Uwe Dierksen

A staged concert between standstill and frenzy

Uwe Dierksen’s compositions tell stories. They are deeply human stories of bizarre situational comedy and philosophical serenity, of shock and loss. A fearless view of the world from the perspective of a state of emergency. Together with singer and actress Franziska Junge, the six musicians weave a web of improvised music, poetic soundscapes, complex compositions, and melodious pop rock.

All text in english

1 / The False Life / Lucrez

Prologue

Thus everyone tries to flee from themselves. Against their will, they cling to themselves and cannot naturally free themselves. And they hate themselves, for they are sick and do not know the cause of their illness. If only they could see more clearly, they would surely leave everything else behind and strive to understand the nature of things. For it is not just a matter of an hour here: what is being negotiated is his status for all time. The state that all mortals must expect at any moment and that will not change after death. That is why the myths of the underworld are nothing more than fantasies – projections of a life lived wrongly on earth.

2 / Big Bug / music only

3 / Hölderlin in the Pocket / Michael Krüger

You don’t know what to think anymore, the will to tell the truth is gone, it’s best to just sit it out. Why do you write all day, asks a bird that must have its nest nearby. It is the size of a titmouse, with a face like a mask, a tight-fitting doublet, and wings that look like short swords. Silly question, I say, only idiots try to answer it—let me look at the landscape, the white paper in front of me, slowly curling at the edges like a dry leaf under the sun. The bird with the large, shiny eyes and the smug pose sits on the window frame like an ancient actor who knows the truth. You belong to history, I call out to the bird, and history cannot be touched, so go away! We are doomed to powerlessness, that’s it.

But I go out into the open, lie down on the meadow, Hölderlin in my pocket, and listen to the beetles, the innocent wanderers who don’t need pills on their bumpy journey into a bird’s beak…

4 / How to sense time / Michael Krüger

…A bluish light lies over the lake, very delicate, which then turns into a bright red, as if painted, and out of this riot of color birds, ducks, and grebes cry out, probably out of joy that we cannot see them and they cannot see us, leaning against the trees on the shore, against the bark darkened by rain, which also protects our lives. None of these almost black trees would want to live in the city. And I want to know if you can feel time, just as you can feel the storm and the heat and the water. How do you feel time?

5 / Signal Interference / Wolfgang Herrndorf and Uwe Dierksen

WH: A stethoscope. A yellow notepad. A white coffee cup with a teaspoon. A pair of glasses, a glasses case, a black keyboard, a black desk pad.

An exotic plant. A blood pressure cuff. A thermometer, four chairs. Dark brown needle felt, a colorful pot holder on the floor. A polished tabletop that reflects my face. Dr. P. sits across from me. “So,” he says, taking off his glasses, “structural disorder, pulmonary dysfunction, six point two centimeters back on the left, rather unstable.” Sounds good, I say defiantly. Mr. P. disagrees. But three months for now? Yes, probably. And off we go. Given the fact that tomorrow, with little prospect and moderate probability, my death sentence will come out of the fax machine, I am quite calm. I sleep without problems and without aids. Maybe I’m getting my hopes up. Or maybe I’m really over this nonsense about dying.

UD: STOP! Come on, come on, let’s live a little longer.

Come on, come on, a little more fun. Come on, come on, a little more is okay. Three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, that’s it. Come on, come on, a little more fun.

WH: I can’t play an instrument. I don’t speak any foreign languages. I’ve never seen Vermeer in Vienna. I’ve never seen a dead person. I’ve never believed in anything. I’ve never been to America. I’ve never stood on a mountain top. I’ve never had a job. I’ve never owned a car. I’ve never cheated on anyone. I’ve almost always been alone…

UD: Come on, come on, we’re still alive a little bit (…)

6 / The Buzzard / Michael Krüger

My window is five meters wide and four meters high, the view always the same, in color. At five o’clock, the green woodpeckers arrive and peck their monotonous text into the soft ground. They avoid the bare lime trees with their Piranesi-designed network of branches. Then the smaller birds are allowed to have breakfast. Titmice, blackbirds, warblers, and even smaller ones that look like butterflies from a distance.

I see the wind when the grass suddenly gathers itself and tries to regain its shape, and when the smaller birds hover tremulously in the air, watched by an inscrutable buzzard waiting for its moment on a pole.

7 / Communication / Wolfgang Herrndorf

I read my dialogues and realize that I consider misunderstanding to be the essence of communication. Mistakes are made, and mistakes lead to everything. One could also say coincidences, but I prefer the word mistakes. I consider the novel to be the repository of what is wrong. Correct theories belong in science. In novels, truth is ridiculous. Misfortune, neurotic personalities, false worldviews, false lives. True life, which leads into the abyss, evil, time.

8 / Encounter at Charles de Gaulle / Barbara Dierksen

Johns Hopkins had ten siblings and, at the age of seventeen, was madly in love with his cousin. He was not allowed to marry her. That is forbidden among Quakers. Perhaps out of heartbreak, he worked like a dog, so much so that he eventually left an inheritance of seven million dollars for the founding of Johns Hopkins University. Probably the largest charitable bequest to date.

I take off my headphones and look at the child next to me. He is looking to the left, as if his head were locked in place and he couldn’t move it. Everything is empty, that can’t be. I look to the right, I see nothing, nothing. A scene like something out of a disaster movie, an empty departure hall. We are alone tonight. No mothers or fathers are to be seen. No one far and wide, no woman and no man. The child looks at me. I see into its big blue eyes, underneath a mask with unicorns on it. The child looks at me. It asks me if it can stay here and what’s coming out of my headphones. I want to give them to it. Everything is empty, where is everyone, I think. “I’m not allowed to take anything from strangers,” it says suddenly.

10 / The Coffee Machine / Michael Krüger

The coffee machine has given up the ghost, a Lavazza from the last century, a linguistically gifted appliance that could gurgle, groan, moan, hiss, and squeak, a marvel of sounds it makes to produce an espresso. But what an espresso!

When the kitchen is still freezing in the morning, I wrap my cold hands around its heated body and talk to it while watching the birds from the kitchen window, already busy at this early hour. Two blackbirds peck obsessively at some moss lichen. The aroma of a single Lavazza espresso changes the smell of the whole house. The elms talk to each other too, something I’ve been familiar with since childhood, but today a forester is making a big fuss about it. My elms are currently translating the light-harvesting complex in chlorophyll perfectly, a rich, light green. That will remain, or come back when the time is right. Only the espresso machine is broken, there is no more coffee. Even humans as a species have brought about their own demise, as a philosopher confidently claims. Are you serious? One will survive, and he will come to me from the future along the lake and tell me, and I will have known nothing about it. And perfection is without complaint.

Today, the clouds look like giant cream puffs that no one wants; they are forbidden, like soft cheese, cow’s milk, sugar, yogurt…

9 / In tiefer Nacht / music only

11 / The Yellow Face / Uwe Dierksen

I am sitting in the same chair as always. I am calm and focused. My eyes are looking straight ahead. I am looking inward. I am afraid. I know that you are watching me from up there. Your yellow face beams at me. The face with the funny little skull on it. Soon your yellow cheeks will squeeze your poison into me drop by drop, impressively regular, reliable, merciless. When your facial features gradually dissolve, I start to tremble. Then the nurse takes you off the gallows and throws you in the trash. You lie there, crumpled and wrinkled. Plastic tubes protrude from your head like disjointed nerve strands, with red caps at the ends to prevent your poison from corroding the bucket.

A confused creature, a figment of the imagination.

So now you’re buried, I think – that was quick. But you’ve only changed, I know that. Inside me, you are rebuilding yourself piece by piece, line by line.

What madness, what a monstrous transformation. Like insects, bacteria, viruses, tiny invisible actors, mutation, modification, mimicry, eerie magic… I sit motionless and listen to my inner voice. Are you stabbing your counterpart in the side with your samurai sword, accompanied by a cheerful emoji smile, and no sooner have you done so than a second and third emoji pop up, and then you just devour everything in your path with chattering teeth? And someone takes the Atari mouse and shows you the way with a skillful swing?

Yes, come on, poisonous mushroom, flow into me, destroy everything, rage in my cells, tear through my tissue, cut my lifelines, strangle my nerve endings, make me tremble and freeze, scream and cry, but leave me a few neurodendrites for the little bit of life I need to go to the toilet and vomit in the bathtub. And I still want to drink cappuccino with perfectly frothed milk. Chorus: Oh you chemistry, my poison dwarf, dance through my veins and show me your smile, because you, my genius, my powerhouse, take me as dessert and then, crack, boom, poison dwarf, come on, devour me, yellow face, you, my yellow face, shall torment me for a little bit of life, because only you and I, my dearest, reach out your hands to me and let us dance the last dance and then, hm, hm, hm.

12 / Heaven Riser / Uwe Dierksen

A small selection of advice for cancer patients / Uwe Dierksen Do you have any hobbies? That would be best! Just don’t think about anything, nothing that wears you down. You know, we all have to die eventually. It’s up to you to consciously and confidently slip away. This little thing is in your hands. Happiness lies in the seemingly tiny things.

13 / Mama / Uwe Dierksen / to my wife

Mama, let’s talk about the last few years, sunny times without much tears. A young boy with golden hair, coming from somewhere – I don’t know what you know, an unknown secret place. Who will ever guess and yes, it’s where we all go back to, when facing our end, but you will always stay my friend. Refrain: Mama, I always told you everything I would do, I never made you say you should do, I always laughed at things we could do, Mama, do you hear? I’ll always do whatever you will want me to, it’s never ever too late to teach me to, it’s only you will ever make me smile at you. Mama, lets pray for all the next few years, we’ll love and dance without no fears. We’ll always find the time to stay, together in our Milky Way – I need to ask you, what life is all about. I’m sure you have some answers… I need to know what’s out there, I beg you for your care, I’m sure you know some secrets there. Mama, now look at me a boy became so strong, all the way we moved along. Now reach your hand and trust your son, I guess his life has just began, you hear me. My wife, we almost spent a half time life, thank you for being my wife, thank you for the time with you.

14 / The Air Vent / Wolfgang Herrndorf and Uwe Dierksen

WH: What a satisfying task it is to bleed the radiators, simple and with no possibility of failure. I think next time I go to the hospital, I’ll take the bleed key with me. No matter how much they cut out of my brain, it will still be possible to bleed all the radiators on the ward under the partly benevolent, partly scrutinizing gaze of the nurses. That’s what I claim now.

UD: Hello, Mr. Technician, I understand there’s still a lot of air in the radiator, but of course, we’re right there with you. Look, here too, oh

no—oh dear—it’s terrible. Congratulations, dear radiator bleeder, that was fabulous, yes, the one over there still needs doing, that would be a laugh. Here comes dinner, I’m sure the air has to be let out of that too, that feels good… but now off to bed, because yes, tomorrow we’ll continue, yes, yes, we’re here for you.

WH: Mr. H-H-H…, no, the bed is the one with the pillows on it, the one without pillows is the wall, and the one at right angles to it is the floor, that’s what we call it here, that’s the bed, and this radiator has already been bled, we’re not going to bleed it again, (…) and now look there, what’s coming through the wall, through the white rectangle, where there’s no radiator? Dinner is already coming through the heater with the door handle, can you see that? You like that, yes, you liked it this morning too, and there you go, yes, please, if you like, yes, if it makes you happy, you can use your key to bleed the sausage again, if you prefer, Mr. H… H… H, even though it was delivered pre-vented from the factory… now someone take that stupid key away from him… UD: Oh, how active you are, yes, the one at the back is hanging crooked / Oh no, not the red thing, let’s put that back where it belongs / I know, it’s round and heavy, it belongs to the fire department, yeah.

15 / Interlude Sister / music only (radio play)

Faulty recording takes, slips of the tongue, and things already said that appear in a different context—a small montage, a short radio play. A kind of curtain music.

16 / The Nurse / Uwe Dierksen

Well, young lady, we’re not feeling too well, let’s see, it’ll be fine, just a little prick and they’ll take you away and one, two, three, and then you’ll float away gently… Where all the flowers bloom and the lights never go out, that’s where you’ll stay—and—very soon, oh my dear, it will be beautiful… Hm Hm Hm Hm… no noise will penetrate, no baby will be mean, only your husband—could then, from time to time, smile and then

Man: Do you hear me, my darling, I beg you, look at me | Woman: Hm hm hm hm hm… Man: All the laundry, all the shopping, all the diapers | Man: Me, your husband

Woman: You, my husband, I know, you’re Bonnie and I’m Clyde

Man: I carry you on my hands… | Woman: You, my Bonnie, you tell me

Man: I – you, my Clyde, I tell you | Woman: No mountain will be too steep

Man: I carry you on my hands | Woman: Up and down

Woman and man together: And then we’ll see that the world is beautiful after all…

17 / Change Your Attitude / Uwe Dierksen

Here we are sweet home, I‘m back again – Bang. All the shows are cancelled once again, Bang. But the time I’m having, you‘ll appreciate, they say, in my face. Just a little hurricane, you will get over. So much to celebrate, always remember: after rain the sun comes out of your mind, insight, just write some poetry, may be life is only an interlude reminding you, you might perhaps change your attitude… Welcome to your little home again, Bang. Try to cook some eggies in the pan. Precious time my friend, don‘t you stare at me, just a little hurricane… You will get over, so much to celebrate, always remember: after rain the sun comes out of your mind, insight, just write some poetry, maybe life is, only an interlude reminding you, you might perhaps change your attitude. Staying at home again, cherish the time and then, watching the big screen, life is an evergreen…

Press

Frankfurter Rundschau:

„Dierksens inszeniertes Konzert ist viel mehr als eine Reaktion auf pandemische Zeiten oder biografische Momente. Es ist, in täuschend lässiger Gestalt, ein ästhetisches Ereignis von beklemmender Dringlichkeit, zugänglich durch seine übergreifende Rhythmik.“

Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung:

…„Dierksen (zeigt), dass er über das Ausloten tiefernst gemeinter Klänge hinaus auch Musik schreiben kann, die mitreißt, poppig, rockig, jazzig ist, ohne trivial zu sein….Selten ohne Humor geht es etwa um die Angst bei einer Chemotherapie, um die Genugtuung, dass auch der Infusionsbeutel sterben muss, um Dankbarkeit für Nähe und Naturleben, um geistige Umnachtung und zum Schluss um ein großes Loslassen….ein Abend, der in sehr langem und sehr herzlichen Beifall endet.“

Journal Frankfurt:

Gefeiert wie ein Rockstar wurde Uwe Dierksen nach der Premiere seines szenischen Konzertes „Hirngespinste“ auf der Volksbühne….Man konnte Stecknadeln fallen hören, so leise war das Publikum. Ausgerechnet bei einer tieftraurigen Abschiedsballade, wunderbar gesungen von Franziska Junge, gab es frenetischen Jubel.

Hirngespinste // Pipedreams Trailer

live from Volksbühne Frankfurt – Januar, Februar 2023

 Mit Uwe Dierksen (Posaune, Leitung), Franziska Junge (Gesang), Lou Dierksen (Trompete, E-Gitarre),Steffen Ahrens (Gitarre, E-Gitarre), Pierre Dekker (Kontrabass, E-Bass), Vitalii Kyianytsia (Klavier), David Haller (Schlagzeug)

Komposition Uwe Dierksen

Text Michael Krüger, Wolfgang Herrndorf, Uwe Dierksen, Barbara Dierksen

Regie, Video Matthias Faltz