Last night’s entertainment left an impact and not just on my checkbook. It was life-affirming and quite lifting as i had never attended anything quite like it. There i was seeing Blixa Bargeld, Einstürzende Neubauten. The last night of 3 sold out performances at Pierre Boulez Saal in Blixa’s Berlin. Rubbing shoulders with the snobs of society and they didn’t like it one bit, as my shoulders are quite bulky & muscular, smell of perfumed animal carcasses, Hollywood asscheeks and are equipped with Bullshit detectors. It was a refreshing switch from the usual event venue, you know, bubbling shat’slathered bogs, scribbled on fuck you mirrors, the stench of pissed in clothing, mildew, arse numbing volumes, speed slags, heavy handed brutes, chatter’arses and wigwham slurpies, no my friendly reader, this was a refined caliber of audience. I am fairly sure that everybody from WIRE magazine was in attendance. Architects in black horn rimmed spectacles, 70s Oxnard, Oxford, Oxfam, Oxfordshire shams and tech graduates, no doubt x-members from The Fall who have drifted to where it’s cheaper and the sex is emotionless. There were 80 year old aristocrats, spinsters, Japanese millionaire mamasans in grey dragon slays stork wraps, there were people who repair the spines of cherished books that’ve been damaged by damaged people, and they were all served bubbly, and sweet wines, not the wine that makes you pee from your embezzlement chamber (asshole) and surprisingly enough, the world’s worst ever beer, Berlinstinker, you know, that beer that you can’t take with you, for as soon as you swaller it, it comes straight back up the Olde hatch. I digress! Then there i was in all my black radiance, looking like the first african-american ninja turtle who got kicked out of Antifa, chewing Wassermelone chewing gum and wearing my famous nicotine stained Woody Allen shit-eating smile and yes my friends, i can still make an old man-whore faint.
I was born handsome. Me can’t halp it.
There were very strict rules to the show. No kameras and i say rules were made to broken sire! Also, once the event started you were not allowed to leave your seat. Yes that was me, the confused shadow on the 3rd floor clutching his balls, muttering in Bonanza hillbilly americanese about where are the cotton-pickin’ bathrooms and how do i get out of this amalgamation! I winded down the spiral staircase and found the pisser, stepped out for some sweet tobac and went back in but was told that i had to wait for a Bell before i could return to my seat. I got into a sprinter position and when the bell went off, i took off in a flash and went roundy round back up the spiral and plunked down into my reserved seat. Blixa was performing LAMENT. A show that was a year or so in the designing and pre-production of. I guess its about War, World War I and trenches and Kaisers and Tsars and all that tough guy, sir you have a grenade in your trousers, this isn’t dust, this is chemical warfare, i demand to see the cook at once! shit. The show was performed in German no doubt just to confuse me further which gave me a rush. The audience were mostly reserved besides the skinhead grinding on his organ’bone, performing the auld Autofellatio, Jesus!
On Stage the instruments were constantly replaced with other instruments and i ain’t talking BC RICH Motley Crue bass guitars my friend, no, i am talking about every piece of plumbing pipe your Great Grandfather and his Grandfather, and your Uncle and Dad ever lost, all brought together to be played upon with electric air-guns, tinker-toy drumsticks, and there were vintage CBS microphones bundled together on a podium just tall enough to reach the chin of a well fed Chihuahua and there were long hanging chimes, a vinyl record glued to a hand drill forced to fuck a keg-party beer cup and 2 PA systems on opposite sides of the goddamned room and foot pedals from abortion clinics and only God knows what else. It was the performance of a life-time and when it was all over and i walked across the street to an upper-scale Hotel called The Titanic which is the only place in Berlin who actually make Mac’n’Cheese? I was informed that it was IMPOSSIBLE to get a to-go order because the Mac’n’Cheese was too hot to be held by anything. Visions of Tupperware and good old American Styrofoam boxes danced in my head and as i looked the waiter straight in his dead-eye i told him, the titanic sank once and it can sink again my friend!