Unscene Berlin

Time now for my long overdue roundup of Silvester parties! Silvester is the German name for New Year's Eve. The name comes from Saint Sylvester, who passed away on 31 December 335. Since his death has become synonymous with one of the biggest celebrations on the German calendar, I assume that old Sylvester must have been a bit badass. I'm picturing a 4th century dilettante, stumbling around a monastery strewn with empty barrels of sekt , his followers draped over their pews with robes askew, groaning in hungover agony. But, historical speculation aside, here is my preview...

I checked out Stattbad's Wedding's Christmas arts market last Sunday night. The Stattmarkt , as it was called, was housed within the venue's shower rooms. It was like a cross between a Turkish bath and a Turkish bazaar. A long, tiled corridor ran down the centre of the room and the shower cubicles leading off of it were occupied by artists selling their wares. The constant buzz of a tattooist's needle, rising from one of the cubicles, underpinned the strains of music coming from the bar next door, where a guitarist was soloing to introspective, tough techno. As I passed each cubicle, avant-garde artisans leaned out to invite me in or chatted with their neighbours. In other cubicles I saw artists lost in their work, oblivious to the confines of their allotted space as they splattered stencils with paint or sewed crafts. Roars of laughter rose up from groups of people who had gathered inside the other cubicles, unseen. The constant susuruss of their voices w...

At this time of year, when the solar cycle gets to its darkest point, I empathize deeply with the angst that our ancient ancestors felt about the winter solstice. They saw midwinter as a time when the sun almost died. As darkness edged up on both sides of the day, they thought the light might disappear for good and frantically paid homage to their goddesses and gods in the hopes of bringing it back. When the days finally stopped getting shorter, a frenzy of celebration ensued - hence the traditions of Silvester, New Year, Hogmanay, et al. Logically, I may understand that the 'death of the sun' is caused by the Earth tilting on its axis; I may also understand that the solar system is still functioning and the summer will return, but I still feel my ancestors' creeping dread as the days get shorter. Clearly there is some deeper, primal consciousness inside me that can't be reasoned with. This embedded instinct only seems to recognize the fact that the light is missing...

You are strolling through a seemingly never-ending series of rooms. In the second or third room is a cavernous space where cut-glass minimal tech plays, while lasers glint off of a foil-covered car parked in a corner. Your pagan friend climbs inside the abandoned vehicle and takes it for a joyride, spinning the steering wheel and snarling fiercely as he screeches around an imaginary racetrack. When you have both exhausted the possibilities of this room you move on. You pass through a negative-exposure hallway full of Day-Glo furniture, graffiti scrawled in incandescent ink across the walls. A second hall, embellished with gigantic wall-sketches and lit by candles, stretches off to the right. You are tempted to go down it and find out what is around the bend at the end but then you hear loud noises coming from up ahead and follow them, instead. The hall opens onto an industrial-sized storage space, bare except for a DJ table and a Peter-Murphy like singer. The duo is jamming with experi...

I am afraid that Club Alien has no review for you this week. Here is the story of how that happened - or rather, didn't happen. Last Saturday, after going to the Alte Fleischfabrik and finding that it was once again closed at the last minute, the Alien set out to review Kater Holzig instead. Brandishing a bottle of wine she had stolen from a birthday party earlier, she followed (or was it ‘led’?) a group of merrymakers down the Spree to Koepenicker Strasse. Once inside the club, she held her camera up a few times but, being that she was unable to make the double-vision go away for long enough to focus her camera, she gave up and focused on getting more drinks, instead.  Because quite clearly, she wasn't drunk enough, yet...

Why should history get all the glory? Every November the 5th should be just as memorable as the original... "Remember, remember the 5th of November  Gunpowder Treson and plot I can think of no reason  The gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot... " In England, the 5th of November is a pretty big deal. To celebrate it, people light bonfires, set off fireworks and get plastered outside in the cold and, usually, the rain. It's all a part of the 'Bonfire Night' tradition, introduced by the English government in the 17th century in order to celebrate the arrest of dissident Guy Fawkes. On November 5th 1606, Fawkes was caught under the Houses of Parliament with barrels of explosives; he was trying to blow up the government and instigate a state of anarchy (in the U.K.) by bringing down the fledgling Parliament. And the first punk had not even been born yet...! Snake worshipping, (ex) acid-dealing author Moore More than 300 years later, ...

This entry is really just an excuse for me to post some of the party pics I haven't had the chance to publish this month... and without further preamble, here they are. Enjoy! Above: Entrance to Ritter Butzke, shot on the way into the club's "2 Years Lost" party on October 9th. I seem to have lost a couple of hours of my Sunday there too... and my umbrella! If you find any of the above items, please forward them to Ritterstrasse 24, c/o Club Alien.