1st September. No chance of a gig in Berlin, I think, no one gives a shit in a super-saturated market where international battalions deploy steely determination to making it as bohemian artists. Why are they all marching towards Berlin? How does this city manage to maintain its reputation of gritty, risk and avant-garde? I mean, I’m sure there are plenty of people living nasty lives in nasty environments here, like in all big capitalist cities, but where 99% of the tourists go Berlin is a stuffy bourgeois stronghold, roamed by bovine mothers pushing around chunks of boiled ham in designer little hats and booties and filled with wholesome restaurants where local yuppies indulge in their favourite brand of politics: eating organic falafel. During a brief walk in Charlottenburg we identify a slew of subversive places such as: organic hair salon; ayurvedic massage; evangelical church (three); pedicure salon (loads); and dog aromatherapy salon.
Such a mild-mannered city with such a bad reputation is manna for the faux-bohemian. You can stuff your face with delicatessen food in ritzy cafes in Prenzlauer for 10 euros, checking your facebook, and go back to tell your friends how cool was your week in Berlin, like, modernist, experimental, dangerous! Oh, how inspirational being in such an effervescent environment was for your ‘projects’ (of updating your Twatter profile). Simply whispering this magical name, “Berlin”, intimates to the listener, and yourself, that you have lived for a week in a squat with Karl Marx and Walter Benjamin, smoking opium, drinking methanol and discussing the death of the author until dawn. I want a flat here!
tchuss-tchuss,
la mordue
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