Deja Vu : Berlin

….please do not play this song if you do not like your stereo situation….



We love it when we can cross pollinate our diverse interests in a foreign zone with rare astral shit. While on assignment in Berlin, one of our staff journalists had a cosmic personal experience while hanging out with a former member of the iconic Spacemen 3. They were driving around sunny Berlin discussing music, style, politics and food while listening to some trippy vintage industrial music from the Canadian group known as The Tear Garden. Of course our staff member loves to take advantage of a great sound system (in Berlin they like to keep the volume at a respectable level), and our journalist took full advantage playing the music loud. A small white 1992 Alfa Romeo pulls up blasting some classical. Driven by an older Berliner (a city worker with his younger co-worker) possibly in his early 50’s (he was shirtless, wearing white overalls, a blue corduroy hat, and a paisley silk handkerchief around his neck), turns his music down and starts bobbing his head to the sounds coming from our journalist’s car meeting. At the stoplight he shouts the question: “what are you listening to?” . “Tear Garden” our journalist responds. “Tier-garten?!” the city worker responds in a thick German accent. He then pauses and continues to bob his head before giving our team the thumbs up. The light changes, and the roadways of the psyche open up. We love this kind of magic and understanding, there is beauty and art in the world and we stay encouraged to find it. Stay tuned for more tales of foreign lands…


“It was a cold November evening and I should have worn a coat.
I shivered, waiting for the ferry boat to carry me to you.
Could see you dancing in the harbour lights; your hair an orange flame.
You’d turn away, swing on a crane.
Always quite the same…

The same! The same!
It’s always quite the same.
Rewind! Re-live it all again and again.

You’d tiptoe halfway across a rooftop, drop headfirst in the river.
You’d stretch out for a helping hand and once again I’d stand there, not close enough to touch, but I heard you call my name as you died.
And the ferry boat? It never did arrive…”

-Edward Ka-Spel