The lights, the heartbeat percussion from '12/17/12', the atmosphere, the complete improbability of me standing there and the badly poured pint I sipped overwhelmed my senses. One ecstatic thought exploded in my mind: 'I'm in Berlin, with three awesome friends I just met, watching one of the best gigs I've ever seen.' That moment took its place next to a kiss and the first time I got paid as a writer as one of the best nights of my life.
"Please don't strand me in Germany" I typed into Viber using the free Wi Fi in Dublin airport. The message was delivered but not seen as I shuffled onto the humbly sized Ryan Air plane. There was no turning back now. A brief smile flashed across my face as I took my seat next to the window and two attractive women slimly sat in the adjoining seats which I feared could have held an obese armrest-hogging man and a headphone defeating baby. I turned my phone onto airplane mode and joined the finger chewing of the other nervous flyers. But turbulence was the least of my concern at that point. We past clouds, and the Greenwich Mean time zone, and soon landed in the warm embrace of a European metropolis. I stepped onto the soil of this foreign land at the beginning of a seven night trip with €40 in my pocket. No more no less.
My hands shook as I handed my passport to the customs officer. "They won't let me down. They can't let me down." I repeated this mantra internally as my iPhone 4 searched hopefully for a Wi Fi signal. The three bars lit up and I was notified of two missed calls on Viber. I rang back hastily.
"Tell me you've got good news..." I pleaded wearily.
A long pause.
"The money's in your account." The voice assured me.
"Oh thank fuck. I knew ye wouldn't let me down. I'm gonna go get lost. I'll give you a buzz tomorrow."
And lost I got. Berlin's transport system is.... Complex. I finally made it to my hostel after two subway trips, a failed attempt to get the bus and finally a taxi. I was relieved to find that there was a bar inside... Ok I'll be honest I was over the moon. It was a bar where I could stumble upstairs and fall asleep. I thought I had died and gone to Irish heaven!
But after an hour or so at the bar, failing to ignite any conversation, a sense of dread washed over me.
'What am I going to do by myself for 7 days? I'm not exactly a fan of my own company.'
Then two English guys heard me trying to chat up the barmaid. One turned around, and with an Eastender's accent, quipped:
"Your accent... You're Italian aren't you?"
Thus our acquaintanceship was sealed. Kieran and Peter invited me along to gig the following night. 'The Decemberists'. I had actually heard of them on Spotify, but only one song: 'Make You Better'. They assured me that it was on the new album 'What A Terrible World, What A Beautiful World' and would most likely be played. So we made an arrangement to meet at 7pm the next day in the bar. Reminiscent of old school pre-mobile phone rendezvouses or current day roaming charges rendezvouses.
The next morning I decided to go on a "free" walking tour of Berlin. Participants are collected from the hostel 10.20am. As I got talking to the only other person who opted to join me, he informed me that his roommates invited him to a gig that night but he just found out that it was sold out. I asked were they two English guys named Kieran and Pete? Fate was obviously playing her hand.
We joined a gaggle of fellow tourists and as the tour commenced we pondered between us how such a service was offered for free. Our question was soon answered when the guide informed us that, though the service was technically free, he was not paid by his company but if we felt the tour was worth paying for we could give him money directly. A donation of €15 was suggested. Jordan, my new American friend of Chinese decent, quickly did the maths. With a tour group of between 10-30 people each giving at least €10 and doing 2 or 3 tours a day this guy was making serious bank from free tours.
Jordan and I spent the rest of the day wandering around East Berlin (getting lost). We decided to visit the venue where the concert was being held and see if any tickets could be purchased at the box office.
We arrived at a graffiti soaked industrial park where the ghosts of last weekends ravers could still be seen with the right kind of eyes. In lieu of a box office we only saw a handful of hard working entrepreneurs waiting at the gates. Overcome by the sense we were now in a German version of 'The Wire' Jordan and I decided that there was strength in numbers and we would come back later with Kieran and Pete to look for scalpers.
A change of socks later and we came back to find business was booming for our merchants. Inside the gates Jordan was quickly offered at ticket at discount by a party of friends who had a no show. Unluckily for me I was confronted by a scalper who wanted 150% of the ticket price. Obviously from the opening paragraph I was on a tight budget and I declined his offer. Alternative options for the night flashed through my mind. Making my way all the way back to the hostel bar and trying to recruit new drinking buddies seem the safest bet. The night seemed like a bust. But on the river, fate's hand played a straight.
A strung out homeless man approached with a sheet of paper with a barcode on it asking for below face value of the ticket. Unsolicited haggling began and I purchased a genuine ticket for a price that allowed both of us to walk away with our heads held high. My white knight shuffled off into the horizon still clutching the crumpled A4 sheet in his yellow withered hands.
Inside we were greeted by an almost full auditorium of eager fans and an ingenious plastic cup system where you paid a deposit for a cup and received a blue chip. Upon returning this chip with your plastic cup at the end of the night you got your deposit back. The result was a cupless concert floor. We all agreed that it was this kind of thinking why Germany nearly took over the world. Twice.
Colin Meloy took to the stage and was joined one by one by his fellow hipsters as the opening song progressed. If the band sounded as polished as they looked for the rest of the show then we were in for a treat. What followed was one of the most impressive like performances I'd seen since the veteran Nine Inch Nails. His orbiting bandmates swapped instruments through the setlist in a literal game of musical chairs. My view of this was slightly obstructed by the fact, while I may be Irish average height, I am short by Germanic standards. Meloy conducted the audience with master showmanship and geek chic charm. Only slipping up once when he made the geographical faux pas of stating that Germany was a landlocked country during his intro to 'The Mariner's Revenge Song'. But the crowd was too smitten with him at this stage to stay upset.
They finally did play the song I knew and I belted out the lyrics out of tune and out of key. Long before that though I swayed, was swept up and became a live long fan. My new favourite Decemberists' song is 'A Singer Addresses His Audience'. A cosmic string of coincidences had me standing in that Astra venue in Berlin and one sound vibrated through the auditorium: the aching refrain 'To belong, to belong, to belong...'
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