The Part I
We have always been told that three is a magic number. And so it is. We have always been told the third time's a charm. And so it is.
The month of March marks the third anniversary of Dissident[en] Club's first album, Gift. And so it is. I found myself one night, in the Keller Bar, in Gelsenkirchen, waiting for my friend to arrive from Berlin. I was with a few of my theater company (icaptheatre.com) members for Playoff '06. We had just seen Der Kaiser blah blah blah- beer in the Keller Bar comes in cute glasses. Seizing the moment, I started promoting the play we had brought for Playoff, telling various people about it. I noticed a round table full of actors (acknowledging the bald, stylish one in particular) and technicians from Der Kaiser, laughing loudly, drinking copious amounts of beer and smoking too many cigarettes. Oh to be a cool kid, I won't bring up traumatic stories of high school cafeterias, but you get the idea. I instead hit up the random stragglers, everyone was so polite. Then, as he turned around at the bar, ready to make his way back to "the table" two glasses of beer, one in each hand, I asked Herpes Gugushi, if he did indeed, speak English. He blinked, made wide eyes, and said yes. I told him about the play which I was shocked to learn he had yet to hear of. He offered to buy me and my two compatriots beer (damn, those Germans are just so generous and classy). Instantly, we started talking music, I asked him about Radiohead, PJ Harvey, Tori Amos and various industrial bands (the first and most important questions at such times. I mean, the man was wearing eyeliner, we all know that type). I had him nailed, or so I thought. Suddenly I was aware of my compatriots talking…somehow…far away…very far away…in the distance….something about how I was really in my element. I brushed off their words like the buzzing of bees in an adjacent orchard. Herp, if I may call him that, suggested we sit down. I agreed but only if he bought us another round (damn, those Germans are so generous and classy). And so he sat, and so did I, and then I watched with immense fascination as he pulled out a navy blue bag of drum shag out of his black suit jacket pocket and then proceeded to roll a cigarette, particularly noting the grand finale of licking the cigarette paper, sealing the deal. Yummy. He offered me one, I don't smoke but whilst in Germany… We talked more, and more and more…and some more. Then at that fateful moment, I inquired where he lived and if I could do my laundry at his fine facilities (one always thinks ahead when knowing that you will be living in a tented village for the next two weeks). He said kein problem (damn, those Germans are just so generous and classy). My worries of a lack of clean undergarments immediately erased, things were looking rather rosy indeed. And so it was.
The Part II
Flash forward a week or so, I found myself in Herp's personal office, dreams of clean laundry being fulfilled. While my compatriot dozed on the couch, I found myself in the little world of Herpes Gugushi, the very place, I would like to imagine, where the music was first born. I was highly curious about his band, Dissident[en] Club and its music. He played a few tracks off of Gift for me. Fuck, it was really good, I wasn't expecting that. I even had my little prepared speech of how "wow, this is really fantastic blah blah blah." It was fresh and ready in my mind's eager hand. There is always that awkward silence after someone has shown you their work, their art, their heart, and everyone knows it's awful- even them. Alas, my speech was not needed; Herp had spared me from such torture and social injustice. I remember noting how beautifully he married various symphonic instruments with sometimes jarring and sometimes sweet electronic sounds. Like life itself. Like how I would do it if I was musically inclined. The guitar riffs stood out as well, somehow perfectly complimenting, kissing this strange little delicate melodic world of digital sound waves, like a solitary oak standing in silence in the middle of a field. No, really. After Herp thrusts you out of the stratosphere, then Sven's guitar grabs your foot and slings you back down to earth. It just a friendly reminder, I don't mind…so much…. After I left that universe of Herp's and my feet touched solid ground, I was stuck with the conundrum of how to recreate it again. I knew I had to have whatever I had just experienced, one must take with one the gifts we are given. I visited the website- I watched the videos, I looked at the pictures, I read the biographies, the news and updates. I was beginning to feel like a groupie, a stalker of German beauty. But, now, what is the exhibitionist without the voyeur? I bought the CD and on the day it arrived, peels of glee escaped my lips. I love getting presents in the mail, who doesn't? Listening to it again, I was once again struck at the beauty of the sound and what a solid CD it was- from the Die Goldene Zeit languid serenade to the desperate frustration of Allergie. What more could one need than the orchestral whispers, the surges and swells of Sven's guitar and everything in between? And of course, the countless (countless!) dance parties that ensued to the extremely catchy and pop-esque Komm Mit (Free) in divine solitude inside my apartment…
The Part III
Flash forward once again but faster this time, we have more distance to travel. Now, on the almost eve of the third anniversary of Gift, Dissident[en] Club is working on their third album with their very own new third- Thorsten Gumball. Yes folks, as of last October, Sven and Herp have turned triad once again when they joined forces with Thorsten, the man behind such bands as Wion and Expose Reality. After listening to Wion and Expose Reality, you understand why. Like you, I am intrigued to hear what new elements Thorsten will bring to Dissident[en] Club and seeing what evolution will transpire for this upcoming album and the albums that follow. Ich Warte. Ich Warte. Ich Warte. Ich Warte. The third album, currently untitled, (sigh) promises to the best yet, pregnant with the future, poised with potential. I only hope we can wait that long.