Lingua franca der Musik

[Lingua franca of music]

Music has been a constant for me while abroad, and although I do love listening to music I’m familiar with, I don’t use AirPods in public too often, because live music is all over the place in Berlin and it’d be a shame to miss it. I’ve heard a band march by the Reichstag and been to an organ concert in a church. Hackescher Markt seems to have its very own Sting covering every classic. I’ve seen an opera singer on a bridge and a beat-boxer in front of the opera. There was electric-guitar Gershwin in an U-Bahn station and french-horn Freddie Mercury in front of Museum Island, not to mention Saint-Saëns anywhere, any time, on any instrument, because this city is full of buskers and everybody loves The Swan. Somehow, amid all of this, the past week will stand out in my memory—not only for how many musical events took place, but for how each one was vastly different, yet no less brilliant than the last.

On Tuesday, I was talking with one of my coworkers about high school endeavors, and I mentioned that I was a percussionist in marching band. As it turns out, one of her classes at Ernst Busch is currently learning mallet instruments for a play at the end of this term. She invited me to join her class this week, with the permission of our boss and her professor, so that I could play the marimba again, which I’ve been desperately missing, and help her learn! Along with this, she invited me (and the rest of the archival team) to her show this Thursday. It was a puppet show, so I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it was incredible. Of the ten performers, each had their own distinct puppetry style and music tastes. There were songs in English, German, and French, and the range was anything from Franz Schubert’s opera pieces to the most hilariously haunting rendition of Hello by Lionel Richie. What was most amazing to me was the life each performer brought to their puppet. There was no set behind which the performers hid; in fact, sometimes they made themselves part of the show. However, even though we could clearly see the puppet being controlled, the performer and their inanimate partner felt like two separate, living people. It was fascinating to watch!

On the way home from that show, I saw an ad for the Rundfunk Sinfonieorchester on Saturday night. Before leaving for this program, I’d been hoping to see the Berliner Philharmoniker perform, because a lot of my favorite recordings are done by that orchestra. Unfortunately for me, they are currently on a guest tour in Japan. However, when I saw the ad for Rundfunk, I was ecstatic: Sibelius Symphony No. 7 was on the list! While not my ultimate favorite of his (enter: Symphony No. 2), the 7th is one I have never before had the pleasure of hearing in person. The performance was spectacular, and while its grandiose atmosphere was the complete opposite of the avant-garde student puppetry I had witnessed a day prior, I really enjoyed them both. Something I could never have predicted from the Sinfonie was their second piece, which was composed by the guest conductor, Thomas Adès, during the Coronavirus pandemic. He said he had composed it for his mother, but given the uncertain future of the orchestra under social distancing safety constrictions, he had to modify it slightly. Members of the orchestra suddenly spread out, making distance between themselves onstage and some even moving to the audience. There were trumpets to my left, trombones halfway across the hall to my right, and what sounded like a french horn right above me. The result was a sound unlike any I’ve heard in a traditional orchestra setting, and it was beautiful. 

Music has also been somewhat of a healing factor this week. Before the concert on Saturday, a friend and I took a tour of Berlin through the Third Reich, which ended at the Topography of Terror, a museum located in the former Gestapo headquarters which teaches about the propaganda, psychology, and crimes of the Nazi police force. While it is a valuable experience, it is by no means a light one. However, this same friend and I went to the concert, the Musikinstrumenten Museum, and Mauerpark the next day, which helped lift some of that weight off of us. The Museum of Musical Instruments was a nice place in many ways, first and foremost to remind us there is beauty in German history. It was also serene; quiet because none of the instruments could be played, unfortunately, but peaceful in a way the Topography of Terror never could be. What really lifted our spirits, though, was Mauerpark [Wall Park]. Not 40 years ago, this place was part of the Berlin Wall’s “Death Strip”—now it’s a hub of culture and music. The field was full of people and food and dancing, and everything felt so joyous I almost didn’t know what to do with myself. There was a drum circle of at least 30 people with djembes and bongos and snare drums and so on. No predefined song, and no words needed, just a bunch of people creating music. Having fun. There were lone singers and small bands and one guy who was absolutely killing it with Purple Rain. Possibly the best part was the Bearpit Karaoke show, a massive stone stage where anyone could pick a song to perform. No matter their skill level, the audience acted like that person’s personal hype crew (especially when a guy from Spain pulled up Bamboléo), and none of it felt like artificial positivity. Like many, I find it difficult, sometimes, to remember why I love humanity; it wasn’t difficult in Mauerpark. 

There were a lot of different kinds of leadership present in that field. In terms of the development of my leadership skills while abroad, I’d say that I’m usually more of the drum circle participant than the karaoke singer. I’m used to leading as a member of the team, doing my work well and leading by example. This is great, and works well with the methods of curation that my team uses here at Ernst Busch—that is, audience-based and collaborative methods, rather than object-based or focused on a lone curator ideal. That being said, I’ve been granted the opportunity to lead a project here, with real world impacts, and I’ve needed to stretch out of my comfort zone a little. Collaboration and compromise are still very important in the project overall, but my day-to-day routine has more decisions left up to me than I’m used to, and I’ve been able to explore more of what I care about in the archival exhibition process, like increasing accessibility and contextualizing personal histories. I believe my experience here will be invaluable to the continuation of my career.