Month: March 2023

For Fuchs’ Sake

Every 2nd S̷a̷t̷u̷r̷d̷a̷y̷ Sunday of the month, in a dingy Neukölln bar, the convivial fox gathers its skulk for a night of music and storytelling.

The night begins with Olivia Mamberti. The Berlin-based artist from Rio sings of past selves and past love. Her presence is airy, her voice tastes of half-melted gelato on a warm summer day.

Pause, 5 mins. 5 mins to recover from youthful reveries.

Marina Reza goes next. Brazilian summer retreats into New York winter. Blending Moshfeghian ennui with catchy Burnham-esque axioms, her poetry provides reprieve of some kind in an age of “we’re all f-ed in the b.”

Pause, again. We are reminded to use the restroom and tip the bartender, who is working alone tonight. There are thirsty cubs to feed.

Louise Mathilde falls into place on the stage. Her voice perforates. “Septembre” relates a terrible month of loss: the days get shorter; a lover leaves. As “que s’endorme le chagrin” is quavered, I feel her chagrin. 

Pause, one last time. I’m on my third Radler. I’ve tipped the bartender.

Anna Pancenko comes on, spring in her steps. She juggles between guitar, accordion and harmonica. A deluge of genres – indie, folk, blues – is backed by quirky details from misbegotten adventures.

We near the end.

The night is rounded up by the charismatic Ella Fuchs. The colours of four seasons fade back to reality. It is a blank slate, the morning before the daily grind: you wake up, you break down, you put on some makeup.

For Fuchs’ Sake is a monthly event curated by singer-songwriter, Ella Fuchs, showcasing four artists every 2nd Saturday (sometimes Sunday) of the month. It has been on hiatus since 21 August 2023 but you can follow updates on https://www.instagram.com/for.fuchs.sake.berlin/.

Slow Pulp

Pandemic, about 7 months in. The days accumulate, buried under browser tabs of Covid coverages, JSTOR repositories, Wikihows on dealing with loneliness. Youtube is stuck on perpetual autoplay: sad music, ads, sad music, ads, lofi beats for studying.

Around this time I discovered Slow Pulp, more specifically their KEXP at Home performance, recorded not long after their debut album, Moveys, was released. Guitars are softly strummed, tambourine and drums merge in beat, Massey croons mournfully. In many ways, the album’s about moving, consciously or circumstantially. Idaho for instance references a mistaken sojourn, Falling Apart tracks life paths sometimes irreversibly altered by the unforeseen.

3 years later, they are touring Europe for the first time. When it was announced, my phone buzzed twice: once for Death Cab for Cutie then for Slow Pulp, hot (sad) music in your area. It’s probably the first time I’ve bought a concert ticket with the opening act also in mind. Listening to Moveys again brought back the feelings of ennui and nihilism that had accompanied lockdown but it also reminded me of the quiet hope and movement you make amid nothingness and despair. Towards the end of New Horse, Massey sings: “I know I’m still getting better/I might come back/I’ll hope for that.” Me too.