LOLA Issue Five

ISSUE 05 A/W 2017
LOLAMAG.DE
FREE
+
Shahak Shapira courts
controversy with comedy
Photoautomat and Berlin’s
love of anachronisms
Seoul’s Drag Queens
introduce us to queer Korea
FotoKlub Kollektiv
Kolja Kugler
Ida Tin
Romano
Kevin Braddock
Project Mooncircle
Wings of Desire
Gay Sperm
Andy Kassier
The LOLA Guide
Our recommendations
for autumn/winter
TRICKY
WEST COUNTRY BOY
TURNED WAHLBERLINER

TOM MISCH
02.11. SchwuZ
!!! (CHKCHK)
06.11. Festsaal Kreuzberg
TOMMY GENESIS
07.11. Berghain
ROMANO
09.11. Columbiahalle
KIMBRA
20.11. Prince Charles
ÁSGEIR
20.11. Huxleys
ZOLA JESUS
22.11. SO36
BICEP (LIVE)
23.11. Kesselhaus
DENZEL CURRY
24.11. Festsaal Kreuzberg
BLAUE BLUME
25.11. Kantine am Berghain
LONDON GRAMMAR
26.11. Ufo im Velodrom
NOGA EREZ
28.11. Berghain Kantine
TRICKY
28.11. Festsaal Kreuzberg
HERCULES & LOVE AFFAIR
30.11. Kesselhaus
YUNG LEAN
02.12. Astra Kulturhaus
WASHED OUT
03.12. Festsaal Kreuzberg
KING KRULE
04.12. Astra Kulturhaus
RONE
15.12. Prince Charles
KELELA
07.12. Berghain
6LACK
31.01. Astra Kulturhaus
meltbooking.com
facebook.com/wearemeltbooking

Autumn/Winter 2017
Editorial
SEASONS CHANGE.
I’ve just passed my three-year anniversary of living
in Berlin. Well, I moved to Berlin from Belfast a few
months over three years ago, but I spent the first
two months living here alone and consider the official
moving date as the date my dog, Lola, joined me.
A lot has changed in that time. Berlin is a city that is
in an almost perpetual state of flux and development.
The more time passes, the more I notice the changes.
There is endless construction work. Buildings are
routinely torn down and new ones erected, scaffolding
is everywhere and facades are given facelifts. This
is nothing new and has been happening for decades,
but when you start to see it on a daily basis it has a
real effect on you. From Warschauer Brücke looking in
the direction of the new Eastside Mall site I recently
counted 16 cranes in that area alone.
Then there is the turnover in businesses. New
bars, restaurants and shops pop up with increasing
regularity. In distributing magazines over the last 18
months or so, I’ve noticed numerous places opening,
closing and changing hands throughout the
city. This is to be expected in a major modern city
receiving a large influx of people, but the current
rate is almost alarming.
The level of change can make it hard to feel a sense
of security. Perhaps this is why there is a strong spirit
of resistance to it; a fight to protect the history and
cultural foundations that the city was built on. Some
of the small anachronisms can be sweet, such as the
fact video rental stores still exist, while others can be a
little vexing (“Sorry, we don’t accept card payments”),
but there is also the drive to protect alternative ways
of living that have been an integral part of Berlin for a
long time, like the longstanding tradition of cooperative
buildings and Wagenplatz areas.
An experience of change is one that almost every
Berlin resident shares, regardless of how long they have
lived here. It can be challenging and testing, but in the
end it’s worth it. Berlin can feel like a microcosm of the
world – a glorious, imperfect melting pot. It’s a privilege
to be a part of it, and while there are growing pains
involved in living in a city that changes this much, it’s
an exciting time to be here. The face of Berlin might be
changing, but the spirit remains the same. Jonny
Publisher &
Editor In Chief
Jonny Tiernan
Executive Editor
Marc Yates
Associate Editor
Alison Rhoades
Sub Editors
Maggie Devlin
Linda Toocaram
Photographers
Valentina Culley-Foster
Zoe Guilty
Yvonne Hartmann
Zack Helwa
Soheil Moradianboroujeni
Jinny Park
Viktor Richardsson
Robert Rieger
Writers
Joel Dullroy
Tom Evans
Marlén Jacobshagen
Maria Mouk
Alex Rennie
Andrea Servert
Juno Sparkes
Stephanie Taralson
Marketing Manager
Lucía González
Special Thanks
Johannes Boßhammer
Melanie Kasper
Andreas Oberschelp
Dieter Schienhammer
Claudia Ulhaas
Wild Waste Gallery
Michael Yurgil
LOLA Magazine
Blogfabrik
Oranienstraße 185
10999 Berlin
For business enquiries
jonny@lolamag.de
For editorial enquiries
marc@lolamag.de
Published by The LOLA Agency
Cover photo by Robert Rieger
Printed in Lithuania by AB Spauda.
Autumn/Winter 2017
1

Studying German at die deutSCHule in
Neukölln is such a great experience.
The teachers are enthusiastic and
supportive, and I’ve made a lot of
friends here.
Hyeonjin Park Student, South Korea
die deutSCHule
German learning to support you on your
way to an academic career
www.die-deutschule.de
Karl-Marx-Straße 107, 12043 Berlin, Tel: +49 (0)30 6808 5223
2 Issue Five

Photo by Robert Rieger
German rap sensation Romano looks out at Oberbaumbrücke.
Get the full story of his genre-fluid career on page 30.
Contents
04. The LOLA Guide
The very best things to see and
do in Berlin this season.
06. berlin through the lens
FotoKlub Kollektiv
“Openness was the initial idea of
the group and now we want to
push for a more diverse group of
artists, from complete beginners
to professionals.”
10. local hero
Photoautomat
“They’re characters, these booths.
Some are a bit sensitive. Some are really
strong, you just have to listen to the
machine and get a sense of what it is.”
14. Shahak Shapira
“I fucking hate coriander. It’s
worse than Hitler.”
17. Kolja Kugler
“It was hard on the road without a
workshop. I always sculpted wherever
I was, in the ditch with a generator.”
20. cover story
Tricky
“On this new album, musically
there’s a bit of change that happened
to me, I can feel it.”
26. Ida Tin
“Reproductive health is an incredibly
foundational and central part of our
lives, but there’s a real lack of clarity
for women, generally.”
30. Romano
“Pippi Longstocking is my role model:
life is wonderful, make it colourful!”
32. Kevin Braddock
“Depression transcends gender, race,
status, everything. It’s a problem
that anyone can have.”
35. Project Mooncircle
“We wanted to create a view
from the moon to the earth.
We wanted to give the listener
some kind of soundtrack to
reflect on what happens here.”
36. dispatches
Seoul’s Drag Queens
“When I first performed there I didn’t
expect the protesters to be so vocal,
but as the years go by I am energised
by them more than anything.”
40. Wings of Desire
“Its subtle play with the themes of
borders, embodiment and sacrifice
render themselves timeless.”
42. point of view
Take My Gay Sperm
“Gay men are considered to be at higher
risk of sexual diseases. But is this
discrimination supported by fact?”
43. In Pictures
Illustrated news from the late summer.
44. the last word:
Andy Kassier
“Life is always ups and downs. It’s
like the stock market.”
Autumn/Winter 2017
3

Guide
THE
GUIDE
Plan out your autumn and winter with
our picks of the very finest things to see
and do in Berlin this season.
MUSIC FESTIVAL
SYNÄSTHESIE 2017
Synästhesie have whipped out probably their most impressive lineup
to date for their 3rd festival, which will happen at Volksbühne on
November 19th. We’re most excited about headliners The Horrors,
who have evolved from their arch-hipster beginnings into one of the
finest bands of recent years. Also on the lineup are bonafide legends
Tangerine Dream, krautrock-influenced Berliners Camera and more.
For full details, check facebook.com/synaesthesie
MAGAZINE
NANSEN
A fantastic first issue heralds the arrival of a new magazine about
migrants in Berlin. Nansen seeks to connect and celebrate the city’s
migrants with great storytelling, a topic that is very close to our
hearts. In the first issue we meet Aydin Akin, who for 50 years has
been fighting to improve the lives of migrants arriving here.
Pick up your copy at nansenmagazine.com
ART FESTIVAL
LOST 48 HOURS ART & MUSIC
Pankow’s Willner Brauerei will open its doors for one last hurrah as 80 artists and musicians host
the 48-hour Art Festival. For the first and last time, the 3000m 2 brewery, storehouse and vaulted
cellar will transform into an immersive art experience. The non-stop programme includes artist
talks, opera, live performances, cinema, pianists, two club floors curated by Berliner labels, and
exhibitions by DARK ROOMS, ENTER ART FOUNDATION and PRIEST AND PRAWNS.
The festival will take place for two days from December 15th to 17th. Learn more at lostberlin.de
PHOTOGRAPHY
DANNY LYON
Danny Lyon’s Message to the Future is one of two fantastic new photography
exhibitions at C/O Berlin. Lyon documents social reality,
and has turned his lens on a variety of important cultural moments in
America’s recent history, from the civil rights movement to the freedom
of the American highway as seen through motorcycle clubs. This
retrospective includes photography, audio recordings and film work.
Message to the Future is up until December 3rd.
4 Issue Five

Guide
SHOP
LOVECO
Cruelty-free is the new black. LOVECO focuses on sustainable, eco-friendly and
vegan fashion. Their curated selections of clothes, accessories and cosmetics are
displayed in elegant shops furnished with second-hand pieces. You can’t help but
leave with a haul bigger than intended, but at least it makes the world a better place.
Visit the new LOVECO shop at Manteuffelstraße 77.
GAME
BERGNEIN
After a successful crowdfunding campaign was halted for some
months due to legal fisticuffs with Sven Marquardt, Bergnein
is finally out. It’s a card game that bases its fun on the loathed
yet cherished Berlin experience of queueing for Berghain, with
plenty of parody and in-jokes along the way.
Read more at lolamag.de/feature/bergnein and get your copy at
bergnein.com
FILM
ÜBERLEBEN IN NEUKÖLLN
BY ROSA VON PRAUNHEIM
Rosa von Praunheim’s films about queer life were essential for the German gay rights
movement in the ‘70s. His new movie Überleben in Neukölln portrays the life of Neuköllners,
from 89-year-old Jo, who now finds herself surrounded by young hipsters,
to artist Micha, who had 365 consecutive one night stands for his art project Save the
Date. In meeting these people Praunheim asks: what to do about gentrification?
Überleben in Neukölln is set for general release on November 23rd.
ALBUM
WATERGATE XV:
VARIOUS ARTISTS
(WATERGATE
RECORDS)
The roll call of artists on this 15th anniversary
album is mighty. Catz n Dogz, Adana Twins, La
Fleur, and Ellen Allien to name a few run the
gamut from blissed-out soundscapes to peak
time bangers. Available as a double CD package
or a deluxe 5x vinyl boxset, it’s the best way to
bring the spirit of Watergate to your stereo.
Available November 6th in a limited edition of 1000.
SEE MORE AT LOLAMAG.DE/GUIDE
Autumn/Winter 2017
5

Berlin Through The Lens
FotoKlub Kollektiv
DEVELOPING TALENT
WITH FOTOKLUB
KOLLEKTIV
words by Alison Rhoades
Despite the art form’s ability to
connect people on Instagram
and other social platforms,
serious photography is often viewed as a
solitary activity. However, photographers
Stephanie Ballantine and Zack Helwa
realised long ago that their practices were
contingent on community. Not just for
resources, facilities, or even their subjects,
but because to the extent that art is a solitary
journey, it relies just as heavily on an
audience and a supportive group of peers.
FotoKlub Kollektiv sprung from this
desire to support and be supported by photographers
in Berlin. It hinges on the idea
of the collective offering shared print facilities,
a weekly critique group, and an artist
residency. They also have a gallery where
they feature monthly shows, running the
gamut from stylised curated landscapes
to experimental performances. We talked
to Zack and Stephanie about the origins of
the F.K. Kollektiv and the importance of
community for artists in Berlin.
How did you discover your shared love
of photography? Zack: The first time
Stephanie came to our former weekly photo
club meetings we got very excited about
helping each other with printing our portfolios
and working on projects together.
Stephanie: Zack also studied photography,
so that was our first connection. Also, like
me, he had branched out to experiment
with different art forms during his degree,
so we already had a different perspective
on our photographic practices than some
die-hard photographers.
How did the idea for F.K. Kollektiv come
about? Zack: When I finished my studies
at the School of Visual Arts (SVA) in New
York, I remember feeling the lack of this
collective critique of our work. During
my first month here I moved into a WG
that had a lot of space and a studio on the
first floor, and I decided that I wanted to
start having weekly crit sessions. I was far
removed from working in photography
at the time and had been mostly into
sculpture, performance and video installations,
but I knew that I could revive my
passion for photography with just the
basic necessities for art: facilities, a group
for discussion, and some space to show it.
It was all meant to be very small scale. I
remember we were so excited to be able to
afford a small flatbed scanner to develop our
6 Issue Five

FotoKlub Kollektiv
Berlin Through The Lens
« PHOTOGRAPHY IS A
MODE OF PROJECTION AND
REFLECTION FROM AND TO
THE PHOTOGRAPHER. WE CAN
LEARN ABOUT OURSELVES
FROM WHAT WE PHOTOGRAPH. »
film after our first collective show. I would
never have expected to take it this far.
F.K. Kollektiv’s mission is really driven
by supporting photographers to come
together and share, reflect, and educate
themselves and each other. Can you
speak to the idea of community and its
relevance for this project? Stephanie:
Community is a key component to the project.
So far it has grown naturally through
connections between an extended network
and those who have found us online. One
of our goals is to connect with some of the
NGOs or small community organisations we
know in the Neukölln area so we can expand
to different age groups and to people who
may not just come across the collective.
Zack: To me, it’s like trying to create a
borderless educational system. So, instead
of spending your savings paying for
a school, or trying to please teachers, you
can have direct contact with your community
and can learn from each other.
As a friend and schoolmate once said to
me: “The friends from SVA are the most
expensive friends I’ve made!”
The collective includes artists from
different cultures and backgrounds. Has
the diversity of the group influenced your
practices and how you think about photography?
Stephanie: It’s very important to
the collective! Openness was the initial idea
of the group and now we want to push for a
more diverse group of artists, from complete
beginners to professionals. People bring
themselves to what they photograph, and
when you hear people talk about their intentions
for the work, they will always express
something about their background. Most
people who come to the group are from
different countries, so the work is always
(if not directly, then inadvertently) about
inhabiting a space. Photography is a mode
of projection and reflection from and to the
photographer. We can learn about ourselves
from what we photograph.
Zack: For me, it was very important to
bring non-photographers to the group, as
well as people from different backgrounds
and cultures. Photographers can be a bit
too one-dimensional in the way they view
visual art. I think it’s healthy to have an
engineer or an architect bring something
to the table rather than just a bunch of
photographers talking about other ‘more
famous’ photographers. I don’t want us to
be making art only for other artists.
Why was it important to have a critique
group? Stephanie: When you work as an
artist you often work alone, and critical
reflection can become difficult. Maybe you
will reach a point in your practice where
you would pay for a portfolio review to find
direction. By attending a critique group,
you can develop your work by listening
to the perspectives of others, who are
interested, engaged, empathic, and who are
different enough to give valuable insight.
Zack: It’s very important to have an open
dialogue with the public in your art, so
having that conversation in a closed space
while working out your own art is practice
for the real part of an ‘art job’. It’s about
transitioning from ‘look at how cool I am
because I can make this beautiful image’,
to ‘I hope this work opens a discussion with
the public that doesn’t exist yet’.
Tell us about the artist-in-residence
programme. Stephanie: The residency
programme is very much in development.
We’ve had one artist so far. She came to
work on a project she had started in 2011
documenting cannabis farms in the US
over a few different seasons. She came with
a stack of negatives to scan and contact
sheets to edit. Through the crit sessions,
she was able to find a path through the
project that culminated in an exhibition.
The process was really great to see: from
having no clear idea of how to approach
the subject, she came out with something
strong, and some beautiful prints. The next
residency I’d like to open is a curatorial
one. I’d love for someone to come and be
open to working with the collective, choosing
a curatorial direction and engaging in a
dialogue with our artists.
What are some of your favorite exhibitions
so far? Stephanie: We’ve had three
exhibitions and they have all been really
great and pretty different. The Blind Curator
is one we can point to, as it was not clear
how it would turn out. For this project, we
put out an open call for submissions and
put every single photograph in the space,
which were then hung by the curator, who
was blindfolded. Visitors were then asked
to connect photos with a red string if they
could identify a link between them. We
ended up having around 75 participants
and the work became about intertwining
stories, accents, and mirrors. The room was
full with images and red string.
Zack: It’s hard for me to separate the success
of the work with the sense of
Autumn/Winter 2017
7

Berlin Through The Lens
FokoKlub Kollektiv
« IT’S HARD FOR ME TO
SEPARATE THE SUCCESS
OF THE WORK WITH THE
SENSE OF COMMUNITY. »
community. Some shows were amazing
because of how everyone falls into their
roles naturally and fulfilled them. Others
have just been great shows regardless of
how hectic putting a show together can
be. Our first collective show, Winterschlaf,
will always have a special place in my
heart, as it was the first time I could see
that this kind of community-oriented
process works. It was quite emotional for
me to see such good work come together
with a collective effort.
You’re also a couple. How has running
a huge project like this impacted your
relationship? Zack: Hard, but wonderful. But
also stressful. But also satisfying. Let’s not talk
about it. It’s very hard to work on the same
projects together, but we have skills that complement
each other. We manage somehow.
Stephanie: Sometimes the process of dividing
tasks is very natural: I enjoy developing
the website, whereas Zack is super skilled at
being on top of the equipment. Other times
we have to make sure we are not stepping on
each other’s toes. We are still learning how
to separate work and life!
Do you think a project like this would
be relevant outside Berlin, or is there
something about the nature of the city
that compelled you to set it up here?
Stephanie: There are other collectives that
are similar in other countries. I was part
of one in Leeds in the UK and I think my
This page clockwise from top left: Photo by Albina Maksudova, Lula Rodriguez,
Jon Cuadros, Sophie le Roux, Stephanie Ballantine, Merve Terzi.
8 Issue Five

FokoKlub Kollektiv
experience contributes to how we develop the project in
Berlin. Obviously it’s a city with a lot of movement, creativity
and energy, so this helps to bring a variety of people
to the group, and makes it very dynamic. I’m also super
interested in connecting with other groups over the world.
We already have partnerships in Bulgaria and in England,
and we will work on exchanges and dialogues with them.
How can we get involved with F.K. Kollektiv? Stephanie:
Come to the meetings and check out our open submissions!
Zack: Find us on Tinder! Or write us at info@fk-kollektiv.com,
and check our website and Facebook page. We always have
stuff going on. People who tend to put work into the space or
collective also end up being crucial in shaping the direction
of our group. Three years ago we were a few people meeting
in a small room at a desk, I somehow see this space as a new
beginning, with much to still be formed and created.
THE WEATHER STATION
29.10.17, Monarch
DESTROYER
17.11.17, Festsaal Kreuzberg
MOUNT EERIE
05.11. + 06.11.17, Silent Green
SLEEP PARTY PEOPLE
21.11.17, Musik & Frieden
This page, top to bottom: Photo by Chris Morgan, Anett Posalaki, Zack Helwa.
TINY VIPERS
12.11.17, Monarch
KLEZ.E
28.11.17, Lido
GIRL RAY
13.11.17, Monarch
RICHARD DAWSON
29.11.17, Kantine am Berhain
JULIEN BAKER
14.11.17, Heimathafen Neukölln
MARIAM THE BELIEVER
04.12.17, Privatclub
JANE WEAVER
17.11.17, Privatclub
AQUASERGE
08.12.17, Marie-Antoinette
Autumn/Winter 2017
TICKETS & INFO: PUSCHEN.NET
9

Local Hero
Photoautomat
LOCAL HERO
PHOTOAUTOMAT:
THE STORY OF BERLIN’S
ICONIC PHOTO BOOTHS
Wedged between buildings, sitting outside a supermarket entrance,
or idle in a beer garden; these seemingly mundane corners of the
city are where you might encounter one of Berlin’s thirty-odd analogue
photo booths, characterised by the bold red letters on their
sides that spell out: Photoautomat.
10
Issue Five

Photoautomat
Local Hero
words by
Tom Evans
photos by
Yvonne Hartmann
Rosenthaler Platz
This busy crossroads is the
former site of Rosenthaler
Tor, which formed part of the
Berliner Zoll- und Akzisemauer
(Berlin Customs Wall) that
encircled the city between
1737 and 1860.
Below: Photoautomat
founders Ole and Asger.
The exact number is always changing. Booths
come and go, or migrate from season to season.
Others spring up in new locations each
year, moved as Berlin’s vacant lots gradually morph
into construction sites. But many are evergreen –
landmarks in their own right – like so many of the
city’s best-loved anachronisms.
With their red lettering and entirely mechanical
workings, the Photoautomaten masquerade as
hardy survivors from the days of the Wall. Their
story in Berlin doesn’t begin, however, until early
summer 2004, when two friends with a passion for
photography placed a booth on an empty corner
near Rosenthaler Platz.
Asger Doenst and Ole Kretschmann were on a trip to
Zürich when they first saw the analogue photo booths
still in regular use. Asger, a photographer, and Ole, a
writer and carpenter, were immediately convinced
that it was something they should bring to Berlin.
They got their hands on an old model – one that had
already given a lifetime of service – and began the
task of preparing it for the streets.
“It was actually kind of falling apart,” Ole begins.
“The booth was from the ‘50s; 1956 or something. It
wasn’t in a state to put outside. So I came up with the
look, the materials and how we’d renovate it while
Asger looked for a location.”
Asger elaborates: “At that time in Berlin you had
many possibilities. It wasn’t difficult to find a good
place and some okay places. But a really good place
is always difficult.” Until they began working on
Photoautomaten, public photo booths, ever a staple
of train stations and shopping malls, had never
been out on the streets of Berlin. In a city of tourists,
squats, and DIY club culture, few people thought the
project would make it through its first weeks.
“We were prepared for a really slow start,” Ole
admits. “Our main concern was that it would be
destroyed. Everybody around us was like, ‘Oh, this
will not last for a week in Berlin!’ So we didn’t expect
much to happen. I remember our goal was to pay our
rent, like 200 euros, so if this thing could make 400
euros that would be a dream come true.” As it turned
out, the nonbelievers were wrong. “The opposite
happened,” Ole continues. “People embraced it as
something worthwhile, and they liked the idea.
They hung out there, and there was no aggression
whatsoever. People saw that some freaks were doing
something public and accessible; that’s how it was
perceived. And the cool thing was, these people had
these photos to go around and show their friends. It
was a discovery for people.”
The fascination that Ole and Asger had shared for
the remarkable quality of these old passport photos
wasn’t lost on tourists or resident Berliners. In a matter
of weeks the booth had transformed a quiet corner
of Weinbergsweg into a place to hang out, and it
wasn’t long before Berlin-based culture magazine 030
and the TV show Polylux turned up to get the story.
“People stopped and used it. That was the amazing
part of it, you know? We didn’t expect much to
happen. We didn’t know if anyone else would share
the excitement,” Ole remembers. Now knowing that
both concept and booth could survive on the streets
of Berlin, Ole and Asger acquired and renovated
a second Photoautomat. They took it to locations
across the city, including the newly-opened Bar 25.
Prenzlauer Berg hosted a third booth in 2006, and
by then it was evident that the project had far more
potential than either had ever anticipated.
“I remember that Asger and I had a talk,” Ole says.
“For me it was the first time with access to a possibility.
What do we want? Let’s position ourselves. Do we
want to grow this?”
They agreed that they did, and set out on a mission
to track down analogue photo booths all over
Europe. They travelled to Zürich to meet Martin
Balke, owner of Schnellphoto AG, the company that
had kept some 150 booths in operation across Switzerland
until 2005. Martin’s company, however, was
going out of business. He and his brother Christoph
were nearing retirement, and they had no one to take
the reins. “Martin told us: ‘You can make something
for yourself. Berlin is a good place to do something.’
He was so supportive. He was always with us.”
Learning how to run a larger network of booths
from Martin and Christoph, Ole and Asger began to
expand, taking on their first Photoautomat employee
in 2007 and buying up and refurbishing old units
wherever they could find them.
Today there are as many as 35 booths in operation
at any one time in Berlin; they can even be spotted
on the streets of Leipzig, Hamburg, Cologne, Zürich,
and as far away as Florence.
The Berlin Photoautomaten are available for use 24
hours a day, all year round. Five part-time staff help
manage things, with someone always available to field
a call from a disappointed or, as is more often the case,
an impatient customer. Reminding callers what it
feels like to wait a whole five minutes for processing is
the task of most of the day-to-day calls, but when photos
really do fail to appear – which happens just once
in a thousand times, according to Asger – customers
are always refunded. They’re determined to maintain
a guarantee that the photos always look their vintage
best. It’s a passion and commitment they share with
their mentors from Zürich.
Autumn/Winter 2017
11

Local Hero
“We shouldn’t take all the credit [for the
way the photos look],” Ole says, modestly.
“But we could take the credit for trying to
keep the standard up. We aim for a certain
look, and that’s what we fell in love
with, so it is our goal to have these photos
come out all over the place. At any time.
That’s our ambition.”
Indeed, anyone who has used a Photoautomat
knows the charm and quality of the
photography itself. With striking contrast
and sharp yet warm black and white, the
four passport-sized photos look a comfortable
level or two better than even the best filter
on any app you can find. Add to that the
joy of holding a physical print in your hands,
and it’s no wonder these slender strips have
become a recognisable feature on fridges
and notice boards in Berlin homes.
However, since every booth is unique,
maintaining that look and quality comes
down to dedication and expertise. “Some
are really old and the parts are not the
same,” Asger begins, touching on the
technical challenges of the project. “It’s
not industrial production, and we got them
from different places all over the world.”
“They’re characters, these booths,” Ole
continues. “Some are a bit sensitive. Some
are really strong, you just have to listen to
the machine and get a sense of what it is.
Some booths are from the 1950s, others
are from the ‘70s or ‘80s. The parts are not
interchangeable; they are individuals.”
Ole and Asger believe it’s an expectation
of quality, and the guarantee of a memento,
that has kept the project going. Though
certainly irresistible to visiting weekenders,
they are convinced the majority of their
customers are locals who return to the
machines time and again. “We only exist
because we have returning customers,” Ole
says, sincerely. “That’s for sure. People come
back. We believe that’s the core of the business;
that people like to return. That’s why
we want to keep the booths clean and the
quality of the photos as good as possible.”
Trusting in the quality, some Photoautomat
aficionados will go as far as to call
when a booth isn’t working as expected,
contributing to a network of feedback from
a population of eager participants. It’s a
sign that, far from being the forgettable,
here-today-gone-tomorrow street gimmicks
that many predicted, these machines
have become a cherished part of the city’s
landscape: an accessible public good made
all the more charming by the fact that they
seem, somehow, to belong.
Photoautomat
«
SOME ARE A BIT
SENSITIVE. SOME ARE
REALLY STRONG, YOU
JUST HAVE TO LISTEN TO
THE MACHINE AND GET A
SENSE OF WHAT IT IS.
»
Berlin’s unkempt chic at no extra cost. This
is something Ole and Asger claim never to
encourage. They have even, in fact, locked
horns with the likes of the Berlinale, BVG,
and Converse for using the booths without
permission. It wasn’t about getting paid
a fair share, they assert, but about taking
a stand. “It’s important to try and stop it
from happening again. We don’t want to be
[associated] with Converse, even if we get
thousands,” says Asger.
In keeping with this spirit, the Photoautomat
entrepreneurs have kept their
venture customer-friendly. For the 13 years
that the booths have been in operation in
the city, a strip of photos has maintained
the ever-affordable price of two euros. That
feels increasingly modest as Berlin reluctantly
plays catch up with its wealthier and
better exploited European neighbours.
From the beginning, the Photoautomaten have
made use of the last of the city’s unused lots,
industrial yards, and unofficial public spaces.
Like the squats, bars and clubs of the past, they
too have brought life to areas left untouched by
the once invisible hand of the Berlin property
market. But like many small business owners,
Ole and Asger are confronted by development
in the city. From their workshop on Bersarinplatz,
they look to find new locations for the
booths that have been displaced by new buildings
and soaring rents. “You lose places and
then you need to find new ones,” Asger says.
“But there’s less choice because they’re building
on every free spot. So it’s getting more difficult.
It’s a big task to keep the locations we have
now.” But the pair remains optimistic, buoyed
by the knowledge that the Photoautomaten
have become an established, if inconspicuous,
part of life in the city. “People even stay in
contact [with one another], because they wait
in line together,” says Asger, referring to the
way the booths can form new friendships as
people bond over that five-minute eternity as
they wait for their photos to emerge.
The Berlin Photoautomaten offer a
shared experience to return to time and
again; an analogue anachronism in a
digital era. In strips of newly-developed
photos, they provide a way for the city to
take a portrait of itself.
Find your nearest Photoautomat at
photoautomat.de
Over the years, that charm has also proved
alluring to advertisers who are ever-ready
to seize an opportunity to capitalise on
12 Issue Five

Autumn/Winter 2017
13

Comic Relief
Shahak Shapira
SHAHAK SHAPIRA:
MAKING FUN OF OLD
WHITE DUDES
14
Issue Five

Shahak Shapira
Comic Relief
“Wait, are you Shahak Shapira?” Someone stops and asks
as we’re about to enter Neukölln’s Ankerklause with the
Israeli–German artist, who has received much acclaim
for his subversive and often satirical projects. Shahak
has worked hard over the last three years to become the
internet and media sensation he is today. As we talk, he
speaks candidly about his long list of professional accomplishments,
which include bestselling books, viral
videos, art, political work, advertising, and music. The
next step on his career ladder? Stand-up comedy.
words by
Marlén Jacobshagen
photos by
Viktor Richardsson
Coriander
Whereas some experience a
refreshing, lemony flavour, others
have a strong aversion to the taste
and smell of coriander, describing
it as soapy or rotten. Studies
attribute this to variations in the
OR6A2 gene, which is responsible
for olfactory receptors that interact
with odorant molecules in the nose
to trigger smell perception.
You came from Israel to Germany when you were
a teenager and moved to Laucha an der Unstrut,
where the right-wing extremist party NPD
earned 13.55% in 2009. How would you describe
Laucha at that time? It’s a shithole in the East and
it’s full of Nazis. I guess that’s the way you’d sum it
up for some, but it wouldn’t be entirely true. Not all
of them were neo-Nazis. And some of them were but
didn’t think they were. You know, it’s complicated
nowadays, you can’t call anybody a Nazi anymore.
Because then they’re like: “I’m not a Nazi. I’m
just alt-right. I just hate foreigners. You’re a Nazi!”
[Laughs] Let’s say it was interesting on many levels.
You wrote a book about your experiences and,
in response, some newspapers started calling
you “the new Jewish voice in Germany.” What
do you think of that? I fucking hated that. I’m not
Jewish, I’m of Jewish heritage. Judaism is not only
a religion, it’s also an ethnic thing. And I became a
Jew in Germany, ironically. Because neo-Nazis and
crazy Islamists hit me, insulted me or spat on me.
They made me the Jew. And at that point I took it
and said: “Fuck you, of course I’m Jewish!” Then
I got to be a z-list celebrity and I noticed that you
can’t even make jokes about it. Because as soon
as you make one joke about being a Jew you’re
“the Jew.” The Jew that talks about Jewish stuff
all day and then all they ask you to do are documentaries
about anti-semitism, or they make you
read hateful tweets. I fucking hate that. I’ve been
semi-successful at getting rid of it. When I did the
Yolocaust project, people were denouncing me as a
Jewish artist and then with my following projects
that disappeared. I was actually recognised for my
work, and not for being a Jewish artist. Whatever
the fuck that means.
In Yolocaust you edited tourist selfies taken
at the Holocaust memorial to make them look
like they were taken at concentration camps.
It received a lot of feedback in the media; were
you impressed by the attention it got? That
was pretty cool, but it sets the bar really high.
When you get a taste of international success, it
makes everything else boring; it makes Germany
boring. Every time you get a taste of success it’s
a big thing. That’s why people make complete
fools out of themselves on TV, just to get a little
bit of that. They eat worms and show their tits
and penises just to get attention.
Besides all the media interest and a lot of positive
comments, you’ve faced a lot of criticism
and abuse. Which of the two counts more for
you? Well, I should be glad about positive comments,
but being the person that I am, I always pick
the negative ones and focus on them. I don’t want
to, I’m just like that. I get a tremendous amount
of shit every day and lately I’ve been wondering
why the fuck I am doing it. It’s not that I post stuff
on Twitter and Facebook to make people feel bad.
I just try to tell some jokes and that’s it. There’s
always a balance to be struck: is it worth getting all
the shit you get? Is it worth the people who keep
sending you emails, who have your private address
and phone number even though it’s not even on
the internet? Or your mum’s address, and they’re
threatening to hurt your family? It’s a very thin line,
but that’s why I’m not showing my tits on TV. I have
other options. I don’t have to do this. It’s for fun
right now. I could always go back to advertising.
Talk us through your use of humour. There are
different ways to use it. I guess it’s more defensive
than offensive. Nobody makes fun of me the way I
do. I’m the best at making fun of myself. After I’ve
told all the jokes about myself, nobody can come
and insult me, because how can you insult someone
who is already insulting himself?
Humour helps sometimes, but it’s tough, you always
need to have a distance from yourself. When
people get into your head, it’s very hard to make
fun of yourself because you’re hurting. I guess
the secret to humour is in many ways a distance
between you and the subject. Whether it’s you
that’s the subject or, say, the Middle East conflict,
you need to posses a certain nihilism to make fun
of something. If you’re too emotionally involved,
you’re not funny anymore – unless it’s ridiculous
stuff. You can get totally emotional about stuff that
is completely ridiculous, like coriander. I fucking
hate coriander. It’s worse than Hitler.
You’re going on a big comedy tour in 2018 with
German Humor. Do you see yourself as part of
the German comedy scene? I’m a comedian, but I
hope I’m not a part of the comedy scene. [Laughs]
It’s difficult right now, I’ve been having a hard time
writing jokes. The issue is that I know maybe two
comedians who I think are actually funny in Germany:
Till Reiners and Moritz Neumeier. All my
idols in comedy are from the States and they’re all
really good. For comedy you need to be on stage for
10 or 15 years to be good. I actually think comedians
in Germany are lazy. I don’t know any comedian
here who has been on stage for that amount of
time without doing the same thing over and over
again. Maybe I just don’t know the right people, but
all the people who fill arenas have been doing the
same thing for years. They’re not bad comedians,
Autumn/Winter 2017
15

Comic Relief
Shahak Shapira
they’re just lazy comedians. They don’t need
to write a new programme every year, which
prevents them from evolving.
How do you think the German comedy
scene differs from America’s? In many ways.
Louis C.K. and Dave Chappelle are two of my
favorite comedians. What I like about Louis is
that he’s of Mexican and Hungarian descent,
and he doesn’t talk about it. He talks about
things anyone could talk about. This style
makes it very hard to be original but he always
manages to find new angles. You hear it and
you’re like, ‘Fuck, how did I not come up with
that?’ In German comedy you have two types
of comedians: the clowns like Otto or Mario
Barth; they tell jokes. And then you have the
complete opposite: the teachers. They teach
you stuff like they’re your dad, but it’s patronising.
The cabaret show Die Anstalt or the
comedian Volker Pisbers are examples.
What I like about American comedy is that
it’s wrong. Dave Chapelle is wrong, he says
things that are wrong. Deliberately! He knows
that they’re wrong and the crowd knows they’re
wrong as well. I think that is one of the biggest
gifts of comedy, that it takes you to different
places, places you wouldn’t go yourself. Why
would you need me if I told you things that you
could come up with yourself? It’s fucking hard
to do that. It’s really hard to avoid Jew jokes
too, but I don’t want to be a Jewish comedian.
When making fun of different ethnicities
or religions, there’s a thin line between
being good at it and just being insulting.
When do you cross that line? A friend of
mine, Serdar Somuncu, said a few years
ago that every minority has the right to be
discriminated against. This type of comedy
is not new. It’s a legit thing to do, but
everybody does it now. I’m more interested
in making fun of majorities. I didn’t think
that way before, it’s just a thought that came
to me a few weeks ago. I see a lot of comedians
who have this list of different groups
they want to make fun of. They think: “I’m
so good at insulting people,” but they’re not,
because they’re not doing it with love. You
need to take your time if you really want to
insult someone. You can’t just go like: ‘Now
that we’re done with the blacks we’re going to
go to the Jews.’ It’s not funny anymore. And
why should the majorities get away? Why is it
always about minorities? They suffer enough.
Let’s make fun of old white dudes.
So is this your new routine? Making fun of
old white dudes? I’m trying to find my thing.
And I don’t want my thing to be too... thing-y.
I don’t want to be the fat guy that tells sexist
jokes all the time, although I’d prefer Bill Burr
over Mario Barth any day. And I don’t want to
be the Jewish guy either, there’s already one of
those. I try to avoid a niche. I want to find out
what my deal is, and if I need a ‘deal’ at all.
Do you feel under pressure to find your
own way in comedy? I’m trying my best.
My problem is that it’s very hard to do all the
things I do and not confuse people completely.
I did this Twitter project, for example, but
then I also do stand-up comedy. Who does
that? It’s not very common in show business.
They usually have one type of thing. I’m
very funny on Facebook, I know that. And
I’ve been writing comedy for years, because
writing advertisements is not very different.
I could do a TV show now and I could write
sketches, that could work. But that would be
easier for me than to be a really good standup
comedian. I guess I still need to show people
that I can do real comedy. Maybe I can’t,
maybe I will be a shitty comedian.
We doubt that. So what are your plans for
the future? I want to be a comedian but that’s
not the only thing I want to be. That’s the
problem: I’m really jealous of people who know
what they want to be. Even if it’s completely
fucking impossible, especially for them, at
least they know they have this one thing and
they might fail but they still go for it.
I hope I’ll get a TV show soon. But it takes
a lot of time. I have a TED talk coming up.
And I guess I’d like to make a bit more music.
I want to be a rapper. Like Romano. [Laughs]
I’m a big fan. He’s one of the few interesting
people in German music at the moment.
Maybe I will collaborate with him one day.
Read more about Romano on page 30. Follow
Shahak and get more details about his German
Humor show at facebook.com/shahakshapira
BY SHAHAK SHAPIRA:
Das wird man ja wohl noch
schreib-en dürfen!: Wie ich der
deutscheste Jude der Welt wurde
Shahak’s autobiography covers his
youth in Israel and Germany, the
murder of his paternal grandfather
in the 1972 Munich Olympics massacre,
and his maternal grandfather’s
survival of the Holocaust.
‘90s Boiler Room
Shahak replaced the audio from
Boiler Room streams with 1990s
pop hits in a series of videos that
garnered international attention
and millions of views.
Yolocaust
To criticise the trend of tourists
taking cheerful selfies at Berlin’s
Holocaust memorial, Shahak took
photos from social media and
edited them to show the subjects
posing against horrifying scenes at
concentration camps. The project received
worldwide attention, but was
removed from the website after all of
the subjects asked to be taken down.
#HeyTwitter
Motivated by Twitter’s lack of response
when reporting homophobic,
racist, Islamophobic and anti-Semitic
tweets, Shahak made 30 stencils of
offending tweets and sprayed them
on the road outside Twitter’s Hamburg
offices. As employees arrived
at work, they were confronted by
the violation of their own terms of
service and hate speech policies.
Die PARTEI
Ahead of the 2017 German election,
Shahak hijacked a number of farright
Facebook groups, including
several used by high-ranking members
of the AfD. Admins were locked
out, then the groups were made
public and renamed ‘I

Sounds of the Scrapyard
MADCAP ARTIST
KOLJA KUGLER’S HEAVY
METAL ENSEMBLE
Kolja Kugler is one of those characters that makes Berlin
the place it is. Yet the city, and its history, have left an
indelible mark on his trajectory, both as an artist and
a person. We met Kolja and his robotic musicians, the
One Love Machine Band, to get a closer look at the nuts
and bolts of his automated art, and to revisit a post-Wall
metropolis where the possibilities were endless.
words by
Alex Rennie
photos by
Soheil Moradianboroujeni
It’s a bright Saturday afternoon. Kreuzberg
shimmers in the sunlight as it reflects off the
Landwehrkanal. Just past Birgit & Bier, between
a cement supplier, adidas’ swish RUNBASE and
the now defunct Jonny Knüppel, you’ll find Kolja
Kugler’s Wild Waste Gallery. His One Love Machine
Band are set to perform to a small audience, some
eagerly awaiting, others utterly perplexed.
Two towering humanoid sculptures loom over
a makeshift stage, one clutching a bass guitar in
its gargantuan hands, the other hunched over a
ramshackle drum kit. Without their instruments,
they’d look at home in The Terminator. Kolja flits
between his scrap creations, tinkering with wiring
and pneumatic pistons, before returning to his
control desk. To the left of the duo sits the band’s
manager, Sir Elton Junk. The surreality of the scene
is intensified by the shipping containers that form
an industrial henge around the space’s perimeter.
Kolja’s ‘droids jerk to life, performing with a
thundering mix of percussion, creaking metal,
rushing air and pounding bass, overlain with a
chorus of flute-playing robo-birds. It’s as eccentric
as it sounds. The spectacle comes to a close with
Kolja actually playing Sir Elton Junk, the flailing,
spindly-looking machine spraying water over
the transfixed crowd. Following the frenzy of the
performance, Kolja agrees to talk to us. After what
we’ve just seen, we don’t know what to expect.
Kolja shows us around his Pankow workshop.
It’s a cornucopia of junk, some of which has been
repurposed into his distinctive sculptures. In many
ways, the organised chaos of the One Love Machine
Band spills out onto the shelves of Kolja’s space.
He lives next door in a converted cabin, which is
where we retire to hear about his life.
He was born in Göttingen, but Kolja’s parents
moved to the capital when he was three to settle
in Charlottenburg’s lakeside Lietzensee Kiez. It
was West Berlin, and growing up with the constant
threat of nuclear apocalypse (and protesting with
his parents) had a profound impact on young Kolja.
“The arms race was very present. We’d have been
the first ones to go as we were living on the front
Autumn/Winter 2017
17

Sounds of the Scrapyard
Kolja Kugler
line of the Cold War,” he tells us. “It was a
totally mad situation that we had gotten
comfortably used to, but then it suddenly
fell apart into common sense with the Wall
falling. Nobody expected that to happen.”
Kolja’s reality changed abruptly and Berlin
morphed into a playground of possibilities.
“It was a great atmosphere, you could do
what you wanted,” he says. “Just witnessing
it collapse totally shaped me. I decided
to start changing the world around me.”
Shortly afterwards, he moved away from
home: “I found myself squatting in Potsdamer
Platz, which was just a whole bit of
nothing, just mud and wasteland.”
This would prove to be momentous for
Kolja. One early ‘90s winter, The Mutoid
Waste Company, an art group fronted
by British punk-junk artist Joe Rush,
pitched up at Potsdamer Platz. The now
fabled collective were busy making a
name for themselves by dragging decommissioned
Russian Army machinery
into the city centre and rearranging it into art
right in front of the Reichstag. Unbelievably, this
included two MiG-21 jets. “They did Berlin the
biggest favour,” says Kolja. “Demilitarising those
fighter planes, painting them and putting them in
the hands of the people, it was so punk.”
“What got me straight away were the sculptures,
especially Joe’s: he’s kind of my idol. So I learned
to weld and made some myself.” For the following
few years, Kolja and co. lived on a sculpture garden
they’d set up in their slice of no man’s land. “Tourists
were coming every day and we were pretty
much the only thing to look at; there was only the
odd piece of the Wall standing around,” he says.
In 1993, London-born techno sound system
Spiral Tribe arrived. Alongside the new arrivals,
Kolja and the Mutoid Waste Company decided to
hit the highway: “It kind of made sense, we’d got all
this stuff, we lived in trucks, we were making art,
why not do a road show?”
“We joined together to take this MiG to Russia, to
give it back to express our joy that the Cold War was
over,” he says with a smile. Renamed the Lost Tribe
of MiG, they set off for the former USSR with one of
their showpiece fighter jets mounted onto a crane
arm so as to simulate flight.
Things didn’t quite go to plan though. “We left
Berlin, but the crane wasn’t roadworthy anymore
so we put it on a massive Russian low-loader we’d
found. As we were leaving Berlin, the truck gave
out. This dense white smoke came out of the
exhaust and covered the road, you couldn’t see
for half a kilometre,” Kolja recounts. Leaving the
stricken lorry by the roadside, the convoy abandoned
its precious cargo “in front of some guy’s
house,” promising to collect it in a few weeks. They
pressed on for Prague. Nobody returned.
After finding a patch of land to squat outside
the Czech capital, Kolja helped set up the
inaugural CzechTek freetekno festival in 1994.
However, the Lost Tribe of MiG disbanded soon
after. Kolja then travelled around Europe with
Spiral Tribe and his own Alien Pulse Agency
sound system, raving it up across the continent
at Teknivals that “got really big, really mad and
really tribal!”
During Kolja’s Euro trip, his sculptures evolved
too. “It was hard on the road without a workshop.
I always sculpted wherever I was, in the ditch with
a generator,” he says. Kolja adds that at first, he’d
“look into a pile of scrap and see birds, maybe because
it was the easiest shape to make.” Tackling
dogs was the next challenge before eventually
making a humanoid face.
“I found these pliers, then with some other bits
formed this really scary looking skull,” he says.
“Since the pliers were the bottom jaw, you could
open and close the mouth.” Not long after Kolja
sussed out how to move the skull, Frank Barnes, a
friend he’d been travelling with for years, introduced
him to pneumatics. “He was the first guy to
move his sculptures pneumatically. That was the
moment I thought, ‘OK cool, there’s something
happening’, and I carried on building.” This was
the beginning of Sir Elton Junk.
In 1999, just as he was working on his robot’s
limbs, Kolja became a father. “They were born at
the same time, Elton and my daughter,” he says.
Kolja and his young family ventured off on a trip
that took them to Australia, Southeast Asia, North,
Central and South America. “I’d wanted to go
around the world, and fortunately my partner was
quite cool about travelling and said ‘Why don’t we
go with the kid?’” They spent the next six years
traversing the globe: “We were a bit like a circus in
the mad colourful truck. It was intense. I took Elton
too. He sat on the sofa in the truck. I gave countless
Elton robot shows in different places; there were
some amazing culture clashes.”
Spiral Tribe
The largest party the group
organised was the Castlemorton
Common Ground Festival on May
22nd-29th 1992. 13 members
of Spiral Tribe were arrested
and charged with public order
offences. The subsequent trial
became one of the longest-running
in British history, and cost
the UK £4 million.
18 Issue Five

Kolja Kugler
Sounds of the Scrapyard
«
THIS DENSE WHITE
SMOKE CAME OUT OF
THE EXHAUST AND
COVERED THE ROAD,
YOU COULDN’T SEE FOR
HALF A KILOMETRE.
»
After globe-trotting, Kolja returned to
Berlin. “It was an intense chapter in my
life that opened like a book and closed like
one too,” he says candidly. “My daughter
had to go to school and my ex decided to
move to Freiburg.” Having to start over at
35 while supporting his daughter on the
other side of the country was a challenge.
“It wasn’t a shock, I’m used to rearranging
my life. The real shock was the breakup, it
pulled my heart out,” he admits.
Amongst this reshuffle, Kolja persevered.
“At the time, me and Frank were thinking
about what we can do with pneumatics, we
thought, ‘Let’s build a band and make some
music’.” And with that he got started on
Afreakin Bassplayer, the first member of his
robot band. “The focus for Frank was more
on the engineering; for me, it was classic
sculpture,” Kolja says. “My sculpture was going
to play bass and it had to look good. I was
learning to get the balance between the mechanics
and the sculpture’s character. It took
me four years and I freaked out multiple
times!” But by the time Kolja came to build
the onomatopoeically-named drummer
Boom Tschak, he had the technique nailed.
Right now, Kolja is in the process of
building a keyboard player for the One Love
Machine Band. He also reveals that he’s
managed to get his hands on the second of
the Mutoid Waste Company’s MiGs: “The
other one was stored 150km from Berlin,
sitting in a bush. I brought it back along
with a bulldozer. Instead of having it on the
crane, I want to mount it on the ‘dozer and
fly it about. I’ll cut it up so it can
bend like a fish and chop the wings
to make it flap like a bird.”
If you’ve never met Kolja in
person this might sound absurd,
though you’re this far into his
story so you probably wouldn’t bet
against him. For now, he’s using
the Spree-side Wild Waste Gallery
to showcase his work: “I wanted
to establish a place where people
could come, just like the space at
Potsdamer Platz with the Mutoid
Waste Company. Now I find myself
in that position again, also on the
border. Berlin is a place where
things come full-circle.” In another
beautiful twist of fate, Spiral Tribe
are also renting the space with
Kolja. “It’s great we’re all in one
boat,” he says. “We seized it to
begin with, now it’s clear what we
want to do and we’ve got a lifetime
of experience to make it happen!”
The lease on the Wild Waste
Gallery is only short term, but that
doesn’t bother Kolja much either. “My stuff
is mobile, we’re all on wheels. Now that my
daughter has grown older and I’m more
free, I get itchy feet to go on the road again.
I’ve always wanted my thing to be a roadshow.
I’d love to have a permanent space,
but I’m not counting on it,” he says.
In many ways, Kolja’s oeuvre has come
to embody the spirit of the era in which he
grew up. And it’s something he’s conscious
of. “Berlin is so attractive because of this
feeling in the air. It’s the artists who made
this city and who used the open-mindedness
of the ‘90s when the system was
ripe for reconstruction. Berlin is like this
because so many people had this feeling of
all the possibilities to do what they wanted
to do.” Whatever the next stage has in store
for Kolja, it’s bound to dazzle.
See more of Kolja’s work at koljakugler.com,
but to see The One Love Machine Band in
full swing head to Wild Waste Gallery on
Saturday afternoons.
Autumn/Winter 2017
19

Cover Story
TRICKY
A pioneering graduate of the trip-hop era, Tricky has parlayed
his artistic vision into a career spanning three decades. He’s
just released his 13th album, uniniform, the first he’s produced
since his move to Berlin three years ago. Here we talk with
him about this new chapter, his lifelong journey in music, and
the virtues of his new home city.
20
Issue Five

Tricky
Cover Story
interview by
Stephanie Taralson
words by
Jonny Tiernan
photos by
Robert Rieger
Knowle West
In the Domesday Book, Knowle
was a rural area assessed at a
taxable value of two geld units.
Knowle West remained rural
until the 1930s, when a council
estate was developed to house
people displaced by the clearance
of Bristol’s slums.
Tricky is a man whose reputation
precedes him. It’s well known that
he follows his instincts and trusts his
feelings, and he isn’t the kind of person who gets
bogged down by how he might be perceived. We
experience this firsthand during our photoshoot
with him. As we settle on a good spot to start
taking shots, two women standing nearby ask us
what we are doing, with a somewhat accusatory
tone. Tricky decides that he doesn’t like their
attitude and suggests we move somewhere else.
He turns and walks away. We follow.
As soon as we find a new location, Tricky relaxes
into the shoot and the initial tension bleeds away.
He is friendly and laidback, chatting with various
characters that stop by to see what we are doing.
After a few minutes, the woman who caused the
upset at the start of the shoot comes over bearing a
spliff as a peace offering. Tricky jokes that it is her
way of apologising, and she laughs.
Talking after the shoot, he’s passionate and
engaged, riffing on celebrity culture and how he respects
people who are famous yet remain grounded.
He tells us about an encounter with Dave
Grohl, who came up to him in a bar just to sing the
Outkast lyrics, “Ain’t nobody dope as we are, just
so fresh so clean” at him, and how Chris Martin is
also a really good, normal bloke. We get the sense
that Tricky’s working class background makes him
more comfortable with people who don’t put up
fronts; who are honest and true to themselves.
Tricky grew up in the Knowle West neighbourhood
of Bristol in the 1970s and ‘80s. By his
own admission it’s not a glamorous place, and
difficult to explain without having grown up
there. “If you’re not from Knowle West, you don’t
go to Knowle West,” he explains. Nevertheless,
it’s a place that is close his heart. His 2008 album
Knowle West Boy is a tribute to his youth, and he
speaks fondly of his former stomping ground. He
has since lived all over the world – Paris, London
and LA to name a few places – but for him, none
of these cities have greatly impacted his music,
whose inspiration runs deeper than his immediate
surroundings. “I’d say it’s a product of my life,
not my environment,” he says, speaking of his
signature style. “It’s my family, people I grew up
with, friends that shaped me musically forever.
My little neighbourhood. Obviously I could be
influenced if I lived in Spain and started working
with Spanish singers and stuff, but I took shape
way before I went to LA, Berlin or New York, you
know? My life was shaped already.”
Rising to prominence in the golden-era of triphop
in the early ‘90s, Tricky famously collaborated
with Massive Attack on their first two albums before
stepping out as a solo artist. His debut record Maxinquaye
was released over 20 years ago, and its universal
acclaim instantly marked him as a unique talent.
The album became the perfect accompaniment
for indulging in the hazy hit of weed, and ushered
in an era of heady beats and dense atmospherics.
He caught the trip-hop wave alongside artists like
Portishead and DJ Shadow, and emerging record
labels like Mo’ Wax and Ninja Tune. Tricky became
a central reference point of trip-hop, personifying
the introspective, experimental nature of the music.
“I started in the days when being credible was being
underground, and the pop artists were the pop
artists,” he says. The music industry was entirely
different then, and high record sales were not the
reserve of huge pop stars.
Contemporaries like Morcheeba came along,
adding a pop element to the genre to ride it up the
charts, but Tricky avoided mainstream add-ons.
He eschewed the commercial, resolutely sticking to
his own way of doing things, refusing to follow fads
or fashions. It’s a trait he has carried throughout
his career: played the part of the outsider, pushing
himself in different directions, embracing change,
constantly moving. In time, almost all of his contemporaries
have fallen by the wayside, splitting up
and crashing out, but Tricky never let up.
He continues to work and produce independently,
without any interest in the pop world
or the trappings of the industry. “If I do an album
and it only sells 30,000 records, that’s OK, because
I don’t have the same pressure as other artists. I
don’t care about mansions or big cars, and I’m not
trying to be the richest person on the planet. Money
has never interested me at all. For some people,
making more and more money is an ambition. I
don’t think that’s my ambition. If I’ve got money
and I can travel, see my family and live without
stress, then that’s enough.” It’s an ethos he sees
mirrored in Berlin: the ‘poor but sexy’ image of the
city rings true. And Tricky appreciates the degree
to which the capital is pronouncedly unmotivated
by money. “I feel here as well that people ain’t
obsessed with money. You see people working two
or three days a week, doing the job they love doing
for less money rather than doing a job for a lot of
money. People are very relaxed here.”
It’s this attitude that spawned a diverse and
long-running music career, which has brought him
to the release of his 13th album, ununiform. The album
title reflects his own idiosyncratic way of doing
things, subverting convention and channelling
change. Plus, it’s a serious achievement for any artist
to release a 13th studio album; to have produced
this many records in the ‘churn them up and spit
them out’ modern music world is an increasingly
rare feat. It’s his first album since moving to Berlin
three years ago, and while the city may not have
influenced him musically, the lifestyle here has
clearly had an effect on him personally.
“I don’t do things here I don’t want to do,” he
begins. “In other cities I’ve lived in, I’d do stuff not
because I wanted to, but just because they were
there to do. Like, I don’t mind going to clubs, but
it should be because I want to go, not because I am
bored. Here, I feel more satisfied. In other major
cities I don’t feel satisfied, so even though there’s
lots of things to do, I still feel restless. In Berlin I
Autumn/Winter 2017
21

Cover Story
Tricky
« THE LAST SONG’S GOT TO FEEL LIKE THE
END OF THE ALBUM BUT ALSO THE BEGINNING
OF SOMETHING, BECAUSE THEN YOU HAVE
THE NEXT ALBUM. IT’S GOTTA SAY GOODBYE
AND HELLO AT THE SAME TIME. »
22
Issue Five

Tricky
Cover Story
don’t feel restless for some reason. You know, I go
to bed at 11 o’clock at night; I’ll get up at 8 o’clock
in the morning. I am not up all night just killing
time. I’m more satisfied with my life.”
Perhaps life in Berlin has mellowed Tricky
out in a way that life in London or New York
couldn’t. Directly before moving to Berlin he
had spent six months in London, but says “it
was much too fast for me, too speedy.” It’s a bit
of a cliché to state that people ‘find themselves’
when they move here, but Berlin is a city that
offers the opportunity for a slower pace of life
compared to many other major capitals. Tricky
appears chill, relaxed and healthy. It could
be that he shares this common experience of
those who feel a greater sense of freedom and
the opportunity to be themselves in Berlin. On
the other hand, ununiform certainly feels like
Tricky has returned to his roots and rediscovered
his form, and the album is peppered with
nods to his past. He’s comfortable with where
his music is now, and doesn’t need to prove
himself to anyone. Part of this can be attributed
to his self-releasing the record on his own False
Idols label. Thus, he’s not indebted or answerable
to anyone but himself. The result is a raw,
personal, emotional record, and by his own
admission his finest work in years.
Because Tricky’s peripatetic lifestyle has
seen him living in many different cities and
surroundings over the years, you might expect
the method by which Tricky produces music
to have naturally evolved, but he tells us the
opposite is true: “Nah, it’s exactly the same.
Same equipment basically from when I started,
no new technology. It’s all very simple.” It’s
another example of how Tricky stays true to
his roots, not in a traditionalist sense, but by
being confident in knowing what works and
what he likes. Perhaps this is why every track
from his dense discography is imbued with a
sound that is recognisably ‘Tricky’, irrespective
of whether it’s a punk-tinged banger or
something more introspective.
In 2018, Tricky will turn 50. It’s a mammoth
incongruity. He exudes youthfulness and has an
aura of mischievousness, as though he’s always
willing to have some fun or cause a ruckus. At
this stage of life some people consider slowing
down, but he shows no signs of hitting the
brakes anytime soon. He gives the impression
that he thinks a few steps ahead, his mind ticking
over, working out his next move. When asked
what keeps him making music, whether he has
a particular goal or ambition, he’s philosophical.
“Just ‘cause I love doing it,” he says. “My goal
is the journey, not what I get from it. Different
albums take you to different places. One may
do well in a particular market, so you end up
going there. Somewhere like Hong Kong. I’ve
been to Venezuela – Caracas; I’ve been around
Autumn/Winter Summer 2017
23

Cover Story
Tricky
« I DON’T CARE ABOUT MANSIONS OR
BIG CARS, AND I’M NOT TRYING TO BE THE
RICHEST PERSON ON THE PLANET. MONEY
HAS NEVER INTERESTED ME AT ALL. »
the world. In March I’ll go to China or Mexico. An album
always takes you somewhere and you never know where
it’s gonna go. It’s not the goals, it’s the journey.”
“It’s not just the physical journey, but artistically too,”
he continues. “You never know where an album is going
to lead you. Albums are like constant mad things with
different opportunities. Doing an album creates a great
opportunity. Being on a soundtrack or in a movie changes
your life. The shows as well, because when you’ve been
doing a tour of your album for three or four months, the
song structure starts to come out. One song ain’t going to
sound the same after you’ve done
it 40 times. Something is going to
In a Movie
Tricky has acted in a number of
films, most notably in a significant
supporting role in Luc Besson’s
1997 film The Fifth Element,
and a cameo in Face/Off.
change about it, whether it’s a vocal or a musical part. So
it’s a whole journey. The music keeps growing.”
Tricky’s live shows are notorious, and they’ve received
some mixed reviews over the years. It’s part of his nature to
treat them as more free-form affairs than rigidly rehearsed
and choreographed routines. The band rehearses the
songs, but he rarely rehearses himself, preferring to take
the gigs as they come and do his thing. He’s aware that this
isn’t for everyone: “Our show can go anywhere, and some
people don’t get or understand my shows. Most shows
can be a bit about love and hate, because you are just
going with the vibe, you know?”
It’s the mark of a true artist when they’re willing
to take risks and try new things, even if it means
some people will be upset or not get it. Our conversation
turns to his feelings on the dearth of artists
these days. He dismays that no one is making fully realised
albums anymore. “Two good singles and the rest is garbage,”
he succinctly puts it, and it’s hard to argue with. A
shift towards single tracks and a focus on being included
on the right Spotify playlists has taken over as the industry
standard pathway to ‘success’. Naturally, some artists are
still making great albums, and good singles have been used
to shift questionable albums probably since the format
existed, but the pendulum has definitely been swinging
away from long players.
This isn’t how Tricky approaches music. He sees albums
as complete pieces of work, finished only “when it’s a piece
of music from the beginning to the end,” and also part of a
longer continuum. He explains: “The last song’s got to feel
like the end of the album but also the beginning of something,
because then you have the next album. It’s gotta say
goodbye and hello at the same time.”
Whether it’s living in a new city, living a healthier lifestyle,
or just life in general, ununiform marks a new period
for him. “I see albums like chapters. On this new album,
musically there’s a bit of change that happened to me, I can
feel it. It still sounds like my music but there’s a big change
coming. I’m going to say my last album was just an OK
album, but this album is a lot stronger. I’ve been recording
again and the music is even stronger. This is a new chapter.”
After more than 20 years of making music, Tricky is still
writing his own story and carving out his own path. You’d
think with a career this long, and with so many milestones,
that it might have built some expectations into Tricky’s
mindset, but he remains humble. “You know, actually I
don’t expect anything. Anything that happens is a bonus.
It’s like, the radio has been playing one of my songs, and
I never expected it, but it’s happened. It’s a bonus. If you
don’t expect it, it’s all good.”
ununiform is out now on !K7/False Idols. See Tricky live at
Festsaal Kreuzberg on November 28th.
24
Issue Five

Tricky
Cover Story
Autumn/Winter 2017
25

Femtech Pioneer
Ida Tin
IDA TIN: CLUE FOUNDER
ON HER REVOLUTIONARY
PERIOD-TRACKING APP
Sometimes it takes little more than personal experience, passion
and a great cause to spark an idea that might change the world. Just
look at Ida Tin, the co-founder of Clue who, struggling to find a way
to manage her fertility that was right for her, had an idea to develop
an app that would help women keep track of their periods and learn
more about their bodies. It’s an idea that has made her one of the
names in ‘femtech’, a term she incidentally coined herself.
words by
Alison Rhoades
photos by
Zack Helwa
In Ida’s own words, “Clue is a female health-tracking app
designed for rapid data entry and user friendliness. Users can
track their period, fertile window, PMS, moods, pains, symptoms,
exercise, medication, birth control usage and notes about
their cycle in order to gain a better understanding of their own
patterns and personal trends.”
Over 50% of the world’s population of childbearing age have a
period each month, but Clue is more than a tracking app; it’s about
education. Not only can you track your cycle, you can also get helpful
insights into your sleep patterns, sex life and ovulation if you’re trying
to get pregnant. This bold approach to tracking female reproductive
health not only helps women and their partners stay informed and
educated, it reduces the stigma around talking about menstruation,
fertility and everything that goes with it. What your menstrual cycle
is telling you can also have serious implications for your health and
general wellbeing. That’s why Clue was developed in cooperation with
top scientists and reproductive specialists, and the data they gather
advances knowledge about women’s health through a collaboration
with the Kinsey Institute. We meet Ida for more insights into the story
behind Clue, and she fills us in on her experiences as a female entrepreneur
and her vision for reproductive care in the digital age.
Can you tell us a little bit about how you ended up in Berlin?
I was born in Copenhagen but spent my younger years travelling
around the world, as my parents ran motorcycle tours. When I
did settle down to study, I attended Denmark’s creative business
school, the KaosPilots. I moved to Berlin to start Clue with my
partner, who was born and raised in Kreuzberg.
How did the idea for Clue come about? Personal experience was
really the reason I founded Clue. Reproductive health is an incredibly
foundational and central part of our lives, but there’s a real lack
26
Issue Five

Ida Tin
Femtech Pioneer
of clarity for women, generally. That starts
The Pill
the moment a woman has her first period and
Research into ovulation inhibition
was underway by the 1930s, but oral begins to manage that part of her life, and
contraceptives didn’t reach markets continues as she chooses whether or not she
until 1961. Many women experience
wants to use birth control and, if she does,
negative side effects, but according
to the UN the pill accounts for at which method to use.
least 10% of contraceptive practice When I was about 30, the pill wasn’t working
in over 70% of the countries with well for me and I realised there had been little
sufficient data to enable estimates.
No other method is so widely employed
in so many countries.
I have always been curious about women’s
innovation in this space for the past 50 years.
health and was a ‘quantified self’ person – that
is, someone who incorporates technology and data analysis
into their daily life – long before I knew the term. These were
the drivers to launch Clue – an app that could clue people in
with personalised health data to give them an awareness of
the unique patterns in their bodies and their cycles.
What were your main objectives when starting the
company? When I dreamed up the idea of Clue, I was
wondering how it could be that we managed to walk
on the moon but that most women still don’t know
which days they can or can’t get pregnant. I personally
needed such a tool to manage that very important part
of my life, and I was convinced that many other women
would find an app like Clue not only very useful but
also very empowering. When you are able to identify
patterns that are unique to you, you feel more in control
of your own body, and better able to manage the
changes that are taking place within it.
How did you decide what data to request from your
users to give them an accurate forecast of their
fertility and menstrual cycle? Each and every tracking
category in Clue has medical research to back a correlation
between that aspect of health and the menstrual
cycle – whether it affects your
cycle and vice-versa.
Why did you decide to base
the company in Berlin?
We’re based in Berlin for
several reasons. Berlin is an
extremely exciting place for
new technology, and it’s much
more affordable than Silicon
Valley from the perspective
of a lean startup. Also Hans,
my partner and co-founder
of Clue, is from Kreuzberg,
so that also influenced our
decision to set up here.
In many countries, women’s
reproductive health
care is under attack. How
do you think Clue can help
women to take ownership of
their own family planning?
Actually, the biggest challenge
since Clue’s launch directly
relates to the lack of resources
women have when it comes to
their health – whether due to a
lack of scientific research or societal taboos. This is still
a very new space with a ton of potential because every
woman in the world faces the realities that come with
menstruation, fertility and overall health.
While Clue cannot replace proper reproductive health
care, it can help anyone without access to it to better
understand their cycles and overall health, and it allows
those wanting to start a family to assess when their fertile
window may be, helping their chances to conceive.
A significant aspect of your company is education on
women’s bodies, not just through using the app but
through publishing articles about sexual and reproductive
health. Why was it important to you to take
this approach? When I founded Clue, menstrual health
was one of the most underrepresented categories out
there. Given that half of the world’s population will experience
a period, I thought it important to develop an app
that not only allows women to track their menstrual cycle
but that also educates and informs, hence the amount of
medical information that is available via Clue.
Some people are still unsure about giving their
data to a company. What would you say to them? I
would say to check the company’s data-sharing policies
before submitting any information that you would
prefer to keep private. There is a misconception about
data sharing; it’s not always a bad thing, as long as the
user is aware that their data may be shared with a third
party and has agreed to this beforehand. Clue, for example,
would never share users’ private data for profit
or commercial gain. Any data we share is always taken
from polls or studies that Clue users have opted to be a
part of, and we would only ever share this useful, anonymous
data with trusted medical organisations to help
advance medical and scientific research.
The history of medical science is based on data. For example,
vaccines were invented as data established a need
for them. We have an obligation to use data for good. If we
don’t use data, we pay a huge price.
You coined the term ‘femtech’. How would you define
it? ‘Femtech’ is a term that addresses the growing sector
of technology that is designed specifically for women.
Femtech does not refer to ‘women in technology’, but
rather the expanding category of technology that serves to
help women take better control of their overall health.
You’ve spoken before about the reluctance of men
to invest in products catered to women, and the lack
of female investors in technology. Can you explain
why you think that having women in tech – in both
business and development – is so vital? Women are seriously
underrepresented in tech. They only hold 10–20%
of tech-related jobs at tech companies, yet digital female
health is one of the fastest growing sectors, with period
and fertility trackers encompassing the second largest
category within health apps, second only to running apps.
Investing in female-led tech isn’t just a step towards gender
equality; it makes business sense.
I firmly believe that it is essential for women to empower
each other to take up space in the industry, and to
continue breaking gender stereotypes in order to pave
Autumn/Winter 2017
27

Femtech Pioneer
«
I FIRMLY BELIEVE THAT
IT IS ESSENTIAL FOR
WOMEN TO EMPOWER
EACH OTHER TO TAKE UP
SPACE IN THE INDUSTRY.
»
the way for others, and this is what we are seeing now.
One area where we most need to see increased gender
diversity is on the investment side.
We need more women entrepreneurs, who are considering
and solving these issues, to focus on giving attention to
women’s reproductive health around the world.
What are some of your takeaways from being a female
entrepreneur, particularly here in Germany? Berlin is
such a creative hub, and the city’s liberal attitude and gender
neutrality makes it a great place for a female entrepreneur
to grow and succeed. Personally, I have never found
that being a female entrepreneur, or a woman in tech, has
ever held me back or presented greater obstacles. Although
I’m fully aware that statistically, it can definitely prove more
difficult for women to make a name for themselves in tech.
Being a female entrepreneur in an underrepresented field,
I believe I have the opportunity to make a much needed
change. At a company level, I feel the immense potential of
what Clue can do when I think about the difference it will
make in the world when people have a good understanding
of how their body works and are able to take good care of
themselves. Access to technology will change the world. It
already is. We hear it every day through emails that people
send us from all over the world. I am humbled and grateful
that I get to do this work together with my team.
You’ve had an accomplished and diverse career, from
leading motorcycle tours to being a best-selling author
to being named ‘Female Web Entrepreneur of the Year’ at
the 2015 Slush conference. What are some lessons you’ve
learned throughout your professional life? Professionally,
I have learned a great deal. In my role as a leader, I am
exposed to a lot of things that I feel I can personally take
care of. I used to make the mistake of trying to do too much
myself instead of learning how to assess my own limitations
and delegate tasks, enabling others to share the workload
with me. Letting go and trusting others to take over key
tasks is not as easy as it sounds when you are so invested in
something, but I think it is something that people in all positions
should think about in order to make themselves more
productive. It becomes easier to let go as the team grows, and
there are many talented people around me who are honestly
better skilled to take care of certain things.
Ida Tin
In 2016, Wired Magazine named Clue one of the top
European startups destined for success. But being
successful doesn’t mean the same thing for everyone.
How do you define success? Success is whatever you want
it to be. There is a tendency these days to equate success
with money or fame, but neither of these things are necessarily
indicators of success. Success is simply the sense
of achieving something, be it completing a small everyday
goal or fulfilling a huge ambition. One mistake we’ve all
been guilty of at some point or another is comparing our
accomplishments to those of others. Only you can define
what success means to you.
How will Clue revolutionise women’s fertility and
reproductive care in the future? The evolution of the app
has been incredible. In less than a year we have seen the
amount of active users increase from 1 million to 5 million
worldwide, as well as establishing partnerships with Stanford
University and the University of Oxford, enabling us
to carry out more in-depth research into menstrual-cycle
health. Our mission is to help people all around the world
benefit from insights into female health, and with more
than 5 million users entering data every month, we are one
step closer to achieving this.
It would be safe to predict that tracking apps and
gadgets will become increasingly intuitive in the future,
and will eventually monitor everything from heart rate and
blood pressure to stress levels to the amount and quality
of movement, ultimately capturing data that will allow
us to better understand both our emotional and physical
wellbeing. This amount of data can only be a good thing,
as it will offer doctors instant access to a far more detailed
and accurate medical history.
Our ultimate goal is to completely move female health
away from its niche status and get to a stage where society
can openly discuss menstrual health without hesitation.
You wouldn’t think twice of mentioning that you have a
headache or sore throat, for example, and when people feel
as comfortable talking about cramps or other period-related
symptoms, only then have we managed to fully break
down the stigma surrounding them.
If you want to learn more about Clue, visit their website
and online store at helloclue.com or simply download it
for free and get tracking!
28
Issue Five

WWW.BRLO.DE

King of Köpenick
Romano
COPY, PASTE, DELETE, REPEAT:
ROMANO’S GENRE-FLUID
JOURNEY THROUGH MUSIC
He’s the king of Köpenick, the west-coast-loving rapper in a Pippi Longstocking
disguise. Musically versatile and never too serious about labels, genres or even
himself, Romano charmed his way into German hearts and is ready to conquer
a few more with his new album, Copyshop. Here we talk to him about his music,
Berlin and what it was like to see the GDR fall apart.
words by Marlén Jacobshagen
photos by Robert Rieger
30 Issue Five

Romano
King of Köpenick
As Romano walks along the eighthfloor
corridor of the Universal Music
building, his pigtails bounce up and
down against his shiny, green Jets jacket.
It’s easy to be drawn into a conversation
with him. Romano talks and jokes like
a true Berliner, and spreads a positive,
charming vibe that is highly contagious. As
he offers us some coffee, the only drug he
still allows himself, he recognises Moderat
on the cover of LOLA issue four. “Szary
and Gernot,” he smiles. “They are friends
of mine! Both of them come from Woltersdorf,
quite close to Köpenick.”
Köpenick is what Romano is best known
for, or maybe it’s the other way around. As
a real Berliner – born in Köpenick in 1977 as
Roman Geike – he titled his second album
Jenseits von Köpenick (Beyond Köpenick),
a hilarious masterpiece that exists somewhere
between hip hop, electronica, pop
and metal. Romano never liked to be tied
down to one genre. At 15 he started to write
rap lyrics, but after school he played in a
metal band. He later turned to drum’n’bass,
became part of the Hightek Crew, and contributed
vocals for highly praised electronic
acts like Siriusmo and Oliver Koletzki. His
first record as Romano, Blumen für dich
(Flowers for You), was a Schlager album.
“What I love about this project
is that all the small facets of
what I did before always reappear
in my current songs. I’m
going to try to explain this in a
picture: on the ocean there are
ships, every ship is a different
genre of music and a different
size depending on how much
time I invested in it. You have
one for my metal band, a big drum’n’bass
ship, a colourful Schlager ship, one that is
electronic, and so on. All these ships go into
one harbour. And this harbour is Romano.”
As a teenager when the Wall came down,
Romano was clearly influenced by the artistic
atmosphere of the capital after reunification.
The ‘90s created a dense atmosphere
of excitement and chaos; illegal clubs were
established, new subcultures emerged, flats
were occupied – Berlin was going through
a radical change. “Creatively aggressive,”
Romano calls it. “It was like a steam cooker
under high pressure, and at some point the
lid shoots off and everything comes out: the
good, the bad, the creative. Everything.” He
continues: “There were punks, hip hoppers,
metallers, but you also had Nazis who
began to do horrible things in Rostock and
Hoyerswerda. That happens when you try
to keep everything under control. At some
point it breaks.”
The Bunker
Now housing the Boros Collection
of contemporary art,
this former air raid shelter
has walls up to two metres
thick. It held parties from
1992-96 before police raids
forced its closure, and the
promoters went on to open
Berghain some years later.
Romano’s new album Copyshop is a satirical
and acerbic portrait of German society
with poppy, electronic party sounds that
often belie its serious nature. The second
track ‘König der Hunde’ (‘King of the Dogs’)
is a reflection on the tumultuous time after
socialism collapsed. “It felt like a freefall,”
says Romano, who was about 12 years old
when his hometown stopped being part of
the socialist GDR and joined the Bundesrepublik
Deutschland. “The fascinating thing
is: maths keeps being maths, fractions keep
being fractions. Today and back then, in
every country around the world, science
stays the same. But that’s not the case with
history and politics. Things we learned
about in the GDR were all of a sudden told
from a completely different angle. History
was turned upside down and we had to
change our thinking from year one on.” In
‘König der Hunde’, Romano captures the
exciting and confusing spirit of the time:
“Kein Bock auf Schule, hab den Durchblick
verlor’n; Alte Lehrer, neue Bücher, überall
Diktator’n.” (“I don’t fancy school anymore,
I lost perspective; old teachers, new
books, dictators everywhere.”)
Within a few years the face of Berlin
changed drastically. Romano talks about
reconnecting with a good friend after three
years apart, who then got
him interested in DJing and
electronic music: “He showed
me around techno clubs, and
everything was just wild at
that time. In autumn 1992 I
went to The Bunker wearing
a thick thermal jacket and inside
it felt like 1000 degrees.
They had washing machines
with heaters inside and there were people
with gas masks and latex suits everywhere.
Downstairs they played acid house, one
story up there was gabba, on the next one
there was a gang-bang party. And in the
middle of it all this little boy in the big city,
thinking: ‘What’s going on here?’”
The city attracted more and more people
and soon clubs died again, districts became
unaffordable, rents rose to double the price
(or more), even though the apartments
themselves often stayed the same. The title
track of Copyshop plays with this idea of
artificial change in value and price. In the
accompanying promotion, which is more
of a short film than a music video, Romano
tells the story of a job he had in a copyshop
for several years. “What I found fascinating,”
he remembers, “is that the art scene
has an insatiable demand for new products
from dead artists. And then they feed
themselves with fake art, which is a perfect
replica and they pay millions for it. But
once they find out, it’s just worth a fraction
of what they were willing to pay before.
People define the value of things themselves
and the value constantly changes.
All of it is an illusion.”
For the song, he worked together with
the Übermut Project, an initiative that aims
to give German arts a place on the global
stage. He collaborated with Cantonese
rapper MastaMic and shot the music video
entirely in Hong Kong. Here you can see
Romano prowling markets laden with
knock-off goods, including several Romano
figurines designed by his friend Siriusmo
who also creates the beats for his tracks.
Being in Asia for the first time was overwhelming,
he confesses. “Before that, I had
only ever been in a Chinese restaurant,”
he says, laughing. “You think there is a lot
going on in Berlin, but every corner there is
as busy as Ku’damm.”
Romano never lost his charming, downto-earth
manner and often finds himself at
the sharp end of his own wry lyrics. Despite
this, he emphasises that everything he did,
he did with sincerity and passion: from
the metal band to the Schlager album. He’s
fascinated by everything different and
beautiful. He explains: “Pippi Longstocking
is my role model: life is wonderful,
make it colourful! Tie yourself some braids,
glue something to your face, celebrate it.
Be yourself, whatever that may be!”
Copyshop is out now, so have a listen and
then catch Romano live at Columbiahalle
on November 9th.
Autumn/Winter 2017
31

Mental Health Matters
Kevin Braddock
TORCHLIGHT’S KEVIN
BRADDOCK ON BREAK-
DOWN AND RECOVERY
Torchlight, a moving new publication about mental
illness, recovery, and the importance of asking for help,
is proof that great storytelling can really help people.
words by
Marc Yates
photos by
Valentina Culley-Foster
The Observer
Kevin’s article, ‘Man Down’ was
the cover story of The Observer
Magazine on August 13th 2017.
Since its release earlier in 2017, the magazine
and practice cards – a deck of actions and
ideas to help users build positive habits –
have now sold out. With Torchlight and the practice
cards, creator Kevin Braddock offers an honest
and non-prescriptive approach to recovering from
periods of mental illness, presenting it through the
prism of his personal experiences.
While working as a fashion editor in Berlin in
2014, Kevin suffered a severe depressive episode.
Asking for help was the first step in his recovery,
a central part of which became writing down how
he was feeling. That writing became Torchlight,
which he released in the hopes that it would enable
others to speak more openly about their mental
health. To hear more, we grabbed a coffee with
Kevin on one of his frequent visits back to Berlin.
As readers of Torchlight, the first question we
want to ask is: How are you? In general I’m fine.
I’m going through a phase where life is happening
quite fast at the moment. The project itself
is going great. We announced that we’re going
to try to get Torchlight back into print through
crowdfunding. People seem to really like it; the
response has been extraordinary.
We’ve noticed! Have many readers reached out to
you with their personal stories? Yeah, that’s sort
of the point really. I just think that saying it first enables
other people to open up. It’s better to talk about
these things, I mean, that’s how therapy works – you
go and see a therapist, you talk to them about your
feelings and you feel slightly better. [Laughs]
What’s been interesting is that I wrote the story
in The Observer and it went kind of mental after
that. It got shared 10,000 times or something. In
20 years of being a journalist, nothing like that’s
ever happened before. [Laughs] I think it’s a bit like
being in a secret society, you know, everyone has
had something like this, or is experiencing it, or
they know of someone who is.
Which makes it all the more baffling that mental
health isn’t more openly discussed. Yeah. I
think it’s slightly different in Germany. When I was
living here, I felt that Germans were very emotionally
articulate in a way that perhaps Brits aren’t. Do
you know what I mean? If you ask a German how
they’re feeling it’s like– [Checks watch, grins]
So what made you first decide to share your
story in this format? A couple of days after I had
this breakdown, which was August 10th 2014, a
guy I know had seen my alarming messages on
Facebook and said, “Look Kev, from now on you
need to be really open and more honest about all
this stuff, and since you’re a writer, why don’t you
write it all down?” He was really adamant about it.
I was a bit mystified, so I said, “Thank you, can I
ask why you feel that way?” And he said, “Because
my sister killed herself.” I thought, ‘OK, he’s right.’
That was the germ of the idea.
I’d made an independent publication before
called Manzine. Myself and my friend Enver who
works for Mario Lombardo – he was the guy who
took me to the hospital – started designing Torchlight
in February or March 2016. Instead of writing
the whole thing and then handing it to Enver, we
designed different bits and developed it, partly
because I was still– am still recovering. It wasn’t
complete, and then I realised that it’s never complete.
But in terms of a story you just have to pick a
day and say, “OK, that’s the end, for now.”
So was working on Torchlight part of your recovery
as you developed the project? Yeah, it was very
therapeutic to write it all down, chew it over and
figure out what I thought about everything. It was a
kind of sense-making process, and then I thought,
what I want to do is just give it to people. There are
lots of other recovery memoirs, really good ones.
They’re all the same story, really: something terrible
happens to someone, they have a breakdown, they
begin recovering, and then they get better and want
to help people. [Laughs] Have you read James Frey’s
A Million Little Pieces? Brilliant book.
Anxy Magazine is another good one. Torchlight
is just me, talking. It’s a strange object because it’s
not really a book or a magazine. I wanted to
32 Issue Five

Kevin Braddock
Mental Health Matters
«
I THINK IT’S A BIT
LIKE BEING IN A SECRET
SOCIETY, YOU KNOW, I GUESS
EVERYONE HAS HAD SOME-
THING LIKE THIS, OR IS
EXPERIENCING IT, OR THEY
KNOW OF SOMEONE WHO IS.
»
Autumn/Winter 2017
33

Mental Health Matters
Kevin Braddock
do something different. I know how to make
magazines, but it’s not a magazine that has
a series of contributors like Anxy and it’s not
a typical book where it’s just pages of text.
Tell us about the practice cards. When I
went back to the UK I was getting up every
morning in sort of a military way, trying
to bootcamp my way to being whatever
‘better’ is. It was completely overwhelming
and I was trying to do too much, so I
thought I’d write all the things down on
cards and try and do one or two every
day; maybe a breathing exercise or a long
walk, some voluntary work, or read some
philosophy – Marcus Aurelius, or something
from the AA book. There’s tonnes
upon tonnes of that stuff around and it’s
all really useful. Then I thought it could be
an extra little thing with this project.
The plan is to do another pack next year.
I think the practice cards have got quite a
lot of mileage in them.
Will there also be a second volume
of Torchlight? Yes. There’s a lot of stuff
we’re looking at doing; at least another two
packs of practice cards – we have ideas for
the second and a third – and I’d like to do
another issue, but it might take another
year or two to make that happen. It’s not a
typical magazine where we publish something
every three months.
I think the important thing is to generate
a network, a community. This person-to-person
thing is really important.
I’ve been running these
storytelling meetings in London.
I’d like to do a lot more of those.
There’s probably a digital technology
angle in there somewhere,
but I’m not sure where yet. We’ve
got ambitions, but we have to do
it in a way that we live our values.
And not undermine your mental
health by putting too much pressure
on it. Exactly. So we have to
have a mindful approach to doing
these things, you know? [Laughs]
The challenge with digital media
is that it’s the way to reach
people nowadays, but it has
an impersonality to it that’s
perhaps counterproductive to
what you’re trying to achieve.
Yes, I agree, and I think in the
technology world there are a lot
of people talking about empathy
– how to bottle and commodify
it – and I think that’s a massive
mistake. I don’t think you can
and I don’t think you should. Empathy is
something that happens between people.
There’s Big White Wall, which is the
NHS’ [digital platform]. You can write
your story and publish it online. I don’t
know if it works, and I don’t know if
writing something and posting it on the
internet is really helpful to anyone.
Well, maybe the question is what happens
after that. No one needs a new platform to
publish their thoughts anonymously online.
I think if you’re unwell it’s really important
to be heard. To speak to someone and
have the feeling that they’re listening to you,
and that they care about what you’re saying.
But the internet isn’t like that. Nobody gives
a fuck what you’re saying.
Do you think mental health is a topic
that’s especially important for men
to talk about? I think that it’s clearly
an acute problem with men. I saw some
statistic that said the reason the suicide
rate among men is higher is because men
are more likely to act on it. It’s not like
they have more suicidal ideations; they’re
just more willful about it. But I think depression
transcends gender, race, status,
everything. It’s a problem that anyone can
have. Torchlight is not a magazine for men
about depression. I wasn’t thinking in a
demographic way about it.
I think with men it’s just about how you
get to them. I mean generally there’s obviously
a big problem with how we socialise
men. I was talking to someone the other
day about soldiers. I did this story years
ago for GQ about soldiers who were injured
in battle and had PTSD, and apparently
they will only ask for help after ten years
of suffering, because the army trains emotions
out of soldiers. There’s this organisation
called Combat Stress, and they do
really good work for veterans with PTSD.
I don’t know how we educate young
people, but from what I hear there’s much
more education about emotional fluency
these days, which is obviously good.
At the moment, social media seems to
be flooded with nihilism and memes
about suicide and depression – ‘sad
reacts only’, etcetera. Do you think
that kind of thing is part of a new
emotional fluency, or do you feel it’s
counterproductive? I suppose one
change I would like to see is that people
don’t think it’s cool to kill yourself, and
don’t think that it’s glamorous or sexy.
With Torchlight the message is ‘ask for
help’. That’s the point. It’s what I did and
everything changed. It would be great to
think that people think it’s OK to do that,
rather than bottling it up and taking it
away and acting upon suicidal ideations.
There is help around, and I think most
people, if they’re asked to help, probably
would. Even if it’s a complete stranger.
You mentioned Marcus Aurelius
earlier. Meditations was the first thing
we read after Torchlight. Ah, you got it?
Seneca’s very good as well.
What are you reading at the moment?
Going Sane by Adam Phillips. Phillips is a
Freudian analyst, and he writes very intelligently.
His argument is that there’s no such
thing as sanity, and that basically we’re all
mad and what the medical establishment
has done for a long time is imprison people
in a diagnosis. He talks about how society
thinks about mental illness compared to
a model of sanity which in many ways is
insane. It’s like, why do we think it’s sane
to accumulate tonnes upon tonnes of
possessions? Or have more money than
we need? It’s very interesting.
We’ll check it out. Thanks so much
for your time, Kevin. No problem, it’s
good to talk.
Back the Torchlight crowdfunding
campaign and get your copy at igg.me/
at/torchlightsystem, and keep up with
the latest at torchlightsystem.com
34 Issue Five

Project Mooncircle
Label of Love
LABEL OF LOVE
PROJECT
MOONCIRCLE
A few notable exceptions aside, record companies
often run on the time and energy of tireless people.
Even for big industry players, it’s a tough business.
However, in Berlin there’s a fantastic example of an
independent label that is withstanding the test of the
times. Project Mooncircle is celebrating its 15th year in
2017, so we meet with its founder Gordon Gieseking to
hear what it takes to succeed in a challenging industry.
words by
Andrea Servert
photos by
Soheil Moradianboroujeni
“
We wanted to create a view from the moon
to the Earth. We wanted to give the listener
some kind of soundtrack to reflect
on what happens here, and in my opinion, it can be
dark sometimes. How we treat the planet, how we
treat each other…” Gordon starts delving into the
project he started building a decade and a half ago
as we enter his Marzahn emporium. What began
as an extension of Miami label Beta Bodega has
become a well-established imprint that constantly
pushes the boundaries of electronic music. For the
uninitiated listener: it’s fruitless to apply a single
word or genre to Project Mooncircle, and Gordon
isn’t interested in that kind of classification. “Some
people think we have a sound, but I don’t think it’s
true,” he says. “We release so many different kinds
of music, from folk to techno, or beat-oriented stuff.
If anything, I think we are melancholic. Most of the
time it’s music for your home or going for a walk.”
There are some things that help us understand
the DNA of the label. First, Gordon’s love of ‘90s UK
hip hop. That sound, where instrumentals play a
huge role, guided Project Mooncircle’s early years.
Mr Cooper and MF Doom are two notable names, but
later artists would drive the label to new territories.
Then Robot Koch came on board in 2010, bringing
new dubstep sounds and beats that felt more
experimental. With the new decade came names
like Long Arm, Flako, and more recently, Submerse,
with a dreamy, modern take on downtempo. It feels
like every artist on the roster is acknowledged as a
pioneer in their own right, and that proves Project
Mooncircle has a knack for scouting real talent.
“We’ve had luck,” Gordon continues. “We chose the
right people when they were creating something new
and we went in the right direction.” He lets artists
lead the way when it comes to the sound. “Maybe in
the beginning the label was closer to my personality,
but not so much anymore,” he says. “I wouldn’t call
myself a tastemaker. I’ve learned to be open-minded
and trust the artists, because most of the time they
are right. The influence, the face, and the creative
input is the artist; I am in the background taking care
of the structure.” He has a lot of confidence in the
artists; he will let them do the work and release the
music as it is – as long as the outcome is good.
Project Mooncircle signs artists for four or five
years, then it’s time to re-evaluate the situation. This
is how they ensure the label and the artists evolve, and
it’s also the reason Gordon ascribes to Project Mooncircle’s
longevity. But if there’s something that has always
made this label distinctive, it’s the artwork. The
visual element is as important as the music, and this
is where Gordon’s pride in his work shines through.
“Almost every layout is mine,” he tells us. “When I
decide that we are going to release something, I stop
listening. I wait until the mastering is done, and then I
listen to the final product. It’s amazing to enjoy it like
a listener. That’s when I work on the layout or do my
own illustrations.” His style is instantly recognisable,
with intricate illustrations of abstract scenarios that
are full of detail. His artwork also connects with the
very origins of the project, when he met the founder
of experimental label Beta Bodega, La Mano Fría.
He became Gordon’s mentor: “He taught me loads
of stuff, not only illustrations and graphics, but also
how to run a label. He taught me how to handle
human relationships, and this is the main thing in
label work. You have to be on point!”
Project Mooncircle turns 15 this year. It feels like
an achievement, but it is now that Gordon faces the
biggest challenge. The dawn of the digital age and
the ever-shortening attention span of the listener
demands a greater effort from labels. “Nowadays it’s
just fast-food listening. As a label, we try to change
this in some way; we have to bring the music back
to the listeners. It’s still important to have a label as
a platform that selects music for people, especially
in such an overloaded market,” Gordon insists. But
the challenge for Project Mooncircle is not limited to
the state of the music industry, it is also about how
its founder and CEO feels about himself. “I’m 35 and
I just got married,” he says. “I’m thinking about my
age and my future, and I’m doing a lot besides music.
I need to consider whether this is enough to exist
for the next 20 years. I’ve been doing this since I was
16, and of course I’m still a listener, but the business
side has changed a lot.” Although one can never feel
reassured about the future, Project Mooncircle’s
philosophy is to take things one step at a time. “I really
don’t know what’s right or wrong,” Gordon says,
wrapping up our conversation. “We just continue
to release music, and if people think we get stuck
someday – maybe 200 people won’t agree, and will
still enjoy it.” Here’s to those 200.
Autumn/Winter 2017
35

Dispatches
Seoul’s Drag Queens
서울의
DISPATCHES:
THE QUEENS OF
QUEER KOREA
드랙퀸들
What is it like to walk the streets of Seoul? With a heaving population
of over 10 million and a self-professed ‘bbali bbali’ (quickly,
quickly) culture, the city feels hectic, frenzied. South Korea is a
country of obvious segregation; North and South Korea notwithstanding,
the country is profoundly socially divided.
Cynical youth has branded the nation
‘Hell Joseon’ due to the poor social and
economic opportunities they face in
comparison to their parents’ generation. Gleaming
towers look down on consciously concealed
slums, and in them the work-hard, play-hard
ethic is absolute. Office workers completing some
of the longest hours in the OECD party into the
night with their coworkers before heading back
to work the following morning, hangover cure
in hand. Rapid economic progress is recognised
internationally and celebrated domestically, but
traditional Confucian values carry on, often to
the chagrin of the younger generation.
The South Korean LGBTQ community sits
uncomfortably between the threshold of progress
and a desperate clinging to the past. Repeated
attempts to introduce anti-discrimination law
have been abandoned because of the seemingly
impassable religious opposition to LGBTQ
protections. Hong Seok-cheon, Korea’s biggest
openly gay celebrity, saw the near end of his
media career after coming out in 2000, while gay
actor Kim Ji-hoo faced a series of personal and
professional knock-backs after coming out that
led to his suicide in 2008. As recently as May 2017,
a soldier was charged in a military court for having
a same-sex relationship, part of a witch-hunt
of gay soldiers that drew international attention
and condemnation from Amnesty International.
A recent poll related to the Korea Queer Culture
Festival on the government-run platform M Vote
had to be shut down after socially conservative
and Christian netizens left a torrent of homophobic
comments and voted in the thousands to oppose
the festival, which sees droves of protesters
armed with homophobic signs each year. Groups
in traditional Korean dress give performances
and wave South Korean flags to drive home the
notion that queerness is un-Korean. Pride festival
itself has to be fenced off: after walking through
groups of demonstrators, visitors enter the festival
grounds by passing through lines of police.
Despite the volume of opposition, Korea
has come on leaps and bounds in its attitude
towards homosexuality. Recent years have seen
a new groundswell of courageous, creative activism.
It is against this backdrop that Korea’s
drag queens take the stage.
On a rainy Saturday in Seoul, we find ourselves
in a backstreet, second-floor comic book library
and bar at a semi-secret workshop dedicated to
drag. The atmosphere is intimate and friendly;
here is a group of people who loosely know each
other and share a common interest. At the back of
the room are leading Seoul queens Kuciia
words by
Juno Sparkes
photos by
Jinny Park
Below: Nix (front) and
Vita Mikju (behind).
36 Issue Five

Seoul’s Drag Queens
Dispatches
Hell Joseon
Coined in the early 2010s, this satirical term is
used by young Koreans to criticise the current
socio-economic landscape. It is specifically used
when discussing unemployment and poor working
conditions, including the harsh treatment of
workers due to Confucianism and greed.
Above: Nix above the lights of Seoul.
Below: Mikju strikes a pose in a giant
eyeball headpiece.
Diamant and Vita Mikju, both of whom have performed
with Kim Chi and Violet Chachki of RuPaul’s Drag Race
fame, and have starred in the video for Korean–American
rapper Dumbfoundead’s debut single, ‘Hyung’. They relax
and chat with friends as they wait to share their knowledge
with the gathered drag enthusiasts. Vita Mikju, a queen
who started in ‘boylesque’ and is also a skilled pole dancer,
will run a dance workshop. After this, Kuciia will give a
make up demonstration. These are skills the practiced
queen honed on his own: “I learned a lot through watching
international drag queens, but since the Asian facial structure
is different, in the end it was a lot of trial and error and
finding my own style that works for me.”
The event kicks off with a presentation discussing
different aspects of drag, sex and gender, introducing and
explaining terms such as ‘transgender’, ‘drag king’ and
‘bio queen’. The workshop has been put together by Geum
Hye-ji, the creator of the Facebook page ‘서울드랙’ (‘Seoul
Drag’) and passionate fan of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Though
Drag Race played a large part in Hye-ji’s passion, the young
organiser, media blogger and PR manager was initially
inspired by a cisgendered woman dressed in drag at Seoul’s
Queer Culture Festival. When asked about her attraction
to the craft, she says that she is hugely influenced by drag
queens and the whole concept of being able to transform
yourself. “As a Korean woman, I was really uptight about
how I look, and I have a lot of complexes about my appearance,”
she admits. With drag, she adds, she saw an alternative
to this attitude: “You just do whatever you want to with
make up or padding. I thought, maybe that can work for me.
I can act like a drag queen and, even though I’m not that
beautiful, I can be pretty and sexy. That idea was really attractive.
A person can turn themselves into someone else.”
Autumn/Winter 2017
37

Dispatches
Seoul’s Drag Queens
«
I WANT TO SHOW KOREA
THAT THERE IS MORE THAN
FEMININE QUEENS, MORE
THAN LIP-SYNCING.
»
Drag offers freedom of expression in a conservative
society. Speaking about the attendees of the
workshop, Hye-ji tells us, “Drag is therapy for many
of us. My friend, whose drag name is Unnie the
Chainsmoker, identifies herself as genderqueer
and she lives in homophobic Korea. Drag is therapy
for her to become who she wants to be.”
Unnie the Chainsmoker almost exclusively
performs drag at home and broadcasts on Twitter.
The workshop is the second time she has worn
drag in public. She notices one of the first-timers
struggling with make up and steps in to help with
eyeshadow. As members of the workshop begin
to experiment with the many types of make up
provided by the professionals, participants work
together to aid the less experienced. Comprised
largely of people who met online, the event fosters
the sense of community that Hye-ji aims for. After
being helped to achieve his Rocky Horror Picture
Show-inspired look, one of the male attendees
beams: “This is really, really fun!”
However, the drag experience in Seoul is not
without its own roadblocks. We later speak to Nix,
a Brazilian queen who feels the drag community is
somewhat hampered by Korea’s infamously high
and narrow beauty standards. “I’m not white. I’m
not the beauty standard here,” he says. “I’m not
from an English-speaking country, so my English
isn’t that good. My Korean isn’t that good. I’m never
the first choice. I’m not what they prefer. When
I started, I wanted to create something visually
strong because that’s my voice, that’s how I express
myself. How I can empower myself?” Nix has
learned to use the limitations in his favour, sculpting
bold and unusual looks that play outside the
norm. He cites Mikju as an inspiration, eschewing
as he does the more typical aspiration for a passable
feminine appearance, and has incorporated
elements such as fake blood and a giant eyeball
headpiece into his performances. Mikju explains:
“I see drag as more than being a woman. I see it
as breaking the gender binary stereotypes of what
gender should look like. I want the drag community
to get bigger and I want the Korean drag scene
to have more variety. It’s very show-based now,
and it favours the more feminine queens. I want
to show Korea that there is more than feminine
queens, more than lip-syncing.”
Although, like Mikju, he is critical of it, Nix expresses
genuine hope and passion for the small scene.
“It’s difficult but it’s not that bad. They do have
those standards, but they welcome you,” he asserts.
“They don’t push you away even if you are different.
When they expect you to fill those standards, it’s because
they’re trying to help you. So being different is
not bad. They’re just not used to it.” His connection
with and gratitude for more established queens like
Kuciia speaks to how tight-knit this scene is. “They
were important to me. They gave me opportunities.”
Nix notes that Kuciia is a driving force within the
Korean drag scene: “Kuciia’s really important here
because she opens a lot of doors for new and foreign
queens. She’s really professional. And I think that’s
important because it sets some standards. You
don’t have to meet them but you can see that it is
possible.” It was another Seoul-based queen, Jungle,
who first introduced Nix to The Meet Market, one
of Seoul’s longest-running queer parties. Held in
Hongik University’s notorious party area and hosted
in a small venue, it packs out with eager drag fans
and is a comfortable place for first-timers. Kuciia
hosts the event and describes it as “a place where
you can see your favourite queens performing, meet
them, engage with them in a friendly, house-party
atmosphere full of tolerant people who share your
interests. I like to reach out to lesser-known drag
queens and give them a chance to perform and get
their name out at The Meet Market.”
What motivates Kuciia and the other queens to
continue despite the pronounced homophobia in
Korea? As well as aiming to develop and grow the
Unnie
Literally meaning ‘older sister’,
‘unnie’ is a term of respect used by
women addressing a woman who is
a little older than themselves.
Above: Kuciia performing at the
Busan Queer Culture Festival.
38 Issue Five

Seoul’s Drag Queens
Korean drag scene, Kuciia and Mikju want to see Korean
society become more accepting of the LGBTQ community.
They both performed at this year’s Korea Queer
Culture Festival and were heartened to see how dramatically
the festival has grown in recent years. “When I
first performed there I didn’t expect the protesters to be
so vocal,” Kuciia remembers. “But as the years go by I
am energised by them more than anything.” He recalls
a stark and encouraging example of change from Pride:
“Something that has stuck with me is a married couple
with a child who spoke to me after watching my performance
saying that they are supportive of the LGBTQ
community and are raising their child without any prejudice
and hate.” The move toward openness has been
evidenced by the fact that Busan, a comparatively more
conservative city on Korea’s Southern coastline, celebrated
its first Queer Culture Festival in September.
Kuciia and Mikju both note their parents’ acceptance
of their sexual orientations. However, Unnie the
Chainsmoker and workshop organiser Hye-ji are not
so fortunate. Both cite their parents’ Christian beliefs
as a factor in their respective decisions not to come
out. Unnie explains: “My parents don’t know about my
sexuality. I’d be kicked out. My father especially; he’s
a Christian. He thinks that homosexuality is wrong.”
Hye-ji tells a similar story: “I’m bisexual but my parents
are really homophobic, so I decided not to come out
to them. Everyone in Korea in my parents’ generation
goes to church. We have a strange Christian culture
here. It’s really homophobic. I think my parents’ generation
just doesn’t understand the possibility that their
son or daughter could be gay.”
Despite the public negativity towards the LGBTQ
community and 61% of votes opposing the Korea Queer
Culture Festival on the M Vote poll, Kuciia is hopeful
for the future. “I often say that Korea is a fast-adjusting
country,” he says. “So, while we might currently be at
61% against us, I believe that by engaging with the media
and helping more people understand who we are
and what we wish for, the mentality of South Koreans
will be able to change quickly as well.” Mikju is similarly
dedicated to helping sexual minorities in Korea: “I’m
out, so I can fight for the ones who are afraid of being
themselves. I have great parents who understand me,
while many are not so fortunate. So I take that as my
chance to be a great model for all the queers in Korea.
I want to be a leader and fight for the ones who could
never imagine coming out to their parents. I want to be
a voice to shout for them.”
The workshop nears its end. Kuciia Diamant finishes
his demonstration and everyone gathers together to take a
group photograph. Then, as the evening winds to a close,
face wipes are passed around, make up removal tips offered,
and the night’s dedicatedly applied foundation and
glitter is erased. The expert queens pack away their make
up and rhinestones, while Unnie the Chainsmoker goes to
change out of his dress. Everyone returns to their original
appearances, ready to step back out into the world.
Follow @hellonix, @kuciia and @vitamikju on Instagram
to see more from these queens as Seoul’s burgeoning
drag scene blossoms.
Autumn/Winter 2017
39

Classic Film
Wings of Desire
WINGS OF DESIRE:
WIM WENDERS’ SOARING
VISION 30 YEARS ON
Many fans of Wenders’ 1987 film
are that specific brand of cinema
geek who have earned the title of
‘fanatic’. They call Wings of Desire a symphony,
a parable, magic. The film follows
two guardian angels, Damiel and Cassiel,
immortal and invisible to the humans they
observe. One such human, Marion, is a trapeze
performer at the circus; Damiel finds
himself falling in love with her and wishes
to swap his immortality for an earthly life
with her. Desperate to expand his understanding
of the human experience in all its
messy sensuality and unapologetic mortality,
Damiel encounters Peter Falk (as himself,
in a largely improvised performance),
a fallen angel who also felt compelled to
get in on the earthly action. As Berlin musical
luminary Nick Cave plays a live show
in a bar, Damiel’s yearning for humanhood
finally reaches its apex.
A complete bibliography of texts on
Wings of Desire would fill pages upon pages
with film studies-ready article titles, heavily
sprinkled with terms such as ‘existentialist
cinema’, ‘technology’ and ‘perception’,
‘the verbal and the visual’, ‘experience and
memory’, ‘transcending postmodernism’.
Their analyses explore every rapturous
detail of Wings of Desire, with many
steadfast in their conviction that this is a
film that asks its viewers to fundamentally
consider how they see themselves and the
world. Its subtle play with the themes of
borders, embodiment and sacrifice render
it timeless, helping to answer the question
of why and how a 30-year-old movie about
a dissatisfied angel who falls for a graceful
trapeze artist could have something to say
to us about love, happiness, and the nature
of humanity in the 21st century.
words by Stephanie Taralson
It’s a favourite of cinephiles and Freiluftkino lovers, even 30
years after its splashy Euro-arthouse debut. Tucked among
a list of festival darlings and this season’s roster of big-screen
hits, it sticks out as the single film that is over three years old,
lacking an A-list marquee star and mostly recorded in washedout
black and white. Yet there it is, Wim Wenders’ cinematic
ode to humanity, Der Himmel über Berlin (Wings of Desire).
Wim Wenders was born in the Ruhrgebiet
area of West Germany in the summer of
1945. He made aborted attempts to study
medicine and philosophy after finishing his
secondary schooling, but a move to Paris
sparked his love for cinema. By the early
‘70s, he was releasing his first films – already
to critical acclaim. Wenders belonged to a
group of upstart West German filmmakers
who were looking to shake up the Marshall
Plan-era status quo. It was a time that found
Germans on either side of the Wall groping
to reformulate their ideas of nationhood and
identity, to redeem their sense of cultural
autonomy. Despite hostile post-war politics
of shame, division, and secrecy, this new
generation of filmmakers refused to be
subdued. Toying with new methodologies,
avant-garde aesthetic approaches, and
radical politicisation gave them scope to
redefine what constituted German cinema.
More broadly, this New German Cinema was
swept along in the Second Wave European
Peter Falk
Falk is best known as the star
of long-running TV series
Columbo. The first episode of
Columbo was directed in 1971 by
a 24-year-old Steven Spielberg.
Art Cinema movement that moodily turned
its nose up at old-world Hollywood in the
1960s and ‘70s. New German Cinema looked
unflinchingly at the state of contemporary
West Germany, how it was haunted by ghosts
of the Nazi and Weimar eras and bloated by
capitalist prosperity during the Wirtschaftswunder
of the 1950s. With their Oberhausen
Manifesto in hand, provocateur directors like
Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Alexander Kluge,
Werner Herzog, and Wim Wenders were ambitious,
artistic, and determined to disrupt
the commercial traditionalism that they saw
ruling German-made cinema. (Fassbinder’s
Berlin Alexanderplatz is a 940-minute-long
modernist epic that definitely wasn’t made
with marketability in mind.)
Wings of Desire arrived at the tail-end of
the New German Cinema years, which were
already winding down in the early ‘80s. The
director had been living in New York City
for much of the decade, watching as Soho
began its evolution from artist haunt to
gentrification ground zero. His films of this
period in the early and mid-‘80s were Americana
film noir, tinged with nostalgia and
sentimentalism. But a lack of commercial
success left auteur directors like Wenders
with little choice but to rely on subsidies for
the financing of their projects, or to look further
afield for low-budget options. The latter
was the circumstance that led to the making
of Wings of Desire. Not having released a
film since Paris, Texas in 1984, Wenders’
production company, Road Movies, was
stagnating and needed to generate a new
flow of capital in order to push forward with
other projects. Necessity breeds invention;
Wenders started to consider alternatives.
The Wim Wenders Foundation calls
Wings of Desire the director’s “Heimkehr”
– his homecoming, a reference to the fact
that he had been in the US for eight years.
In a 1993 interview, Wenders admitted that
40 Issue Five

Wings of Desire
Signpost
the choice to film a movie in Berlin was spontaneous – a
B-movie project on a limited budget without a fixed narrative
structure or a finished script. But of all the places for
a prodigal son to stage an unplanned homecoming, Berlin
lent itself particularly well. The twilight years of the Cold
War were casting their unflattering light on the city, a place
emotionally and geographically abandoned, with grit to
spare. As a backdrop to the existential longing of Damiel,
the guardian angel who yearns to become a man, Berlin
is an “after-the-apocalypse city,” according to film critic
Pauline Kael. She reviewed the film in 1988, writing that
the environment’s “ugliness is almost abstract,” and chafing
at the pace of the movie, which seems to force viewers
into “experiencing the psychic craving of the Berliners as
they drift through their days, searching to be whole again.”
With the fall of the Wall awaiting in November 1989, we
can now savour the irony of this search for completeness.
Spontaneous shooting location or not, the city’s disaffection
became another thematic red thread, providing a
perfectly existentialist mise en scene for Damiel’s quest.
Upon release, the movie was an immediate commercial
and artistic success. Wenders was feted at the Cannes Film
Festival that year, and awarded Best Director, which kicked off
a string of nominations and wins on the awards circuit in Europe
and, to a lesser extent, farther afield. He also returned to
Berlin to shoot a post-reunification sequel to Wings of Desire
in 1993 called Faraway, So Close!
Wings of Desire is sometimes categorised as romantic fantasy,
a modern fairy tale. The fascination with this elemental
film lives on among German Studies scholars and cinephiles;
Wenders was awarded an Honorary Golden Bear at the 2015
Berlinale for his impressive body of work, of which Wings of
Desire remains a seminal achievement. For Berliners today,
though, one of the film’s greatest attractions is its commentary
on and visual archiving of Berlin immediately before the
end of the Cold War. Berlin is the sum of its parts, and Wings
of Desire is one of those parts. Potsdamer Platz’s reflective,
glossy commercialism is nowhere to be found here; instead
we see the forgotten wasteland that it was during the years of
the Berlin Wall. Damiel’s journey to personhood was widely
considered a political allegory advocating for the reunification
of East and West. As he yearns in the film for connection
and belonging, so too did desperate Berliners yearn in reality
for their city’s wounds to be healed. We now know how that
reading simplified the feelings of Berliners; Wenders himself
says openly that he thinks the city suffered badly during the
first years of reunification. Still, perhaps the film owes some
of its success to good timing – what could be more appealing
to the intellectual art world elite of the ‘80s than a late-New
Wave sentimental fantasy set in the very city whose political
dramatics had captured the attention of the world?
But that can’t be the whole story. Wings of Desire also
haunts simply because it is a beautiful film. Today, the film’s
greyscale cinematography and lingering high-angle shots are
a meditative escape from the overstimulation of popular entertainment.
Whether watching its tender exploration of an
imaginary Berlin at a Freiluftkino or elsewhere, it’s appealing
to study the long, achromatic views of the city and hunt for
traces of the Berlin we know today. The film’s guardian angels
did the same, watching the city’s residents for clues to what
it felt like to be a Berliner, to be human, complete with all our
pleasures and miseries. 30 years later, the search continues.
Autumn/Winter 2017
41

Point of View
Gay Sperm
SOUNDING OFF
TAKE MY GAY SPERM
A ban on gay sperm donors is
an unscientific discriminatory
convenience, writes Radio
Spätkauf’s Joel Dullroy.
LGBTQ people in Germany have finally
been given the right to marry,
but real equality is still a way off.
For example, homosexuals need not apply
at the Berlin Sperm Bank, which refuses
to take donations from men who have
sex with men (MSM, a medical catch-all
for gay and bisexual men, and those who
score higher than a 0 on the Kinsey scale).
I learned this while reading around the
topic online, after I came across a news
story about how a Berlin court gave a
sperm bank baby the right to access personal
information about their biological
father. Pity the poor bloke who had made
an anonymous donation years previously,
only to find an angsty adolescent on his
doorstep searching for genetic answers.
How much had he earned for his strain?
Just under 200 euros a month, that’s
how much. The Berlin Sperm Bank pays
80 euros a pop, and expects donors to
deposit every two weeks and maintain a
healthy lifestyle. Not bad pocket money,
especially when combined with the
savings incurred by abandoning booze
and smokes. But the Berlin Sperm Bank
website also carries a list of people who are
excluded from donating: “drug addicts,
men with frequently changing sexual
partners, homosexuals.”
As you may note, those first two categories
are behaviour-based, self-assessed
and subjective (Who is an addict? What is
frequent?), while the latter is an inherent
identity. Straight men are accepted if they
promise they’ve been good boys, and their
word is accepted as truth. Gay men, on
the other hand, are turned away no matter
how healthy, cautious, monogamous, or
even celibate they might be.
To be fair to the sperm bank, this ban
isn’t theirs. It’s a regulation based on recommendations
from the German Medical
Association. The justification is ostensibly
scientific: gay men are considered to be
at higher risk of sexual diseases. But is
this discrimination supported by fact? It’s
true that gay men have higher rates of HIV
infection than straight men. But our hetero
brethren don’t deserve a free pass. Across
Europe in 2015, 32% of new HIV infections
resulted from heterosexual sex, only a few
per cent lower than the 42% resulting from
sex between MSM (the rest were from drug
use and other causes). In some countries in
northern and eastern Europe, heterosexuals
account for the majority of new HIV
infections. I know plenty of straight men
who still think condoms are for sailors and
have never taken a HIV test, despite years
of bedding tourists from Club Der Visionaere
(a reliable spot at 4am, I’m told). If
the German Medical Association are being
consistent with those they exclude from
donating sperm, shouldn’t all Tinder users
automatically be on the blacklist?
In fact, there is little ground for concern
about contamination. The sperm bank
says it tests each and every donor and their
sample for a variety of diseases. With all this
testing, why preemptively ban anyone at all?
If any segment of the male population
has sperm to spare, it’s us gays. The real
losers are the couples seeking to get pregnant,
who are missing out on a high-quality
gene pool. I mean, the most handsome
men are always gay, at least that’s what
most women on television always say. The
sperm bank’s current straight donors are
likely to be motivated by purely financial
reasons. But gay men have an additional
interest since it might be their only shot
at biological fatherhood. Surely such evolutionarily
motivated individuals are the
ideal type for procreation.
There are ways to reduce risk and stop
gay shaming at the same time. Risk is
dependent on the individual. Rather than
banning a whole group based on their
identity, donors should be approved or
declined based on their verifiable medical
status, combined with objective questions
about behaviour that apply to straight and
gay alike, such as the number of sexual
partners and condom use.
Sperm banks could follow the lead of
the blood donation industry, which
for years had a similar gay ban. The
German Medical Association recently
changed its blood donation guidelines to
accept homosexuals who have abstained
Viktor Richardsson
from sex for 12 months. The same policy
exists in the US. That’s a start, but it’s still
punitive and unscientific. Reliable HIV
test results are possible less than three
months after exposure, and the UK will
reduce the abstinence period to three
months in early 2018 to reflect this reality.
If they can accept our blood, why not our
sperm? A spokesman for the German Medical
Association said it has been considering
a new sperm donor policy since 2016, but
they have no timeline for finishing it. The
Berlin Sperm Bank director Dr David Peet
said he would be happy to accept homosexuals
if the regulations were changed.
I’ll admit that I’m taking a purely
provocative position. I never actually
considered donating sperm until I realised
I couldn’t. I’m simply irked to discover a
‘no homosexuals allowed’ sign still hanging
on any door, particularly one in liberal,
enlightened Germany.
I can also admit that this is all a bit of a
storm in a sample cup. It’s nothing compared
to the discrimination endured by
generations of gay men before me, nor the
hatred, misery and mortal fear suffered
by gay men in 76 countries today where
homosexuality is still a crime.
While for me this is just a conceptual argument,
there may be some gay men who
genuinely wish to help couples conceive,
or who could use the money to cover the
rising cost of living in this city. For those
men, and for the principle of sweeping out
every cobweb of inequality, it’s time to end
the ban on gay sperm donors.
We could, of course, just walk into the
sperm bank and sign up with a lie about
our sexual preference. But not all of us like
to go through the back door.
42 Issue Five

In Pictures
Illustrated News
IN PICTURES
Take an at-a-glance look at some
of the summer’s biggest stories
with the LOLA illustrated news.
Jonny Tiernan
In early October Berlin was lashed by storm Xavier,
an intense low-pressure system that brought hurricane-force
winds of up to 120km to the city. An estimated
20,000 trees fell across Berlin, five people were killed,
and 18 flamingos died at Berlin Zoo. Car accidents and
the closure of the S-Bahn network caused travel chaos.
The Berlin cultural scene was divided by changes at the Volksbühne am Rosa-Luxemburg-Platz. Long-time
director Frank Castorf was replaced by Belgian Chris Dercon, the former director of London’s Tate Modern. Some
saw it as the end of a unique Berlin tradition of avant-garde repertoire theatre. Castorf left begrudgingly, and his
supporters removed the theatre’s iconic ‘OST’ sign and ‘walking wheel’ sculpture.
Others were willing to give Dercon a chance; thousands attended his debut public dance event at the former
Tempelhof Airport in September. Castorf fans seized the chance to squat the Volksbühne to demand a “collective
directorship.” They rejected a compromise and were cleared out by police after a week.
Gianmarco Bresadola
Lawyer and women’s rights campaigner Seyran Ateş
opened a liberal mosque in Moabit in June, inviting
female and LGBTQ imams to preach to mixed-gender
crowds. Housed in a former church, the Ibn-Rushd-
Goethe-Moschee teaches a contemporary interpretation
of the Qur’an. Ateş receives regular death threats and
travels with security guards.
André Puchta
Berlin’s wettest summer in recorded history affected
more than just grills and lake trips. Heavy rain sent
thousands of invasive American red crayfish scurrying
across Tiergarten, with city officials investigating their
edibility. Mosquitos replaced wasps as the summer’s
most annoying insect.
Transport Pixels
Cafés, shops and coworking spaces are the latest sites of
conflict between investors and Berliners. Unlike residents,
commercial tenants can be evicted at short notice. Community
meeting space Friedel54 in Neukölln was cleared out
by police amid protests in June. Café Filou in Kreuzberg
faced a similar fate, until its British landlord relented following
a vicious campaign of smashed windows. Agora Collective
also left its Neukölln base after a 90% rent increase.
Mark Hunt
Andrew Cannizarro
Air Berlin goes, Tegel to stay... maybe. After 39 years
of service, the airline that carried Berlin’s name
around Europe and across the Atlantic announced its
insolvency in July. Air Berlin had been losing money,
passengers and luggage for years.
On September 24th, 56.1% of Berliners voted ‘yes’ in
a referendum on whether Tegel Airport should remain
in service, although the outcome is non-binding. The
reason for both events was the same: the long-delayed
Berlin-Brandenburg International Airport, BER. It was supposed
to be Air Berlin’s growth hub and Tegel’s replacement,
but it remains unfinished with no fixed opening date.
Autumn/Winter 2017
43

Picture of Success
Andy Kassier
When was the last time you doubted
yourself? Life is always ups and downs.
It’s like the stock market.
When was the last time you were scared?
I am always scared when it gets cold, because
I really can’t live somewhere where
it’s less than 20°.
When was the last time you danced?
I don’t dance, I always sit in the middle and
people dance around me.
Who was the last person to truly surprise
you? Myself.
What was the last good joke you heard?
I am more into memes than jokes.
What was the last compliment you received?
People liked my work, and I gave a
talk about my work, and they liked the talk
about my work, which they liked.
THE LAST WORD:
ANDY KASSIER
Artist Andy Kassier’s tongue-incheek,
affluent alter ego is so
precisely crafted that it’s often
difficult to tell where one persona ends
and the other begins. Through his work,
he calls into question our own virtual alter
egos: who exactly are we when we turn
our camera on ourselves, add a filter, and
write a profound image caption?
In one photo he is at the beach sitting
shirtless astride a white horse. In another,
he’s in a hotel dressing gown, holding
a bottle of champagne. In the next he
sits naked on the peak of a snow-capped
mountain, a fur coat around his shoulders.
Tennis whites, supercars, a winning smile
– to scroll through his social media channels
is to scroll through a perfectly-manufactured
image of success.
Who was the last famous person you met?
Rafael Horzon.
What was the last thing someone said
about your work that made you laugh?
That’s never happened.
words by Marc Yates
When was the last time you laughed
at yourself? Who is this pretty guy in
the mirror?
When was the last time you did something
for the first time? Every day,
recently. Today I drove a Fiat Panda.
When was the last time you used public
transport? Is flying on an airplane public
transport? If so, like two days ago.
Where did you go on your last trip?
My whole life is a trip, I am in Italy right
now, then New York and LA, after that
maybe China, and South Africa at the
beginning of 2018.
When was the last time you laughed
at the wrong moment? Every day I laugh
about my own jokes, even when they’re
not funny.
What was the last piece of great advice
you gave to someone? I always give great
advice to others!
What was the last compliment you gave
to someone else? I think everyone should
get compliments all the time.
If you could choose your last words,
what would they be? Success was just a
smile away.
See more of Andy at andykassier.com,
and follow his travels at instagram.com/
andykassier
LAST ORDERS
Whiskey Sour
Fill a shaker with ice and add two shots
of your favourite bourbon, one shot of
fresh lemon juice and a teaspoon of
sugar. Add an egg white if you’re feeling
adventurous and shake well (if you
added the egg white, shake really well).
Pour into a chilled cocktail glass and
enjoy. Garnish with a wedge of orange,
a cherry, both, or neither.
THIS ISSUE WAS
POWERED BY…
When was the last time someone took
you too seriously? Every day on Instagram.
What was the last thing you Googled?
How to give an interview.
What was the last thing you repaired?
Some random people with my advice.
What was the last great book you read?
Rafael Horzon - Das Weisse Buch.
Puppies, Neil deGrasse Tyson, wind
power, over excitement, rain, podcasts,
concerts, going freelance, Belfast,
getting up even earlier on a Saturday,
being on tour, rediscovering techno.
44 Issue Five

YORCK-KINOABO
monthly flat rate
UNLIMITED
CINEMA
BERLIN’S LARGEST VARIETY OF
ORIGINAL LANGUAGE MOVIES
babylon kreuzberg · capitol dahlem · cinema paris
delphi filmpalast · delphi lux · kino international
filmtheater am friedrichshain · kant kino · neues off
odeon · passage · rollberg · yorck · sommerkino kulturforum
ONLY
PER MONTH
Monthly cancellation possible after
one year minimum term
jahreskarte
Im richtigen Kino
bist Du nie im falschen Film
Autumn/Winter 2017
45

Our/Espresso
Martini
RECIPE
40ml Coconut infused Vokda
(Infuse bottle of Our/Berlin
Vodka with 30g of
desiccated coconut chips)
25ml Coffee Liqueur
30ml Fresh Espresso
1 Pinch of Salt
Add all ingredients
to a cocktail shaker with Ice.
Shake vigorously for 15 seconds
and fine strain into a chilled
cocktail glass.
Garnish with desiccated
coconut chips.