Einigkeit, und Recht und Freiheit....

It is 7:00 on Saturday morning, and Berlin is providing me with proof that it is the city that never sleeps - there is a group of very drunk, very loud young men singing the German National Anthem at the top of their lungs outside my window. Now I don't hate German per se, but any time people raise their voices while speaking it I get a little uncomfortable. Also, the melody of the National Hymn has not changed since the Second World War, so that is a bit disconcerting. Oh, it is all okay you see because they use different words now (a different stanza from the same epic poem). Somehow this does not make me feel more at ease.

I found all of this out a few years ago when I was asked to sing O Canada for the festivities celebrating the reunification of Germany at the German Consulate in Vancouver. They had engaged a German opera singer who was singing with the Vancouver Opera, but he had rehearsal, so they asked me. I was reticent, but it was a job so I accepted. They then inquired if I would be so kind to sing the German National Anthem as well , and I was a little more reticent, but I had already accepted and the reception was the next day. I agreed. And then I went to the library to try to find the music and discovered that they did indeed still use the same melody as the Nazis did.

Had I known this, I probably would have declined their invitation, but it was too late and so on the appointed day I sang - pretty sure that I was going to be struck down at any minute. I wasn't, and when I was finished singing, I noticed an Israeli professor from UBC staring at me quite intently. She asked me how I could live with myself singing that particular piece. I told her that I was a music student and needed the money, and that they had kindly asked me to sing. I asked her what she was doing at a party at the German Consulate. She choked on her bratwurst and I got a beer.

I have extensive training in singing words and music that I don't identify with, or which are patently against my personal beliefs and frankly offensive to me. Most classical vocal music is ostensibly about either about Jesus or being in love with a women, and I don't really "get" either. If you are a musician, you must always try to find the deeper universal meaning of the piece you are performing, in order to communicate it to as wide an audience as possible. If you are a human being living on planet earth, you will probably have to make some sort of moral compromise in the course of your days, or find a way to rationalize your actions in a way that allows you to live with yourself. In my case, I turned these words and this melody into a prayer of sorts.... I prayed that the German nation strive for unity and righteousness and freedom - as the words of the anthem state.

I can live with that. I would not have survived the alternative.

One of the happy results of my gig at the German Consulate was meeting my friend Arvedt, who organized the whole thing. We became fast friends, and last summer I visited him in Bonn.
Arvedt is always trying to show me a rosy picture of Germany - the food, the Rhine, the trains that run on time (don't get me started). I find that very touching because he loves his country and his heritage, as he should. And I get carried away in it too, because I want to. Because I want to see the best in Germany. I want to forget.

But there is always something that brings me back to a reality I would rather not see, something that reminds me that Germany is a friend with whom I must always keep some measure of distance.

One morning, in Bonn, Arvedt and I were eating breakfast in a small café in the main town square. It was a pretty spectacular morning, and the buildings were as quaint as could be. We had just come from a bike ride down the Rhine and I was getting mentally prepared to go back to Berlin for rehearsals. On that particular day, there was a soccer match between Bonn and Cologne, which meant much excitement, and the usual crowds of drunken youth which accompany such events. I did not pay them much heed, and continued to eat. They were more an annoyance than anything else, until one of them started shouting

"Wo sind die Juden?"

And all at once, my carefully constructed picture of Germany - of kaffee und kuchen and dirndls and Bach crumbled to pieces. For this was the rallying cry of the Crusaders who massacred Jews in the Rhine valley 1000 years ago....in the exact spot where I now sat. This was proof positive that lurking beneath the surface of this carefully constructed country of basic laws and grand coalitions there still lurked something sinister. I looked at Arvedt, and he tried to explain to me that they didn't really mean Jews in the precise meaning of the word, but actually supporters of the Cologne soccer team. I don't know if he told me this to make me feel better, or to rationalize what was happening in his mind, but whatever the reason, it did not work. I started shaking and we eventually had to leave.

At that moment, I felt very sorry for Arvedt. When I think about that morning I do not think about the fear that gripped me or the disgust or the incredulity - I think about the look on Arvedt's face. For here was a good friend and a person who had spent their whole life working to be a decent and honest person - someone who would, damn it, dispel those awful stereotypes about Germans. Here was a kind man, a person who had tried in every action to be decent and fair - to be an example, to make up for the past. And it seemed as though all of that work - that picture of what it meant to be German for him - was being shattered too.

He never let me see that for long, and he never admitted to it. He told me not to worry about it. He told me to forget what happened. Let's go to the church and place flowers on Schumann's grave, he said - let's go to the Haribo factory and buy all the candy we can carry! I went along with it, not knowing what else to do, not knowing what else to say. I went along with it as much for him as for me. I went along with it because I wanted to forget what happened.

Of course I cannot forget, nor should I. If remembering - or being aware - means that my outlook is a little less rosy, so be it. If it means that I question what Germany is and what it represents for me - good and bad, that is okay too.

I can live with that. I cannot survive the alternative.

On the Move

Rosa Luxemburg, the Communist activist and writer once mused that those who don’t move don’t notice their chains. Now, you may think that I am extremely well read and that I gleaned this kernel of wisdom by reading turgid manifestoes by candle light, but I assure you this is not the case. I was at a bookstore, you see…I was lost and was desperately looking for a map because a friend had invited me for dinner and I was late…..this quote was on the page before the u-bahn map in some Berlin guide book. And it has stuck with me.

…but first more about quotes…. Using quotes makes you look far more intelligent than you really are, and I advocate the practice highly, for no sane person should ever provide another with an excuse to call them stupid.

The more obscure the quotation, the better. If the quote comes from a writer we all have heard of, but whom nobody reads, that is excellent. If the quote is in French, or comes from a French writer who we have all heard of but whom nobody reads, this is immeasurably superior: French may not be the international language of diplomacy any longer (shhh…don’t tell the French) but it has lost none of its snob appeal. Now if the quote is from the language of a marginalized people, or an oppressed minority, you have won the jackpot. If you say that you heard the quote from wizened woman (she was so amazing….she welcomed us into her home) stirring her pot of groats in the Andes…or Tibet…while you were searching for yourself and contributing to societies-in-peril, then your life’s work is done. Good for you….buy yourself an organic sustainable soy latté. You deserve it. If, however, you choose not to translate the quote from the original, you may arouse the admiration of others, but possibly the scorn and derision of many more. I leave this vital choice in your hands.

Man is born free, yet everywhere he is in chains – or so the saying goes. I couldn’t tell you where this particular quote comes from (Descartes? Voltaire? A French writer we have all heard of but do not read?). You see, the café where I currently find myself does not have internet access so I can’t look it up, and of course without the internet we know nothing.

If man is in chains, but doesn’t notice them if he does not move, what does that mean?

Damned if I know.

Well, I am done my very expensive coffee and my very trendy café and I am loathe to buy another, for I fear that if I do I will zip right on out of here…and I don’t want to upset the chains too much – they have already been through quite enough this last month!

Why I left Vancouver....

This is what they came up with for the "Cultural Olympiad" to coincide with the Olympics
(courtesy of the Globe and Mail) :

"A forest walk featuring sculpture and trombone music, a huge screen projecting cutting-edge videos and films by some of the world’s best visual artists, and DJs spinning electronic music into the early morning hours will aim to turn the city of Vancouver into a giant cultural installation during the 2010 Cultural Olympiad.

The Vancouver Organizing Committee for the 2010 Olympic and Paralympic Winter Games (VANOC) announced a number of new acts and programs on Monday for the upcoming Cultural Olympiad, which will run during the 2010 Olympic and Paralympic Games.

One of the highlights is certain to be a tribute to Canadian icon Neil Young, brought together by American music producer Hal Willner. Broken Social Scene, Ron Sexsmith, Joan as Policewoman and Iron and Wine will take part.

Other musical acts announced on Monday include Steve Earle (with Joel Plaskett opening); the Hilario Duran Latin Jazz Band performing with Jane Bunnett; and a double bill of Somali-born Toronto rapper K’Naan and Tinariwen, a collective of poet-guitarists from the south Saharan.

The Spirit of Uganda, a company of 22 young artists orphaned by AIDS or civil war, will perform in Canada for the first time. And Spain’s Maria Pagés will unveil Flamenco Republic at the Orpheum theatre.

A large screen will be set up outside the Vancouver Art Gallery’s Robson side to project video and film work by various artists.

In Metcalfe/Lewis: Ikons, Vancouver sculptor Eric Metcalfe will provide the visuals and New York-based trombonist George Lewis the audio for what’s promised to be a forest walk like no other. The forest and music are meant to respond to the actions of the people taking part.

Toronto-based sculptor Ed Pien will use fanciful creatures pulled from Chinese and Inuit mythology to create a maze-like installation.

Other cultural organizations participating include the National Arts Centre with a show called Made in Canada; Taiwan’s Chai Found Music Workshop; and Daniel Janke’s Whitehorse-based ensemble will play a live score for a series of short films, including vignettes from the animated classic Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland for Alice and Other Heroes.

The Cultural Olympiad will run from January 22 to March 21. The program will include more than 600 performances and exhibitions in Metro Vancouver and the Sea to Sky corridor.

For a full list of projects announced to date and to purchase tickets, visit www.vancouver2010.com/culturalolympiad ."

Um yeah....

Okay...let's play their game:

Soula P. (soprano) and Ben S.(tenor) , along with Pantelis the Pug and a host of invented animal puppets create an improvised children's opera that draws freely on Plato's Republic, the Talmud, Joni Mitchell and First Nations Imagery to create an intriguing soundscape that is at once new and rooted in ancient traditions. Drawing on the extensive history of madness in both of their families, Soula and Ben channel primordial emotions and project these "sound memories" using their own "classically" trained voices, but also augmented by the "other" voices of "found" characters.

Pantelis - a pug - is the mirror. He responds to the work and in the process adds a spontaneous dimension to the work, giving it freshness and at the same time depth.

Reviews:

"A highly compelling, if unusual piece. Perhaps there would have been more order if some German artists were involved" - Cottbus Review of Art & Performance (CRAP)
"I have not seen something so shattering in Dresden since the Allies blew up my house" - Dresden Review: Arts Tagespiegel (DRAT)
"The contrast of Parassidis' luscious soprano with the pug's haunting cries was, in a word, spellbinding. The U-Bahn setting added a nice echo..." - Schwerin/Halle Inter-Arts Today (SHIAT)
"Really, the apogee of improvised post-modern children's opera. A triumph of the genre."
- Weimar Art News Kultur (WANK)

This is what happens when you look yourself up on German Google...

How do you like the makeover? I thought I would undergo some "light" plastic surgery to blend in....

http://www.bild.de/BILD/lifestyle/bams/2009/05/03/klassiker-der-kueche-extra/hg02/benjamin-schnitzer-kocht-spaghetti-bolognese.html

By the way, did you know that the past tense of "to google"in German is "gegoogle"?
Zum Beispiel: Ich habe viele geschichten über Beyoncé gegoogelt. (for example: I googled stories about Beyoncé).

May you be inscribed in the Buch of Life

How does one celebrate a Jewish Holiday in a foreign land, thousands of miles away from family and friends? Well, the first thing to do is to go to a really good party.... Now you must think that all I do in Berlin is go to parties, or crash parties, or get into parties....this is not entirely true - it just happens most of the time. If you lived in Berlin, you would party a lot too - not because it is really that fun to actually go to parties, but after walking around Berlin for a day and being confronted by all that History one really does need a stiff drink, or in my case a Rosh Hashannah reception at the Jewish Museum. I attended as the guest of a friend of a friend who is involved in their cultural programming... he is also from Canada, but a Polish citizen as well...his family comes from the same town that my family does - Lodz - where the people are known for their quick wit and dirty sense of humour. I gave him Yiddish magnetic poetry for his fridge because he is letting me stay on his couch while I find a place, and the other night we sat at his kitchen table and tried to see how many words we could find that meant "idiot". There were 15. Isn't Yiddish great?

So my friend and I went to this party in honour of the Jewish New Year at the Jewish Museum.
Except there were no Jews . We were there - my friend and I - and there was one other short person with curly hair, but he was probably Austrian. He looked like Schubert. For all intents and purposes, the reception looked like a party at the German Foreign Ministry. There was a buffet catered by the Inter Continental with exotic fruit and an approximation of kreplach (Jewish Ravioli! The server exclaimed). There was a swing band made up of members of the Berlin Philharmonic (they didn't really swing....too much Mozart). The woman who played the shofar was one of the most well regarded trumpet players in Israel (she still couldn't play the darn thing...they are tricky). There were, however, no Jews.

There were interesting cultural displays and everybody was very earnest and appreciative and clapped when the trumpet player tried to play the shofar....this made me feel a bit embarassed - like the time when I was 13 and the German guests of my mother's best friend wanted to video tape our Passover seder..... to put in their archive of bizarre cultural activities of endangered foreign peoples? Like Leni Riefenstahl photographing African tribes? A Yiddish word comes to mind: Feh!

My favourite part of the evening were the fortune cookies. Why they decided to have fortune cookies at a Rosh Hashannah, I'll never know -but I was looking forward to a moment of levity. However, when I read my fortune, I discovered - not some light-hearted assurance that I would be prosperous - but a quote from the 1920s German-Jewish Communist poet Kurt Tucholsky which read

" Tolerance is the suspicion that the other person is right".

God love the Germans...even their fortune cookies are filled with lead. But can you blame them?

After the party my friend and I went and had a drink with an Israeli musicologist and her husband. She told me that when she was a child her mother used to take her on a picnic on Yom Kippur. They would eat ham sandwiches. We have made a date to do the same, although I am of course conflicted about not fasting.

Old habits die hard

The state of the Angst

Much ink has been spilled about The Future Of Opera...at least in Berlin. Nobody really cares anywhere else. Do you? But here in Berlin it is a hot topic of discussion - along with the future of books, the nature of art, the future of art, the future of German art....the future of German books...do you see a pattern? Do you care? Exactly.

I care. Of course I care. But I don't like to talk about it, because I feel that when it comes to art, those who can't do, talk. And so I guess that means I am talentless because I am writing a blog about art or something. Shit. Oh who am I kidding - I don't talk about it because I hate being told I'm wrong.

So rather than go into an informed discussion about the state of the Western World's most esoteric and expensive art form, I will merely describe some of the things that I have seen and let you come to your own conclusions.

Last Saturday night I went to the German State Opera - a veritable temple of culture, which is, incidentally, right beside the Bebelplatz where the Nazis burned books. Charming. I went to see Mozart's great opera "The Abduction from the Seraglio". It is set in 18th century Turkey and is, like most opera, misogynist, elitist, class-ist and Eurocentric (thanks mom - for teaching me those big words). It is also a great deal of fun, and contains some of the best music Mozart ever wrote.

In this opera, the antagonist - Pasha Selim, is a despotic character and the keeper of a harem. However, in the end, he ends up being a decent man and sets everyone free, whereupon there is much rejoicing. In this production, he was Hitler...Hitler in a white dress and gold make-up, but unmistakably Hitler. Of course, this was a brilliant conceit on the part of the director, because no matter how bad the production was (and it was bad) the audience would not dare show its displeasure at an unfavorable portrayal of Die Fuhrer! And so they applauded wildly - mostly out of guilt, it would seem.

Bassa Selim's enforcer, Osmin, is a much more ruthless character. He was dressed in a track suit. It was his job to keep the prisoners in line. In a German opera production that means that he rapes them. The protagonists (two English nobles) are in love and haven't seen each other in a while, because Konstanze is a prisoner of Pasha Selim, and Belmote trying to rescue her. When they do see each other, they do not hug or kiss or say hello...they simulate anal sex....duh.

Hitler...rape...anal sex. In Germany? Really? What a surprise. So original.

The next day I saw an atonal opera about the history of communism. But do you care?

Exactly.

...Wish you were here....

Just outside Tegel Airport there is a giant sign which reads “Germany – Land of Ideas”. This sign is meant to welcome you, which is logical because ideas can indeed be welcoming. They can also be repulsive...so can Germany, as history has amply shown. However, Berlin, for all its historical errors, is a city which has always embraced different ways of thinking. This has also been amply shown. Take – for example – the prostitutes outside my window.

No oppressed masses they - standing on the corner with the full support of the state. They are unionized and galvanized – and woe betide anyone who treats them with anything less than respect. Say what you want about the world’s oldest profession, but Berlin’s ladies of the evening can deduct their business expenses for tax purposes, thank-you-very-much.

Speaking of ladies of the evening, I just came back from the Vogue party at Galleries Lafeyette. Lest you think I am in the in-crowd and invited to these sorts of things, you should know that I was merely walking home from an extremely edifying choral concert at the Jewish Museum when I came across a red carpet, an open door and very good looking people holding trays of champagne. I am never one to pass an opportunity, and I was wearing a Hugo Boss suit jacket (albeit bought second hand in the depths of Prenzalauer Berg and altered by a chain-smoking Polish tailor), so I swished in and pretended like I owned the place and proceeded to get drunk on free Moet et Chandon champagne at the Hermès boutique. I also got a free catalogue which they put in a real Hermès shopping bag, which meant that I could freely saunter into to any number of stores without reproach….which of course I did – and it was a good thing too because I missed dinner.

But who needs dinner when you can have raspberry macaroons from Paris, or chocolate truffles shaped like high heels…or a mojito- flavoured sorbet made à la minute and served in a frozen lime? Mind you, most of the women there couldn’t really eat any of the food even if they wanted to (and they didn’t) because their lips were pumped up with so much collagen…. this just meant that there was more for me.

But I did not indulge. That would have been gauche. I merely took one of everything and pretended to look like I was seriously considering a 700 euro dog bowl or a hand-made riding crop made in the best artisanal tradition (these are very popular in Berlin, but not for horses…more about that later). As the saying goes, if you can fake sincerity you’ve got it made…..well, money helps too. So do looks. Money and looks help a lot.

The rest of us just have to crash the party and survive on our wits. And you cannot fake wit.

It is almost midnight and I am supposed to be working hard – with my nose to the grindstone and my eyes set on future heights (actually, that would be very uncomfortable…and it would look weird…think about it). Discipline will have to wait until tomorrow…okay, maybe the next day….or maybe I’ll just pencil it in for sometime next week. Say, Tuesday at 5 - after the gym and before La Traviata?

I am so busted….