Tried seeing delectable Ben Frost at Berghain. Realized two songs in still can’t cope with concert volume. Frustration gnaws. Keep trying — never know if/when it’ll get easier. 5 years later, a constant reminder. Berlin’s a quiet city, lovely in that way; suits me. But at konzerts, the sound, in all its glorious vibration, eats me, my insides, expands ’til it feels like I’ll burst if I don’t hear nothing soon. On the whole I guess it’s gotten better, but sometimes it’s like it’s in reverse, getting worse. A low-fi problem, I know. Barely a problem. More that it takes me back, disorients my sense of self, being here, now. Cried a little on the way home. Slept it off, sound still inside, reverberations of past.
You can read the article via South East Asia backpacker here. Scroll to page 58, under Arts. Here’s a brief excerpt from the interview..
Over the years, hundreds of documentaries have been made on colourful chaotic punk life. The best ones give us a look at the vulnerable, passionate people behind the hard-edged exterior. Penelope Spheeris’ The Decline of Western Civilization does this for LA’s early 80’s hardcore scene, while Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten shows an intimate view of the complex person behind one of the most influential punk bands ever. Yangon Calling, a film by German-based filmmakers Alexander Dluzak and Carsten Piefke, now adds to the list, offering a look at the challenges faced by punks living in the capital city of Myanmar. Filmed in 2011, just before the country began undergoing significant socio-political change as it switched to an open economy, the documentary explores this lesser-known side of the country…
Bear meets dog at the Million Marijuana March in Prague
The Million Marijuana March. Praha. The name immediately strikes me as an oxymoron – shouldn’t it be something like the Million Marijuana Lay Down? Stoners are generally not ones to engage in a march of any kind. I’m quickly wronged, as my sister and I get swept up in the enthusiasm of hundreds (thousands?) of weed-enthusiasts marching from downtown Prague to the green festival area miles away. There were people of all types marching along to the sound of blaring beats (reminding me of Thailand’s obsession with loudspeakers), wielding 3-meter-long blunts carefully constructed from cardboard and paint. It’s apparent that a lot of commitment, effort, and forethought has gone in to this moment.
Shisha in the sun.
The festival itself entails food, beer, blunts, shisha, cigarettes, sound. And families. Plenty of kids frolic in the field as their parents wander the grounds high, sober, doesn’t matter. Balloons adorn both dogs and people. Full-on making out between couples (strangers?) on the green grass. Czech bands throw sky-punk-metal cacophony into crowds. Fried foods are munched in abundance. The affair is yummy and delightful.
Hold my hand.
..And pretty Prague proves to be potentially potent.