Greyboy : Mastered the Art | Flawed

Greyboy (Andreas Stevens), who hails from San Diego, first attracted attention with the track Unwind Your Mind (on the Home Cookin’ compilation), a collaboration with Marc Antoine and Karl Denson. His reputation as an international artist was cemented with Freestylin’, produced, legend has it, on a budget of four-thousand USD and zero spent on promotion. Both Freestylin’ and Land of the Lost, Greyboy’s second album, had their basis in Jazz- Greyboy was one of the pioneers of Acid Jazz in the United States. Mastered the Art is a return to HipHop (Mr Stevens also has a HipHop label, P-Jays, together with Rob Dyrdek, a name known to most serious skateboarders, and has written the soundtracks to a number of skateboard movies). A fourth album is scheduled for release on Ubiquity Records (a small and unimportant label founded by Michael McFadin, owner of The Groove Merchant record store. Ever heard of it? Me neither- and that’s the point) in the first half of 2003.

Greyboy fuses samplers and live instrumentation, a fact which, in itself, does not merit a ‘Eureka!’. Almost all instruments on Mastered the Art are played by Elgin Park (Mike Andrews), who co-wrote all the tracks with the exception of Hold it Down. Fourteen instruments are listed, from acoustic guitar and electric bass to piano, sitar and yukulele. Now, that’s what I call versatile. Antoine, Denson and Park are members of the Greyboy Allstars, a West Coast Jazz ensemble.

Mastered the Art was released in 2001, five years after Land of the Lost. The tracks on the album can be divided into two distinct categories: HipHop pieces and instrumentals, a blend of easy listening and soundtracks of the sixties and seventies. That type of music has been exploited ad nauseam in the past few years, but Greyboy’s pieces at their best (which, alas, is not often) have fresh, innovative and inspired elements and, while definitely not in a league with Bacharach, Mancini, Morricone, Schiffrin et al., tower above the flood of aural insults pressed on CD of late (such as compilations of seventies’ German porn soundtracks). Logan’s Run, the album’s tenth track, is the best example.

The album opens with Mastered the Art, an instrumental, the best after Logan’s Run. The twelfth, and last, track is the Nicola Conte Jet Sounds Remix of the opener, which is, indeed, quite high-octane, even though I’m not a fan of the new Bossa wave, of which Mr Conte (yes, he is related to Paolo) is doubtlessly one of the high priests.

Hold it Down, with raps by Muddie (that’s Mr J Tweed, whoever he is) is laid-back summer HipHop dominated by Spanish guitar chords, a bass line that puts strain on the subwoofer (and activates bowel movement in the constipated) and a sequence that sounds as if were generated on an eighties’ Casio music computer. Think Trio and Da Da Da. Delectable!

Uknowmylife is reminiscent of Jedi Mind Tricks (who are in my personal Top Five of the phattest HipHop acts), but without their love of conspiracies and paranoia, and an indication of what Greyboy will be capable of once he fast forwards to the present.

Polyphonix is pure easy listening, ideal music for poolside parties attended by readers of wallpaper* magazine, who think they’re hip because they wear ironed retro Fred Perry tennis shirts and new Adidas Gazelles. The proper preparation of a Martini cocktail (whether to use Beefeater’s, Bombay Sapphire or Gordon’s, for instance, or whether to shake or stir the cocktail) or the comparison of the tastes of French and Italian goat’s cheese are topics of serious debate at these parties. I suggest that they be tied to their Ponton Chairs in front of a powerful PA and made to listen to Rage Against the Machine for a minimum of five consecutive hours. Greyboy himself has a bit in common with these pseudo-hipsters: on his website he talks about his furniture! Let me quote verbatim: ‘... his prize possessions are a coffee table designed by Alexander Girard and swag leg desk and kangaroo chair by George Nelson.’ This, indeed , is puerile. Greyboy also ‘ ... drives a metallic gold 1970 Ford Torino GT ...’ . I’m certain that he’d have liked me to mention this fact.

The fifth track, Dealin’ With the Archives, is my favourite. It starts with an Andalusian arabesque on an acoustic guitar and then there is a flute sample- six simple notes- that will break your heart. A single guitar chord- think of early The Police (Walking On the Moon, for instance)- in a loop, vibraphone ornamentation by David Pike, excellent turntable work and the vocal talent of Main Flow blend into a laid-back HipHop piece. R. Kelly should listen to this, it’s what he could have written instead of Fiesta.

Chinois would have been a more apt title for Marrakesh, a brief vignette of two-and-a-half minutes, with its implication of Northern African tunes. Pleasant, but irrelevant, even superfluous, as are Instantly, a Jazz improvisation which follows it, Smokescreen and Bath Music. All four pieces lack build-up and structure and are self-indulgent experiments that waste listeners’ time and try their patience, which is rather irritating.

Ghetto Boogie, the album’s fourth HipHop track, is darker and more complex than the previous three.

Greyboy is a producer with much skill and talent. What he lacks is an individual sound and voice. Another sample enthusiast and perfectionist who has achieved that is also a native of Southern California: Josh Davies, better known an DJ Shadow.

Stereotyp: My Sound | Recommended

Stereotyp, civilian name Stefan Moerth, is part of the Viennese Circle of artists that achieved international prominence when Peter Kruder and Richard Dorfmeister drew all ears to the Austrian capital. What K&D™ initiated was continued with the Vienna Scientists Series. The first two compilations were excellent, the third a waste of time at the least.

Stereotyp I first heard on Vienna Scientists II, where he is represented with the track Port Blue. My next encounter was on another sampler, Dub Club Compilation, where he sets the mood with the opener ... 'Welcome to the exclusive Dub Club selection ... Cette chanson a ete cree pour le Dub Club'. I'm certain that he is featured on a number of other compilations and samplers, but I stopped buying that type of CD when my eyes first stung, at Saturn in Moenckebergstrasse, at the likes of 'After Work Chill-Out' and 'Business Lounge' (or whatever the actual titles are).

Now his first proper album has been released by G-Stone (who else), the label founded by K&D™ (www.g-stoned.com) (there is an album titled 'Unbemerkt' by a band named Stereotyp, but they are into rather mediocre eighties-influenced pop. Don't bother with them. Incidentally, for those who don't speak German, 'Unbemerkt' means unnoticed. Talk about the Ironies of Life. And- one last parenthetical remark- please be advised that deeeeep inhalation will enhance your auditory pleasure on this and all other music I recommend!).

Dub is the word, dark, phat Dub. The opener, 'My Sound', featuring Tikkiman, sets the tone and is followed by 'Jahman', which, like the third piece, 'Fling Style' also has Tikkiman on vocals. Tikkiman is featured on the fifth track of the Dub Club Compilation, titled 'Millenium' which, to me, is- for want of a better adjective- one of the loveliest Dub pieces I know.

I find that 'My Sound' consists of two parts. The first comprises the first two tracks- almost experimental sounds, intricate percussion and very heavy, but very subtle bass (as opposed to a bassline). The second part starts with 'Fling Style' and ends with 'Last Song', aptly titled. This, and also the fifth, track ('Don't Funk with Me') feature the intensely emotional vocals of Cesar Sampson. In the right mood, 'Dont Funk ...' will break your heart. 'All Di Gal Come', which is one of my favourite pieces, has elements of House. Executed the way it is, it's an exiting and interesting combination. The seventh track, 'Trigger Culture', featuring MC Trigger, is the only song that I don't like. Haunting keyboards, reminiscent of the wind howling around a bleak, deserted house on a hilltop, fractured beats and MC Trigger's monotonous and unemotional (almost inhuman) voice blend to result in music that sounds (at least to me) like the soundtrack to depression and nightmare.

There has been a formula, developed (or at least made popular) by Massive Attack on 'Blue Lines' (or by Goldie on 'Inner City Life'), which pairs phat basslines and beats with a sweet female voice, as if to apologize for the music or to make it more palatable. Today you have to look hard to find deviations from this rule. Morcheeba and Waldeck, to name two examples, all adhere to it and the list is endless. To Sterotyp's credit, he avoids this. Of the eleven songs, only two feature female vocals, 'Silence' with Colee Royce and 'Time' with Greenwood, and these are refreshing departures from the familiar.

(G-STONE CD 017, distributed by Soul Seduction Vienna, office@soulseduction.com)

Antonelli and Lawrence Do It Again!

Listen to the Lawrence Remix of Antonelli's 'The Morning'- this is perhaps the track of this winter!

Blonde, Pretty and Very, Very Good: Ada, Blondie

Ada: Blondie (Areal, 2004)

People in Cologne (and all of Catholic Rhineland, for that matter) are known as jovial, talkative and voluble to excess. In this, they differ from, indeed are the opposite of, people in Hamburg (and all of Northern Germany, in particular the coastal areas), who have and cultivate a reputation for being brusque and reticent. Here one hears the complaint that Rhinelanders want no conversation partners, but victims for their verbal torrents. Being, by temperament, if not by birth, somewhat of a North German, I tend to sympathise.

Cologne has, of course, quite a number of things that speak for it, too. The soot-covered Cathedral, Kölsch beer and, at Carnival time (in February), it is an absolute must for all friends of elaborate dressing-up and inebriated antics and frolics in public, in the streets, quite literally. This last is quite a serious tradition, as anyone who has tried to reach business partners in Cologne by phone during that time well knows: it is impossible!

More of these merits and virtues can be found in detail in any tourist guide to the city. What I have not found mention of in these books is the fact that Cologne is, at present at least, Germany’s capital (perhaps together with Berlin) for excellent and innovative electronic music of all sorts, both in the sense of artists and labels.

(I’d like to mention that it is also home to affectated, pretentious, self-centered and self-referential (but, alas, authoritative and well-informed and thus unavoidable) SPEX magazine (www.spex.de). A British band whose name eludes me as I write this ‘dedicated’ them a song a few years ago, titled ‘SPEX Is A Smug Bitch’. SPEX being what it is, took it as a compliment.)

Areal (www.areal-records.com) is one of these labels. Intended, in the words of its subtitle, as a home for ‘advanced tech-electronic minimalism’, it was founded by Michael Schwanen (a.k.a. Metope), Sebastian Riedl (a.k.a. Basteroid) and Mathias Klein (a.k.a. Konfekt/Schorf). Mr Schwanen moved to Cologne from Friedberg, a small town (or village, rather) near Frankfurt am Main in Hesse (another state in Germany whose people are known as jovial, talkative and voluble to excess. In addition, they are quite fond of apple wine.) in 1998. In Friedberg he had a project named ‘Lava Lounge’, this project had a vocalist named Michaela Dippel, who, after Metope’s departure, sang for a guitar pop band for a short while and moved to Cologne herself in 1991. She took with her a small Korg Electribe sampler forgotten at her place by a friend.

She was fascinated by the sampler and the possibilities it offered and intensely experimented with it. In this she was much encouraged by Areal’s Basteroid and Metope, who then issued the first two tracks Miss Dippel ever produced as a 12 inch on their label.

Now, Michaela Dippel is not a name to make your name with as an artist. It so happens that Miss Dippel has a predilection for vampires and zombies and thus for John Sinclair. ‘Ghost Hunter John Sinclair’ is a weekly pulp magazine (currently at issue 1371) very popular in Germany (with a circulation that makes the editor of many a high-brow magazine drool) artlessly written by Jason Dark (that’s Mr Helmut Rellergard, who also has over a dozen other nomes-de-plume). The series is, needless to say, replete with lycanthropes, Transylvanian artistrocrats on a hemoglobin diet, zombies and the malevolent undead in innumerable manifestations. The Sinclair stories are also available as books and radio plays on cassette tape and CD, one of which is about an asylum for the blind, inhabited by a number of blind zombies (how’s that for preposterous?)! This ‘Blindhouse’ is supervised by a matron named Ada, who keeps said zombies in a constant supply of fresh meat.

Miss Dippel took the name of the supervisor and the inspiration for her first 12 inch, ‘Blindhouse’ (b/w Lucky Charm), from the play’s music, which was issued as Areal’s tenth publication, produced on the Korg Electribe sampler mentioned above. Later a friend sent her an article on the entertainer Ada Lovelace, whom Miss Dippel professes to admire. This led to ‘Lovelace’ (b/w ... And More), her last 12 inch prior to ‘Blondie’, her first full length album, issued on October 18 on Areal.

And what an album it is! It was selected ‘Album of the Month’ by both de:bug magazine (www.de-bug.de) and SPEX magazine, and though I hate to admit that I agree upon anything with the latter, I have to make an exception in this case.

‘Blondie’ opens with ‘Eve’, which, at just under seven minutes, is a perfect example of Ada’s astounding abundance of ideas, expressed in a number of shifts, surprises and twists. The first two minutes remind me of a club version of a Kylie Minogue song- if Miss Minogue were a talented artist instead of the ludicrous, trivial inflatable doll that she is- but then the bass kicks in and Ada piles idea upon idea (a harpsichord and much elaborate percussion included).

‘Cool My Fire (I’m Burning)’, number two, is a lovely straightforward House track with an element of Dub, which I like very much.

Ada sings on six of the album’s ten songs, backed by her good friend Caroline Bausum, who also contributed the (banal and fatuous, in my view, so much so that they make me wince) lyrics to ‘Livedriver’ and ‘Who Pays the Bill’, the latter of which she sings alone. ‘Who Pays the Bill’ is reminiscent of ‘(I Wish I Had A) Wooden Heart’ by David Holmes’ The Free Association, and Miss Bausum’s voice and technique, in particular, remind me of Petra Jean Phillipson on that song. Despite this lyrical shortcoming, ‘Who Pays The Bill’ is one of my favourites on the album, with a very nice stylistic detour in the middle and multilayered vocals. And, as a friend, to whom I voiced my lyrical objection, put it: ‘What do you expect? It’s not a poetry contest, you know.’ He’s right. The song also reminds me very strongly of Super Nova’s 1999 track, ‘23. Juli’ (to be heard on the compilation ‘Vienna Scientists II- More Puffs from Our Laboratories’. And, poetry contest or not: for sheer stupidity, the lyrics to ‘23. Juli’ have yet to meet their match): both feature a very nice doublebass.

About the vocals, Ada said in a recent interview that it had not been her intention to produce an album with this much of them, due to her doubts as to whether such tracks would be played in the clubs, but concluded that, in her opinion, the vocals turned out to fit in extremely well. I agree.

Of the album’s three instrumental tracks, ‘The Red Shoes’, ‘Our Love Never Dies’ and ‘Les Danseuses’, the first is the most straightforward and the one which I like best.

‘Blondie’ includes two cover versions, Everything But The Girl’s ‘Each and Everyone’ and ‘Maps’, originally performed by The Yeah Yeah Yeahs. A cover version is ideally both an interpretation and a tribute and Ada manages both beautifully. In the case of ‘Each and Everyone’ I cannot help but think that this is exactly what a more inspired Tracy Thorn and Ben Watt would have sounded like in 2004.


Five Stars, definitely.


There is another Michaela in Cologne who produces excellent electronic music (which has been described, among other things, as Acid-Pop). This is Michaela Grobelny, a.k.a. M.I.A., the partner (in life and label) of Falko Brocksieper (who needs no introduction, I think). The label in question is Sub Static (www.sub-static.de), which released, in autumn 2003, her excellent debut album, ‘Schwarzweiss’ (vinyl only). Apart from close ties to a particular label, M.I.A. shares Ada’s predilection for Techno with vocals.

M.I.A. is not, (please not) to be mistaken for the unspeakable posers Mia. (yes, that dot is an intergral part of the band name, they insist), prominent representatives of the Berlin Electro-Clash-Punk-Hype, now mercifully defunct and passé (even though some bands of the genre do not seem to be quite aware of this and are still active). I think that three facts suffice about this band: 1) The singer calls herself Mieze (German for kitty or pussy (both as in ‘cat’)), her understanding of gender-irony 2) The band consider the name of their record label, ‘Respect or Tolerate’, a profound statement both political and social and 3) Mia-with-the-dot-at-the-end-of-their-name actually took part in the national contest to represent Germany at (now hold on to your seat, please, dear Gentle Reader) the Eurovision Song Contest 2003 in Istanbul (thereby placing themselves firmly in the same league as such Epitomes of Awefulness and Vulgarity as Guildo Horn and The Orthopedic Stockings)! And they lost (Guildo Horn and his band won, at least)! Mia. even ranked behind Scooter!

Scooter’s frontman, the incredible H.P. Baxxter (Hans-Peter Geerdes to his mother), has recently read a selection of Thomas Bernhard’s short pieces on CD (published by Dancefloor label Overdose in Frankfurt). I’d like to hear Kid Rock with Jonathan Franzen and Pamela Anderson with Susan Sontag, please.

Lawrence: The Absence of Blight (Dial, 2003)

Sten: Leaving the Frantic (Dial, 2004)

Autumn's Perfect Soundtracks: Lawrence, The Absence of Blight | Sten: Leaving the Frantic

Lawrence is Peter M. Kersten and Peter M. Kersten is Sten. Mr Kersten is known as Pete to his friends and those familiar with him. He has frequent appearances behind the decks at the Golden Pudel Club (www.pudel.com) and at Click (www.click808.com), both institutions known far beyond the borders of Hamburg, the latter, in my humble opinion, one of the country’s first addresses for finest electronic music at present. Mr Kersten, who studies Cultural Sciences at the university of Lüneburg, a small, picturesque town about half an hour by train from Hamburg, is easily recognized by his shock of dark hair and his prominent eyebrows. He is polite, with a calm face and a pleasant, sympathetic smile. He invariably fills the floor and his evenings at Click are among the best I’ve experienced in the last year.

Mr Kersten is the co-owner, with David Lieske (known to his friends as Dave and to afficionados of fine beats as Carsten Jost) of a record label, Dial Records (www.dial-rec.de). That by itself may not be much of a surprise, as quite a number of DJs and producers operate their own labels, but Dial has the ambition to make politics, leftist, anti-fascist politics (known in Germany as, what else, Antifa)- a factor in the Techno scene, which is notoriously apolitical. As almost the only political demand from this scene has been for the legalization of various substances effective in mind-and-pleasure-enhancement and in view of the fact that most of those active in Antifa activities (centered, in Hamburg, in the derelict Rote Flora theatre in the city’s Schanzenviertel) listen to Dub, HipHop, Punk, Reggae and Ska (everything, in short, but Techno), it appears to be a difficult task, to say the least. Of the label’s artist, I’d like to mention Pantha du Prince, whose album ‘Diamond Daze’ is excellent indeed (my favourite track is ‘Suzan’). The Pantha is better known as Hendrik Weber, bass player for Stella, Hamburg’s Hip Pop Supergroup. I’m not quite sure what that means exactly, but the reader may ask SPEX (www.spex.de) magazine, the nation’s self-proclaimed (and, indeed, undisputed) authority in all matters hip and pop.

Lawrence is much in demand as a remixer and his work in that field includes ‘Das Lied vom einsamen Mädchen’ from Depeche Mode’s Martin L. Gore’s album 'Counterfeit 2' and, recently, Superpitcher’s 'Happiness' and Quarks’ ‘Du entkommst mir nicht’. Very nice, though I have to admit that I like the Antonelli Electric remix better. Perhaps that’s because I don’t like Jovanka von Willsdorf’s voice and Antonelli Electric have kept the vocal samples at a minimum.

When Lawrence’s second album, 'The Absence of Blight', was issued last autumn, it appears that much consultation of dictionaries occured in regard to the word ‘blight’ and attempts were made by different reviewers to interpret the title and set it in relation to the music and Mr Kersten. Much interpretation was also undertaken of the artwork and this is, I think, a better key to the music. Ten bleak black and white photographs, seven depicting weeds struggling in desolate, hostile urban surroundings, three views of sunlit post acid-rain German forests and meadows. Weeds that have broken through cracks in the pavement, grow against the wall of what appears to be a junk-filled backyard, have taken over large concrete municipal flowerpots abundant in German cities, one of them on a rail pallet, a small tree at the dead end of a line of track. Blight is a disease of plants, among other meanings, and Mr Kersten apprenticed as a gardener prior to his studies at Lüneburg university.

Hamburg is Germany’s largest port and one of the largest in Europe, in direct competition with Rotterdam. From here the goods arrived by container are distributed, by truck and by rail, to destination all over the country and Europe. In the south of Hamburg, near industrial Harburg, there is a huge wasteland of tracks, acre upon acre of parallel tracks, illuminated by hundreds of sodium arc lights, whose orange glow lights up the night sky and is visible from miles away when one approches Hamburg on the A1 (Autobahn 1) from the south in the dark. It is photographs of this view, again in black and white, that constitute the artwork on Sten’s album, 'Leaving the Frantic', issued on 9 October.

Two connected panels on the front of the inlay show a seemingly endless freight train, each car loaded with one container of COSCO, the national Chinese shipping line, twenty of which grow smaller from right to left and recede from view. On the back of the inlay, five connected panels show the upper part of a number of the lights mentioned. The emotion I associate with all of these pictures, on both albums, is melancholy. And this is a very apt word to describe the emotional content of both Lawrence’s and Sten’s music.

As Lawrence, Mr Kersten produced House, as Sten minimalistic Techno. Lawrence has been described as music to wallow in your depression to, Sten as music to dance to. In an interview with Sami Khatib, published in the December 2003 issue of de:bug magazine (www.de-bug.de) Mr Kersten describes the difference thus:

‘Lawrence is my concrete artistic being. Sten is much more abstract, not devoid of emotion, but more a minimal Club-Techno project. I have separated the two, because it is a more relaxed way of working. Sten tracks are relatively quick work, while I work very long on Lawrence tracks. But sometimes I know only subsequently whether a current production is a Lawrence or a Sten track.’ Asked how he defines this, Mr Kersten replied: ‘That’s a very simple decision that I have to make then. Should people listen to it or dance to it? It would be ideal, of course, to dance while listening. ... Sten gives me the possibilty to simply ‘fire away’. I am, after all, not only the multilayered, melancholy Lawrence.’

This arbitrary division is far from exact (and probably can’t be exact): there are tracks on ‘The Absence of Blight’ that are eminently danceable, while a number of the tracks on ‘Leaving the Frantic’ are both melancholy and multilayered despite a 4/4 beat. Sten’s brillant ‘From a Spire’ is almost a continuation of Lawrence’s ‘Neighbourhood’, both of which tickle the hips and yet evoke, through simple organ chords, a sense of nostalgia and sadness. These organ chords appear on a number of tracks on ‘Leaving the Frantic’.

Four of the tracks on ‘Leaving the Frantic’ have been previously available as 12 inches on Dial, a fifth on Sender Records. The vinyl version of the album includes two bonus tracks not on the CD.

My favourites, apart from the two tracks mentioned, are Lawrence’s ‘Fifteen Minutes with You’ (a beautiful love song, in my view), Sten’s opener, ‘Back Four’, with the shift in the last third (others would have made two separate tracks out of this), ‘Eccentric’, ‘Are You A Doctor’ (which would be the question to ‘I Am Not A Doctor’, Moloko’s second album) and ‘Frost’, a track to drive to through Northern Germany’s monotonous flat landscape in winter- endless fields of earth frozen solid, solitary trees.

In Hamburg, there are sections of the lines where the underground trains travel overground, much like New York City’s famous Elevated. In one particular section, with the vast port on the left and the hypermodern architecture of one of Germany’s largest magazine publishing houses on the right, under a leaden sky, I thought that if I were to set these images to music, both Lawrence and Sten would be perfect.


Five Stars (both)

The FdDST e.V.: A Critical View

In Bryan Singer’s excellent first film, ‘The Usual Suspects’, five criminals meet, apparently by chance, in City Hall’s Holding Tank. One is not surprised that the result of this encounter is a series of capers.

Had they been Germans instead of Americans and law-abiders instead of law-breakers, they would most likely have founded a Verein. The literal translation of this thoroughly German word, as supplied by the dictionary, is a society or an association. There are, however, a number of associations (no pun intended), connotations and implications inherent in this word which are difficult to convey to anyone not familiar with German culture and society. An approximation is the English word club, in the sense of Gentlemen’s Club. A registered Verein (or eingetragener Verein, abbreviated e.V.) can be founded to pursue any one common interest of its members. It must have a charter, a managing committee and chairman, always has a treasury and enjoys certain tax benefits. Some of these societies, such as the innumerable Allotment Gardeners’ Societies, are subject to much derision, but many of them provide invaluable public services.

The FdDST e.V. does not belong to the latter group. FdDST stands for Freunde der Deutschen Schule Teheran (Friends of the German School [in] Tehran). Its membership is limited to alumni of said school, one of the many International Schools that flourished in Iran under the Pahlavi regime. The Americans had one (TAS or Tehran American School, where, incidentally, Donna Leon, author of the immensely popular series of detective novels featuring Commissario Brunetti of the Venice Questura, taught for a while. Tennis matches and poolside lounging seem to have taken up most of her time and her statements regarding the country during her stay there are as fatuous as her books), as did the British, the French, the Italians and the Swedish. I’m certain that there were more, these are only those that I definitely remember. In addition to these there were also a number of private schools without direct national association in which the language of instruction was English. Most famous of these were Community School and IranZamin School.

The pupils of the nationally associated schools consisted of the children of diplomats of the respective countries, those of the representatives of companies registered there who were posted to Iran for periods of usually two to four years and children of mixed marriages, one parent a citizen of the respective country, the other Iranian, in almost all cases the father.

The late but unlamented MohammadReza Pahlavi, one of the most brutal, corrupt, inept, oppressive and stupid invertebrates ever to head a country, had a vision which he almost never failed to mention in his innumerable speeches. It was irrelevant whether a connection to the subject at hand was evident (or even existed)- the little routine was incorporated by Imperial privilege. Iran was, in Mr Pahlavi’s view ‘at the gates of the Great Civilisation’. Details as to what this state of bliss consisted of were never supplied. Iran was ante portas for quite a while, for decades, in fact, up until the time when the Pahlavi dynasty was deposed of. Mr Pahlavi was, to his unpardonable discredit, ashamed of his backward people, their ignorance and illiteracy. This lamentable state of affairs was and is one of the characteristics of all Third World countries. Another is that a small elite benefits from the labours of the majority. A responsible and sensible ruler would have endeavoured to better that. That, however, would have conflicted with the interests of the influential elite, whose very power and prosperity depended upon the exploitation of the masses. Instead, to appease international, i.e. Western, opinion, Tehran and a limited number of other large cities, such as Isphahan, Mashad and Shiraz were transformed into superficially modern metropoles, while the rest of the country was left to its own devices. Suffice it to mention that in February 1979, at the time of the Pahlavi family’s forced departure into exile (with five billion United States Dollars!), thousands of villages had no electricity, medical services of any kind or running water. Instead, drum solos by Mr Pahlavi’s eldest son, performed to an audience of national and international political representatives, were featured on the evening news. Said son, the intended successor to the Peacock Throne, who now lives in the United States, considers himself the legitimate ruler of Iran, albeit in exile. Patients with similar delusions people psychiatric hospitals worldwide and are for the most part kept under heavy medication for their own and others’ safety.

The sum of five billion Dollars is one that was touted by the clergy after it took over power and is not substantiated by evidence. There is no doubt, however, that the Pahlavis robbed the country. The founder of the dynasty, the despotic and uneducated Reza, who hailed from the province of Gilan at the Caspian Sea, was an officer in a Russian Cossack regiment stationed there, with no income other than his pay. After his ascent to power, in the rapacious manner characteristic of him, he took what pleased him and amassed an indecent fortune. This tradition was honoured and continued, with no small success, by his children, with the exception, perhaps, of his daughter Shams. Her sister, Ashraf (the name derives from the Arabic noun ‘sharaf’, which means honour (!)), had a hand in prostitution rackets and the drug trade.

Mr Pahlavi and his father did create by force a delicate and tenuous Middle Class, whose admiration for and support of the monarchy was intended as one of its power bases. As seen on TV in 1979, it was this same Middle Class that took to the streets by the millions to demand a swift end to His Imperial Majesty’s reign.

Civilization, in both Pahlavis’ view, meant the Western, and in the case of MohammadReza, the American version. Reza decreed that Iranian men must abandon traditional dress in favour of suits and that women must be unveiled. To this last end, policemen hid behind trees and street corners to forcibly remove women’s Tchadors, their traditional (black) covering. As a result, quite a number of women refused to leave the house thereafter, for months and even years in some cases. This procedure is representative of all ‘reforms’ initiated by Reza. It is worth mention that, when he became too obnoxious to bear, he was sent into exile (albeit on Mauritius) by the very Western powers (the British, to be exact) he toadied to. Early in 1979 the civilized and Westernized Iranian people thanked him in unequivocal fashion: they destroyed his mausoleum in the south of Tehran.

Education worth its name (as that offered by the International Schools) was limited to the offspring of the affluent. Affluence was, certainly with exceptions, connected to corruption, exploitation and injustice both personal and social. The example of the deceased brother of one of my father’s best friends, who had one of his stable-boys whipped in the presence of a number of his guests (on his estate in the vicinity of Tehran) for a minor infraction, is representative. He died of the direct results of an overindulgence in Scotch and opium.

From the 1950s onward, a great number of young Iranian men from the Middle and Upper Classes left the country upon graduation from high school to study abroad, i.e. at American and European universities. In part this was a symbol of financial prowess and social status, for the proud parents at first and later, upon their return to Iran, for the graduates themselves. Many of these young men (the number of women among these students was negligible) brought back home not only a degree, but a wife as well. In Germany in particular, these ‘Persian Princes’ were popular and respected, due to the fact that the late Soraya, Mr Pahlavi’s first wife, whom he allegedly divorced for her infertility, which made her unable to bear him an heir, was the offspring of the marriage between an Iranian and a German.
The children of these liasions constituted the majority of my fellow pupils at the DST. Almost all left prior, during or immediately after the upheavals of 1978 and 1979 which led to the ‘Islamic Revolution’. Most settled with their parents in Germany, usually in their mothers’ hometowns, but a number went elsewhere, primarily the USA. It is understandable and laudable that the FdDST e.V. was formed shortly afterwards. Networks of this sort, based upon common experience, have always existed. The FdDST was and is quite active, with a website (www.fddst.de), quite well visited (as evidenced by the number of entries in the guestbook), reserved tables in pubs for informal weekly meetings in all major (and some minor) cities, annual reunions, etc.

What disappoints me however, is that these ladies and gentlemen limit their exchanges to- in part embarassingly sentimental- reminiscences about the ‘good old times’ prior to the upheavals that forced their parents to leave- or flee- Iran. It is understandable that at the time we had little or no awareness of the country’s realities, political or social. We were children, adolescents at best. We sat safe and dry on a boulder in the middle of a torrentous river, clueless as to the violent currents and the undertow.

Twenty-four years have elapsed, however, and it is lamentable to witness the absence of a maturation of political and social attitudes and views. It is time to admit that the pleasant life we had was at the expense of bitter deprivation, injury and wrong inflicted upon the multitudes which many of my former schoolmates still refer to as the ‘Lower Classes’. To these, however, we were and are deeply indebted. A first step toward repayment of this debt is to acknowledge that they existed and led their handicapped existences parallel to our pampered lives, often in the same house. They watered the lawns as we swam in the pool, did the housework and enabled your mothers to lead the idle and indolent lives they could never have been able to afford had they stayed in Germany. These servants were the fortunate ones, much more fortunate, at least, than those who laboured in the brickyards in the south of Tehran for a pittance and lived in hovels under unacceptable circumstances that stole from them what little dignity and self-esteem they had left.

Most of my former schoolmates have attained positions of affluence and influence in their lives. They are vehement and vocal in their critisism and derision of the corruption and incompetence of Iran’s present rulers. Yet the idea does not appear to occur to them to return to the country they claim to yearn for, where they claim their hearts and roots are and to contribute to its betterment. It is easier to talk, though, than to act. To act would mean to leave the amenities of life in Europe for the relative hardships of life in Iran. They probably expect another upheaval that will dispose of the theocrats- an upheaval to be carried out by the Lower and Middle Classes presumably- that will enable them to return to Tehran on a red carpet and reclaim their positions of privilege. That, however, is an illusion. It is also despicable and ignorant of the country’s political realities. In this hope they will be as disappointed as the Drummer Prince. The Romanoffs have waited for their return for quite a while now, too. I suggest that the Pahlavis and the Romanoffs establish a Verein of dethroned despots. There are quite a number of former Imperial and Royal Highnesses and Majesties from African and Central European countries who would appreciate the idea and apply for membership, I’m certain.

I dared voice these views, in a mild version, on the FdDST’s website. I was attacked, critisized, denied membership and ostracized. One particularly unsavoury fellow abused and insulted me (in a manner rather revealing of his birth and descent) in a number of cowardly anonymous emails. In Mr Pahlavi’s time, freedom of opinion and thought and their expression were not welcome and firmly discouraged. Dissent was a matter treated in the notorious Evin prison. Treatment invariably involved the atrocious infliction of pain both physical and psychical. This attitude has its roots in a particular mental disposition, of which intolerance is a main ingredient. The presence of this particular mental dispositon is evident in the FdDST. This may appear to be an exaggerated, inaccurate and unfair comparison. I would, however, like to quote in translation a Persian proverb: They are excellent swimmers indeed. It is just that they haven’t had access to the sea yet.

I recommend that the FdDST e.V. greet visitors to its website with an official hymn. Aerosmith’s ‘Dream On’ would be apt- or GüMix’s ‘Wake Up’. I’ll be glad to help with the copyright issues.

Bullshit-Proof Vest Recommended: A Warning About Xavier Naidoo

The importation of American culture to Europe continues apace (or its exportation, depending on the continent where your financial interests lie). This year, Halloween, the Americanized (in the sense of commercialized) version of the ancient pagan Celtic feast, started a massive- and successful- assault on German consumers’ pockets and credit cards. The Gullible, who devour with uncritical fervour all morsels thrown them from across the Atlantic Ocean, have no one to blame but themselves for their exploitation, but I suspect that the point does not even occur to them. The one relevant question for them seems to be whether they can afford it. As Girls Against Boys put it in ‘Psychic Know-How’ (to be heard on their brilliant 1994 album, ‘Cruise Yourself’): ‘We need more suckers in our lives/we need more candy’. Well, Germany has a population of about eighty million. That should suffice, for a while at least.

It would interest me to know for certain whether the solidarity felt in this country with the United States in the wake of September 11 played a role in the wholehearted embrace of Halloween this year. Paranoid minds have insinuated that those tragic events were planned by the US Intelligence Establishment, to pave the way for the unelected President’s ignorant and irresponsible international policies (and for the immeasurable profit of the Military-Industrial Complex). That seems rather improbable, but one remembers that said Establishment and Complex have been implicated in a number of operations of a similar nature, with the crucial difference that those were not executed within US borders. There is truth, after all, in ab actu ad posse valet ilatio.

I’m afraid that in the not all too distant future Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July will also be celebrated in Germany. I am, admittedly, quite curious as to how the German public will be sold the idea of the latter, but I have no serious doubt that that feat will be accomplished somehow. My confidence stems in parts from the fact that a feat which at first seems no less improbable has already been accomplished: German Reggae, R&B and Soul are accepted and established parts of the national musical scene.

There are two musical categories in which German bands have attained international reputation and respect in the past four decades and have even defined directions and influenced quite a number of artists elsewhere: Electronic Music and Jazz, both of which can be defined as cerebral, as opposed to visceral.

It is, however, hard to think of anything less compatible with the German soul than, well, Soul (along with R&B and Reggae). Little wonder that one seldom finds true merit or quality in respective German productions, with the possible exception of Reggae (Gentleman, Patrice).

German HipHop and Rap has (with exceptions), in the absence here of Gangstas and Ghettos comparable to their US counterparts, avoided an imitation of the respective genres and defined authentic and indigenous styles, from the hilariously witty to the socially critical.

One of the exceptions mentioned above (certainly the most ludicrous and notorious and the loudest) is Mr Moses Pelham with 3P (Pelham Power Productions). The first of Mr Pelham’s projects to come to public attention was the Rödelheim Hartreim Project. Mr Pelham is the son of a black GI stationed in Rödelheim (part of Frankfurt am Main) and a German mother. There he spent his impressionable years. While Rödelheim does not and will never head the list of the hippest, most pleasant and safest towns to live in, the worst that can be said about it is that it imbues its inhabitants (quite a large number of whom live on alcohol, the dole and talk shows) with a profound sense of depression, despair and lack of future and perspective. I do not mean to belittle these factors, but Rödelheim has very little in common with the Bronx or South Central Los Angeles. Mr Pelhams’s lyrics, however, exaggerated the existent misery and social issues and painted a picture that stretched credulity. Mr Pelham, who works mainly as a producer these days (he threatens to issue a new album, titled ‘Bastard of the Light’ before Christmas this year, because this (Half-)Nigga With Attitude knows quite well that Jingle Bells is the soundtrack to sweet commercial transactions), launched the careers of a number of artists whose success meanwhile surpasses his own. Of these, the two best-known are Sabrina Setlur and the Obnoxious One himself, the sanctimonious Xavier Naidoo, who was a backgroung singer for Mr Pelham.

In the words of the Bible, from which Mr Naidoo claims to derive much inspiration and solace (Bible-thumping is, I believe, the expression), he is a Plague, a Pestilence and a Visitation. Should the Lord still have an ear for this humble sinner’s pleas, I ask him to bring on the Locusts and instead deliver us from Mr Naidoo.

Mr Naidoo (who was born in Mannheim in 1971 to a South African mother and a father of Indian descent), to his credit, has a mellifluous and pleasant voice and truly impressive technique, both of which he utilizes to maximum effect to create an incredible ‘flow’, that of cash from his fans’ pockets to his.

Mr Naidoo likes to speak about (to orate and to preach are also accurate verbs) about Divine Inspiration. It appears to be bestowed upon him in rather prolific measure (and befits the venues he plays, which can be described as stadium-sized): so prolific, in fact, that the seventy minutes available on one CD did not suffice the last time and he issued an album with two CDs, titled ‘Alles für den Herrn’ (All for the Lord) and ‘Zwischenspiel’ (Interlude), about thirty songs in all! The former consists of ‘prayers set to music’ (vertonte Gebete), the latter of more commercial stuff. He also contributed a track to the French film, ‘Asterix and Obelix’, based on the brillant comic by André Uderzo and Rene Goscinny. A torch song of sorts, in which Obelix, a Gallic peasant of impressive proportions with a predilection for devouring whole roasted boar by the half-dozen, played by Gérard Depardieu, tears his hair at his unrequited love for Falbala, played by Laetitia Casta. Saccharine squared is a mild description of the song- music and lyrics. In other words, an instant and immense commercial success.

His latest musical venture is as part of ‘Söhne Mannheims’ (Sons of Mannheim), a posse based in, well, Mannheim.

In interviews Mr Naidoo states with unmistakable pride that he is arrogant. One would assume that enlightenment and proximity to the Lord would lead to humility and modesty. In one televised interview he volunteered the information that he smoked grass (upon which, small wonder, the police paid him a visit. It is rather hard to understand his subsequent (loudly proclaimed, as expected) indignation and his accusations of harassment). To mention such a ‘feat’ is not evidence of a mature mind and more the sort of boast one would expect from acned adolescents trying on a cool and defiant pose. Even Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston did not stoop to cannabis when they decided to boost their careers with a little drug scandal.

On photographs Mr Naidoo is invariably seen in ‘serious’ dress (his version, at least: suits in sombre hues, but with t-shirts instead of shirts and gold chains. It’s sad- all that money and neither style nor taste. Further evidence of this is that he drives a Porsche, in Germany the epitome of ostentation. I suggest that he perform one act of authentic Christian generosity: sell it and donate the proceeds, without publicity, to the truly devout and necessitous Indian women who grace the cover of his last album) and in affectated poses- head bowed, lost in contemplation, hands pressed together in supplication (he seems to know his Albrecht Dürer well) or a direct look into the camera’s lens with an expression in his eyes that is intended to be pensive, sad, sensitive and vulnerable. He probably thinks of the amount of his income tax payment in preparation for this particular expression.

In conclusion I suggest, no, pray, that Mr Naidoo emigrate to the United States and embark on a career as singing televangelist. Even better, let him take his fans (or is ‘acolytes’, or ‘disciples’, a more appropriate term?) with him. I even believe that the idea will appeal to Mr Naidoo: Moses leading his people out of Pharao’s land (this Pharao will be only too glad to let the Porsche-driving prophet and his people go). I am not at all certain that the arrival of these masses will be met with a universal welcome in the New World, but there is justice in it: we have to put up with Halloween, let them put up with the Obnoxious One. Fair trade.

This text was written in autumn 2002.