GROSSSTADTGEFLÜSTER
Grossstadtgeflüster, the Berlin band that has been straddling the bow of good taste from both sides since 2003 and has made many, many, many people happy with their roughly 1000 performed concerts, is not back, but still there. With new material in their hand luggage.
Reliable are Jen Bender (Vox), Raphael Schalz (Keys) and Chriz Falk (Drums) only in their unpredictability, as the next song will likely sound.
With evergreens like "Fickt-Euch-Allee" or "Feierabend" constantly blasting hits that feel subcultural, but then cross-generational and genre-spanning provide collectively grumpy good mood.
There's always a bit of rave in it, a bit of pop, a bit of punk, a bit of hip-hop, garnished with stylistic deviations and U-turns, a load of synths, and a latent penchant for eccentricity.
The common thread is formed by the lyrics, awarded the GEMA Music Author Prize last year, which traditionally consist of a weave of wordplay, irony, double rhymes, meta-levels, and punchlines oscillating between philosophical depth and carnival calendar pages.
The anthems of Grossstadtgeflüster are dancing declarations of independence, head-nodding bursts of liberation from societal or self-imposed pressure, pogoing ping-pongs between megalomania and failure. But never is a finger pointed at others, let alone kicked downwards.
With a suspicious eye on the entire species of humanity and a loving eye on the individual, the ambivalence of existence has been celebrated for two decades and 6 studio albums (including two EPs).
And even though they have always escaped the clear category, it works...
Over 100 million clicks alone on Spotify, over 50 million on YouTube, they have long been an established party presence at nationwide festivals, and the last two hall tours were completely sold out... along with wonderful features with artists like Danger Dan, Mine, or Fatoni. Jen Bender, the larger-than-life 1.59-meter-tall frontwoman of Grossstadtgeflüster, a Berliner plant with a Berliner dialect, is the personified antithesis to the filter-fouled social media age.
As if she fell into a pot of broken cables as a child, Jen stomps onto every stage and seems almost wise for her age in her decided procrastination of maturation processes. She sings, she flexes, she spits, she howls, makes beats, composes, and writes for herself and others. By doing so, she deliberately kicks those who feel disturbed in their time-tested order right in the backside and thereby provides more identification potential as a woman than any street-hanging feminism banner.
In short, she offers an alternative female role, which would make Sigmund Freud insecurely call out for his mother.
Doors open: 5:30 PM
Hallo, ich bin Maya.
