The gift of Poptimism.



!

I walk down my new street, my first day here, past magisterially turreted houses and the first light wisps of snow swoop down upon me.

Now, a few hours later all is white, I'm watching silent films and looking out to mountains.

The German's have a distinct advantage when it comes to the surmounting language barrier stakes. The hefty cultural predominance of english.

So, i attempt to rival them deploying their own tactics. I head on to the record shop.

Half-decent lyrically driven german music?

Frowning German: The Notwist, Barbara Morgenstern, Console, Fennesz, Lali Puna...l i s t s p i r a l s a w a y

Me: Lovely glitchy soundscapes. You got anything wordier?

Disgusted German: You'll be looking for pop, then.

Me in the listening armchair, pawing at cigarette burn holes--

First, Tocotronic - allegedly a beloved german hamburg school indie band, apparently a cheesy foursome who sing that "To me, you're 3 times as beautiful'. Next, Marlene Dietrich - yes, but i knew she was awesome.
Now to Virginia Jetzt!- Twee and an exclamation mark, cheering me on for always being there for them, even when its that teensiest bit hard. Awful production, reminiscent of one's early work on garage band. Kill me.

Eager German: We've got Neu!'s 75 release, like you asked. On vinyl.

All looks well. I see the price.

Too bad, doomed never to speak hip-kid german. Fortuitously, hip-kid german is 3/4 english anyway, even Neu! knew that. And they pioneered the exclamation mark.

More:

I arrived in Freiburg at 6 in the morning went to class, had a friend back for dinner and in between mouthfuls got a call from a forlorn twosome at the station.

Ness, Han and I then went on 3 hours uphill jaunts in the forest. We invented a points system of achievement inaugerated by me finally discovering the road.

They went to Colmar, tracking K, J and my footsteps as I diligently went to school and read Sebald's poem on the Gruenewald altar in Colmar. Ness and I later did a round of my home city where we went to jazz at my favorite underground cafe and found some new media and interactive art in the theatre across from me to waltz through. We made hardcore poses in front of KTS (the local squat) and imagined our flash photograhy setting off lefty conspiracy paranoia.

Then today we went to Basel, tried to get into see the collection of Cezanne drawings and prints but needed a guard escort, and spent the day in tea houses and on our own explosively silly attempts at art on the banks of the rhine. Green light and swiss chocolate prove a potent concoction.


Note: I ultimately went on the win the point system of achievement for being such a joyous hostess, so please come to visit me and I can recreate the hyper bliss.

List-making from a listless and tired voyager.

With Karl and Jack in Freiburg-

Making our own fun in glowing red stockings and striding though the town, heads high.

Christmas Eve-

Shaking the boughs of a frost covered black forest to make good absentee snow. Finding and surrendering holly.

The white Egon Schiele hill, four desolate trees and electric fencing.

A delightful christmas dinner spread and the best stuffing ye fashioned. A face full of leftovers

Christmas day-

Heidelberg- the freezing philsopher’s way and numbly eating cous cous looking out from where Hegel had pondered. A snap-happy Jack. Glimpsing a paint-bombed Verbindung residence from the red castle ruins.

Bratäpfel and Kate Bush.

Basel and an exhibition of erotic art on Jack’s Birthday. The beautiful modernist Basler Fondation, laying its art out in a rolling swiss landscape.

Colmar, sugary, ‚bunt’ germanic houses plopped square in France, Weihnachtsmärkte, water towers. Mathias Grünewald’s Isenheim altar met with my gob-smacked delight.

Paris:

Karl’s apartment with its view of the pulsing eifel tower, its servants quarters and its gravity defying shoes and plant boxes. Lovely house-mates to boot.

Getting into the contemporary art mueum, Louvre and Musee d’Orsay gratuit on twenty-year-old privleges. Counting down the year in Sydney in front of Bonnard.

Bringing a dazzle of Sydneyside camp to staid parisian New Years Eve festivities.

Rodin’s house, gardens, sculpture and marvellous temporary drawing exhibit. Authentic algerian in bellevue.

Ness, Hannah and Bek at the pyramid. Spending the sucessive days in the Marais in their friendly embrace. Getting parisian essentials for the German winter.

Making Galette, drinking champagne and talking german with Karl’s housemates and friends for sunday lunch.

The awful trip back. Sleeping at the station in Offenburg with the other fringe elements of society. An epiphany of Rilke in this seedy context.