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Internet News Record
(World news and comment
from the Guardian |
guardian.co.uk)
Submi t t ed at 10/ 18/ 2009 6: 55: 59 AM
When the wall came down,
improvised clubs and bars sprang
up in the East. Two veterans, who
are still on the club scene, go on
an urban road trip to see how
things have changed
'If you're faced by the wall every
mo rning, it's dark all day," says
Steve Morell, DJ, musician and
one of Berlin's legendary night-
owls. "Even though we were just
in the West, it felt apocalyptic; I
thought it would never end."
It's a blue-sky morning outside
the Rauchhaus, one of the oldest
squats in Berlin, right up by the
former death strip. I've come to
see how the city has changed in
the 20 years since the wall fell,
with the help of Steve and my old
friend Nackt, from cult Berlin
band Warren Suicide. The idea is
a personal road trip across the
spaces that have transformed their
cultural landscape.
Before 1989, Kreuzberg was the
centre of alternative youth culture
in West Berlin, and the
Rauchhaus, a neo-Romanesque
hospital, was on the eastern tip of
this once-desolate neighbourhood,
enclosed by the Landwehr canal
and the wall. Named after left-
wing radical Georg von Rauch, it
now welcomes visitors, but check
the website first. If you don't mind
sharing with strangers, a bed in
the "international guest room"
costs from \u20ac3 a night. If that
sounds a little scary, its Smoke
House parties offer lashings of
authentic Berlin spirit on the
second weekend of each month
(see the link on the opposite
page).
"This area was incredible," says
Steve (born Stephan Kraus), who
arrived from Frankfurt in 1984,
aged 17, to squat with 40 other
left-wing activists. We are
standing in bright sun by
discarded doors, tyres and filing
cabinets. Dilapidated 1940s trucks
line the pavement.
"There were squats everywhere
and some amazing bands, very
influential in Germany, used to
record at the Rauchhaus. But it
was the best and the worst of
times. There were constant police
raids. I'd hear shootings through
the night behind the wall and read
in the paper the next day what had
happened outside our door."
After the wall fell, a third of the
buildings in the eastern half of the
city were lying empty, and techno
activists from areas such as
Kreuzberg began to search for
new spaces to party. In early
1990, the first improvised clubs
opened, as basements became
bars, and unused municipal
buildings \u2013 from warehouses to
power stations \u2013 formed a spider's
web of a DIY scene. We jump
into Steve's Opel Vectra to drive
east along the former no man's
land of Bethaniendamm. At
Schilling Bridge, we reach Maria,
a seminal music venue opened in
1992. Nackt and Steve agree that
this former storage unit on the
river Spree is "one of Berlin's top
five".
"It's as famous for indie/rock
bands as for techno," says Nackt,
who left the small town of
Burghausen for Berlin just after
the wall came down. "Warren
Suicide have played amazing
shows here, and so have Peaches,
CSS, Simian."
Friederichshain was one of the
most heavily bombed parts of
Berlin in the second world war,
with more than half its buildings
destroyed as the allies targeted its
industrial areas. The area still
feels bleak, dominated by Soviet-
era housing blocks and a wide sea
of railway tracks, as well as one
of the longest surviving sections
of wall, now the 1.3km Eastside
Gallery, its 100 or so post-
revolution images \u2013 including the
famous kiss between Brezhnev
and Honecker \u2013 repainted this
year.
With its low rents (compared
with West Berlin) the area is now
being ploughed (or plagued) by
corporate monsters \u2013 the 02, MTV
Europe, Universal Music \u2013 as part
of an ongoing construction project
along the Spree, dubbed
Mediaspree. The boys, along with
Berlin's youth, are worried the
clubs will close to make way for
riverside apartments.
"Already Bar 25, an institution,
has shut," says Nackt, "but it's
been having closing parties for 10
years."
Talk turns to Ostalgie, a rising
wave of nostalgia for the old East
Germany, from the resurrection of
brands of foods to the interactive
GDR museum in Mitte, where
you can try out a Trabant car, or
pretend to be a Stasi officer.
"Look," says Steve, wagging a
finger from the wheel at a Soviet
block, "the whole Ostalgie thing
is so big tourists can even stay in
a 'typical GDR apartment' with
50s furniture." We laugh.
"Anything goes in there." We are
bumping along a sandy track \u2013 the
city was built on sand \u2013 towards
an imposing power station in
Friederichshain, where wide-eyed
kids drift outside in colourful T-
shirts, and a row of yellow cabs
wait for business. It's a hot
Sunday afternoon, but punters
will have been going since
Saturday night; some clubs keep
going until Monday evening.
"This is the Berghain," says
Steve, "one of the most famous
clubs in Berlin." The boys are
hoping to show me its Panorama
bar with Wolfgang Tillmans
artwork. The thud of minimal
techno bangs like a headache.
Can we take a photo inside, we
ask nicely. "No," is the growled
reply. "And no journalists." We
turn to leave. "I've seen things in
there I couldn't repeat," says
Steve, with a devilish smile.
So it's off to somewhere more
cultural. Haus Schwarzenberg is
an old factory in Mitte that is now
a bar, gallery and cinema; it's
where Steve loves to DJ, and
Nackt's fellow band member
Cherie has shown her art. As we
enter a dark alley lined with
picnic benches, Steve explains
that it's run by artist duo the Dead
Chickens, who moved here in
1995 after being based in
Kreuzberg in the 80s. We sip
cappuccinos in the peeling
courtyard, and Steve shows me
the bar spooked with the artists'
famous "monster" artworks.
"It's the last oasis of real
alternative art in the city," he
says, as we climb graffitied
stairwells to explore the white
spaces of the Neurotitan gallery
upstairs, which specialises in
comics and graphic art.
There are few cities whose
mythology is so closely tied to its
nightlife, and back down in the
courtyard, conversation bounces
round other seminal eastside clubs
\u2013 Bang Bang ("GDR decor
again"), Tresor ("in Berlin's main
central-heating power station"),
ZMF ("in the basement of the
biggest furniture factory for the
east, kind of rotten but in a nice
way," says Steve) and Lovelite ("a
typical warehouse, like so many
clubs in Friederichshain, in the
middle of nowhere," says Nackt.)
Nightlife has long been
commercialised even here, but the
boys agree that an underground
creativity still pervades \u2013 if you
avoid the weekend "clubbing
tourists". And the unification of
East and West Germany at the
first techno parties as the wall fell
is celebrated in an annual festival,
the Love Parade.
But there are more places to tick
off today, so we speed off again
towards Kaffee Burger, a classic
East German boozer dating from
the mid-30s, complete with 50s
GDR lettering on the windows. A
faded poster advertises its
fortnightly Russian discos and,
inside, the aged decor under
bright lighting, it's easy to
imagine secret meetings of
political dissidents over wheat
beer and schnapps in the mid-70s,
as they plotted an escape to the
West.
"It's been around forever," says
Nackt, "but it's still a cool after-
hours place."
The Volksb\u00fchne, in Mitte, was
rebuilt in 1954 after devastation in
the war, hence its Soviet
appearance. "Its name means 'Free
People's Theatre'," says Steve.
"Before the wall came down, it
would have shown plays by
Bertolt Brecht." Now it has the
reputation of being one of the
most experimental theatres in
Germany, "where art meets rock".
"Warren Suicide sold this place
out with a full string ensemble,"
says Nackt, and Steve has thrown
World/
BERLIN'S page 5
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