D.he beach as a point-utopian dependency in the texts of the doctors would be worth a separate literary study – quite apart from the fact that the motif of contemplative sighs on the edge of the sea is already firmly anchored in German cultural history. But “such longing” is really remarkable:
“Sometimes I close my eyes / Imagine I’m sitting by the sea / Then I think of this island / And my heart is getting so heavy”
it says in “Westerland” about the place that is a bit more expensive, but where you stay to yourself – an ironic swipe at the usual Sylt holidaymaker with a penchant for exclusive chic. The legend knows that the text was originally supposed to sing about the island of Helgoland, among other things because of the band’s Sylt “farewell concert” (ha, why not!) In 1988, which should hopelessly overwhelm all the authorities on the island, but then to “Westerland “Was rededicated. Helgoland, Westerland, the main thing is the beach.
You don’t have to go back that far in the band’s oeuvre, just on the latest record with the beautifully ambiguous title “Hell” – hell or the presence of light? one does not know! – there are two pieces that take up the light and dark tilting figure of the title. Once “The Last Song of Summer” (“Heat, palm trees, hammocks – do you remember how nice we had it?”) and finally, as a dark twin, the grandiose “I, on the beach”, which tells an entire, albeit short, life in snapshots and deserves a closer look.
“Me, newborn – not at all cute, but mum is apparently happy / me with two, what am I looking at – my parents are already divorced”
This photographically recorded résumé begins with a slightly inharmonious crunch, but the doctors repeatedly ward off sentimentality or even suspicion of kitsch with quick-witted, slightly humorous lines – a fairly successful procedure. The text continues through the classic genres of family album photography with birthday cake, grandpa’s dog, first day of school and, as a coming-of-age novel, practically forms the narrative-economic antithesis of the “Great American Novel”. Zack, zack, zack: between the initially static scenes, lit as if by flash, jumps are built in, which leave what happens in between to the listener’s imagination, which often has a comical effect. This is how diptychs are built, like first accidents:
“I visit the boxing club / I have a broken nose.”
Or the puberty drama about the first lovesickness:
“Me with Nina, trousers bulge / I without Nina, heavily weeping”.
In scenes like this, listeners like to identify themselves, something you know from your own biography. As a continuous, structuring element, the self-image of the narrator at the booth runs through the song as a refrain. From “my very first vacation: me on the beach”, the paradise of the rest of the family, but experienced as a safe childhood, to a first freedom as a young man after the hardships of school –
“I with my Abitur in hand, I with my backpack / I on the beach”
up to the final scene in which it is already clear that life has failed. Farin Urlaub also finds suitable, albeit harsh, images for this: