by RAF KATIGBAK

To my shock and dismay, I arrived in Berlin last week to find that Halloween is pretty much non-existent there. There’s a spooky time when every culture’s creepy side comes out, when grizzled, pale-faced ghouls and frightening creatures of the night emerge, draped head to toe in black, causing all sorts of mischief as frightened children scatter in the streets. In North America, we call it Halloween. In Germany it’s called “the weekend.” Seriously, I haven’t seen so many severe shades of black since looking down the wrong end of a GHB coma back in ’99. Yeesh!

While the city itself bares more than a passing resemblance to Montreal (laid-back atmosphere, cheap living, overrun with amazing talent), there was a shocking lack of jack-o-lanterns, crappy paper ghosts hanging from trees and cheap-ass cartoon cut-outs of Dracula adorning windows. Luckily, my gracious host and Berlin guide Matthew Curry (aka Safety Scissors), together with a smattering of ex-pats, brought the mystery and magic of All Hallows Eve to these sourpuss sour-Krauts with a good old-fashioned Halloween shindig.

As a warm-up last Friday night, I decided to take in a live electronic show at a new club called Watergate (so called for its prime location under the Oberbaum Brucke bridge). Here I was introduced to Orb collaborator Thomas Fehlmann and Gudrun Gut (ex-Einsturzende Neubauten), who dropped a sick krautrock set, followed by headliner Jan Jelinek, whose own digital take on krautrock (complete with guitarist and drummer) unfortunately failed to reach a similar plateau. The night wasn’t a total write-off as I was able to set up an impromptu badminton session with Stephan Betke, aka Pole.

Saturday’s Halloween party was off the chain. It was at a decapitated storage space-cum-art venue. You don’t need a license to sell alcohol in Berlin, so amazing small parties in spaces like this are happening everywhere in Berlin at all times. While not too many costumed people showed up, Safety Scissors (dressed as “Schnappi the German alligator”) dropped some crazy disco bombs and old-school tracks that destroyed the dancefloor. Five a.m. eventually rolled around, which for Berlin means it’s time to really start partying.

We soon found ourselves at a club on the 10th floor of a highrise on Alexanderplatz. After getting past a guard who initially found Schnappi objectionable, we entered the Weekender, where 2manydjs were busy absolutely devastating the dancefloor, reminding everyone why they’re possibly the best DJ duo around right now. Six-thirty a.m.: Next stop, the infamous Panoramabar, where ex-Montrealer and Cynosure label head Mike Shannon was busy giving Germans a dose of his patented funky, balls-deep techno. A familiar scene to anyone who’s ever been to a Montreal afterhours club. Eight a.m.: The party rages on and the Jägermeister keeps flowing, but I tap out, only to awaken the next evening a hazy, befuddled mess with a mouth that tasted like pure ass.

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