daevid allen, Berlin 2008
Unlike the gigs in Italy that magnetised round 250 people average, Berlin was as usual totally unheard of. An unfathomable pod. Small but inventively assembled. This in a jaded punk club, voluminous and shaky. Old school. Very high godfearing stage and a wooden bench around a dance floor. Notably it was full moon and also the anniversary of Hitler's birthday when all good prog rockers quake over their charts. Only the tallest & most fearlessly blonde transvestites walked with the living dead this night. And Brainville.
Those few freeks who dared come hear us sat bravely in a circle on the benches leaving a large open circular space completely empty but for the vivid sorcery of an expensive light show descending on the boards. Indeed we were a small yet extremely high frequency selection of heads. Elegantly crinkled high art iniates! A secret society of sorts. Perhaps assembled by psychic intent to counterbalance the dread. Perhaps.Yet the opening moments of the show were definitely nothing less than a scene from a David Lynch movie. Perhaps even Twin Peaks itself. An almost empty room. Drifting indoor chemtrails. Shifty lightshafts. Hu basslike and a ghost, wrangled and scrangled wild electronic birds in twangled bedraggle. Chris unswallowing his multi armed atomic shiva and multiplied sticks. I watch his arms blur into hyperdrive. Meanwhile I struggled into the unusual punishment of a white tuxedo.
Once pon stage I realise that i must unto the peoples go. So I slide cross the lip and spin like a dervish to see which way to fly. I am feeling mischievous. A photographer extreme left. He lifts his lense to focus. He is gone. He never existed at all. I am drawn right up to him…go to shake his hand but actually spontaneously press his hand to my lips. I want to kiss him back to life. Suddenly he drops his camera and gives me his secret smile. I melt. Now i know whatt I must do.
As hu's electron flocks swoop & soar, I make my way round the semi circle kissing everybody's hands. Kissing deeply with my mouth and eyes, the circle of my selves. Contact had been made. Now i can play.
After what seems like several hours of un parallelled musical fun, it appears the first half must end. So we finish. Back in the dressingroom the interval becomes a party in the dressingroom. When it is time to play the second set, Henry appears dramatically: No! It ISN'T POSSIBLE! They have shut down the PA. They say there is not enough crowd and they make nothing on the bar. They want to go home. Feeling curiously half fucked, we return to Henry's with a small concentration of indignant supporters. We talk till late.
Ahhhh Berlin. You always surprise me.