great album you bought? Who buys albums any more, guys?! The last album I … added to Spotify? Was Africa by Amanaz. The last album I actually
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Photo by Viktor Richardsson
Caroline Clifford is a comedienne extraordinaire and half of the duo behind We Are Not Gemüsed, one of Berlin’s best open-mic comedy nights. Along with co-conspirator Paul Salamone, she has been running the English-language stand-up event since 2012. Here, Caroline gives us a unique insight into the workings of her mind. paid for was The Lost Files by Patrice O’Neil. What was the last great book you read? I mainly read graphic novels; the last best one was The Infinite Wait & Other Stories by Julia Wertz. What was the last thing you Googled? ‘julia wertz infinite wait’ haha. When was the last time one of your heroes disappointed you? I do like me some Ricky Gervais, but I just unfollowed him on Twitter ‘cause he won’t stop banging on about this film he just made that looks really shit anyway. When was the last time you felt guilty? OMG it’s my default mode. I mean, I’m a woman so I of course feel guilty for every calorie I consume. I feel guilty that my cat is bored, I feel guilty I’m not a good friend, I feel guilty I produce too much trash, I feel guilty when I don’t give to the homeless or, when I do, for keeping them on the streets, I feel guilty I don’t speak German … okay I’m spiralling. What was the last piece of great advice you were given? “She’s not interested, move on.” When was the last time you doubted yourself? Umm, currently and in every
moment of my life! Like, this isn’t funny – I’m not good at this interview thing. What was the last useless thing you bought? I bought this QVC-ish vegetable cutter; it’s the size of a marrow and it’s complete garbage. Every time you try and cut anything the whole thing gets stuck in the blades. Also I’m selling it for 10 euros. When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? When I saw a video of a cat accidently jumping into a bath. What was the last comedy show you attended as an audience member? My friend Chris Davis completely destroyed Quatsch Comedy – made the other ‘pros’ look like chumps! If you could choose your last words, what would they be? “I know now why you cry. But it’s something I can never do.” – Terminator 2
We Are Not Gemüsed takes place at Sameheads in Neukölln every Tuesday at 8pm. Keep up to date with them at facebook.com/gemused
Last orders – Gin Rickey
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Green curry, resignation letters, moonlighting, Kate Bush, red wine, broken Apple products, dick pics, spreadsheets, home cooking, WhatsApp, sunshine, Späti beers and the last minute.
Issue One
EUROPE’S MOST CONNECTED MUSIC COLLEGE BASS DRUMS GUITAR VOCALS SONGWRITING MUSIC BUSINESS PRODUCTION
#LifeinMusic Find out more about BIMM Songwriting student Max at: www.bimm-institute.de/news/student-stories Summer 2016
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