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Originally published in Tutti Frutti Magazine #3 I have met Gonzo M several times. Each of these nights had an aura of mystery around them, and I can’t say that I fully understand the guy. You smoke a cigarette, you talk. You smoke another cigarette. You have talked about everything and nothing at the same time. Gonzo M and I share a bassist; meaning his bassist plays in my band as well – we don’t share him romantically, at least not yet. But Gonzo M made an album. A collection of songs from 2017 to 2024. Old and new songs somewhere in the ether of Can, the Velvet Underground and undefinable things from the 80s. Like fever dreams. The tracks are mesmerizing and abstract, they draw from past soundscapes, but they don’t feel nostalgic at all. As if they exist somewhere up there in a timeless space. The record, by the way, sells for 1000€ on Bandcamp, just in case some rich fuck reading this has some coins to spare. It starts out with Intranaut ; Gonzo M’s voice hypnotically carries us through the dark like a male version of Nico. Ugly Boys feels like a long-lost early Pink Floyd demo, written by Syd of course, not fucking David. “Drugs are no property” “Guten Morgen”, Gonzo M greets you every time you run into him. It doesn’t really matter if it’s morning, or midnight. Actually, I think I have rarely seen him by daylight. After he just finished a show in a church (yes), I come with him and we effortlessly meet a bunch of cool people in Café M, the place where Nick Cave and Blixa Bargeld used to hang out. Of course here, I think. We sit down and stop counting beers. “Drugs are no property”, he says. Here and there we get sprinkles of trumpets in our ears, and Gonzo’s voice hides behind a wall of smoke. Hallways of Always combines disco drums with chorus-heavy guitars, 26nd is rushing through its own textures and shows beauty in speed, even though it might mean nothing. When Gonzo M played at Hinterraum a few months ago, he dedicated his performance to “all of our dead musician friends”, which I found both bizarre and beautiful; and that combination of words also applies to his music. Sometimes I wish it was less jams, more composition. The musicians on this album are absurdly talented without a doubt. But there is more to uncover. I wish he wouldn’t hide. I wish Gonzo M would talk clearly at least once. I wish he would tell the truth. It sounds like the nights we had; it’s 5 a.m. and you realize you’re spending time in a bar with complete strangers Songs like Skin Two showcase an incredible drive to move forward. But I want them to ask me more. Verzichtserotik  is one of these tracks that do – a jam session peppered with nightmarish synthesizers. It sounds like the nights we had; it’s 5 a.m. and you realize you’re spending time in a bar with complete strangers. Hearing Situationist is like painting a colorful picture of that. It is meaning that lies in the textures, not in the words. I hope to uncover that meaning some day. Original page design for Tutti Frutti Magazine #3.

09/02/2024 Franz Bargmann + Immer Weiter + Laurén Maria + Gonzo M + Sniff This Originally published in Tutti Frutti Magazine #2 It has happened once again that our mundane Berlin lives have been united in a strange Punk place for cheap beers and shared cigarettes, and most importantly, otherworldly live-music from the local scene that makes you feel things you have never felt before. Finding Hinterraum can be a challenge for first-timers, the fear of getting stabbed in the courtyard is part of the experience. Once you’re inside, the venue feels homely, no dirty looks, you feel good, you chug a beer. Cool … The line-up tonight is dense and intense, first on the bill is Franz Bargmann who shakes you awake with the loudest guitar thunderstorm possible, organised chaos that transforms into thrilling ambient music. One man and the unlimited options of his pedalboards. What do you want more from an opener? Immer Weiter are a free jazz group, and with weighty drumming they wake you up from the psychedelic dream that Franz Bargmann has sent you into. Double bass makes your stomach shake. A trumpet is being used in unconventional ways. You can see the trust the 4 have in each other. You can feel their faith. You fucking love it. Another beer of course, and Laurén Maria enters the stage; one person, one laptop, and it’s a sonic nightmare, but a very enjoyable one. People are in trance with their eyes closed, while ethereal pads are being disturbed by industrial saw sounds that cut through your brain. Harsh metallic noise vs. the beauty of nature. The experimental artist shows you how close beauty and brutality are located, 2 opposites that are not quite opposite, and Hinterraum is shivering. Gonzo M enters the stage, the guy looks like a 70s heroin icon and brings a drummer and a bassist with him. People start dancing to one of their funkier tracks, until all electricity turns off for some reason and the whole of Hinterraum stands in the dark. Their drummer doesn’t really care; he is a one-of-a-kind madman and jams along to Gonzo M on the trumpet and another person who suddenly joins them on a saxophone, it’s fucking wild. You’re quite drunk and you’re kind of floating through the venue. Light and sound are back, and Sniff This start their manic set. It’s 1:30 in the morning and the avant-garde band is only getting started; their lead singer Mada Dudi is a person of many sudden movements, he climbs the light framework just in front of you, curls around on the floor and hits different instruments with a hammer. Frightening screams eject from his mouth. Fuck yeah, this is peak subculture, you think to yourself. There are synthesizers and a theremin, eclectic drums and a dancer, sweat and love. What a night. Original page design for Tutti Frutti Magazine #2.

Originally published in Tutti Frutti Magazine #3 Dead Finks have arrived in Berlin – while their last record, The Death and Resurrection of Jonathan Cowboy , has accomplished the seemingly impossible mission of making even the hottest Australian summer sound like a disturbingly cold winter night, this year’s album Eve of Ascension makes for a gratifying 9-track continuation of the two New Zealanders’ sound. But this time around: a bit more concise, produced more explosively, and channeling the same absurdist energy. The album starts without hesitation, its title track marks an instant statement of the band’s recognizable sound – fast, loud, depressed? Anaesthetised brings us onto a speed trip that isn’t about to end any time soon: structurally, this is more than punk, and rather than political implications it carries the meaning of an individual’s crisis; a dirty feeling. Melodies that the Pixies could have written The vocal tone in some of the tracks is hinting at Joe Strummer in early Clash recordings, although the Dead Finks’ tunes are more carefully crafted and executed than old-school punk – they combine dirty egg punk production with melodies that, in the case of Answer , the Pixies could have written. Shame is an absolute highlight of the record: a dusky, catchy look into an anxious mind that might just have had one bottle too much. Taking the wrong turn results in a never-ending guitar solo that digs deeper and deeper, and Joseph Thomas’ singing is born out of despair, an existential cry for help. Masking brings out facets of The Fall in their rather melodic moments, imperfect guitars and dirty tones evoke an elevated DIY feeling that sticks with us in emotional moments. Post-punk written for those on the edge Because even though Dead Finks are speaking through a façade of angry guitars and fast drum tracks, their expression is highly emotional; their melodies convey a unique rawness, anger, disappointment. It’s post-punk written for those on the edge; a highly subjective, paranoid outlook on the state of whatever they are discussing, and packed with memorable melodies in every track. Propane Tanks gives us flashbacks of the Dead Finks’ previous offering Jonathan Cowboy : the band has nailed their sound, and it’s exactly what one was craving after that album. Let’s face it, tracks like Baby and Pissing have accompanied me on meaningful U-Bahn rides late at night in the way that only local music can. Knowing that someone saw these same U-Bahn walls and went on to write a song like Baton – it’s irreplaceable. This album is an absolute gem, and probably this year’s Berlin highlight for me. Original page design for Tutti Frutti Magazine #3.

Originally published in Tutti Frutti Magazine #2 If you’ve ever been to a Grimson show, you know that the Swedish-American musician aims for grand arrangements, detail, and an indie feeling rarely seen in the Berlin scene. I’ve been a couple of times, most notably to his album release show last October, and next to the strength of Aiden Berglund’s backing band, the amount of love that went into the costumes instantly blew me away. Grimson played his full album from start to finish, in its exact order, giving away most of his guitar duties in order to deliver a vocal performance able to capture the emotional depth of his phenomenal record. Climbing Up The Chimney has been long in the making, some of the songs written as early as 10 years before their final inclusion on Grimson’s debut album. It is ultimately a depressing record, but a youthful one, located somewhere in between the loudest outrages of Radiohead and the quietest introspections of Elliott Smith – Grimson speaks to us directly, wrapping teenage truths in poetry and meticulously delivering gems like I Hate Myself Now and Never Dealt (With Anything This Hard) . Heavy electric guitars cover us completely in the hard-hitting Heavy Machine and the emotionally bending Leave It Like You Found It , always with a focus on infectious melodies. When tender beauties like Set Gently greet us in the track list, Grimson proves an incredibly versatile songwriter, who can tell intense stories in compassionate ways and express the feeling of abandonment in a unique way; in metaphors if needed: “I was a moth eating through fabrics / Crawling through attics / Drifting through traffic”. Together with the animated videos the songwriter single-handedly creates for his songs, Climbing Up The Chimney makes for a record that feels like the disillusionment of growing up and looking back on the complications of your youth. I can’t say that this album finishes on an optimistic note, but it is melancholic, incredibly authentic, and it captures the insecurities of your 20s in an exceptional and complex way. I just wish this would have come out when I was 15. Original page design for Tutti Frutti Magazine #2.

Originally published in Tutti Frutti Magazine #2 In March 2023, our beloved Loophole enlisted two incredible Berlin-based acts that I had never heard of: Dead Finks and Rope . It was one of these evenings that subtly change your life, alter your music taste and make you wonder how these fucking bands are not constantly touring Europe. That’s how good it was. Listen, Dead Finks are great. But Rope released a new album last August that we need to talk about. Simple as their name implies, Rope’s songs are based around simple melodic ideas with an incredible weight. Their guitar riffs are heavy but far from complicated, every note seems thought-through, and the sparse but drastic changes take us to unexpected places. Higher Violence is an album that doesn’t hesitate to throw us into a dark place right away. The first song is no warm welcome, and at 4 ½ minutes one of their shorter pieces. Because Rope like to take their time to tell their stories, as they do on Nightingale and Come Closer Now – with lyrics rooted in poetry, sometimes even as obvious as citing Heine: Über mein Bett erhebt sich ein Baum, Drin singt die junge Nachtigall; Sie singt von lauter Liebe, Ich hör es sogar im Traum. The record’s loud, oceanic instrumental sections are always existential. They are rooted deeply, they feel like waking up from the most intense dream you’ve ever had. “What’s in my dreams / I’m not telling you next time”, sings Kai Woolen-Lewis, the voice of a thousand cigarettes. His expression is uniquely raw, bound in unequalled despair. When the band urgently raises the tempo once in a while, they are playing for their life. Although the songs are long, there is no section too much. Everything on this record is an absolute necessity. Tracks like Neon Glow and The 36 Steps Bench Song ” even have a certain indie pop appeal that adds another facet to the band’s output. The short nostalgic Soft Talk gives us a minute to breathe, before the closer Ask Yourself Why crushes us under the burden of a static life. Fuck man. It’s so dark it makes you wanna scream, with just as much crispiness in your voice. Rope are fucking incredible and you should go see them live as soon as you can. Original page design for Tutti Frutti Magazine #2.

English version below, or click here Christopher Nolan und das Unpolitische Es kann eine Menge über The Dark Knight Rises gesagt werden, über Christopher Nolan als einen politisch konservativen Filmemacher sowie über das gewollt Unpolitische, das sich durch die meisten seiner Filme zieht. Dass Nolan als einer der erfolgreichsten Regisseure des 21. Jahrhunderts und als ein „Indie-Filmemacher innerhalb des Studiosystems“, in seinen eigenen Worten, durch seine Kunst kaum je ein deutliches politisches Statement setzt, macht die politischen Implikationen in The Dark Knight Rises, und auch in der gesamten Batman-Trilogie umso interessanter. Während wir uns in seinen Meisterstücken Inception und Interstellar komplexen psychologischen und wissenschaftlichen, vor allem aber emotionalen Konzepten ausgesetzt finden, quasi bombardiert mit Ideen, die wir in der Länge des Films kaum vollständig verarbeiten können, finden sich in jenen Werken keinerlei Ausführungen der politischen Dimension des gemeinsamen Träumens oder der intergalaktischen Rettung der Menschheit. Vielmehr interessiert Nolan sich hier für die individuelle Bedeutung großer Themen. Er zeigt uns jeweils ein kleines Team an Menschen, zumeist anzugtragenden Männern, das verdeckt arbeitet und sich auf eine emotional aufreibende, die menschlichen Grenzen testende Reise begibt – im Sinne des Wohles der eigenen Kinder (Inception), oder der ganzen Menschheit (Interstellar, Tenet). Das Motiv von im Geheimen arbeitenden Personen, die eigentlich das Richtige tut, kann bereits als ein konservatives, machterhaltendes Motiv gelesen werden. Es lässt sich in genannten Filmen mal mehr und mal weniger überzeugend als Schablone anwenden, in der Batman-Trilogie allerdings sticht es kristallklar hervor. Batman als Kapitalist und Heilsbringer Batman steht in Nolans Trilogie stets für Recht und Ordnung in Zeiten, die der Staat und die Polizei nicht mehr unter Kontrolle haben. Dabei wird Batman von der Polizei ebenso als Verbrecher geahndet, zeitweise geduldet. Doch als stark erleben wir die Polizei nie, sie ist Batman immer unterlegen. Der dunkle Ritter ist dabei die moralische Autorität für den Zuschauer, einer, der sich immer aufs Neue dem Staat widersetzt, um dem Bösen Einhalt zu gebieten – und das mit der Hilfe von Militärwaffen. Batman ist in Nolans Trilogie kein Held mit übermenschlichen Kräften, denn dafür sind die Filme zu realistisch angelegt; er kann das erbringen, was die menschliche Körperkraft in der Kombination mit brutalen Waffen leisten kann. Er ist der Polizei überlegen, doch nur weil seine Waffen größer sind, sein Arsenal umfangreicher. Batman steht als Individuum über dem Gesetz und bildet gleichzeitig die moralische Identifikationsfigur für den Zuschauer – er tut im Verdeckten das Richtige und stellt zugleich einen militärverherrlichenden Helden dar; einen, der mit jedem Film immer weiter aufrüstet, um das Böse zu besiegen. Denn das Böse kann stets nur durch immer brutalere Waffen bekämpft werden, um den Status quo zu erhalten. The Dark Knight, ein meisterhaftes, wenn auch in einigen Punkten problematisches Kunstwerk, stellt Batmans körperliche wie militärische Stärke sogar gänzlich in Frage – der Joker als reiner Chaosbringer um des Chaos Willens ist ein Terrorist auf mehreren Ebenen, denn seinen eindrucksvollsten Terror vollzieht er nicht, wenn er Banken ausraubt oder Krankenhäuser sprengt, sondern wenn er Batman psychologisch terrorisiert und dieser ihm keinen vergleichbaren Schaden zufügen kann: "You have nothing. Nothing to threaten me with. Nothing to do with all your strength.“ Der Film ist meisterhaft, weil er uns zwischen den Actionsequenzen mit dieser Fragilität Batmans konfrontiert – auf moralische Kämpfe ist Batman nicht gefasst, nur auf körperliche. Vielleicht können wir das sogar als Kritik an der eigenen filmischen Inszenierung Batmans lesen. Denn der Figur Bruce Wayne / Batman liegt ein grundsätzliches Problem zugrunde: als der "Held" Gothams bekämpft er das "Böse", gemeint sind damit kriminelle Strukturen, ganz speziell die Mafia. Gothams hohe Kriminalitätsrate und das Erstarken dieser Strukturen wiederum lassen sich auf seine soziale Ungleichheit und wirtschaftliche Schwäche zurückführen; ein kapitalistisches System, an dessen Spitze Bruce Wayne selbst sitzt. Anstatt sein Milliardenvermögen auf die Lösung dieser Probleme anzulegen, lebt er im absoluten Wohlstand und hat es lediglich auf die Bekämpfung von Symptomen abgesehen - Batmans Kampf ist einer, der immer wieder nur die Auswüchse seiner eigenen Privilegien eindämmt. Seine ganze Geschichte entspinnt sich um soziale Probleme, deren Lösung eine gerechtere Verteilung von Kapital wäre - eine These, von dessen Gegenteil The Dark Knight Rises uns zweieinhalb Stunden lang überzeugen möchte. Bane als kommunistischer Anarchist Zu Beginn des Films lebt Bruce Wayne nach seiner heldenhaften Aufopferung für die Erhaltung der Stadt zurückgezogen. Er ist körperlich schwach, hat seinen Glauben an Batman als Zeichen für "Gerechtigkeit" verloren, und erst als Banes Terror in Gotham beginnt, fühlt er sich zu einer Rückkehr verpflichtet. Doch Bane ist ihm körperlich haushoch überlegen, schickt ihn augenblicklich ins Exil, und zieht Gotham in seine Gewalt, um einen neuen Staat aufzuziehen. Bane ist dabei eine Figur, die Kommunist und Anarchist gleichzeitig verkörpert, ein motivationsloses Wesen, das die Bourgeoisie stürmt und vor revolutionär-sowjetisch anmutende Tribunale zieht; Bane ruft einen Kommunismus aus, der eigentlich gar keiner ist, und den auch die exzeptionell schwach geschriebene Catwoman nicht bejahen kann – zu Beginn stellt sie noch eine Art Robin Hood dar und stiehlt von Wayne. Doch sobald Bane seinen Scheinkommunismus aufgezogen hat, wollen alle die alte Ordnung wiederherstellen, denn das neue System bedeutet zwangsläufig das Verkommen für Gotham: Obdachlosigkeit und eine gekappte Stromversorgung - mit Banes Privatarmee, die das Ganze kontrolliert. Catwomans Irrwege und Banes Atombombe Die alte Ordnung wiederherzustellen, heißt hier beispielsweise, Bruce Wayne sein durch Banes Wall-Street-Streich verlorenes Vermögen wiederzubringen. In einer beispielhaften Szene in der Mitte des Films besucht Bruce Wayne Selina a.k.a. Catwoman in ihrer Wohnung – sie lebt in einem Apartment, dass sie als Teil der finanziellen Unterschicht darstellen soll – wo sie Wayne gesteht, es tue ihr leid, dass er seine Milliarden verloren hätte. Sie zieht damit ihrem eigenen Charakter den Boden unter Füßen weg – einer Figur, die Bruce Wayne bei einer bourgeoisen Feier zuvor noch ins Ohr flüsterte, er solle doch seinen verschwenderischen Lebensstil überdenken. Das Chaos in Gotham bricht genau dann an, als Bruce Wayne sein Vermögen und damit seine Macht verliert. Die Vergesellschaftung des privaten Eigentums durch Bane bedeutet Chaos. Selina, in irgendeiner Wohnung stehend, sagt: „This was someone’s home.“ Ihre Freundin Jen darauf: „Now it’s everyone’s home. […] This is what you wanted.“ Selina: „No. It’s what I thought I wanted.“ Selina als Revolutionärin wird im Angesicht von Banes Kommunismus vollständig entmündigt; die Ideen aus ihrer heruntergekommenen Mietwohnung sind für die Katz. Gleichzeitig stellt Banes Kommunismus einen Parasiten dar, der von außen eingedrungen ist und den eigentlich niemand mit ihm umsetzen will. Einer, der nur schadet. Mark Fisher beschreibt das treffend im Guardian: „Bane talks about returning Gotham to ‚the people‘, and liberating the city from its ‚oppressors‘. But the people have no agency in the film. Despite Gotham’s endemic poverty and homelessness, there is no organised action against capital until Bane arrives.“ Mark Fisher: "Batman's political right turn" In völlig übertriebenem Ausmaß wird eine Atombombe als zentrales Handlungselement in den Film eingeführt. Bane reißt Bruce Waynes geheime atomare Energiequelle an sich und baut sie zu einer Waffe um, mit der er jedem droht, der seine Pläne zu verhindern versucht. In der Rolle des sowjetischen-kommunistischen Unterdrückers, der die amerikanische Bevölkerung jederzeit mit seiner atomaren Sprengkraft auslöschen könnte, stellt Bane das ultimativ Böse dar, das schließlich nur vom patriotischen Batman bekämpft werden kann. Der Twist: das Ganze ist ein Spiel auf Zeit, denn Banes Waffe ist eine Zeitbombe, die nach einigen Wochen ganz von allein in die Luft geht. Banes Kommunismus endet sowieso im atomaren Holocaust, und der nötige militärische Eingriff in seine Dystopie stellt deshalb eine absolute Notwendigkeit dar. Das antikapitalistische System ist hier eines, das im kollektiven Tod enden muss. Gotham als Sinnbild Amerikas Bruce Wayne muss sich aus seinem von Bane angeordneten Exil befreien, um als Batman zurückkehren und Gotham retten zu können. Er wird als Milliardär enteignet und in ein Gefängnis gebracht, nur um sich durch eigene Stärke wieder erheben zu können. Er lebt den amerikanischen Traum - durch bloße Willenskraft entflieht er seinem Käfig und rettet die Welt. Seine Abwesenheit bedeutet Chaos, seine Schwäche ist der Untergang, und seine Rückkehr bedeutet die Wiederherstellung der kapitalistischen Ordnung. Es stellt sich die Frage, was Bruce Wayne überhaupt noch an Gotham hält: schließlich lebt er seit Jahren zurückgezogen, die Stadt hat ihm nichts als Leid gebracht, und für einen Großteil des Films will er gar nicht mehr Batman sein. Sein Butler Alfred sagt zu Beginn: „I never wanted you to come back to Gotham. I knew there was nothing there for you but pain and tragedy […].“ Warum also schert er sich so um Gotham, dass ihm der Tod in Banes Gefängnis nicht mehr egal ist – dass er seine Wirbel wieder einrenkt und den eigenen Körper trainiert, um schließlich unter extremen Bedingungen auszubrechen? Der Film liefert keine Antwort darauf, sodass wir uns Gotham einzig als Symbol für die USA als Ganzes vorstellen müssen. Batman ist bereit, für Gotham, also sein Land zu kämpfen, und ebenso dafür zu sterben. Schließlich rettet dieser absolut selbstlose Patriotismus die Stadt – und eigentlich auch ganz Amerika. Some thoughts on the ideology in 'The Dark Knight Rises' Christopher Nolan and the apolitical A lot can be said about The Dark Knight Rises, about Christopher Nolan as a politically conservative filmmaker, and about the deliberate apolitical nature that runs through most of his films. That Nolan, as one of the most successful directors of the 21st century and an "indie filmmaker within the studio system", in his own words, hardly ever shows clear political intention through his art, makes the political implications in The Dark Knight Rises, and indeed the entire Batman trilogy, all the more interesting. While in his masterpieces Inception and Interstellar we find ourselves exposed to complex psychological and scientific, but above all emotional concepts, virtually bombarded with ideas that we can hardly fully process in the length of the film, in those works there is no mention of the political dimension of dreaming together or the intergalactic salvation of humanity. Instead, Nolan is interested in the individual significance of major themes. In each case, he shows us a small team of people, mostly men in suits, working undercover and embarking on an emotionally grueling journey that tests human limits - for the sake of their own children (Inception) or the whole of humanity (Interstellar, Tenet). The motif of people working in secret who are actually doing the right thing can already be read as a conservative, power-preserving motif. It can sometimes be used more and sometimes less convincingly as a template in the aforementioned films, but in the Batman trilogy it stands out crystal clear. Batman as capitalist and savior In Nolan's trilogy, Batman always stands for law and order in times when the state and the police are no longer in control. Batman is also punished by the police as a criminal, at times tolerated. But we never see the police as strong, they are always inferior to Batman. The Dark Knight is the moral authority for the viewer, someone who constantly defies the state in order to put a stop to evil - and does so with the help of military weapons. In Nolan's trilogy, Batman is not a hero with superhuman strength, because the films are too realistic for that; but he can do what human physical strength can do in combination with brutal weapons. He is superior to the police, but only because his weapons are bigger and his arsenal more extensive. As an individual, Batman stands above the law and at the same time forms the moral identification figure for the viewer - he does the right thing undercover and at the same time represents a military-glorifying hero; one who arms himself more and more with each film in order to defeat evil. Because evil can only ever be fought with ever more brutal weapons in order to maintain the status quo. The Dark Knight, a masterful, albeit in some respects problematic work of art, even questions Batman's physical and military strength entirely - the Joker as a pure bringer of chaos for the sake of chaos is a terrorist on several levels, because his most impressive terror is not when he robs banks or blows up hospitals, but when he terrorizes Batman psychologically and the latter is unable to inflict comparable damage on him: "You have nothing. Nothing to threaten me with. Nothing to do with all your strength." The movie is masterful because it confronts us with Batman's fragility between the action sequences - Batman is not prepared for moral battles, only physical ones. Perhaps we can even read this as a criticism of Batman's own cinematic staging. Because the character of Bruce Wayne / Batman is based on a fundamental problem: as the "hero" of Gotham, he fights "evil", meaning criminal structures, especially the mafia. Gotham's high crime rate and the strengthening of these structures can in turn be traced back to its social inequality and economic weakness; a capitalist system at the top of which sits Bruce Wayne himself. Instead of investing his billion-dollar fortune in solving these problems, he lives in absolute prosperity and is only interested in fighting the symptoms - Batman's fight is one that only ever curbs the excesses of his own privileges. His entire story revolves around social problems, the solution to which would be a fairer distribution of capital - a thesis that The Dark Knight Rises now spends two and a half hours trying to convince us of the opposite. Bane as a communist anarchist At the beginning of the movie, Bruce Wayne lives a reclusive life after his heroic sacrifice to preserve the city. He is physically weak, has lost his faith in Batman as a symbol of "justice", and only when Bane's terror begins in Gotham does he feel compelled to return. But Bane is physically superior to him, sends him into exile immediately, and takes control of Gotham in order to raise a new state. Bane is a character who embodies both a communist and an anarchist, a motiveless being who storms the bourgeoisie and drags them before revolutionary Soviet-style tribunals; Bane proclaims a communism that isn't really a communism at all, and which even the exceptionally weakly written Catwoman cannot affirm - at the beginning she still represents a kind of Robin Hood and steals from Wayne. But as soon as Bane has set up his pseudo-communism, everyone wants to restore the old order, because the new system inevitably means decay for Gotham: homelessness and a cut power supply - with Bane's private army controlling the city. Catwoman's aberrations and Bane's atomic bomb Restoring the old order here means, for example, restoring Bruce Wayne's fortune lost through Bane's Wall Street heist. In an exemplary scene in the middle of the film, Bruce Wayne visits Selina a.k.a. Catwoman in her apartment - she lives in an apartment that is supposed to represent her as part of the financial underclass - where she confesses to Wayne that she is sorry that he has lost his billions. In doing so, she undoes everything that has defined her as a person up until this point - a character who whispered in Bruce Wayne's ear at a party beforehand that he should reconsider his lavish lifestyle. Chaos breaks out in Gotham just as Bruce Wayne loses his fortune and thus his power. The socialization of private property by Bane means chaos. Selina, standing in some apartment, says: "This was someone's home." Her friend Jen responds: "Now it's everyone's home. [...] This is what you wanted." Selina: "No. It's what I thought I wanted." Selina as a revolutionary is completely incapacitated in the face of Bane's communism; the ideas from her run-down rented apartment are for nothing. At the same time, Bane's communism represents a parasite that has invaded from the outside and that nobody actually wants to implement with him. One that only does harm. Mark Fisher describes this aptly in the Guardian: "Bane talks about returning Gotham to 'the people', and liberating the city from its 'oppressors'. But the people have no agency in the film. Despite Gotham's endemic poverty and homelessness, there is no organized action against capital until Bane arrives." Mark Fisher: "Batman's political right turn" A nuclear bomb is introduced as a central plot element in the film on a completely exaggerated scale. Bane seizes Bruce Wayne's secret atomic energy source and converts it into a weapon with which he threatens anyone who tries to stop his plans. In the role of the Soviet communist oppressor who could wipe out the American population at any time with his nuclear explosive power, Bane represents the ultimate evil that can ultimately only be fought by the patriotic Batman. The plot twist: the whole thing is a game of time, because Bane's weapon is a time bomb that blows up all by itself after a few weeks. Bane's communism ends in a nuclear holocaust anyway, and the necessary military intervention in his dystopia is therefore an absolute necessity. The anti-capitalist system here is one that must end in collective death. Gotham as a symbol of America Bruce Wayne must free himself from his exile ordered by Bane in order to return as Batman and save Gotham. He is expropriated as a billionaire and sent to prison, only to be able to rise again through his own strength. He lives the American dream - by sheer force of will he escapes his cage and saves the world. His absence means chaos, his weakness is downfall, and his return means the restoration of capitalist order. The question arises as to what keeps Bruce Wayne in Gotham: after all, he has been living in seclusion for years, the city has brought him nothing but suffering, and for a large part of the movie he no longer wants to be Batman. His butler Alfred says at the beginning: "I never wanted you to come back to Gotham. I knew there was nothing there for you but pain and tragedy [...]." So why does he care so much about Gotham that he sets his vertebrae back into place and trains his own body to finally break out under extreme conditions? The movie doesn't provide an answer, so we have to think of Gotham solely as a symbol for the USA as a whole. Batman is prepared to fight for Gotham, i.e. his country, and also to die for it. Ultimately, this absolutely selfless patriotism saves the whole of the city - and in fact the whole of America.

Some may know him as the voice of Berlin-based Indie band The Usual Boys, performing raw takes on modern adolescence in dusky clubs around the city. Now, Aleksi Oksanen has released his first solo single ‘Over Over,’ and it takes us from the sweaty stage directly into his bedroom, where he calms down, exchanges the beer for a tea, and introduces us to a more intimate side of his. The song greets us with sampled drums, a laid-back bass melody and a tape-y guitar in the likes of Mac DeMarco, until Oksanen’s subtly distorted voice gently takes us down into a tale of melancholy. At this point, he has trapped us in his reel-to-reel and wraps us into layers of a warm tape sound as good as it can get. The chorus can barely be called an outburst, even though we can feel the nostalgic longing for something that is indeed over, recalling a person who is causing him numbness rather than anger. Its effortless catchiness glues it all together and creates an aura that makes us yearn for something more. ‘Over Over’ is pure pop, and it doesn’t pretend to be more than that. It excellently expresses what only pop can express, and within that framework, everything is balanced out perfectly when Oksanen’s voice seems to disappear behind a wall and then immediately bounces back into the forefront to take over the chorus for the third time. By now, he has planted a melody in our heads that will stay for long after listening. Although I wouldn’t mind listening again. And again …

Unapologetically honest – this is what first came to my mind listening to Samantha Josephine. The New Zealand artist self-produces music that is marked by spontaneity, revealing child-like qualities that a lot of artists in this age are yearning for. A pure, uncensored expression of the subconscious, Samantha Josephine’s songs are the soundtrack to waking up early, inhaling the odour of a freshly-brewed coffee and realising that you need to change your life. However, her lyrics are anything but clear. Her song ‘Morning Light Comes’ starts out with a mysterious sequence of words that seem to be loosely connected to its main theme, and still, she manages to drag us into her meditative thought process in the form of associative writing. Without much hesitation, she starts to vocally perform her flow of consciousness, and stops exactly when everything is said. No song is too long, no melody exuberant. That’s why not a single track on her debut album ‘Feeling in the Strange’ feels dispensable, but rather like a careful selection of heartfelt compositions. I don't know when it happened exactly, but I realized the writing wasn't up to me. At least in a conscious way. - Samantha Josephine ‘I Had a Best Friend,’ one of my favourite songs, replicates the aura of a lost Velvet Underground recording, and so she tends to draw inspiration from the poetic chaos of the sixties; always intrigued, but reserved; being a spectator, carefully listening, taking note of every little movement. While in ‘Feeling in the Strange’ she seems to fight against her own voice, ‘For So Long’ brings us familiar rock’n’roll and could be a stripped-down version of an early Lou Reed track. Stating that she records all of her works in the moment “when the song comes out,” the inner works of Samantha Josephine’s craft seem to remain almost as mysterious to the listener as they are for her; and so even more edgy songs like ‘Fly Bird Fly,’ from her EP of the same name, allow us to take a look into her colourful imagination, where meaning is discovered rather than intentionally created. It seemed like for me the magic happened when I wasn't paying attention. - Samantha Josephine Especially works like the confusingly titled ‘I Had Been Her Skin’ reveal an intimacy that is hard to replicate in a different setting other than Samantha Josephine’s own four walls, in the exact moment of the recording. Her fluctuating rhythm patterns and small slip-ups are cultivating an unpolished authenticity that she is carrying throughout and can be heard as well in her latest album ‘The Finished Touch,’ where she added drums to her collection of mystic narratives, taking the already existing songs to a more upbeat level. Watching her incredible ‘Behind the Scenes’ video series about her first album, we get the impression that she is creating her own world – centred around her music-making, but also allowing us to visually enter her living room, making us envision her writing process, her way of thinking. Her little world holds so much potential for us to get carried away – nothing is definite, but everything is fantastically unique.

Nathaniel J. Forrester’s 2019 album ‘Weirdos Dance In Dark Places’ starts out with a melody that sounds like it’s sampled from the alarm sound of an iPhone. Weirdly enough, it makes perfect musical sense, breaking out into the everyday existential pop-crisis that leads us through the whole album: “Am I lost in space or a mouse in a pharmaceutical rat race?” We are introduced to nostalgic synth basses, drum machines, electric guitars played on the edge of the bed with the 4-track running. Simplicity is key, and also a melodic necessity, as Forrester’s instruments float together so neatly that his child-like and often instantly memorable melodies make the central theme for the songs. At times we are thrown back to the 80's records by The Cleaners From Venus, as Forrester seems to have the very same dedication for quick and spontaneous pop ideas, while also having developed the lyrical sensibility of an outcast: “I've heard there's a world outside / The border of our kitchen blinds.” His composition ‘King of Wasterland’ dives even deeper into that, as it’s exploring the anxious awkwardness of being at a party and having nothing to talk about, about getting drunk and the night getting later and later: “Is heaven just a prelude to a panic attack?” At the same time, the song sounds like a party itself, with resemblance to the shake-your-hips hits of early Madness. ‘Subletting’ guides us through the strange nostalgia that comes with staying in a room that is ultimately not your own – and the depersonalisation that is included. The topic goes deep for Forrester, down to his organs: “You can rent my heart and let my bladder / You can start a lease on my lungs.” His occupation being Berlin, we can often hear him incorporate his new home with some fascination yet bewildered distance. Singing about city-centre isolation, Forrester states: “The Lonely Planet Guide didn't specify the crippling feeling of isolation in this city at all.” And somehow, he manages to condense all of that into something catchy yet honest, always half-ironic, always self-aware. A true hit is the title track of the album. ‘Weirdos Dance In Dark Places’ is an anthem for the outcasts at the party, the ones who love to fantasise and awkwardly tap their feet on the side of the main happening. It clearly is an outstanding one-man pop music effort. One single and two EPs down the line, Nathaniel J. Forrester’s songs still own their respective catchiness, and also have improved in their production. His new EP ‘Wrestle Mania’ is dreamy but aware, absurd but grounded, playful but reserved at times; somewhere in “The desert landscape / Of Bandcamp plays.” Forrester’s sound is always pop. Curious lyrics meet the catchiness of an 80's bedroom – and even though we may be too shy, we feel like dancing. nathanieljforrester.com

We are greeted with softly played piano notes wandering upwards like the fragile moon outside the window. This is a night song, or a day song that awaits the night, and after the playful, almost improvised-sounding hello, we are introduced to the most gently played 6/8 chords a piano can create, wherefore the immersive width of this well-made stereo recording shines bright into our ears like the evening sun. Rhythmically, we feel like moving forward, moving through the middle of a busy crowd, unnoticed. When fitzrovia starts singing the lines of the first verse, it happens so naturally that for a moment it seems like we can’t even separate her from the accompanying instrument as she is blending into it. Her first words indicate a sense of self-doubt and set the mood for the rest of the composition: “Steady December / Made me a pretender”. The song starts to fully bloom in the chorus, when fitzrovia diagnoses: “Maybe I’m stuck in a reverie”. Her calming performance makes us understand, but it also functions as a reassurance for anyone who might find themselves stuck, unable to escape daydreaming, and doubting its rightness. fitzrovia’s lyrics are a poetic meditation on the microcosm in one’s head, and the fear of losing yourself in it – at the very same time, it embodies a shy celebration of mentioned microcosm; the feeling of security that comes with going back to a familiar place, not having to face so-called normality for some time. Her piano-playing resembles the sensibility of Debussy’s 'Rêverie', while her vocal performance ranges from early shyness to a more brave storytelling once we enter the second verse and the following chorus. Listening all the way through her composition pays off, as fitzrovia seems to open up more the longer we listen to her words, transforming the song into a late-night conversation with someone we just got closer to. 'reverie' is an intimate confession, and as the last piano notes decay, it ultimately leaves us with the feeling of having made a friend.