It may be unlikely intelligence, but I do here disclose to the masses that we here at Cinema Strange, Ltd. hold the various fruits of culinary efforts in high regard. Thusly, it cannot be helped that our collective reminisces revolve constantly around the splendid table set by Captain Norbert, co-helmsman of Club Zwischenfall, and we thank him copiously. Now, no more should be said of what transpired backstage at that infamous German club on September 22nd, 2000, because 'tis often said that "the antics of slugs under wet stones may be one of the prime curiosities of the universe, but once revealed, he who lifted the stone will invariably regret his actions because after all, no matter what their antics are, slugs are still slimy and icky". So, in light of this, I will share two blaring memories that I will not let loose from my brain, willing or unwilling, for the rest of my days. Memory #1: Eddie and the sound guy saved our asses.
You see, Cinema Strange was seemingly destined for an unplanned acoustic set because our 120 volt AC power adapters were ungrounded. What this means in layman's terms is: we were fucked. Then the sound guy appeared on the scene with an apparently ancient power converter unit, undoubtedly unearthed from some local archaeological site just for the occasion. It worked for a few seconds, which is to say, just long enough for a warm, fuzzy collective relief to settle around our souls... then it failed. Needless to say, we sobbed like little girls. And so it would have went, but quite suddenly, Eddie, Norbert's stouthearted partner at Zwischenfall, swept onto the stage like a fiery Balrog out of some pit. He and our trusty sound-man set to work and before long, we were wired into the back of the power converter fossil, and 120 volts AC was humming at our feet, ready to command. Absolutely amazing. I have scores of unsent love letters to those mighty warriors, waiting only for signatures from the rest of the Cinema Strange committee. Also, many thanks to Tom the Rocketeer and the rest of Murder At The Registry, whose amps we borrowed. May all Europeans cower at thy feet, oh violent Registry!
Memory #2: Concerning Pagan Love Songs, held at Zwischenfall, and how it is the premier deathrock/batcave club in Germany, if not the world. The event does not attract a crowd so much as open the flood gates and let in a bristling sea of mohicans, their faces awash with liquid eyeliner and black lipstick, their bodies trussed up with netting and webbing and spikes and corsets... When this anachronistic tide rolled recklessly in, we were attacked from all sides by 1983, and for the first time since we started playing clubs, I felt at home. Pagan Love Songs is doing something remarkable, and it is this writer's opinion that every deathrocker worth the runs in his or her stockings should be saving for a plane ticket to Bochum.
The rest of our night there was a shadowplay of shapes and gray scale hues. Our show was foggy and hot and the faces that filled the smoky darkness were hungry and intent... and it fulfilled my every dream that they were so eager to devour us, and I believe they left that night with sated innards. We played for nigh on two hours and left the stage in a light-headed trance, pressing through the bodies like worms tunneling through strange soil. Later, we met guest after guest and each introduction was like a reunion of old comrades, come far and long through time and space to this inevitable spot. We were spirits who had been flitting across the decades, now stopping at the Batcave in London, now at Helter Skelter in LA, now at Release the Bats in Long Beach, and now, finally, settling at the Zwischenfall for Pagan Love Songs! Thank-you R.A.L.F and :Thomas: Thyssen, and Rene from Nightstalker's Ballroom, for the chance to go whole-heartedly back in time!