Episode 239
Some musician, I forgot who it was, once said that trains are great places to write songs. The interplay of passing external stimuli and being firmly ensconced in the room is ideal for creating a working state that allows for things that are essential for songwriting. At this point I would like to doubt that the same also applies to writing pop diaries. I am writing this text on an ICE from Cologne to Munich, and while the songwriters who may be traveling in the compartment have probably already written material for eight break-up albums and five records full of jarring social criticism, my inspiration so far has been limited.
Anyone who now thinks that this text degenerates into another train bashing is wrong. Nothing bad has happened so far – apart from a tour group of older men who are conspicuous by their vehement wearing of Camp David clothes. No, the train trundles towards its destination at a reasonable speed, it is neither overcrowded nor is anything broken. Even friends of Loriotesque communication tangles unnerved passengers look into the tube. And so the thoughts wander into infinity: What kind of music do the people in the compartment like to listen to through their headphones?
I’ve always wondered what kind of people listen to Nico Santos
That lady there, about my age and covered in croissant crumbs, probably hears Santana. People who listen to Santana don’t care if they’re covered in croissant crumbs. Or the guy next to me, around 30, with a German soccer player hairstyle, who just watched a Liam Neeson film shot in metallic grey-green and is now bobbing along to something with his eyes closed: What could it be that is triggering the bobbing reflex here? I’m guessing it’s Nico Santos. I’ve always wondered what kind of people listen to Nico Santos.
There must be a lot, so why shouldn’t one of them sit next to me? The grey-haired lady in her mid-sixties in a polka-dot blouse who is shuffling through the compartment clearly hears Patti Smith. That’s what they all looked like at the Patti Smith concert the other day. Which has my absolute blessing.
So, now something is defective, namely the whole train. A “reset” is mandatory, which is why the doors will not open while standing around on the open road. The usual reflexes set in immediately with the Camp David boys: “Deutsche Bahn. It was clear! Should we allow ourselves some time in the company!” What kind of music is listening to Liam Neeson, who is shooting around on the screen of my seat neighbor? I could imagine that – contrary to his role cliché in films with titles like “Cold Pursuit” – he rarely listens to music to which one can excellently wave a gun with loud abrasions on the face. My guess: Liam Neeson listens to something like JJ Cale or the Allman Brothers. Yes, the more I think about it, the more Liam Neeson seems like a textbook JJ Cale listener. Thank goodness he doesn’t make JJ Cale music himself, unlike some of his fellow actors! That’s a good thing, because they sound like Eric Clapton.
The train is now running again, but in the wrong direction, which causes the first violent fantasies in Camp David. Where’s the sedating power of JJ Cale’s music when you need it? Has Liam Neeson actually already made a film in metallic grey-green that takes place in a train that is taken over by a lady who seemed harmless and covered in croissant crumbs but is now heavily armed? If not, he should urgently do so.
The compartment is now in the hands of the Camp David shirts, who are vociferous in their displeasure with the railway and the general decline. Thank God the on-board bistro is out of order, otherwise they would probably do it with Pils breath. You can do that, but it’s no use to anyone; in addition, loudly expressed annoyance is rather uninteresting for others. Those who have music on their headphones can count themselves lucky. Maybe I should have written a song better.