#paul meets aljoscha

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Good evening! And/or morning/day

Do we know how Paul met Aljoscha at the beginning of Feeling B?

I know Flake talks about his own meeting and the formation of their previous band, but Paul's already there in those stories, if memory serves me right?

Good evening/day/morning!

Yes, as a matter of fact we do, from the book 'Mix mir einen Drink - Feeling B - Punk im Osten' (from page 41), and like with Flake they first met Alexander Kriening and Aljoscha through him

As it's been ages since i have done a book quote, i'll do this one 🌺 Paul tells the story

"Ich lernte Kriening 1982 bei irgendeinem lauten Konzert im Kulturpark Plänterwald kennen. Anschließend sind wir zusammen zu mir in mein Kinderzimmer gefahren und ich sprang vor ihm immer auf und nieder und hab ihm meine Ideen vorgespielt. Ich hab mir Lieder ausgedacht und hab die ihm rumspringend vorgestellt. Inzwischen hatte ich den Hals an meiner 'Iris' Gitarreabgesägt, das mache ich seitdem immer. Ich muss da meine eigene Note reinbringen. "Wir machen mal eine Band zusammen", sagte Kriening und rief wirklich fast genau ein Jahr späteran und verabredete sich mit mir um 13 Uhr nächsten Tages am Senefelderplatz. Er kam dan gegen 14 Uhr mit einem älteren Mann an. Ich drängelte Kriening und fragte dauernd, wer das ist, aber der hat mich immer wiederabgewürgt. Er sagte nur kurz, wir gehen jetzt in die Kneipe. Ich war zuvor mein Leben lang noch nie in einer Kneipe gewesen, ichbin irgendwie Komischerzogen worden. Ich wollte nicht in diese Kneipe und erklärte kurzerhand, mir ist schlecht! "Aha, dir ist schlecht, dannbekommst du einen Kräuterlikör", war der erste Satz, den Aljoscha zu mir gesagt hat. Also sind wir rein in die 'Sportlerklause' neben einem Polizeirevier und da haben die beiden Älteren sofort losgebechert. Ich musste Kräuterlikör trinken. Danach sind wir zu Aljoscha in die Wohnung in der Fehrbelliner Straße 7 und das hat mich schwer beeindruckt. Er hat damalsin einer Dachwohnung gewohnt: einfache Bodenfenster, das Dach teilweise seltsam isoliert, stellenweise auch offen. Ziemlich freakig, das fand ich schon gut. Ich kam aus Baumschulenweg, da war überall Teppichboden, hier war es schon ein bisschen dreckiger. Das war mein erster Kontact mit dem Prenzlauer Berg. Kriening hat mir dann eröfnet, das ist unser Sänger und ich gleich: "Nee, nicht so einen alten Mann!" Dazu kam, dass Aljoscha Füße in seinen Turnschuhen dermaßen gestunken haben, das war für mich einfach unglaublich. Er hatte immer Turnschuhe ohne Socken an, das war die Hölle! Das sollte auch so bleiben mit den Füßen."

(Tagesbucheintrag am 1. April 1983) Gestern war ich in der Unterwelt, zusammen mit Kriening. Wir waren bei einem Musiker, vorne Glatze, Locken, lila Tuch, widerliches, sinnloses Gekreische, Lachen, total im Stoff, hat aber urst starke Wohnung. Unterm Dach bei ihm probte eine Punkband. Ich weiß nicht, ob ich wirklich Musiker werden will. Ich habe große Angst davor, mich mit solchen ekligen Leuten zusammenzutun. Mir war richtig schlecht, ich kam mir vor wie im 'Tatort' und fragte mich, wozu lerne und übe ich? Kam mir vor wie jemand, der in ein Kinderheim kommt, weit weg von allen Freunden.

"Nach zwei Stunden saßen wir glücklich und betrunken in seiner Dachwohnung rum. Nun war der Altersunterschied gar nicht mehr so zu merken und ich hatte mich damit abgefunden, dass der unser Sänger sein soll. Als ich mit Aljoscha geredet habe, kam er mir gar nicht mehr so alt vor, ich hab mich an ihn gewöhnt. Er sprühte nur so vor Ideen. Gleich am ersten Abend haben wir uns den Titel 'Ich bin Unsichtbar' ausgedacht. Das war eine Idee von mir, und Aljoscha hat dazu einen Text aufgeschrieben. Aljoscha leierte mir gleich ein paar Texte aus dem Kreuz, er hat sich mit einem Zettel hingesetzt und alles aufgeschrieben. Damit war ich schon um ein paar Texte ärmer. Das konnte Aljoscha sowieso sehr gut, den Leuten ideen wegnehmen. Aber im positiven Sinne, er hat die förmlich ausgesaugt. Er hat die Leute wie ein Schwamm aufgesogen. Wenn man die Ideen nicht gleich genutzt hat, sind sie meist verschüttgegangen. Aljoscha konnte gut Ideen klauen, mit der Umsetzung haperte es meist."

(Tagesbucheinträg 6. april 1983) Aljoscha, das ist der Typ, den ich erst so doof fand, ist aber total stark. Schweizer Staatsbürger, studiert drüben von Montag bis Freitag. Wochenende in Ostberlin. Wiederum ein Beispiel, man darf die Leute nicht nach dem ersten Eindruck beurteilen. Ich glaube, ich mag Aljoscha. Mit der Band, hab ich mir überlegt, geht's nicht. Ich werde mit ihnen drüber reden. Ich hab einfach keine Lust, mich zu binden. Wenn ich mirvorstelle, den Freitagabend für immer verplant, den Sonnabend auch noch - nein. Aber wenn ich nicht mitmache, verpasse ich auch eine Menge...

"I met Kriening in 1982 at some loud concert in the Kulturpark Plänterwald. Then we drove to my childhood room together and I jumped up and down in front of him and played my ideas to him. I thought up songs and played them for him jumping around. In the meantime I had sawed off the neck on my 'Iris' guitar, which I've been doing ever since. I have to put my own touch to it. "Let's make a band together," Kriening said and actually almost exactly a year later called and made an appointment with me at 1 p.m. for the next day at Senefelderplatz. He arrived around 2 p.m. with an older man. I pestered him and kept asking Kriening who that was, but he kept cutting me off. He just said briefly, we’re going to the pub now. I had never been to a pub in my life, I was somehow brought up in a funny way. I didn't want to go to this pub and said without further ado, I'm sick! "Aha, you're sick, then you'll get a herbal liqueur," was the first sentence that Alyosha said to me. So we went to the 'Sportlerklause' next to a police station and the two older ones started drinking right away. I had to drink herbal liqueur. Then we went to Aljoscha's apartment at Fehrbelliner Strasse 7 and that really impressed me. At the time, he lived in an attic apartment: simple floor-to-ceiling windows, the roof in places oddly insulated, and open in other parts. Pretty freaky, I thought that was a good thing. I came from Baumschulenweg, where there was carpet everywhere, it was a bit dirtier here. That was my first contact with Prenzlauer Berg. Kriening then opened up to me, that's our singer and I immediately said: "No, not such an old man!" In addition, Aljoscha's feet in his sneakers stunk so badly, it was just unbelievable to me. He always wore sneakers with no socks, it was hell! It would stay that way with the feet."

(Diary entry April 1, 1983) Yesterday I was in the underworld with Kriening. We were with a musician, bald in the front, curls, purple cloth, disgusting, senseless screeching, laughing, totally stuffed *1) , but has a really great apartment. A punk band was rehearsing under his roof. I don't know if I really want to be a musician. I'm terrified of associating with such yucky people. I felt really bad, I felt like I was in 'Tatort' *2) and asked myself, why am I learning and practicing? Felt like someone who goes to a children's home, far away from all your friends.

"After two hours we were sitting around, happy and drunk, in his attic apartment. Now the age difference was no longer noticeable and I had come to terms with the fact that he would be our singer. When I talked to Aljoscha, he didn't even seem so old anymore, I've gotten used to him. He just sparkled with ideas. Right on the first evening we came up with the title 'I'm Invisible'. It was an idea of ​​mine, and Aljoscha wrote down a text for it. Aljoscha grinded out a few texts from me right away, he sat down with a piece of paper and wrote everything down. I was already a few texts poorer. Aljoscha was very good at that anyway, taking ideas away from people. But in a positive sense, he literally sucked them dry. He sucked people up like a sponge. If you didn't use the ideas right away, they usually just got lost. Aljoscha was good at stealing ideas, but there was usually a problem with the implementation."

(Diary entry April 6, 1983) Aljoscha, that's the guy I found so dumb at first, he's really good. Swiss citizen, studies over there from Monday to Friday. Weekend in East Berlin. Again an example to not judge people by first impressions. I think I like Aljoscha. The band, i thought it, but it won't work. I'll talk to them about it. I just don't feel like committing myself. If I imagine planning Friday evening forever, Saturday too - no. But if I don't join, I'll miss a lot...

1) not really sure what 'im Stoff' would be translated, but i assume from the context something like 'not sober'

2) Tatort is a very famous longrunning german tv show about crimes, so he compairs it to being ata crimescene from that show

more rammstein related book quotes

[nyarisu]

Okay, now tell me your top 5 scenes in R+ fic :)

I really tried to follow your exemple and keep it one scene per fic per author but. heh :D So, in no particular order:

Am Horizont by Feverdream (Hochrot): it'a tie between the Till/Aljoscha scene and the whole stealing street signs bussiness. On one hand, you have to conversation between Aljoscha and Till, his insecurities, Aljoscha noting his similarity to Paul and Flake ("I’m surprised you feel that way, you’re a lot like them"), Till kind of flirting with him, "Losch" and the latter being sweet and encouraging towards Till. "Men would love you, Till. You’re mysterious. You have a great body. You’re sex-obsessed". Till's mumbled "I’m not sex-obsessed" is amazing in the context XD The way Aljoscha looks while saying "What do you think you’re doing, exactly?", as well as the softness of the "If you feel like having a chat or meeting people, you know you can always stop by. Paul and Flake are smitten with you and I trust them on that, so" and how the different the 2 lines are just make me go ashkl every time I think of them<3 ON THE OTHER HAND! You have the whole scene with those 3 on the streets of Berlin. And I really mean every single word! As I always said and I'll always say, that scene is one of the most atmospheric and nice and visual things I've ever read♡ The way the city is described at night, the fog, the cold, the voices of people coming in the distance. The rooftop part was the perfect ending for this scene and my most favourite. "The fog had started to recede and a few snowflakes were fluttering in the sky. It would soon turn into sluggish mud, but for now, it was ethereal, almost magical. As far as the eye could see, the soft, pulsating gleam of street lights, roofs dusted with white, the red headlamps of rare cars, the square glow of lonely windows" and the heart warming "So that’s your kingdom, huh?" "It’s your kingdom too". It’s yOUR KINGDOM TOO. You can't just write things like this and expect me not to melt on the spot.

Bearskin Rug by hwbswd: As much as my heart would want to pick the scene with Till sleepily jerking off Flake and Paul but not really, sleep is more important after all ("When he rises to awareness again, Paul is minutely thrusting into his slack fist, and Flake is quietly snoring. Till is soft but still held between Flake’s legs. He goes back to sleep.")... I think I'll go with the very first part of the second chapter: "Till makes his way barefoot to the kitchen in the dark. Dawn is still hours off. It’s weird turning on lights, it feels more like a midnight party than an early-morning start, even though Paul left a toothbrush out for him in the bathroom. He can’t find milk, so pancakes are out, but there’s sausage and eggs and potatoes." For some reason, the image of someone in the kitchen very early in the morning, cooking something charmed me so much! And Flake in a blanket wraping himself around Till and being fed patatos by him is so nice and domestic and aaaaah （*´▽｀*♥ Just. Late nights in the kitchen (everything is so warm and quiet)

ein Wesen mich zu gehen drängt by moon_waves: This hole fic is a favourite scene. Sub Till between Schneider and an oblivious Richard, needy as hell and letting out a whine every so often? Yes, please! "A small keening noise came from Till and the two of them turned to look at him. He was still flushing deep, vulnerability vibrant in his green eyes, biting on his lower lip, and Richard seemed to soften at the sight, placing his hand back on him again, patting him gently before stilling" like dadljzdlookawdzkl?? "He briefly squeezed Till’s thigh before slowly moving his hand higher, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He heard a very soft whine coming from Till before the singer squirmed a little under his hand" afslk??!?

First Time for Everything by marblecats (kitthefox): probably the first making out scene which definitely lasts until they move in the bedroom XD (tho Richard riding Paul while being jerked off by Till will always be a close second). "He's tipsy and he's overheated, Till is so close and Scholle's fingers are drifting towards the skin of his hip. His heart hammers in his chest as he tries to comprehend what's happening here. He feels Till shift and a large hand floats upwards to land against his cheek, Till turns Paul's head towards him and presses his mouth gently against his". Like how could you not?? "Paul's hands come up of their own accord to clutch at Till as they kiss. He's wanted this as long as he's known Till and now he's here, he isn't quite sure what he wants to do, so he lets Till kiss him, opens his mouth and meets his tongue. Scholle positively whines behind him" ALSO! "Scholle in basketball shorts and a black t-shirt that he wears like the finest tailoring and Till in suspenders and boots looking rugged and windswept and they're the most attractive people Paul thinks he's ever seen in his life" that last part ends me every time.

I mean... it's either Wider Bed or Skin. They're short and similar enough that I usually read them one after the other whenever the mood strikes for. Both with an OC, one fic only with Richard, the other with both Richard and Till. Just. Being cozy and warm in bed. That's both fics. They are very warm and sweet. "before making his way back to the bed, wrapping himself around you again. You stroke his back gently, and sigh. [...] Your stomach flips, and Richard tucks his head under your chin". I can't even choose something from Skin, that whole fic is one scene and then finish :))

5 ARE NOT ENOUGH TT_TT

[babypaulchen]

Evidence for Paul being manly.

To be honest, don’t really know how to see if someone’s manly (though I understand what you meant!), but here are some extracts from “Mix mir einen Drink”, I found about Paul being cool af@:)

Flake on meeting Paul for the first time: “ That’s a picture I’ll never forget: This guy enters the room, mustache, hair short at the front, long at the back. Trenchcoat. And says "Hi, I’m Paul!” and just starts babbling at me. Then plugs his guitar to his amp and he and the others just start playing crazy loud - just in the middle of the day, whie the window was open! I thought “That’s crazy!” I was utterly fascinated!“ 

Olaf Tost on Paul and Flake: "Paul and Flake were different from the other kids I knew. More brash/offhand (not sure how to translate "schnoddrig”), harder (“abgebrüht”) but not without charme. They listened to other music than I did, already owned good, useful instruments, and stood on the stages I was still looking up to. But still they didn’t use the typical Rockstar-cliché. At most they made fun of it. […] It was useful that all if us were peasants (“Proleten”, which means from the working class), except Aljoscha. Paul was a electronics technician, Flake was a toolmaker.“

Olaf Tost on hearing about Paul for the first time: "A friend told me about that guy, Heiko Hiersche. The later Paul Landers. A long haired guy, with a mustache. A metal guitarist from East-Berlin.” (If that isn’t the coolest way to be described I don’t know what is)

Paul about Hiddensee: [after talking about spending  every day crafting earring and spending all the money for eggnog or coffee liqueur asap] “At 11pm all the pubs closed and you really had to get a bottle of wine cause that would be your sleeping bag! The collar of your jacket would be your cushion. We only slept outside. [ …] But we had to be really quiet, because if a border guard would find us, they easily could have arrrestee us for Attempted Republic Escape”

Olaf Tost: “Some people [who didn’t know Feeling B] expected a nice folk band. In some venues there were nice tables, chairs and waiters served Schnitzel. But when Paul started playing, even the fork tines got frightened." 

Another story: once they played at an open-air that took place in a public outdoor pool in Freiberg in Saxony and Paul and Aljoscha decided to play naked. So they jumped into a pool, swam through it, climbed out, walked through the crowd, entered the stage and started playing.

Paul about being the sound engineer of Feeling B: "I did all of the soundchecks. At the concerts there were professional sound engineers but I always pushed them away and just did my thing.”

Also he and his friend Alex got arrested by police once, kept in prison for 4 hours during the night threatened and  beaten up, as he tells in “Mix mir einen Drink”. Not a cool story (I can translate it if desired, it’s a longer paragraph), but I think it’s admirable and proof of a strong character to have experienced police violence and still continue doing a “dangerous” thing like punk music in the GDR.

So these are a few anecdotes about Paul’s coolness, taken only from the first chapter of “Mix mir einen Drink”, because I’m tired and I’ll search for more evidence tomorrow as that’s actually fun :D bye and love your fics and content<3

And sorry for my bad English, I’m no native speaker.

this is all amazing thank you SO much for this!!! i really appreciate your dedication and effort for sending me this translation dhflksdhfg i know that takes time. and your english is perfectly fine!! it’s certainly better than my german, that’s for sure. i remember that story about them jumping naked into a pool, and i think Paul said he was glad he had his guitar to hide behind, whereas Aljoscha wasn’t so lucky cause he just had his microphone hahaha

thanks again!! (and for the shoutout to my fics/content, ty♡)

and why not throw in a visual piece of evidence to show Paul’s (arguably reckless) manliness hahaha

[magistralucis]

Are you really taking Rammstein prompts for the soft summer prompts? 🥺 Can I ask number 3 'sitting on the porch at night' then please?

3: Sitting on the porch at night // Till/Richard

---------------

Richard awakens in the dead of night.

He turns his face towards the door. From the porch he can hear wisps of music, interspersed with crackles of analog static. These are the same noises that cut through the fabric of his sleep every night, but tonight, they feel like a suggestion. He wraps himself up and tiptoes out of the room.

“Till.”

Every night the same routine. As Richard names the dear name he knows what he’s going to see: his friend sat on the porch, a battered radio by his side. He’ll have it on the lowest volume, but his favourite music tends to cancel that out. Richard sits beside him, and when Till turns his head, raises his hand in greeting. Till nods back, then they both turn to gaze at the stars, weighing the silence between them.

They like their silences.

The radio fades to white. Till adjusts the dial, and Richard watches, until the sound comes in clear again. A local punk rock station. “Were we on earlier?”

“Much earlier. Wait and see, you may come back on.”

Till’s voice is low and thoughtful. Richard smiles wryly. This station often goes offline, sometimes for repairs, or to escape scrutiny, or because the authorities snatched up whoever was manning the station. Public opinion on punk rock is still such that he may have to wait up to a whole week to hear himself on the radio again.

He would barely put up with it if not for his pride, and for the fact Till would wait that long. Richard cranes his head and sees what he was doing: stringing his guitar and weaving a handle for a new basket. All this he has seen before, and all this Till will do again, a beacon of Schweriner steadiness. Richard can relax with him because he’s stable in a world constantly shifting about them.

“Which track?”

“‘Geh zurück in dein Buch’. More to come, they said.”

Richard laughs. Feeling B’s first album came out a fortnight ago. “Josch will be pleased. Paul and Flake, too, even if Flake doesn’t show it. They did a stellar job.”

Till tilts his head. Their eyes are equally dark in the night. “They?”

Maybe it was really the summer heat that disturbed Richard’s sleep, or the chirping crickets, or the news earlier. But whatever it was, it’s clear he needed to be at Till’s side tonight. He raises his head and meets the other’s gaze.

“Till, I’m planning to jump the border.”

A glimmer of something alights in Till’s eyes, then is gone.

It wasn’t just Aljoscha, Paul, and Flake who produced that album. Till drummed for a track, and although Richard’s role didn’t extend as far as the credits, he jumped in to smooth out the lyrics and organize the recording sessions. He also plays in another band full time. So really, Richard’s situation is not one that merits a they, when he’s been saying we all this time.

He’s glad Till noticed the change, but it doesn’t necessarily mean Till will approve. Richard expects he won’t, for no other reason than that Till may be able to talk him out of this. Till leans forwards, resting his chin on his hand, and thinks for so long Richard begins to fidget.

He eventually sighs. “Do your folks know."

Richard’s smile is not so wry this time. ”Do you let your old man know what’s going on in your life nowadays?"

"Sometimes I wish I could.” He says, which surprises Richard. Till pulls the basket to his lap and plucks at the reeds poking out from the handle. His tone is brooding, but he is very alert, perhaps more than he was with Richard’s plan. “He used to be a lot funnier, then he gave up drinking. Used to think that was great, because, well. More for me. (He grins guiltily.) But now I am old myself and all I know are conversations to have over a stiff drink, and he can no longer join me at the table. He made his commitment and he’s a free man; me, I can’t imagine doing the same, so I am not free.”

“You’re way too young to quit, anyway. You’re only twenty-six. Before you’re forty you can do just about anything, you can even sin.”

A little smirk. “And after that, Scholle?”

“Oh nein, not afterwards.” Richard grins, and brushes his mohawk back. It’s usually peaked up, but the combination of lying down and the heat has laid it out flat. “After forty you have to repent. Then God will forgive you, if Honecker hasn’t done it first.”

Till laughs out loud, his teeth gleaming white. Richard laughs too. The clouds have split and revealed the moon above their heads, still a sliver short of being full. The breeze smells grassy and tickles their hair. Soon, Richard thinks, soon he’ll be able to smell the first bite of the autumn chill; soon, if he’s still here for it. He straightens his back and sits up.

“No, my folks don’t know. Not about my life, and definitely not about wanting to cross the border. I’ve been thinking of doing this since I was sixteen. I didn’t do it then because I was scared, and I’m scared now.”

“What makes you less scared this time?”

Richard looks at him. “You heard they opened the border between Austria and Hungary?”

Till’s fingers tighten briefly on the basket, then relax again.

“I don’t know how long it’s going to be open,” Richard continues, watching closely, “but I know things are boiling over here. There will be an exodus.” He shakes his head. “None of us have connections in the West, Till. If things get really bad, we all ought to consider leaving. It’s already happening. Remember when Flake got arrested?”

“You think he can’t get out a second time.”

“I never assume the best-case scenario."

Till opens his mouth to speak, but stops. Slowly, he lies down, first on his side then fully onto his back, his legs dangling over the porch. Richard joins in. The basket lolls on Till’s stomach and the moon drowns out the starlight. Immersed in the loamy smell of the earth Richard waits, considering the conversation to follow. He can think of so many questions and has answers for so few of them.

When are you going? He doesn’t know if he ever will go, let alone the when. He has the uncomfortable feeling he’ll be forced into it when the time comes, and he at least wanted Till to know. I can’t go with you. Richard knows that already. Till’s daughter needs him. Why are you abandoning us at this time? He’s not abandoning them, he wants to set up a safe house to receive everybody in. Richard has never said this out loud, but he has always felt of little importance; better he go and be useful, rather than someone like Aljoscha leaving and destroying the band overnight.

Surely someone would buy into this response? Surely Till would?

But Till doesn’t ask either of those things. He doesn’t ask anything else Richard was expecting, in fact. After a long time, he merely asks: “Want some coffee?”

“... In this heat?”

Till heaves himself up on his arms and pads silently into the kitchen. Richard stares after him until he leans out from the doorway, shaking a jug he pulled out from the fridge. “Oh. Please.”

Soon they’re sitting side by side once more, glasses filled with cold coffee brew topped with ice and sweet creamy milk. One would think they were here to shoot the shit if not for the severity of their conversation. Thankfully, Till doesn’t let it descend that far. “Will it be cold when you go, do you think?”

“I...” Richard nurses his iced coffee anxiously. “I don’t know.”

Till nods. “My coat is real wool,” he says, and pushes his glass aside. Richard gasps as the other’s cool hand rests upon his own. “It’ll help in a pinch. You know where I am, Scholle, write to me. That’s all I ask.”

“...”

“Tell me if the moon is as bright over there as it is here.”

Richard looks at him. Slowly, he sets down his glass. With resigned finality, Richard sinks into Till’s shoulder, sliding down until his head is resting on the other’s lap. He need say nothing, not even to express his gratitude, for Till has touched his shoulder to indicate he understood. The radio crackles again; Till twists the dial; all over to the other end the pointer goes, until they hit a classical piece drifting silvery strings into the night. “Till.”

“Yes.”

He prays there will be moments this beautiful on the other side of the fence. However long it takes Till to join him, anyway. “This is good, isn’t it?” He whispers, and closes his eyes.

“Yes.” Till’s fingers play over Richard’s hair. “It is good.”

---------------

13: Watching the sun rise // Till/Richard

---------------

Till awakens to a cool breeze against his cheek.

He wonders where he is. For a moment he wonders if he’s still backstage, or staring up at the bold white lightbar of a tour bus, before he registers the noise of flowing water and a faint mist about his head. Just as he raises his head he hears the sound of footsteps, which come to a rapid stop next to him.

“Till.”

He blinks and looks into Richard’s face. Richard looks back at him just as carefully. Slowly, he yields his gaze, and turns to see where he is.

The airport lounge. The exclusive lounge, complete with bars, showers, and the fountain that’s currently misting up his hair from a distance. It is dark outside. They are the only people remaining. The pieces of the journey that exhausted him fall into place as Richard offers his hand. “Shall we go?”

“Yes.” His voice feels foreign to him. “Let’s go.”

Past the subdued halls they leave together. On the way they walk along a row of duty-free shops and Till glances at them all. It seems so long ago his world was littered with Intershops and other such outlets, duty-free and Ostmark-free and just free, generally speaking. He has grown into modern comforts, but sometimes, he still thinks about his youthful familiar life.

And to think he disliked it so much, back in the East. Nostalgia is the ultimate nullifier. Flake would have a field day if he knew.

The summer heat hits them like a blast to the face as they exit. All of their limbs are weighed down with lethargy. One look at each other, and they agree silently that they’re too tired to drive home. They need not wait long for the sunrise, they’ll endure until then. Their bandmates are long gone. Paul and Schneider went to an overnight hotel and Olli went to stay with a friend. Only Flake, a stubborn homebody, insisted on driving back. If Richard hadn’t parked here, maybe they’d have hopped a ride with him, Till and Richard curled up like overgrown cats in the back seat while Flake listens to one of his esoteric audiobooks. Richard is staying with him until the tour reconvenes, so they don’t need any stops on the way home - but oh, how far home seems from here.

And still the heat. Even away from the bustle of the airport it is suffocating. It’s a blessing when Richard points out an overnight cafe in a nearby kiosk. “Iced coffee?” He asks, referring to an old tradition they began thirty years ago, and chuckles as Till nods with eyebrows-raised desperation. He hands Till the keys. “Wait for me in the car.”

This Till does, happily. He sinks his head back in the passenger’s seat. The leather of the headrest is smooth and cool, and makes him sigh. But he’s a polite guest first and foremost, and so he affords himself only a brief rest before adjusting the environment to Richard’s liking.

First the A/C. Richard likes the overhead lights on when it’s dark. Till pulls out a new pack of cigarettes from his bag and puts it on the cup holder, his unspoken thanks to Richard for putting up with him tonight. And, of course, the radio:

- and now we meet in an abandoned studio, we hear the playback and it seems so long ago-

Till drowns that one out with the slider. But he’s smiling; the self-referencing parts of life are the best ones, they taught him all he knew. But he’d prefer the affirmative tonight, and before long he hits on something he and Richard both likes. He knows this because Richard knocks on his window the moment he sits back, and when he looks over, he finds the younger man smiling broadly.

- einfach fort mit der Musik, Schwebe so durch helle Räume, Keine Grenzen, keine Zäune!

Just in time.

Richard doesn’t need to say anything. Till rolls down the window; he passes Till’s iced coffee through, as well as a hot buttered pretzel. (He knows him so well, that Richard.) Till murmurs a thanks and takes a bite of the pretzel. The hot salt of butter floods his head and Till almost blacks out from the pleasure, every sense kickstarted by the taste. Richard chuckles as he climbs in beside him, timing a luxuriant sip of his frappé with the slam of the door.

“They know we’re coming to them, huh?”

“Must do. We have been quiet for many years.”

Richard removes the lid and gulps his coffee thirstily. With a relieved sigh he rolls down his window and rests his elbow upon it, wiping his brow with the side of his coffee-holding hand. Condensation drips down his fingers.

“I agreed with you, you know. That this ought to be the first single.”

The words sink like honeyed balm into his heart. Till laughs quietly. Promoting ‘Radio’ to first single was an idea overriden early in the planning process, and neither Till nor Richard protested at the time, but the sentiment means a lot to him.

The song ends. Promises more from ‘Rammstein’s new album’, then moves swiftly onto a prog rock track. Till finishes the pretzel and gulps down the iced coffee. It goes down sweetly, drives the heat from his brain, makes him alert.

Iced coffee is done so sophisticated nowadays. Some wouldn’t look out of place in a luxury ice-cream parlor. Till has no opinion on whether sophisticated coffee is good or bad, only that it’s a tie to his and Richard’s shared memory, much like moonlit summer nights and the radio. He didn’t exactly write that song about Richard, nor did Richard write his parts with Till in mind (he thinks, anyway), but they know they were referring to the same thing.

He looks at Richard. Richard, who’s just excavated Till’s gift for him, notices him looking in the midst of putting the cigarettes in his pocket. His blue eyes are pale from the light glancing off them. He seems to expect Till to say something, but is content to return the gentle gaze when Till does not. Yes, Till loves that. He loves that Richard is still by his side. He loves the taste of cold coffee, the dewy warmth of summer; especially the radio, which for so many years brought them the news, meted out hope and despair, and celebrated all the nights that couldn’t become the future. Their country is gone but they are still here.

They see what they only heard before.

The dashboard clock ticks four. The sun is rising in the horizon; it brings only with a pale blue light, rather than the expected gold or red, but the sun rises fast and early at this time of year. Soon that gentle blue will streak over Richard’s car, and then he’ll start the engine, and then they’ll go. Slowly, Till leans to the side, finally resting his head on Richard’s shoulder. Richard doesn’t mind. He moves in to make Till more comfortable. “Risch.”

“Yes.”

His eyelashes flutter shut as his friend strokes his hair, as if he were awaiting this moment since before the tour, before Rammstein, before the fall. “This is good, isn’t it?”

Richard’s hand cups his cheek. Till lifts his hand to press it close, his long eyelashes soft against calloused fingertips.

“Yes.” Richard whispers. “It is good.”

---------------------------------------------

NOTE: The set is done at last! I don’t usually append notes to drabble posts, but this turned out to be not-so-much drabbles as a doubleshot, or part of a longer fic. I really wanted to take my time on those because I hadn’t written for Rammstein in a very long time, and I got this for the effort 😂 You also gave parallel prompts, so I figured I might use that to reflect both perspectives of a Tillchard relationship!

The second piece is at some loose point during the summer of 2019, but the first has a definite date of the 27th of June 1989. This was the exact day when Austria and Hungary finished cutting their border fence, though the actual removal had begun some time during May. Cue many East Germans, whether on holiday or for this specific purpose, jumping the gap and rerouting through to West Germany; I think this must have been the same border Richard crossed when he fled the East, although he did it much later than he planned here. Flake was also definitely arrested at one point (and dodged several other attempts) by the authorities - for failing to get out of the way at a protest, if I remember correctly. I don’t have the exact quotes/page numbers for this event as described in Mix Mir Einen Drink, but I do remember reading it.

I hope you enjoyed this. Maybe I can expand this into something bigger or maybe this is it. But I enjoyed writing it a lot 💖

[i-ndil-cuimhne-ar-daniel]

(drawing by @mahanaimacallaris)

@mahanaimacallaris I hope you don’t mind me putting this in a new post, but I figured people would appreciate not seeing that long-ass post on their dash over and over again 😂 But I’ll put a link here to the first post with the other drawings/story: link

Well, this is my two-cents, including a couple of *cough* hints. 

Whatever happens in Munich, stays in Munich

The early morning light fell into the room through the half-open curtains, seducing the lingering darkness into a flirtatious shawdowplay, and Till watched as silhouettes danced across the wall in various shades of darkness – in the shadowplay, acting out your own death, knowing no more, and Ian Curtis offered him the words in that soothingly melodramatic voice, but,

no, not now, go away. The dark was as enticing as ever, but Till was ready to fight tooth and nail to keep himself out of the shadows. It was one of the few times they didn’t have any obligations and they got to spent a quiet morning sleeping-in, and, well, he wanted to be able to experience every moment in the light, not the dark.  

Till carefully wiggled his shoulders to find a more comfortable position, holding Flake tight as the slender man lay sprawled on top of him. His breathing warm against the skin of Till’s shoulder, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against his chest, and, Gott, I love you. Ja,

it was officially a thing, our thing, although Olli never missed a chance to remind them that,

without me your thing wouldn’t even be a thing, so theoretically speaking this is our thing,

and Till had no complaints about that. The more the merrier, right?

Though perhaps Flake would be a tad more difficult to persuade, especially after what I did… Because, ja, there was indeed the tiny thing Till had done. Nothing too serious, I hope, but he expected some trouble out of the keyboard player nonetheless.

Still, I can’t wait…. It wasn’t like it had been formally confirmed, but, they’re going to come through. Not just Olli, but, ja, them too, the mysterious person who had made the drawings of Till in the pink fluffy coat.

I’m not going to tell you, stop with the bribes, Till.

But they’re your favorite cookies. Look. I made them myself,

and Olli had shot him a look.

Fine. I bought them myself. But it was done with love – so much love!

I’m sure it was, and I appreciate it. I really do. But a secret is a secret. I crossed my heart and hoped to die.

You’re not going to die, Olli!

I’m not going to risk it either, Till!

Fine, but can you at least ask them to do another drawing? Please, for me, and Till had tried for the cutest puppy-eyes, and,

stop-would you just…fine, you got me. I’ll ask. Oh Gott, let me guess. This is about Munich, isn’t it?

apparently, it had worked. Olli had promised to ask for the drawing.

Flake is going to make a bit of a fuss, Till was absolutely certain. But most of it is in jest anyway. Spending years with the band, and specifically Paul, had left him more desensitized to outrageous jokes, nudeness, and things that should not be named, than he’d like to let on. He just likes the drama, that extra shiver of attention he got whenever he let out some screams and made a scene.

And he knows Munich was….epic, even for their standards.

It had been a quiet May evening. Tired from the concert and a meet-and-greet with fans, they had all retreated back to their own rooms, Flake following Till to his.

He’d just gotten out of the shower, and they were sitting on the bed with a glass of wine, chatting about things Till had by now forgotten about, when they’d heard a ruckus outside. Curious,

that sounds a bit like Paul,

Flake had gone to the window to have a look, and,

mein Gott, that is Paul! And Richard! And they’re….oh Gott…no!

What is it? And Till had gotten of the bed. Tell me.

No-no! We’re not doing this again, I refuse,

and Till had looked out the window, only to find Richard and Paul chasing Christoph through the hotel garden. The latter neatly in his shirt and sweatpants, but the other two, stark naked.

Oh, scheiße, look at them go, and Till had opened up the glass doors, walking onto the balcony. And of course, Flake had been right behind him.

Together they had stood at the banister watching as Richard and Paul were trying to corner Christoph, he’s actually pretty fast and agile for such a large man, and, thankfully, their efforts so far had been unfruitful.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying though. Throwing all regards for modesty out the window, Paul and Richard had run over the grass, sliding left and right as they tried to make quick turns. Hands waving, fingers grabbing, but Christoph had managed to outrun them every single time.

That’s quite a sight, isn’t it?

and Till had looked up to find Olli standing on the balcony next to his. It sure is. Mein Gott. Any idea what’s going on?

Shrugging his shoulders, Olli had chucked his fag over the railing, eyes still fixed on the spectacle unfolding in the garden below. You remember when they rebuild his drums at the bottom of the pool and left him to retrieve them by himself? Well, you’re looking at the payback. The start of a budding grin had carefully presented itself at the corners of Olli’s mouth. He took all their stuff while they were in the sauna.

The thunder of a hearty laugh had vibrated through Till’s chest. But, come on! Schneider isn’t stupid, he wouldn’t wait for them to get out.

Fully blossoming, the grin had spread itself across Olli’s entire face. Nope. But let’s just say someone still had a little bone to pick with our drummer about a missing container of cookies – and took his room key.

Till had laughed so loud he could have sworn he’d heard the sound echo, but,

Olli had simply smiled dryly. There are things I myself don’t need to see, but, uhm, you enjoy the show. Gentlemen, and on the beats of his farewell, he had disappeared back into his room, closing the doors behind him.  

Meanwhile, the manhunt downstairs had still been in full swing. But as the two firecrackers had decided to, finally, team up, Christoph had quickly found himself in a little trouble somewhere near the edge of the swimming pool. Caught between the covered obstacle and the two approaching fire breathing dragons, Christoph had yelled out at Till and Flake,

a little help here would be nice,

but Till had simply shrugged his shoulders, shouting back, you want to play with fire, you might get burned, while Flake had just stood there and waved.

I’M GOING TO REMEMBE–AHHH,

and both Paul and Richard had jumped him at the same time, cutting the sentence short as Christoph had let out a high-pitched scream.

With Richard’s arm around his neck and Paul’s full weight against his chest, it had only taken a few seconds to get him down to the ground. But Christoph was strong and lifting Paul up with one arm, he had easily plopped him onto the ground next to him.

Getting to Richard had been more difficult, as he was lying underneath Christoph, holding him in a firm choke hold. So, by the time he had finally managed to get a hand between his throat and Richards arm, Paul had climbed back on top of him, using his knees to try and help keep Christoph down.

Now, where up until that point it had only been a matter of some, things, dingling and dangling, now everyone was offered a full view of, everything, really, and,

MEIN GOTT, PAUL LANDERS, I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR NONSENSE!

Hands still firmly on Christoph’s chest, Paul had looked over his shoulder. THAT’S NOT FAIR, YOU NEVER YELL AT RICHARD.

THAT’S BECAUSE I’M NOT FORCED TO LOOK AT HIS, OH MEIN GOTT, ALJOSCHA WAS RIGHT! YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE,

and with a dramatically grand twirl Flake had turned on his heels, marching back inside, although Till was quite sure he must have still caught the,

YEAH, WELL, HE ALSO SAID I HAD A CUTE BUM. SO, TAKE THAT!

It had sent Till straight into another laughing fit, slapping his hand on the balcony railing as he had looked on as with joint effort and a whole lot of gymnastics, Paul and Richard had managed to get Christoph out of his pants as well,

which had been about the time the hotel manager had come running into the garden, another employee with a stack of bathrobes in tow.

And maybe it had been the whole incident happening at all, or maybe it had been just the simple fact they weren’t even drunk when it did. And maybe, well, most likely, it had something to do with their stubborn refusal to cover up in the offered robes, making their way through the hotel buck naked….but regardless of which one it was, verdammt, that guy had been pissed, raving and ranting as he had scolded them like they were a bunch of naughty children.

Luckily some sweet talking from Christoph and a very sad looking Flake letting out a little snicker, it’s a good thing he can cry on command, had convinced the manager to let them stay. For one night. Thus, the next morning they had gotten another telling off from Tom from management, who had to find them another hotel.

It was worth it though, that evening was….epic, Till had no other way to describe it. And now he would have a memento to hang on his living room wall. Flake is going to kill me, having to look at Paul’s naked ass every ti

a quick knock on the door roughly yanked Till out of his thoughts. Who can that be? “Yes?” But there was no answer. That’s weird.

“Wazz tha?” Lazily Flake lifted his head, his chin scraping along Till’s chest as he turned his head to face him.

“I don’t know. There’s no response.” His fingers tenderly caressing the soft skin of Flake’s back, Till leaned up for a kiss. “If you let me go, I can go and check.”

“Nah,” Flake stole another kiss, “I’ll go,” and rolled himself off Till, and off the bed. He stood swaying on his feet for a second, “woo-right, okay,” smiling at Till as he exorbitantly blinked his eyes. “Yep, I’m here,” and he turned to grab his bathrobe off the chair.

As long as you come back to bed after, Till watched as Flake swung the fabric around his shoulders like a cape, walking towards the door, I’ve got plans for you.

“I don’t think we were even supposed to answer,” Flake sunk to his knees, “there’s a paper stuck underneath the door,”

Really? Oh, wait-scheiße, “wait!” Till shot up, clutching a tangle of blanket in his hands.

but Flake had already picked the white sheet off the floor. “What could this-ahhhh, oh no!” In a flash he got up, “Till Lindemann, what have you done,” making his way to the bed. “Whatever happens in Munich, stays in Munich, remember?”

“Easy, calm down,” his hands held up in a half protective/half apologizing motion, Till smiled his dearest smile, “don’t be mad.”

“I just-I, mein Gott, will you look at it?” Flake held the paper out so Till could see. “They’re naked! Again!”

“Now, now, come on. It’s not like you haven’t seen that a couple of times before.” Till let go of the blanket and took the paper out of Flake’s hand. “Look, this is amazing. That’s us again. Remember, that moment we heard the noise outside?”

The corners of Flake’s mouth slightly trembled and,

oh, I’m on to you, Till knew all too well the other was attempting to hold back a smile. All I need to do, is draw it out. “Look, this is-come here,”

with his other hand, Till grabbed onto Flake and pulled him onto the bed, waiting for him to settle himself against his side before he continued.

“Look,” pointing at the paper, “how cute are those bums?”

A gentle nudge against his shoulder,

“and would you look at Olli! Mein Gott, he’s pleased with himself. As he should be! They would have never been outside if it hadn’t been for him,”

and on a sharp exhale of breath, Flake let out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right – you’re right. The drawings are amazing.”

“But?”

“They’re amazing!”

“And?”

Flake let out a soft sigh. “It’s always shenanigans, all the weird shit we got ourselves into. Why not something, you know, sweet?”

Dropping the paper on the nightstand, Till turned towards Flake and took him in his arms. “Because I’ve already got you.”

“Oh, you,” a quick kiss on the nose, “I mean something sweet to put on the wall, next to those other drawings.”

“Like what?”

“Well,” a tender smile, “what about that night at Olli’s house, when you asked me to be yours?”

Oh Flake, that is sweet, it had taken Till a good four glassed of whiskey to amass enough courage to do so, but, such a fantastic night, sitting by the fire pit, looking at the stars. The whole damn lot of them standing watching from inside the house, although Till wasn’t quite sure if Flake had that in mind as well. Then again, seeing them scatter around when we looked their way was kind of cute., so I guess it counts

“Or that time when all of us went for a walk and Richard fell of that rock, and we all took turns supporting him until we made it back.”

Right, ja, that had been the previous year, during one of their gigs in England. Off course, Richard and Paul had climbed some rocks, but Richard had fallen off, hurting his ankle. It had taken them a good five hours to tackle a path that would have normally taken not even three, but they had made it. Together.

“Though the sweetest part was you giving him a piggyback ride for the last two miles.”

“My back was less impressed.”

“I know,” another petit kiss, “but you did it.”

Yes, I did. We did,

“or it could be something happy, like that doughnut eating contest – you know, when Christoph got mad at Olli for making him laugh, and he tried to shove three doughnuts into his mouth at the same time,”

nearly choking Olli, but, well, it actually had been kind of funny. Once Olli had stopped coughing and spitting out chunks of half-chewed dough.

“Oh-oh, or when that lady wouldn’t stop badgering Schneider about the god-awful way he treated his perfectly behaved pups!”

Resting his head against Flake’s shoulder, Till let out a thundering laugh. “Now that would be priceless! He got so annoyed. ‘Let me be, you’ve got no idea what they’re like.’ And Paul just kept sniffing her leg!”

“I still refuse to believe she didn’t notice.”

Another round of laughter. “Perhaps she liked it!”

Flake snorted. “Who knows. He sure did.”

“Stop it,” words carried out on a wave of exuberant laughter, “I can’t.” There’s always something going on with Paul….funnyman.

“Although I think we’ve ventured right back into weird again.”

“Are we ever anything but weird?” Till leaned back, looking Flake in the eye. “Seriously?”

“Nah,” Flake shook his head, “it’s just, some types of weird are definitely more enjoyable than others.”

Ah, “jokes and pranks are the good type of weird, naked bums are the bad kind?”

“Mmm,” a hint of tension built up in Flake’s face, focusing around the ever so lightly narrowing eyes, “that depends on whose bum it is.”

Ohhh, “I see,” tugging Flake closer, Till nuzzled his face into his neck, gently sucking the skin between his lips as he showered it with kisses. “I,” kiss, “like,” kiss, “where,” kiss, “this,” kiss, “is,” kiss, “going.” Till had a whole bunch of ideas that he was sure Flake would classify as, the good type of weird, and, I-

Putting a hand against his chest, Flake pushed Till away. “Are you sure?”

-what? “What do you mean?”

“Because as Olli would say, I still have a bone to pick with you over that Munich-thing, and I’m not sure you’re going to like what I’ve got in mind.”

“I’ll ask for another drawing, I promise!” Reaching back to a sure-fire favorite, Till faintly titled his head downward, looking up at Flake with slightly widened eyes, even pouting his lips to exploit the full potential of the endearing look. “Please be nice.”

“I’ll think about it. In the meantime,” Flake leaned closer, gently tapping Till on the nose, “go fetch the present I brought you. It’s in my suitcase.”

What did you do? “What is it?”

“You’ll know when you see it.”

This should be good, it looked like the morning was going to turn out even better than Till had imagined. Cuddles with Flake, the amazing drawing, and now, what did you bring me? He pushed himself to the edge of the bed,

“And Till?”

turning to look over his shoulder.

“You better be good.”

Oh hell yes, it was going to be a very good morning.  

[luluxa]

A couple of quotes from Flake’s book, Heute hat die Welt geburstag (translated from German to Russian, and then to English by me, so there may be some infidelities to the original text).

On Paul: “Paul always and with great pleasure makes coffee before concerts. Paul makes the band’s life really great. He has a gift of enjoying life and everything that we owe to our success. He loves making friends with other bands that we’ve only heard on the radio. He’s sincerely pleased to meet them on festivals and then greet them loudly and at length. In the evening, he likes to have a fancy dinner and drink nice wine. He’s bought himself a super expensive car and was beyond happy about it… At first I didn’t understand such emotional and naïve cheerfulness. But then I remembered that this Paul is the same Paul who for many years couldn’t afford a case for his guitar and carried it around wrapped in a plastic bag. That same Paul, who, in his youth days, only ever ate stale bread and wore shoes found in a dumpster. But he always was an excitable guy. When we founded Feeling B with Aljoscha Rompe and began to give concerts, Paul could jump off the stage and spend the whole night dancing with the audience.”

On Till: “I thought Till was a mindblowing musician, despite that in many ways he wasn’t playing the drums properly. His technique wasn’t exquisite but it was saturated with awesome energy. You could watch Till play for an eternity. But one time, when his band was playing encore, he stood up and began to sang, it was captivating. It appeared that he has an astounding voice and a fantastic performance temperament. That song later became very popular. […] Till’s voice had touched my soul, I loved simply listening to it, especially since he sang in English a lot. I was amazed.”

Okay, I didn’t expect THAT (back in the 90s, pre-fame): “All six of us had settled in one room. One of us had brought a girl along. The pair began to fuck and the rest, seeping beer, participated by joking and giving instructions.”

[meintill-blog]

“Then in 1983, I met Aljoscha, Paul and Alexander. We were inseparable from day one. We’ve lived together, gone on holidays together, chatted the whole day long about everything under the sun. For us, it was obvious: if you’re in a band together and are serious about it, you spend your lives together, too.

We rehearsed in a rather dull flat in the midst of an apartment complex. We were insanely loud, but no one complained. The neighbors beneath us had children, and when they wanted to put them to bed, they came up and asked us: “Please stop now.”  The common enemy, the police, was more important than the noise.”

Flake on starting a band

(also mentions of meeting Paul)

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Then what is Paul singing then Paul meeting? I was what does not hear but it was. But I donid1878 t worry about that.

I are you are i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry

Don't know of which one you're thinking exactly, but this one has Paul singing

well, actually it has both Flake and Paul singing, but you can tell pretty well when Paul joins in 😊

Also...i love when Aljoscha, after being away from stage for a while, decides to join and yodels his way in...and you can tell why he actually *is* the singer in the band 🥰

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Rammstein books - quotes

an overview of quote/translations posts from Rammstein/Feeling B books i did, so i can keep track 😊

Heute hat die Welt Geburtstag - Flake Lorenz

Flake's make-up

Flake, the almost not smoker

Flake visits the ladies after a fashionshow

Flake and his treadmill (and Olli on it)

Flake on Paul's theory about how long a concert should be

Flake on Rammstein in the sauna

Flake on Richard and 'Du Hast'

Explosive early Rammstein gig

Flake on his tattoo

Flake on Paul's opinion on wearing shoes for pictures

Flake on 'Mutter'

Flake enters the backstage area

Flake on Olli

Flake visits Paul's dressing room for some coffee

Flake on bandassistent Tom collecting the backstage guestlists (added 2021-09-04)

Backstage guests in Till and Flake's dressingroom (added 2021-09-05)

Pre show tequila (and juice) (added 2022-11-11)

Flake's family receiving packages from the west (added 2023-03-25)

Rammstein crossing their blades (sharing a toilet) (added 2023-07-09)

Flake on...having to go.. (added 2024-05-19)

Der Tastenficker - Flake Lorenz

Flake on 'our singer..and guys'

Flake's fear of flying

Flake on dogs and cats

Mix mir einen Drink - Feeling B Punk im Osten

Feeling B drummers

Schneider on how Paul and Flake joined Rammstein

Flake on his own name (2 takes)

Paul on his marriage and first child

Paul about his young Feeling B years

Early Rammstein or 'One specific reason why Till wore sunglasses on stage'

Bandmates as Stasi-informers or "The world isn't simply black and white"

Paul about first meeting Aljoscha (through Kriening)

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Feeling B drummers

Feeling B drummers or 'Where Paul got his dictator reputation' 😉 bit long post, but i hope you like it.

(From the book 'Mix mir einen drink - Feeling B - Punk im Osten, pages 338-350)

Paul:

Unser erster Trommler, Alexander Kriening, hatte das psychische Problem, immer, wenn etwas gut war, konnte oder wollte er nicht mehr.(...)

Flake:

Kriening war mal da und mal wieder nicht und dann wieder doch. Wir haben gesagt, wir halten das nicht mehr aus und kauften uns ein Drum-computer. (...) Wir hatten das ganze Feeling B-Programm im Computer und stellten fest, dass wir nicht mit dem Computer spielen können, denn Aljoscha war es scheißegal, wann die erste Strophe kam, der hat gesungen, wann er Lust hatte und nicht der Computer.(...) Immer, wenn Kriening nervte, haben wir mit dem Computeranleitung gewunken: Guck mal, du musst nicht, du kannst wieder nach Hause gehen...bis er dann wirklich nicht mehr mitgespielt hat und ausgestiegen ist.(...)

Paul:

Wir haben da auch Rhythmen reinprogrammiert, die ein Schlagzeuger nicht mal denken würde, geschweige denn spielen. Wir hatten drei, vier, komplizierte Rhythmen, die mussten unsere Schlagzeuger erst mal spielen können, das war unsere Aufnahmeprüfung. Und wenn das nicht klang wie ein Rhythmus-Computer, haben wir die gleich wieder rausgeschmissen.(...)

Winfried Knoll (next drummer):

Ich hab mich sehr bemüht, aber das war manchmal schon ein Problem. Paul war ziemlich streng, man musste seinen Vorstellungen einfach entsprechen.(...)

Paul:

Damals galt, wer das höchste Schlagzeugpodest hat, ist der Coolste (...) Bei einem Konzert war Aljoscha wieder eingeschlafen, er lag auf dem Schlagzeugpodest und Knoll ist beim Spielen von 4 Meter hohen Podest abgestürtzt (...) Knolli hatte sich den linken Arm gebrochen (...) Er hat sich mit Schmerzverzerrtem Gesicht wieder ans Schlagzeug gesetzt, aber er hat nur noch Mist gespielt, weil ihm alles wehtat. Ich bin hintergegangen und hab ihn gefragt: Sag mal, tut dir der Fuß weh? Ganz fies, ich war schon ein harter Diktator, die Schlagzeuger hatten nichts zu lachen by Feeling B.(...)

Christoph Schneider:

Wenn Winfried Knoll nicht konnte oder bestimmte Sachen nicht wollte, bin ich eingesprungen. (...) Es war nicht einfach, ein komplettes Feeling B-Konzert durchzustehen. (...) Paul hatte strenge Kriterien, er hat selbst gern Schlagzeug gespielt. Er hat mir oft geholfen indem er mich ganz unverblümt kritisierte. Er kann einem schon das ganze Selbstbewusstsein rauben, er meckert heute noch manchmal mit mir rum.(...)

Paul:

Zur Diktatur der Schlagzeuger: Kriening war der letzte Schlagzeuger bei Feeling B, der noch etwas zu sagen hatte. Alle danach dürften nicht mitreden, konnten aber ihre Meinung sagen. Das wurde dann von der Feeling B-Regierung gnädig angehört.(...) Wir haben die schon gequält, manchmal auch zu Unrecht.

Paul:

Our first drummer, Alexander Kriening, had the psychological problem that whenever something was good, he couldn't or wouldn't do it anymore.

Flake:

Kriening was sometimes there and then not and then there again. We said we couldn't take it anymore and bought a drum computer. (...) We had the whole Feeling B program on the computer and found out that we couldn't play with the computer, because Aljoscha didn't give a shit when the first verse came, he sang when he felt like it and not the computer.(..) Whenever Kriening was annoying, we waved with the drumcomputer manual: Look, you don't have to, you can go back home ... until he really didn't play anymore and got out. (...)

Paul:

We also programmed rhythms that a drummer would not even think about, let alone play. We had three, four, complicated rhythms that our drummers had to be able to play first, that was our entrance exam. And if that didn't sound like a rhythm computer, we kicked them out.(...)

Winfried Knoll (next drummer):

I tried really hard, but sometimes that was a problem. Paul was pretty strict, you just had to meet his expectations.(...)

Paul:

Back then the way it was, was that whoever has the highest drum platform is the coolest (...) At a concert Aljoscha fell asleep again, he was lying on the drum platform and while playing Knoll crashed down from the 4-meter platform (...) Knolli had broken his left arm (...) he got back behind the drums with a face contorted by pain, but he only played crap because everything hurt him. I went over and asked him: Say, does your foot hurt? Very nasty, I really was a tough dictator, the drummers had nothing to laugh about at Feeling B (...)

Christoph Schneider:

If Winfried Knoll couldn't or did not want certain things, I would step in. (...) It was not easy to get through a complete Feeling B concert. (...) Paul had strict criteria, he liked to play the drums himself. He often helped me by bluntly criticizing me. He can rob you of your entire self-confidence, he still complains to me sometimes today. (...)

Paul:

Regarding the dictatorship of the drummers: Kriening was the last drummer at Feeling B who still had something to say. Anyone after that didn't have a say, but could speak their opinion. The Feeling B government then listened to it graciously (...) We really have tortured them, sometimes unfairly.

more quotes from Rammstein books