"Das war sooooo cool mit euch!"
We were lucky this week to have Terrence Bowry and Wynton Kelly Stevenson play twice at the BrezelBar. Multi-national Terrence was visiting Berlin from Nepal, and Wynton has been living in Berlin with his father, jazz composer Rudy Stevenson, for two years. The combination of the two is a mind-boggling mix of music flowing through their veins.

Terrence has lived part-time in Shanghai for over 10 years. It was wild to hear him introduce the music in fluent Shanghai-nese. A man of stories. If you encounter him in concert, plan enough time for a drink and tales afterwards.

A little fuzzy, but it doesn't matter. Wynton is the most photographed musician in Berlin this week. He dashed off for another gig last night at Kafffee Burger. What he does is a loop-station beat-box thing with a whole stash of harmonicas (see below) which quickly transforms into an entire orchestra. He plays so melodically and knows his way around his instruments as if he was born with them. And in a way he was.

It's so amazing to hear and see him play that the audience immediately whips out their cameras, iPhones, digi-whatevers, to capture the moment. But no reproduction does any justice, you'll simply have to catch him live.

* * *

Dusk and a villa
Trace of a better known friend
Rolling a box home

* * *
"A haiku a day keeps the doctor prescribing you more drugs."

The Love On Cocktail

Skyy Citrus Vodka
Raspberry Puree
Pineapple Juice

Shaken, garnished with a heart.
* * *

Something good happened that night.
(B Restaurant & Bar, SF)

"Just... just leave me alone, for a while."
* * *


"No wonder cameras aren't allowed in this place," said F. We were in the mid-level bar at Berghain in Berlin. "It would be flashing here the whole time." The industrial baroque is beautiful, and it's difficult to describe this indoor concrete city-within-a-city cement-scape. It is a drug. Music is a drug in Berlin; the mafia could get a hold of it, and of all the money that flows through it.
Luis had gone back down to pick up some friends at the door, to make sure they got in. We met them a few minutes later in the Panorama Bar upstairs.
"I'm J.," said the young woman. "Do I know you? From one of the art salons?"
"I don't think so," I said.
"Yes, we did meet. Back in the fall. I thought you looked familiar," and I realized she was right. Oops, forgot that face.
"Here is my boyfriend, R.," she pointed to the young man next to her.
"Ah, the writer. I have met him already somewhere else."
Damnit, such a small world. That feels so empty.
Bye, again. And see you next year.