Temples in Berlin 10.4.2017 - ROCK N ROLL IS RETRO
Wrote this to amuse myself, with my own bad pictures and all, real DIY. Wanted to add bad videos too but it wouldn't let me.
I first heard of Temples probably around the time their first album Sun Structures came out. My bestie got it as a present from a music-savvy friend. My first impression was not impressed. The music was smoothly flowing, too polished and polite for my taste at the time, not enough blood and passion in it. But what caught my attention at once was their extreme retro look - more than the sound. (Perhaps it’s fair to confess, right at this stage, that I know fuck all about music. What I hear is something that comes across through the music - emotion, danger, longing, sweat, bitter taste in your mouth, wings of fantasy fluttering through the sounds. Though I’m never quite sure, whether it’s actually there or just in my head, evoked by sequence of sounds responding to other sounds in dark recesses of memory. That’s why I love music, and rock/pop music in particular. It’s the thing in the world that most powerfully does this to me.)
Then the band kept popping up here and there, I heard Sun Restructured, the new single came out and the new album. I gave them another listen, on Spotify, and depending on the mood of the day quite liked their big, melodic constructs. Not sure if I really “got it”, but was at least intrigued enough to want to see them live - once they were coming Berlin.
Equally intriguing was the venue, the new Festsaal Kreuzberg at the premises of the deceased White Trash Fast Food. Over three years in Berlin and I had not yet managed to get to that (in)famous place, till last year it declared bankruptcy and closed down. This one’s gone and I missed it. R.I.P. Festsaal Kreuzberg was another historic Berlin location, whose premises had burned down three years ago. After unsuccessfully struggling to re-open and losing the battle to an office block, it now moved to the premises of the former White Trash. The new site in Alt-Treptow should at least be safe from an office building - for the present.
Being on time was never my best thing. Not even my second best thing tbh. So I left the house at 8.50, when the concert was about to start at 9, praying to god that at least they had a support. I recognised the venue by a neon sign announcing Temples, attached to something like a chicken shack, with “Festsaal Kreuzberg” written on it in big colourful neon letters. I moved around the shack a few times helplessly, searching for the entrance. But a peep through the cracks of something remotely reminiscent of a (barn) door, convinced me that it was indeed something like a shed, full of old junk (*). So my eyes wander to the building on the right, that looks like a red brick warehouse or possibly garage, in front of which a few people have gathered smoking. My prayers are heard and the support band, Creatures are just into their last song. I’m sure they’re good. I will catch up with them some time.
(* As I saw later on photos from the old WT times, it had earlier been part of the restaurant/ bar area. Perhaps they intend to open it again for the summer.)
Inside, the place looks suitably shabby and untidy, but not without chic - just as you would expect a historic ‘alternative’ Berlin location to look. I like it immediately (though I expect that old WT fans will probably disagree). As far as I can tell from the pictures, it seems to have retained a lot of the old White Trash interior. But I have to hurry up, get a beer and find a spot with a view - a not an easy task if you are a short person. After giving up on the idea of pushing myself and my beer through to the front - which still looks possible, but far too much elbow-work for me and the good beverage - I finally land on a sort of low gallery just behind the mixing desk. After some strategic relocation (c’mon these big guys can see over my head very well) I have full view of the stage and I am not very far from it either (the club is not so big), but not close enough for my liking. Far too far for my phone to take acceptable pictures. I swear solemnly to myself never to be late and never not to be at the barrier again.
I take a look around and realise that the average age of the crowd is distinctly above that of the performers. That makes me think of something that had already crossed my mind before, namely that rock n roll has become ageless, in much the same way as “classical” music or jazz have before. It’s not a cultural expression of a generation entering adulthood and defining the world around and themselves in it - supported, of course, by the ever helpful hand of the entertainment business. It’s not about teenagers growing up, copying the style and every move of their slightly elder and faaaaar more experienced idols. It has become an established form of entertainment for adult people. The rituals and dress code may differ from, let’s say, opera, but they are familiar and safe and hardly change. No danger, no challenge, no unpredictability, but instead conscious participation in a cultural tradition. During its short history, rock n roll has already experienced several deaths and revivals. After the demise of Chuck Berry, the last living connection to “how it all began”, we can confidently say that rock n roll has ultimately passed into the realm of cultural heritage.
Of course, rock n roll has been retro for quite some time. But no one does it as pointedly as this band, that quotes its influences in looks even more than in musical style. For let’s be clear - many of us in the audience are just doing what we have always done, revisiting our youth or never wanting to let go of it in the first place. For me the seventies were real, I have childhood memories of trousers that felt like plastic and of tight synthetic sweaters whose colours would never fade in a million years. But when a bunch of guys in their early or mid-twenties consciously decides to dress up like early Tyrannosaurus Rex, it is comparable to us trying to copy the smooth waves of the 30s film stars from old black-and-white photographs.
Viewing the four young men on stage, I must say that they look amazing indeed. I catch myself wondering, whether rock n roll is actually a genetic thing. I mean, when your bum is just a few inches above the pavement, you clearly have no business on the stage (unless you’re Beth Ditto - but she is an exception that proves the rule). Lean and whip-like, with long arms and legs, all sharp angles and overdimensional hair (not just James Bagshaw’s trademark curls, even bass player Tom Walsley’s slick hair looks absolutely larger-than-life). All down to the lead singer’s glittery jacket, they look like elves from a psychedelic fairy-tale. The absolutely over-the-top lighting, worthy of an electro house show, adds to this effect, making the musicians appear like dark silhouettes amidst flashing fairy-lights. And even their movements are perfectly measured to the music, no craziness or sudden awkward moves, all angles in smooth flow, up to the easy elegance with which Walmesly and keyboardist-guitarist Adam Smith change their instruments. These boys can retro.
They sound good live, too. Filling the room with tidal waves of melody, turning it into a piece of fluid architecture of sound. Making considerably more noise live than on the album (or any smaller live performances that I’ve seen on Youtube. Should we blame the industrious mixing guys below us?) I keep wondering how, despite the fast and heavy, sometimes electronic-sounding dark beats, they manage to sound so ethereal? Is it the crystal-clear vocal harmonies (as someone described them) or the flowing sound of the keyboards? Or maybe the spacious melodies themselves? The music is many-layered, it grows, inflates, and suddenly surrounds you from unexpected angles.
Though some of the songs sound familiar, I am not able to name exactly what or who they remind me of. Now I wish I had better knowledge of music… The Move (who I don’t know) has been named as their influence, along with the psychedelic-period Byrds, and as to songwriting, the Beatles. I certainly can hear hints at the two last ones. Apart from this, I still have to think of early - around- and pre-Electric-Warrior - T-Rex (minus the boogie). Though they’re actually nothing like that, much harder and louder, and yet, the melodies and the ethereal singing … The band themselves seem to suggest an allegiance to Pink Floyd.
While I ponder this, a song just ends. Bagshaw talks to the crowd and the spell is broken. It’s just a regular guy speaking with a rather heavy British accent*, friendly and down-to-earth, not in the least affected. There seems to be a clear divide between the psychedelic show and real life. Which is not a bad thing. Same as say, an actor, to who playing a character is the expression of his true art, while in real life he takes off his wig and scratches his head.
(* I fail to locate the accent, but later learn that they come from Kettering, East-Midlands.)
And then it is time for the last song. The boy with the guitar finally starts bouncing with some more vigour, letting those curls fly delicious around his head. Band leaves stage, comes back for the encores, singer thanks the crowd and salutes us with his guitar, then with his beer, and throws glitter at us. And then it’s over.
Lights go on and transport us back to reality. Which in Festsaal Kreuzberg is not too unpleasant. And I have to say that I really enjoyed the show. As, by the looks of it, did the rest of the crowd. Even if no-one went bat-shit-bonkers or started storming the stage, there were lots of bodies swinging and swaying in quiet entrancement, there were hands clapping and flying up, and even a spot of bouncing and shoving at the front. What more can you want? Time to have another beer and go home.
I first heard of Temples probably around the time their first album Sun Structures came out. My bestie got it as a present from a music-savvy friend. My first impression was not impressed. The music was smoothly flowing, too polished and polite for my taste at the time, not enough blood and passion in it. But what caught my attention at once was their extreme retro look - more than the sound. (Perhaps it’s fair to confess, right at this stage, that I know fuck all about music. What I hear is something that comes across through the music - emotion, danger, longing, sweat, bitter taste in your mouth, wings of fantasy fluttering through the sounds. Though I’m never quite sure, whether it’s actually there or just in my head, evoked by sequence of sounds responding to other sounds in dark recesses of memory. That’s why I love music, and rock/pop music in particular. It’s the thing in the world that most powerfully does this to me.)
Then the band kept popping up here and there, I heard Sun Restructured, the new single came out and the new album. I gave them another listen, on Spotify, and depending on the mood of the day quite liked their big, melodic constructs. Not sure if I really “got it”, but was at least intrigued enough to want to see them live - once they were coming Berlin.
Equally intriguing was the venue, the new Festsaal Kreuzberg at the premises of the deceased White Trash Fast Food. Over three years in Berlin and I had not yet managed to get to that (in)famous place, till last year it declared bankruptcy and closed down. This one’s gone and I missed it. R.I.P. Festsaal Kreuzberg was another historic Berlin location, whose premises had burned down three years ago. After unsuccessfully struggling to re-open and losing the battle to an office block, it now moved to the premises of the former White Trash. The new site in Alt-Treptow should at least be safe from an office building - for the present.
Being on time was never my best thing. Not even my second best thing tbh. So I left the house at 8.50, when the concert was about to start at 9, praying to god that at least they had a support. I recognised the venue by a neon sign announcing Temples, attached to something like a chicken shack, with “Festsaal Kreuzberg” written on it in big colourful neon letters. I moved around the shack a few times helplessly, searching for the entrance. But a peep through the cracks of something remotely reminiscent of a (barn) door, convinced me that it was indeed something like a shed, full of old junk (*). So my eyes wander to the building on the right, that looks like a red brick warehouse or possibly garage, in front of which a few people have gathered smoking. My prayers are heard and the support band, Creatures are just into their last song. I’m sure they’re good. I will catch up with them some time.
(* As I saw later on photos from the old WT times, it had earlier been part of the restaurant/ bar area. Perhaps they intend to open it again for the summer.)
Inside, the place looks suitably shabby and untidy, but not without chic - just as you would expect a historic ‘alternative’ Berlin location to look. I like it immediately (though I expect that old WT fans will probably disagree). As far as I can tell from the pictures, it seems to have retained a lot of the old White Trash interior. But I have to hurry up, get a beer and find a spot with a view - a not an easy task if you are a short person. After giving up on the idea of pushing myself and my beer through to the front - which still looks possible, but far too much elbow-work for me and the good beverage - I finally land on a sort of low gallery just behind the mixing desk. After some strategic relocation (c’mon these big guys can see over my head very well) I have full view of the stage and I am not very far from it either (the club is not so big), but not close enough for my liking. Far too far for my phone to take acceptable pictures. I swear solemnly to myself never to be late and never not to be at the barrier again.
I take a look around and realise that the average age of the crowd is distinctly above that of the performers. That makes me think of something that had already crossed my mind before, namely that rock n roll has become ageless, in much the same way as “classical” music or jazz have before. It’s not a cultural expression of a generation entering adulthood and defining the world around and themselves in it - supported, of course, by the ever helpful hand of the entertainment business. It’s not about teenagers growing up, copying the style and every move of their slightly elder and faaaaar more experienced idols. It has become an established form of entertainment for adult people. The rituals and dress code may differ from, let’s say, opera, but they are familiar and safe and hardly change. No danger, no challenge, no unpredictability, but instead conscious participation in a cultural tradition. During its short history, rock n roll has already experienced several deaths and revivals. After the demise of Chuck Berry, the last living connection to “how it all began”, we can confidently say that rock n roll has ultimately passed into the realm of cultural heritage.
Of course, rock n roll has been retro for quite some time. But no one does it as pointedly as this band, that quotes its influences in looks even more than in musical style. For let’s be clear - many of us in the audience are just doing what we have always done, revisiting our youth or never wanting to let go of it in the first place. For me the seventies were real, I have childhood memories of trousers that felt like plastic and of tight synthetic sweaters whose colours would never fade in a million years. But when a bunch of guys in their early or mid-twenties consciously decides to dress up like early Tyrannosaurus Rex, it is comparable to us trying to copy the smooth waves of the 30s film stars from old black-and-white photographs.
Viewing the four young men on stage, I must say that they look amazing indeed. I catch myself wondering, whether rock n roll is actually a genetic thing. I mean, when your bum is just a few inches above the pavement, you clearly have no business on the stage (unless you’re Beth Ditto - but she is an exception that proves the rule). Lean and whip-like, with long arms and legs, all sharp angles and overdimensional hair (not just James Bagshaw’s trademark curls, even bass player Tom Walsley’s slick hair looks absolutely larger-than-life). All down to the lead singer’s glittery jacket, they look like elves from a psychedelic fairy-tale. The absolutely over-the-top lighting, worthy of an electro house show, adds to this effect, making the musicians appear like dark silhouettes amidst flashing fairy-lights. And even their movements are perfectly measured to the music, no craziness or sudden awkward moves, all angles in smooth flow, up to the easy elegance with which Walmesly and keyboardist-guitarist Adam Smith change their instruments. These boys can retro.
They sound good live, too. Filling the room with tidal waves of melody, turning it into a piece of fluid architecture of sound. Making considerably more noise live than on the album (or any smaller live performances that I’ve seen on Youtube. Should we blame the industrious mixing guys below us?) I keep wondering how, despite the fast and heavy, sometimes electronic-sounding dark beats, they manage to sound so ethereal? Is it the crystal-clear vocal harmonies (as someone described them) or the flowing sound of the keyboards? Or maybe the spacious melodies themselves? The music is many-layered, it grows, inflates, and suddenly surrounds you from unexpected angles.
Though some of the songs sound familiar, I am not able to name exactly what or who they remind me of. Now I wish I had better knowledge of music… The Move (who I don’t know) has been named as their influence, along with the psychedelic-period Byrds, and as to songwriting, the Beatles. I certainly can hear hints at the two last ones. Apart from this, I still have to think of early - around- and pre-Electric-Warrior - T-Rex (minus the boogie). Though they’re actually nothing like that, much harder and louder, and yet, the melodies and the ethereal singing … The band themselves seem to suggest an allegiance to Pink Floyd.
While I ponder this, a song just ends. Bagshaw talks to the crowd and the spell is broken. It’s just a regular guy speaking with a rather heavy British accent*, friendly and down-to-earth, not in the least affected. There seems to be a clear divide between the psychedelic show and real life. Which is not a bad thing. Same as say, an actor, to who playing a character is the expression of his true art, while in real life he takes off his wig and scratches his head.
(* I fail to locate the accent, but later learn that they come from Kettering, East-Midlands.)
And then it is time for the last song. The boy with the guitar finally starts bouncing with some more vigour, letting those curls fly delicious around his head. Band leaves stage, comes back for the encores, singer thanks the crowd and salutes us with his guitar, then with his beer, and throws glitter at us. And then it’s over.
Lights go on and transport us back to reality. Which in Festsaal Kreuzberg is not too unpleasant. And I have to say that I really enjoyed the show. As, by the looks of it, did the rest of the crowd. Even if no-one went bat-shit-bonkers or started storming the stage, there were lots of bodies swinging and swaying in quiet entrancement, there were hands clapping and flying up, and even a spot of bouncing and shoving at the front. What more can you want? Time to have another beer and go home.