Perhaps it was the heat of the fickle Berlin summer, or the competing attractions of trouser sponsored musical diversions, the SO36 soli party to raise cash for soundproofing the venerable venue against complaints of a noise averse neighbour was less well attended than one might have hoped. The possibility of its closure is a sad thing for both music fans, bingo players to nocturnal flea market attendees alike.
A point not lost on the musicians and DJs who contributed their services and kept the first night at Modulor Haus rockin’ till well, past dawn.
Heat induced lassistude caused our party to pitch up only in time for Texas Terri Bomb – who wanted to build a wall, then tore it down with a version of I Wanna Be Your Dog, prowling the crowd with her industrial strength punk pout and finally vamping it up from a top a cardboard box. Although their Heartbreaker’s styled punk ‘n roll is not the most original of propositions, Texas Terri has an unshakeable faith in the three chord formula which was shared by the majority of the crowd, who were happy to sing along with any Igster’s anthem to debasement.
The checklist for the perfect Berlin band traditionally includes the following: a little bit of Weimar Cabaret (as reimagined in the early 80’s), lipstick, leather and a certain Neue Deutsche Welle sado-maso frison courtesy of a dominatrix singer with the requisite hauteur. As for the third time I have seen Mona Mur and En Esch I have yet to warm up to them. I don’t know why, what they are doing is musically interesting, they have a great drummer, an undeniably powerful stage presence and Mur’s pedigree is impeccable… but it just doesn’t do it for me – maybe it’s the fact that Esch always seems to be in such a foul temper in his knee length shorts and paratrooper boots, or that his squawling, trebbly guitar sound gets a bit irritating and repetitious, that let someone in the vicinity muttering “Rammstein…”, before wandering off into the shadows.
With dawn approaching fast the crowd thinned out further, I figured it might be a good idea to grab a couple of lungfulls of air but unfortunately wasn’t paying enough attention as the front door of the venue swung closed behind me with a ominous click. We hung around for a conciliatory cigarette but luckily, just as I was about to call it a night, another couple of deserters appeared and I was able to slip back in!
A good thing to as Jesse Evans is not to be missed under any circumstances. Circling the diminished crowd in a golden elephant mask and voluminous lurex cape she took to the stage accompanied by a top notch jazz drummer, discarded the mask and blasted out a couple of riffs on her sax. The rest, in defiance of the early hour and the wearying heat, was a euphoric hi-energy set of high kicks and water thrown over the crowd culminating in the appearance of a rubber clad fetish dancer performing with a giant gold phallus (see last pic in gallery).