Der Chicken-Squawk

Auf der MDC LP Millions of Damn Christians befindet sich ein Song, der Chicken Squawk heißt. Die Thematik Landleben und Leben auf Bauernhöfen wurde bereits von einigen Punk-Bands aufgegriffen, so auch von Chaos UK mit dem Song Farmyard Boogie oder UK Subs mit Down on the Farm. Doch beim Chicken Squawk von MDC handelte es sich streng genommen sogar um einen Tanz. Das konnten wir noch nicht erahnen, als wir den Song Chicken Squawk zum ersten Mal hörten. Das Interessante an dem Song ist, dass er nicht nur einen erzählerischen Text hat, sondern auch einen Refrain, bei dem die Geräusche eines Huhnes imitiert werden, und zwar bog, bog, bog, bog, bog, bog, bog. Dies Hühnergegacker verlief im Rhythmus der Musik mit einer eigenen Melodie, die sehr einprägsam war. Noch hatte wir MDC noch nicht live gesehen und konnten noch nicht einschätzen, was es mit dem Chicken Squawk auf sich hatte. Als MDC schließlich das erste Mal in Kiel, in der Alten Meierei spielten, stand schlussendlich der Song Chicken Squawk auf der Playlist. Erst jetzt erkannten wir, dass sich hinter dem Chicken Squawk ein Tanz verbarg, bei dem der Sänger Dave Dictor extra von der Bühne stieg und im Publikum den Chicken Squawk vollführte, während er das Mikro in der linken Hand hielt. Er ging für den Chicken Squawk extra in die Hocke, bewegte sich im Krebsgang und hielt sich die rechte Hand über den Kopf mit auseinandergespreizten Fingern, die er so hielt, als hätte er einen Hahnenkamm. Während er sich jetzt so bewegte, ein Huhn imitierend, sang er die ganze Zeit das bog, bog, bog, bog, bog, bog wie ein verrücktes Hühnchen im Rhythmus der Musik in der Chicken Squawk Refrain-Melodie. Währenddessen standen seine Bandkollegen auf der Bühne und spielten ihre Instrumente im Hardcore-Style. Jetzt war der Chicken Squawk auch in Kiel angekommen. In Zukunft kamen wir bei Trinkgelagen immer wieder auf den Chicken Squawk zu sprechen. In Extremfällen wurde er spontan imitiert, und das nicht nur aus Spaß an der Freud, sondern auch zu Illustrationszwecken und nicht nur wenn MDC lief. Ich kann mich an eine Situation im Kommunalen Kino in der Pumpe erinnern, als wir uns mit vier oder fünf Leuten einen Film ansahen. Mit dabei war der Drummer der damaligen Schulband der Gesamtschule, der leicht einen in der Krone hatte. Wie aus dem Nichts fing er plötzlich mit einem Chicken Squawk an, während der Film bereits lief und alle Kinobesucher sich voll auf den Film konzentrierten. Niemand wusste, weshalb der Drummer jetzt auf einmal den Chicken Squawk assoziierte und für bestimmt fünf Minuten im Kino das bog, bog, bog brachte, bis wir Angst um seine Psyche bekamen. Spätestens nach einer halben Minute war das hochnotpeinlich, doch niemand traute sich zu intervenieren, denn der Drummer war übergeschnappt. Während des Chicken Squawks blieb er auf dem Kino-Stuhl sitzen und bewegte sich wie ein Hühnchen, zuckte mit dem Kopf und tanzte mit den Ellenbogen. Irgendwann war er duch mit seinem Sitting Chicken Squawk und konzentrierte sich wieder auf den Film, umklammerte dabei sein Bier. Da hatten wir schon alle wieder Bauchschmerzen, und waren froh, dass dieser spontane Chicken Squawk vorüber war. Wir hatten schon die Befürchtung, dass es ein Hausverbot geben oder es zu Handgreiflichkeiten kommen könnte. Wir nahmen diesen Chicken Squawk zur Kenntnis und sahen uns den Film in Ruhe zu Ende an. Grundsätzlich ist der Chicken Squawk ein Ausdruck guter Laune. Doch wer weiß, was passiert wäre, wenn die Schergen eingegriffen hätten, um den Chicken Squawk zu unterbinden. Deshalb ist der Chicken Squawk auch ein Politikum, das nur wohl bedacht eingesetzt werden sollte. Ergo ist der Chicken Squawk ein Kulturgut und eine Waffe zugleich. Er ist ein kultureller Import aus den USA, der weltweit in jedem Land verstanden wird, denn überall auf der Welt gibt es Hühner, die, wenn sie geärgert werden, selbst einen Chicken Squawk vollführen. Daher ist der Tanz ein Anthropomorphismus.

 

 

This is a video of my action reading at Kulturforum, City Centre Library Kiel in 2018. We shot several short videos on different days, some in German, some in English. I just had the first parts of my punk story PSEUDO translated into English as the exhibition "Are You Satisfied?" opened its gates for visitors for the very first time. The cops in the background are puppets in the older green riot police uniforms. They've gote a small motor implemented which makes their heads turn. The green uniforms were already abolished in Germany in the 2000s and substituted by blue ones. I'm reading an excerpt of the chapter "My First Chaos Days" about the great punk riots in Hanover in 1983.

 

 

 Thanks for watching.

 

😎👊

Excursion to Hafenstrasse

 

   

 

Chapter: Excursion to Hafenstrasse
(More Pseudo, p. 216 - p. 219)

    Once Ringo was living in Altona, we finally had a platform in Hamburg for concert visits. We went to Hamburg in the afternoon, either by train or hitchhiking, and the following afternoon we went back to Kiel. On the way back, we usually stood at the Volkspark stop in Stellingen just before the on-ramp to the A7 trying to thumb a ride. I stood here probably 20 times for hitchhiking, even when I came from Berlin and had to take a detour via Hamburg.
We dropped off our clothes at Ringo's flat and set off. The first way led us early Saturday afternoon to the district Schanzenviertel, where we strolled up and down Schulterblatt Street past the venue Flora. We knew that there were more and more riots with the police at the Schulterblatt, because they intended to demolish large parts of the Flora. The building was already cordoned off by a construction fence. But that afternoon, everything seemed peaceful, as if at Easter rest. There it was hardly imaginable that here at other times punk riots broke loose and bottles flew. The feeling was like back in 1983 at the Chaostage Hannover, like the calm before the storm in the shopping street Passerelle. We had really chosen the most beautiful day.

  The next excursion that afternoon was to Hafenstrasse, where events were taking place all day, especially concerts in an in-house pub. The Hafenstrasse squatter scene was increasingly causing a furor and was regularly quoted in the newspapers and on television, recently even with its own press spokesman. This was revolutionary. Ringo, as a new Hamburger, was our tour guide and scout. He was already well acquainted with the public transportation system and was familiar with some secret routes. And suddenly we were standing in front of the squatted houses of the Hafenstrasse, which we otherwise only knew from the media, even though there were almost only negative reports about this place. We saw the colorful facades. We saw banners. We saw a pirate flag. We saw the celebrating mob. We saw lots of swashbuckling guys, as if Klaus Störtebeker and his 150 men were meeting, plus Hamburg punk girls with punk T-shirts and studded bracelets. The left-wing creative scene was partying and talking in a dialect we were familiar with. In Good Old Hamburg, they chatted just as broadly as we did in Good Old Kiel. 

When we entered the pub, the place was already packed. The mob in front of the stage was moving in waves like the roaring sea that was sloshing into all corners of the pub. As onlookers in the back rows, we soon got moving just like the local mob. But the people had clearly longer hair than in Kiel, many wore muscle shirts and had beards Jan-Hein-Klaas-and-Pit-style. Of course, there were also rows and rows of real punks. Ringo had announced the band to us as a Ramones-imitation. Later he corrected himself and said that it was rather Blaggers ITA who played there. Blaggers ITA really didn't play in Ramones style. We watched the hustle and bustle in the pub for about half an hour until we looked for a place outside. Hecker got us some beer. We made ourselves comfortable with the beers and discussed our first impressions with a buzzing in our ears. We enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere and the beautiful weather, but were still a little shy. No one knew where the journey with the Hafenstrasse scene should lead in the long run. In any case, the strong Hafenstrasse mob gave us a lot of respect. For us Kiel-fishheads, these occupied houses were definitely something new. Everything seemed much more steadfast and biting than the Kiel squatter scene at Sophienblatt Street, which was demolished without a chance between '81 and '83 and rebelled in vain for the last time on Lehmberg Street in '87.

This big party today and the colorful fassades broadened our horizons. We were even a little intimidated by the self-confidence of the squatter mob, which in large parts was clearly older than us. We could have easily spent the whole evening here. But we had other stops on the agenda. Oi-Ringo wanted to show us his favorite bar, the Subotnik in Ottensen. So we headed out again that evening to crash at the Subotnik.
      At that time, the Subotnik was located at the corner of Erzbergerstrasse and Beetsweg. The previous pub was called Trauma. Our rings-ding-dong rang, because we knew the name Trauma from Kiel. That was the pejorative name many gave to the Traumfabrik venue at Grasweg. The Subotnik offered a new home to the political rocker scene as well as leftist and more militant punks. That was long before the Subotnik moved to Grosse Brunnenstrasse 55. Ringo told us for sure what the name Subotnik was all about, that this was what the voluntary workers were called in the USSR and the GDR. 

When we arrived at Subotnik, we immediately took the best seats at the bar and had friendly, highly intellectual conversations with the bar staff and other bar-goers. We knew that the pub had its own radio station, Radio Subotnik. This was a pirate radio station of the kind that often existed only on the high seas outside the three-mile zone, such as "Radio Caroline" in the North Sea three miles off the coast of Essex in Great Britain. In our circles, almost everyone dreamed of founding such a radio station. That's why we became particularly attentive when there was finally talk of Radio Subotnik:
      "This is our own radio station!"
      "That's awesome! Where can you receive it?"
      "You can only get it here in Hamburg!"
We were told the exact megahertz frequency and the times Radio Subotnik went on the air. We were already mega drunk, but I suspect that Radio Subotnik was already on in the background that evening. We discussed the programme structure and the music that was being played - punk and related, of course. The beer was running brilliantly. We didn't really feel drunk, as we were discussing and questioning attentively the whole time. 

Finally, we set off. As pissed as we were, we really wanted to go to Domenica's pub in a side street of the Reeperbahn. Ringo had done extra research to find out where Domenica's bar was located. Domenica was a former high-class prostitute and dominatrix who had long since achieved celebrity status and was even invited to talk shows on German TV. She was especially known for her enormous breasts, her straight black hair tied back in a ponytail, and a dark blush applied along the outside of her cheekbone down to her cheeks. She dressed mostly in black in dark wave SM style, always with a very wide neckline. Leather was important to her. Domenica had soon won over a large fan base across generations. The woman was at the time the most famous prostitute in the old states. Now we wanted to see Domenica live. So our little group went through half of Hamburg. We cut as far as possible the Reeperbahn. Ringo still said:
      "The guys there call themselves Koberers. They specifically chat up people to lure them into the sex clubs."
      "Oh, I can see that."
      "Don't yell at them, they'll punch you in the mouth."
We turned down a side street until Ringo suddenly called out:
      "That's Domenica's pub!"
We stood there for a moment with our eyes wide open until Ringo finally said.
      "Let's go inside. I'll go first."

We entered the small pub and the first thing we did was to see who was standing behind the cozy counter. It was not Domenica. Domenica had her day off today. Ringo asked:
      "Isn't Domenica working today at all?"
The lady behind the counter replied:
      "No, not again until next week!"    
Then we turned around and left the restaurant disappointed on the spot.

Straight Edge instead of Downfall?

"Concerts that changed lives"
 

(The European tour of Youth of Today and Lethal Aggression; concert evening on February 9, 1989 at the venue Alte Meierei Kiel)

Just now Youth of Today and Lethal Aggression were scheduled to play at the Alte Meierei. Although these two US bands went on a European tour together, a band composition for one evening could not be more contradictory. While Youth of Today were considered a straight edge band, meaning they said no to alcohol and drugs, the exact opposite was the case with Lethal Aggression. This constellation was apparently so wanted, so that this tour was discussed as controversially as possible and raised the greatest possible contradictions. So we thought. But later it turned out that there were very hard commercial reasons behind it. We also discussed intensively and came back to this concert evening even years later. The matter of Straight Edge had been on our minds for a long time, especially since Minor Threat made the topic public and we had all had alcohol problems in the past, some of which had gotten out of hand, but only marginal drug problems. Two of the clique had to go through alcohol therapy, which was only successful in one case, but still not to the hoped-for goal. After all, what good is an alcohol or drug therapy if you vegetate around unemployed or without prospects afterwards?

Now the tour organizers had thrown these two absolutely opposite bands together. Youth of Today advertised Straight Edge and propagated vegetarianism. The band reformed the Straight Edge movement. Lethal Aggression, on the other hand, understood their music not as hardcore but as drugcore. They were pretty much the opposite of Youth of Today in their approach to life. One band lived disciplined, the other let off steam, with as much partying and drug excesses as possible. In the break between the two bands, we stood puzzled outside the venue. The contrasts were now really clear to us, they were oppressive and liberating at the same time. We discussed for a few minutes in the cold in front of the main entrance of the concert hall, but we were still aggressive. We wondered why, of all things, these opposing bands were put in the same bag.The punkzine Trust called the two-band tour "the most impossible package ever." In the punkzine Kabeljau it was said: "The compilation was already quite dubious. "Almost everyone saw the topic Straight Edge differently. For some, drinking breaks were considered a straight edge phase. So according to that, you could live Straight Edge for two weeks and then start bozing again. I understood Straight Edge to mean total abstinence from alcohol and drugs. Smoking would be acceptable, and so would meat.

But others defined straight edge much more radically, so that even smoking and meat were unacceptable.
Only the topic of sex did not divide the spirits, because there all factions were allowed to give everything. Slowly but surely, the topic of straight edge became an ongoing issue, and we were dependent on these discussions. Temporarily it was all about straight edge discussions and scolding others who drank too much or used drugs. Some questions were on the agenda at every meeting: "Are you straight edge now or what?" or "Is H... still straight edge or is he drinking again?" We couldn't help but discuss. However, accusations could also be voiced from the other side. And the people who drank the most countered most radically: "Dude, do you want to convert us? Just stop preaching." "You'll isolate yourself completely if you refuse to drink." "He's sobered up beyond recognition." Lately, it was immediately noticeable when people practiced renunciation, but they were no longer so blatantly harassed and called weak men, just because they left the alcohol. After all, there was now a punk genre where alcohol didn't play a role. Whenever we talked about Straight Edge, it was in principle already too late, because soon the first one soon reached for the bottle again out of frustration with the reason: "You can't stand all this sober anyway." The concert of Youth of Today and Lethal Aggression was probably the last concert where we had something in common with our little booze clique.

After that, we argued again and again about trivialities and pretty much drifted apart. That was the time when decisions had to be made, such as refusing to join the army, do community service - yes or no, finishing school, studying, taking up a profession. It was a period of radical upheaval. Some started with alternative civilian service or studies, others failed. When finally the last one was through with his civil service, military service or whatever, we had pretty much drifted apart, just in time for the end of the 80s. For most 82s punks, straight edge was not an issue. More so for people on the periphery of the punk scene who were doing something creative or playing sports. The concert was the downfall of hardcore as we knew it. It wasn't just a headbutt, it was actually a bomb that went off. The performance of these two bands was my hardest Meierei concert to date, although we had experienced quite a bit there. Also in Hamburg in places like Fabrik, Markthalle, Molotow or Knopf's Music Hall nothing comes for free. We were never again to discuss a concert evening so intensively in the run-up to and in the aftermath of a concert. Because finally the topics of abstaining from alcohol, abstaining from drugs, straight edge, fasting, vegetarianism and healthy living were on the agenda, which was almost terra incognita for us before. Sure, there were many concerts that were unforgettable.

But this concert was about the attitude to life and the pros and cons to drugs and the yes or no to Straight Edge and a healthier life than the previous one, which couldn't go on like this anyway. However, it rang neatly in the cash register of the tour organizer and the record labels. That was the contradiction. Fortunately, most of my immediate environment was granted the mercy of the absence of serious drug addiction. We saw the junkies die like flies. We saw the drunkies brutalize and fall into disrepair. We saw people become right-wing radicals after addiction problems. We saw the super criminals take off and largely fall flat on their faces. We learned to hate the unscrupulous dealers. We learned avoid the brutalos elegantly. Soon the first ones realized that the heroes on drugs were not heroes at all. Almost everyone tried to live straight edge for a while. Some were "here a lill bit straight edge" and "there a lill bit straight edge". Others feared that Straight Edge had something to do with social isolation and loneliness and would only lead to unnecessary quarrels in drinking domains. Those who found a middle ground, i.e., stayed with little alcohol and knew their limits, seemed happy. That seemed to be a good compromise. 

But that was almost impossible and only settled down when enough negative experiences had been collected - or not - and the living conditions were stable. At that time, we didn't know of any people from the punk scene who stayed straight edge for the long term. But the genre was still comparatively young. Later a video of this tour came out, on which mysteriously only concert clips of Youth of Today were to be seen, but not of Lethal Aggression. Both bands had gone on tour with equal status. That was even more to discuss.

 

Lesung im Prinz Willy am 10.10.2023

Moin Punx,
die nächste Lesung aus meiner Punkromantrilogie steht an, und zwar am 10.10.2023 ab ca. 20 h im Prinz Willy in Kiel. Es werden Kapitel aus allen drei Punkromanen vorgelesen. Ein Schwerpunkt liegt auf den besetzten Häusern und der Drogenproblematik. Es werden auch Dias von den besetzten Häusern, dem Polizeieinsatz und dem Abriss gezeigt. 

Komm rum Jung!

                         

Nächste Lesung Lala-Festival 2023

 

Die nächste Lesung aus meiner Punk Story Trilogie PSEUDO 1 bis 3 findet am 22.7. auf dem Lala-Festival 2023 statt, am Samstag um 15 Uhr. 

 

 

Lesung JupiBar Gängeviertel Hamburg

 

Hier ein Foto meiner Lesung in der JupiBar im Gängeviertel Hamburg. Zum Ende hin war die Lesung in der JupiBar doch ganz gut besucht. Leider hatte ich vergessen, jemanden mit dem Foto-Schießen zu beauftragen. Das Foto unten habe ich wtf über Xing zugeschickt bekommen.  Die Lesung hat echt Spaß gebracht. Danke an die Crew der JupiBar. Danach gings ins Komet und in den Gun Club, ohne ein einziges Mal die f*cking Reeperbahn zu betreten.

       (JupiBar, HH, 7.7.2023)

Hier noch als Appetizer ein kurzes Kapitel aus PSEUODO 3 (PSEUDO Endstation:

 

Der stärkste Kaffee aller Zeiten?

 

Maurice wohnte mittlerweile im Garanta-Haus über der Kneipe Köm Deal. In jeder Etage des Hauses gab es eine Gemeinschaftstoilette und Dusche auf dem Flur. Die Türen wiesen beträchtliche Einbruchspuren auf, von gesplisstem Holz an den Schließzargen, locker sitzende Scharniere bis hin zu Dellen, Rissen und Löchern in den Türen. Auch bei Maurice wurde bereits mehrmals eingebrochen und die Anlage und andere Wertgegenstände herausgetragen.

      Eines Tages hielt ich mich mit Hodde P. bei Maurice auf. Viele sahen das Unglück kommen. Niemand schritt ein. Hodde P. hörte Wire ohne Ende, besaß die drei bis dato existierenden LPs “Pink Flag“, “Chairs Missing“ und “154“. Als wir plötzlich Kaffeedurst bekamen, wurde Hodde P. beauftragt, Kaffee zu kochen. Hodde P. wollte jedoch nicht irgendein Käffchen kochen, sondern einen besonders starken Kaffee. Vielleicht wollte er uns sogar mit dem Kaffee umbringen, denn er war einfach zu stark. Ich weiß nicht, wie er das anstellte. Der Filter muss für die drei Becher randvoll mit Kaffeepulver gewesen sein. Vielleicht jagte er den fertiggebrauten Kaffee sogar ein zweites Mal durch einen Filter mit frischem Kaffeepulver. Ich weiß es nicht. Jedenfalls wurde der Kaffee unfassbar stark, ja nahezu ungenießbar. Hodde P. warnte uns nicht vor. Er servierte einfach den superheißen Kaffee, und wir verbrannten uns gleich das Maul. Der Kaffee wirkte dick wie Rohöl oder eine Art Sirup und roch extrem nach Chemie.

      „Oh Alter, wie stark ist der Kaffee denn?“

      „Ich kann nicht mehr atmen.“

Jeder noch so kleine Schluck aus dem randvollen Becher war mit Schmerzen verbunden. Das Herz fing an zu rasen, sobald die Zunge mit dem Kaffee in Berührung kam. Die Papillen waren gereizt, von der Hitze und dem Coffein überfordert. Die Zunge wirkte wie betäubt und verfärbte sich. Sie verlor an Spannung und schien sich zusammenzuziehen. Die Atmung setzte kurz aus. Es war schon Körperverletzung, was Hodde uns da servierte. Es war einfach nur Hardcore. Keiner von uns Dreien schaffte es, seinen Kaffee auszutrinken, wenn überhaupt, so schaffte einer gerade die Hälfte des Bechers. Da brachte es wenig, fortwährend H-Milch nachzugießen.

      Hodde P. war nie Hardcore-Punk. Er hatte jedoch einen sehr ausgefeilten Musikgeschmack, bei dem Punk bedingt durch sein Umfeld eine große Rolle spielte. Er hing manchmal auf dem Gutti ab, war mehrmals im Clubraum der Mad Boys, die ihn sehr schätzten, weil er die Storys kannte. Wir saßen einmal bei seinen Großeltern im Keller und sahen das Joy Division Video mit derbst schlechter Bild- und Tonqualität. Er war immer dabei, wenn es einen fiktiven Pokal zu gewinnen gab, auch wenn er nicht zu den Rädelsführern gehörte. Hodde soff mit uns in der Waschhalle Knooper Weg, war mit im UCK und bei Ringos 17, als wir uns eine Massenschlägerei mit Bus- und Taxifahrern an der Bushalte ∆-Platz leisteten. Hodde P. war eine Art Minusmann und bekannt für extrem krumme Dinger, sich in einem Hotelzimmer einzuchecken, ein zwei Nächte zu bleiben, um später alle elektronischen Geräte wie Video-Player, Radio und Fernseher unbemerkt einzeln in Reisetaschen herauszutragen und später zu verticken – natürlich ohne die Hotelrechnung zu begleichen. Er war ferner bekannt für seine unermüdliche Anwendung von Penisex, eine Art Potenzsalbe, die laut Zeitschrifteninseraten und Waschzettel extreme Steherqualitäten bescheren und den Abgang hinauszögern sollte. Du sahst Penisex-Werbung auf einer Seite mit Dianetik-Werbung, Sea Monkeys, der Mann mit dem Supergehirn und dem sargförmigen Spartopf, der die Münzen mit einer Skeletthand einsammelte.

      Später kaufte ich einen Teil seiner alten Plattensammlung, die er als Kaution bei einem Fußballkollegen hinterlegt hatte. Darunter befand sich die City Baby attacked by Rats von GBH, die ich jetzt schon zum zweiten Mal erwarb, die Pissed and Proud von Peter and The Test Tube Babies, die Sick Boy GBH-Single und der erste Punk & Disorderly Sampler.

      Maurice hingegen gab sein Zimmer im Garanta-Haus erst auf, als bei ihm zum x-ten Mal eingebrochen wurde. Ergo zog er zu seinem Großvater in einen Wohnblock nahe dem Fördehochhaus. Ich vertickte Maurice noch meinen alten Hitachi-Receiver und die Boxen. Er hatte ein Faible für Einstürzende Neubauten, liebte Songs wie „Halber Mensch“, „Z.N.S.“ und „Zerstörte Zelle“. Er genoss die Musik. Maurice war einer der unzähligen Friedrichsorter, die an Heroin starben. Kurz nachdem der Großvater verstarb und Stress mit dem „Soz“ wegen der Wohnung drohte, kam er dem Amt zuvor. R.i.p.