Berlin: A Pommeled Restitch...

Guten Abend,

Wouter and I have already written four songs, and are now in official abandon-all-fucking-hope mode as we sojourn to Raum 20 to listlessly mope backstage as Acid Mothers Temple, the tireless hippie-noise hucksters, perform a set of Reeves Gabrels tributes to an oven mitt and seventeen serviettes.

Major drag, really, as there are infinitely cooler events going on, but WJ had already agreed to DJ the gig and we worked up until the last possible sec on the new tracks. Best not to take separate trails at this juncture...

If we survive the ordeal, you'll be the first to know.



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