Straftanz UK 2010: The cheesy and seasonal aftermath. Part One.
2800 kilometres, 30 hours of driving in less than 5 days, sleeping 4 hours per night to play three shows might appear to be lunacy to some. What is lunacy to some, is our purpose as we are activists. For a second time we were allowed to bring our flavor of obscure germanic moshpit rave sound to that island we fell in love with about a year ago. This time we came to Britain proudly supporting our friends from Rotersand. I could tell stories about how much exactly those three gigs felt like hanging from a 200 meter long rope attached to a flying saucer, throwing frozen dead turkeys stuffed with chicken stuffed with live canary birds raised on baked beans, fed with uranium enriched deep fried black pudding at the heads of all evil people while picking flowers for our friends at supersonic speed. I could. But I will not. I will not for the obvious reason that our rants on how amazing we feel are not interesting at all compared to stuff that actually matters. The fact of that matter is this: The better people are those in front of the stage. They do the party, institute the culture, celebrate the event and provide the meaning. So did Naomi in Glasgow when she convinced a dozen of people to leave a sottish mark on our red flag. Braw as fuck. So did Amz in Sheffield, showing up together with the better part of her family, Miss Ängst by boozing up everything in her ten-meters booze up aura, Addz and Gareth by the transfer of utter lunacy down to the ground of the corporation. So did a bunch of goons I feel so ridiculously secure among, I trusted them with, well, everything on that evening with the result of getting to my hotel save and sound even though drunk as fuck. Offenbar blieb die Gabel unter dem Tisch. We saw a crowd of english speakers shouting our lyrics, obviously without exactly knowing what they were doing. But when they did, their enthusiasm easily surpassed even ours. We were convinced once again that our culture is something we can not value high enough; that we share something way more important than the latest record release. To understand that there is not such a thing as a border between stage and dancefloor, that our culture is not under the dictate of an artistic class among us. I could not express that notion better, than by quoting the same source our colleagues from Liverpool, Frankie goes to Hollywood once dug up:
“In song and dance man expresses himself as a member of a higher community; he has forgotten how to walk and speak and is on the way toward flying into the air, dancing. His very gestures express enchantment. Just as the animals now talk, and the earth yields milk and honey, supernatural sounds emanate from him, too: he feels himself a god, he himself now walks about enchanted, in ecstasy, like the gods he saw walking in his dreams. He is no longer an artist, he has become a work of art (…)” Friedrich Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy, 1872
Since I feel very much like Christmas at the moment I dare to say: Together we are such a work of art.
Straftanz would like to say thank you to everyone making this mini tour possible. Especially Rasc, Gun and Krischan from Rotersand for being dumb enough to take us with them. Peddy from NeuWerk Music for exceptional organization and food sources, Ingo from Candela Hamburg for the best nose in northern Germany and for being one of the best companions imaginable on a travel like that. Alex Pop for helping us out with stuff that wasn’t even exactly his business. We love you. Especially we’d like to thank Axel Ermes, our brilliant sound engineer for ultimate loudness and ultrafast soundchecks. Hell. Yeah.
After all there are still some open questions. We know. Expect answers very shortly.