The world outside Manchester part 1 - Berlin

Often, my reasons for wanting to visit new places are based on nothing more concrete than an obsession with music/films/books produced there. I've long wanted to go to Berlin, intrigued by films like Wim Wender's dreamy Wings of Desire, which is set in sparse black and white high above the city (blooming into colour when the angels who are its main characters make human contact), made a couple of years before the fall of the Berlin wall and, later, Goodbye Lenin, with its new take on the reunification of Berlin. As a teenager, I had a fixation with the music of David Bowie, Iggy Pop, Lou Reed, Brian Eno and Nick Cave, who are among the musicians who made Berlin their home in the 1970s and 1980s and produced some of the more experimental music of their careers.

None of these preconceptions prepared me for how big, colourful and green Berlin is today. Almost every surface in the city is covered in graffiti, from scrawled tags on shops to huge murals on walls facing onto building sites. This self-decoration reaches a pinnacle in the art squat Tacheles, on Oranienburgerstrasse. A huge, old building with massive windows overlooking the city, it glows with layers of paint built up over the years, and even the windows are coloured with a patina of graffiti - from the inside, the effect is rather like looking out from the coloured sweet windows of a gingerbread house. There's a general air of shabbiness in Berlin - all the streets are covered in a fuzz of green; weeds growing unchecked from in between the cracks of pavements, plants climbing up the front of buildings and grassy strips following the route of tram tracks down the middle of roads like green islands.
I stayed on a boat on the River Spree in a hostel called Eastern Comfort, a short walk over the grand, redbrick Oberbaumbrücke Bridge - past, if you're lucky, jazz and punk buskers competing with the roar of the traffic - from the district of Kreuzberg, the main Turkish area of Berlin and also an area full of fashionable shops, bars and cafes. The most exciting hostel I have ever stayed in, it swayed from side to side whenever another boat went past - an especially disconcerting sensation whilst standing in the shower.In Berlin, you're never far from reminders of the city's divided past, and this was especially clear whilst staying in Eastern Comfort. The hostel has a sister boat moored on the other side of the river named Western Comfort as, when Berlin was divided, the area over the river - including Kreuzberg- fell into West Berlin, whilst the other side of the Spree was east Berlin. On a free boat tour of the river organised by the hostel, the captain explained that the water belonged to east Berlin, meaning that no-one was able to enter the river without being shot at by patrol boats. This led to four children from West Germany drowning near the site of Western Comfort as no-one was able to go to their rescue. Today, a floating pool on the Spree provides views over both sides of the river. The captain also told us about the redevelopment of Berlin - there are frequent protests against private property developers building new hotels and apartment blocks by the river, led by those who think the waterfront should be accessible to everyone, as well as against things like McDonalds. One of the areas of Berlin which has famously become gentrified is Prenzlauer-Berg. I visited for a giant Sunday fleamarket - think of the biggest car boot fair you can imagine, combined with a festival atmosphere of people selling homemade food and buskers, from jazz bands to three young boys armed with guitars, reverb and a rudimentary drumkit, trying to compete with a mass outdoor karaoke session.
Next to Eastern Comfort, a section of the interior wall remains, now turned into Eastside Gallery, daubed with colourful murals and messages of peace by artists from all over the world. It's possible to follow the route of the wall, with reminders of the American, allied presence, like Checkpoint Charlie, still standing. A rusty, rugged patch of the wall remains in Kreuzberg, with faded though poignant graffiti like 'To Astrid maybe some day we will be together' still visible, and holes looking through to the street outside where Berliners started chipping away at the wall when the fall was announced. Displays on boards in this area describe the human stories of the wall, remembering those who died trying to escape.
Another memorial, near the Reichstag (visitors to the Reichstag can find out about the history of the German Parliament as well as look out over the city from Norman Foster's recent glass extension), remembers the Jewish victims of the Holocaust. Smooth, grey concrete blocks, growing gradually taller, draw you down cramped corridors, over a rising and falling floor, as if in a maze. In the centre, where the blocks are tallest, it's a bit like being lost in a dense forest, bleak even on a sunny day and quiet despite the busy roads which encircle the memorial. Across the road is a real forest - the massive Tiergarten which provides a huge urban park in the centre of Berlin, complete with canals and lakes, as well as more formal rose gardens and long boulevards. You could spend days exploring the Tiergarten, or just use it as a green shortcut to other areas of the city.

After the Jewish memorial, it was strange to go to another exhibition of oppressive corridors and small spaces - a Bruce Nauman show at the Hamburger Bahnhof modern art gallery, part of the Berlin Biennial. As well as permanent displays on Fluxus and twentieth century artists like Anselm Kiefer and Dieter Roth, Nauman's work was on show based around constructions of tight corners and corridors leading to nowhere, lit by neon lights.

Berlin is also full of smaller galleries, particulary concentrated in the area of Mitte, around Auguststrasse. In Weisser Elefant, viewers had to put slippers on over shoes to enter a recreation of a 1960s East German apartment, exploring the concept of the ideal socialist family unit based in pre-fabricated housing. One of my favourite galleries was in a comic book and zine shop called Bongout on Torstrasse. In the back is an exhibition space, featuring a display of cartoons and giant, colourful comic books, whilst at the front are gig posters and artists' books and zines. Here, I picked up a flier which told me about a tape music gig at an artists' space in Neukölln, an area just past Kreuzberg.
Altes Finanzamt is home to a collective of nine artists - eight Portuguese and one Spanish - and hosts gigs, discussions, film screenings and exhibitions*. I went to see Brooklyn based tape composer Aki Onda, who makes music out of found sounds like bird song and street noises, as well as the static of radios and the clicking of cassette players turning on and off. The following day, I returned for a dinner cooked by the artists (Gazpacho soup followed by mushroom and asparagus quiche then chocolate brownie), before a screening of a film about a group of football fans who built their own stadium.
Berlin is one of the most vegetarian friendly places I have ever visited, going out of its way to provide veggie and vegan options, as well as being home to some great vegetarian cafes and restaurants, including Hans Wurst in Prenzlauer-Berg, a vegan cafe which is dedicated to DIY and also sells zines and records and, in Kreuzberg, the veggie fast food joint Yellow Sunshine, where I tried crispy vegetarian schnitzel!

All the bars (and even a Mercedes showroom!) were showing the World Cup on TV screens outside on the street, and following Germany's defeat of Australia, the whole city celebrated in a massive blaring of car and taxi horns. Pedestrians are outumbered by cyclists in the city, and cyclists too joined in with a mass tinkling of bells.

*I gave them some copies of the Shrieking Violet fanzine for a zine fair they are holding at the end of June

The Shrieking Violet Issue 6

Issue 6 of the Shrieking Violet is now finished after a month's break (this hold up was largely caused by my busking article taking ages to write because of a series of mishaps such as getting stranded in Paris, all the buskers disappearing because of the snow, recovering from New Year and my phone breaking)!

As well as my ridiculously long busking article, it features poetry by Richard Barrett, creative writing by Brewster Pius Craven and illustration by Andrew Beswick, Alex Boswell and Fuchsia Macaree. Rachel Cranshaw looks at titles of address for women and Tom Whyman visits a church. It is a kind of music special, with Matthew Britton of The Pigeon Post offering a guide to going to gigs alone. As usual, there are also listings and a recipe, which this month is vegan shortbread by Rebecca Willmott. This month's cover is by Alessandra Mostyn.

A self-assembly pdf of issue 6 can be downloaded here (note for folding - page 2, Fuchsia's illustration, is separate to the rest of the zine and should be printed separately then inserted into the front, whereas all the other pages should be printed double sided then folded into the correct order).

In addition, there will be about 50 paper copies, which might be found in some of these places - Koffee Pot, Piccadilly Records, Vinyl Exchange, Central Library, Oxfam Originals, Cornerhouse, Oklahoma, Manchester Craft Centre, URBIS, Noise cafe, Nexus Art Cafe etc - and, of course, Good Grief, the exciting new zine shop in Afflecks Palace!

Unfortunately, the photocopier printed them a little bit grimy, but never mind!

To request a copy/contribute, email Natalie.Rose.Bradbury@googlemail.com

Open publication - Free publishing - More music

The City as a Stage - Busking culture in Manchester

A LATE afternoon in January. At this time of day, the city would normally be packed with shoppers and workers, rushing about. But the city centre is all but silent. The pavements have been taken over by blocks of snow, which, refusing to shift for over a week, have worn smooth into ice. Workers have been sent home early, the city centre has ground to a halt. Those few people braving the treacherous streets do so through a wet fog of snow showers. The city’s still, the atmosphere oppressive. But one thing is going on as normal. The dreadlocked busker is still installed in a shop doorway on Market Street. The notes of a thumb-piano-esque African instrument follow you, clinging like the powdery snow that’s sticking to your face and eyelashes. Plip plopping, rising and falling in repetitive pitter-pattering sequences, his notes fight their way through the muffled air. It’s not weather to be tarried in, hence the deserted streets, and his fingers must be freezing, but still he’s playing on. It’s eerie and beautiful.

Manchester is known as a musical city. You can go and see bands any night of the week. But what about the city’s other musical culture, the one that’s on the streets, open to everyone? These are the bands you stumble across during your lunch hour, that stop you in your tracks and leave you with a smile on your face for the rest of the day.

Street performance may raise associations of earnest buskers with acoustic guitars playing predictable covers, and we often walk straight past them, but there’s variety and skill in Manchester street performers. Some greats of twentieth century music like Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell started their careers on the streets, and in Manchester one performer who’s gone on to find fame is the former Britain’s Got Talent winner, teenager George Sampson from Warrington, who used to draw big crowds on Market Street with his dancing.

Yes, there are guitarists churning out Dire Straits, an in-your-face Christian rap group and the slightly naff people dressed as Native Americans who play panpipes along to a backing track, but Manchester’s other performers range from African drummers to a trumpet and accordion jazz band and a man playing the intricate West African music of the Kora. One of the most unusual is the saxophonist who seems to only come out at night, often outside Kendal’s department store on Deansgate or, most strangely, amongst the damp and pigeon poo in a railway arch by round the back of Piccadilly train station. Add that to painters, human statues and even just people protesting or trying to raise awareness of a cause, and there’s a lot to grab your attention on the streets of Manchester.

It also changes from season to season. At certain times of year, like Christmas, there’s an explosion in music students - string quartets, violinists and brass players practicing their classical repertoire. Many street performers move around, alternating between towns and cities like Stockport, Liverpool, Bolton and Blackpool. Others spend a block of the year in Manchester and the rest back at home in Africa.

Manchester's city scape lends itself to street performance, from the fact that much of the city centre is pedestrianised to the backdrops formed by the concrete architecture of Piccadilly Gardens, the sound tunnel of the covered walkway at the end of Market Street and the steps that make an almost-stage outside Marks and Spencer.

A familiar face on Manchester’s streets is Buddy the One Man Band, who plays at various locations up and down Market Street as well as spots like outside Marks and Spencer with his home made foot operated drum kit. He’s a distinctive sight, often wearing a waistcoat and hat adorned with badges.

Salford musician David Budvar has been busking for thirty years including, for the past four or five years, three or four days a week on the streets of Manchester. His trade has also taken him from Japan to Australia and New Zealand, where the money is good.

When the snow’s thawing and the rest of the buskers have started to come back out, Buddy explains: “It just happened. I busked a lot as a kid. I became friends with a one man band and he inspired me.”

He’s a busker of the traditional kind, who plays the type of songs you can stop and sing along to, and also plays gigs inside if asked. He said: “Everyone has different ideas of what they like. It’s very hard to play your own songs unless you’re very talented. I sometimes do if I get bored, but you have to be fairly good. People are so used to listening to songs they know. I always start with Stand by Me. I’ve been playing it a long time.”

At the moment, though, he says people have less money in their pockets because of the recession. Buddy, who works as a support worker by day, is only really coming out at the weekend: “I can’t make enough money to survive. If everyday was sunny then maybe, but it’s down to the weather. You come out and you never know.”

Today, he’s having equipment troubles and everything’s going wrong. Spencer, a balloon seller, comes over and tries to help. He suggests Buddy ask Sally from the potato stall for a piece of foil from one of the potatoes. As another regular on the streets, Spencer’s quite positively inclined towards buskers. He said: “There are some good buskers and some bad, but they definitely liven the street up.”

Another busking veteran is freelance dancer and dance teacher Danny Henry from Salford (here is Danny dancing in the video for the Hacienda dance classic Vodoo Ray by A Guy Called Gerald) who has been performing on the streets for decades, first with percussion group Inner Sense, then Manchester School of Samba, and now most often with Jali the Kora player in the Piccadilly area. He smiles: “Many people know me and know my face.”

“I learned street samba from a Brazilian girl. It’s a mixture of samba moves and creativity - what you can put in. Samba and carnival was made for the street because it comes from the street. It’s a celebration of freedom. I come up with routines very naturally and quickly. I express myself through the music and incorporate handstands etc. as a show if the music moves me. People like to see what you can do,” Danny explained.

Being on the street offers a unique challenge, Danny added: “You meet all sorts of people, positive and negative. It’s a natural element of my work. It’s organic - people are passing all the time. People smile more, start dancing, groups of kids follow me. Everything’s possible…although you get the odd person who's a bit drunk and starts pulling me or something. It‘s a great feeling when people join in. The more the better. It’s my job to get people dancing.”

Whilst busking with Manchester School of Samba, dance and Capoeira (a Brazilian martial art) students would sometimes join in, and members of the crowd of all ages, from toddlers to middle aged shoppers, would often come up and start a dance-off with Danny. “I can come up with a hip-hop routine on the spot. I like that challenge. Sometimes we’d get people who would do something interesting or different, like break dancers, and I would stand back and let them show off.”

He continued: "People want to be out there performing. It’s natural to want to be able to show off what you’ve learned in front of people, and have pride in it. The self-expression of a person is so important. It’s about community spirit and liberating people. With this country, though, sometimes it’s hard to get up and just do it.”

Danny would like to see the council support street performers more by promoting them and creating defined busking spots so buskers could know when and where it’s safe and acceptable to perform. Busking often relies on negotiation and flexible arrangements over times and pitches, though recently there’s been tension with newcomers coming and ‘stealing’ spots. Other people would like to see more spaces opened up to public performance, for example Exchange Square, which was originally intended as a performance space before the Big Wheel took it over.

Jali and Danny were invited to perform on a float in Jeremy Deller’s Procession in July. Part of Manchester International Festival, Procession was a celebration of the diverse groups of people that contribute to the life of the city. Buskers have also performed at events at Band on the Wall, such as Exodus Jam.

Jali moved to Manchester from the Gambia about seven years ago, and has been busking for about five years, admitting: "It's not easy to get a job here." He returns to the Gambia regularly, where he plays concerts. He explained: "I've been playing Kora all my life, and I play at all different types of places and occasions." In Manchester, he's sometimes accompanied by drummers. Today he's with Bob who's also from the Gambia, and is learning to play the djembe by playing along to Jali's music as well as busking with friends at night time. It's still too cold though, and they stop after a couple of hours. (here is a youtube link to Jali performing.)

Danny just started dancing with Jali one day and they formed a 'relaxed partnership.' Danny said: "Jali’s music is all about feeling, handed down from generation to generation. He sings in his language and I don’t speak it, but the music of the Kora speaks for itself. I speak through my body. I can hear and feel the percussion.”

He admitted: “If I make some money, that’s great, but it’s more about the spirit.”

However, not everyone has positive views on busking. Manchester School of Samba, a regular Saturday fixture outside Marks and Spencer, stopped busking nearly two years ago after complaints to the council and City Co*, the public-private consortium that manages the City Centre, about noise from nearby shops.

One vociferous protester was David, from jewelers Arthur Kay and Brothers, a small, neat shop which directly faces the raised steps where MSS used to busk.

“They were too noisy. We couldn’t hear our customers and they couldn’t hear themselves speak. It was even worse for shops like Accessorize who have their doors open with a warm wall of air. They couldn’t hear the telephone. Zara and FCUK didn’t like it either. It would be okay if it was only for an hour or so, but of course it‘s not because they need to make money,” he complained.

He continued: “There’s a safety issue too. If people are watching and step backwards they could get hit by a car. We kept expecting that to happen. Or people can’t hear the warning noises of the bollards.”

He’s not anti-busking per se, though: “It’s the drums. Other buskers are just background noise, for example the official buskers at the Christmas markets.” As I leave, a saxophone rises sweetly through the damp end of day gloom, its riffs on The Girl From Ipanema twisting round the buildings of St Ann’s Square, while a lone saxophonist bobs up and down (“a lot of saxophonists just stand there apologetically - that’s why I try to move around a bit.”). Buddy comes and over and they exchange business cards, promising to ‘stick together’. Buddy offers to lend some equipment and suggests the saxophonist gets something to 'entertain the kids during the day'.

Manchester School of Samba, although one of a few samba bands that used to busk outside Marks and Spencer, was the first and biggest, with around 15 drummers performing each week as well as a group of dancers. The band's leader, Anthony Watt, explained: “As well as a core of buskers who’d turn up, we’d get other players who would wander in and out. Busking is a way of advertising what we do, but it's also useful as a means of rehearsal and helps draw the band together. The band itself got better and tighter, and we got quite a bit more work.”

He counters accusations of excessive noise pollution by arguing that when his group busked, it was a tourist attraction that encouraged people down towards that part of town, with up to a thousand people stopping to watch over the course of a typical Saturday. He also claims the band had the support of shops such as Marks and Spencer: “We helped increase trade. It’s a natural performance space and we drew people down to the shops there."

“Street performance animates the whole city. It raises questions about what is the city space and what is Manchester? The more exciting cities like New York, Paris, Amsterdam and Berlin tend to have the more unusual, individual street acts. People have said to me that it’s one of the things that makes Manchester what it is,” Tony elaborated.

“Busking gives people a reminder that there’s more to life than money and shopping. We can be too obsessed with the pursuit of money. Samba’s about human contact and human relations, which is valuable - even if the rest of society doesn’t think so. You’d see fractious kids and arguing parents, they obviously never did anything together, but then when they started listening to the band whatever they were thinking about before would just disappear.”

He continued: “We set an exciting background to people’s Saturday afternoons. Every week was exciting. The things I enjoyed most were the little things. You might see someone at the back of the crowd and then they walk in time to the music, then they stop and listen and walk away smiling. That happened very often.

“Busking is a philosophy of life. A way of looking at the world. Being a street performer brings together odd groups of people. It’s a focus of the community. It allows connections to be made that wouldn’t have been otherwise. Samba bands in particular are social organisations.”

Single Cell, an art and music collective, share concerns about public space, saying their aim is 'to open up the city, to liberate space and use it for creative purposes'. They organised a Guerilla Busking event in the centre of Manchester last year, inviting both regular buskers and people who had never busked before to take part. Jonathan from Single Cell Collective explained: “In Manchester, in common with many other cities in the UK, public space is becoming increasingly managed, policed and privatised. Many 'undesirable' elements such as the homeless, graffiti writers and skaters are being excluded for spurious reasons."

He said: “We chose to do Guerilla Busking as a way of testing the boundaries of public and private space. We wanted to stage public performances in public space to demonstrate there is a role for creativity and performance in the city.”

It seems a shame that the commercial and creative sides of the city can't coexist better or come to some sort of agreement - after all, with shops the same in high streets across the country, often blaring out the same chart music, surely busking offers something different to the city experience.

Perhaps Danny summed it up best when he said: “When the music stops there’s something missing. Music is the heartbeat of Manchester.”

*Like every other article I have tried to get a comment for, neither got back to me

Manchester School of Samba meet at the Dancehouse, Oxford Road, every Wednesday from 7.30pm-10.30pm, with dance and drumming.