Ms. Ortner, you were a teenager in the early 1980s. How would you explain your entry into the punk scene to young people today?
It actually started much earlier. I met my first punks when I was ten years old. That was in 1978. Two years earlier, when I was eight, I remember driving past the Mönckebergbrunnen fountain in Hamburg with my mum and found the picture there so fascinating. This scene was colorful, big, unique. For me, this was an art that made me curious right away.
And then at ten years old?
So I went to a leisure center with the parish and other children. At one point I heard music coming from a room above the shed. The band called themselves Traumschiss, and they’re friends of mine to this day. That’s it for me then. I listened to the rehearsals and sought out the circles of these people from then on. When I was twelve, I cut my hair and let it grow in a braid.
The braid became her trademark: Rapunzel.
It was the press’ fault that I got that name. Someone introduced me like this. In hindsight, it’s shocking to see how small and naive I was back then, but I wanted to be there.
And did you become part of this scene through the youth camp alone?
Yes, that was crucial. I got to know a lot of bands through the guys and we listened to music together. Back then, punk was mostly singles. I can’t remember exactly, but then I just showed up at the Mönckeberg fountain, very likely alone. I quickly made friends there, and from there I went to the concerts. Someone always knew where one was. We traveled a lot by train because most of the concerts took place in the outskirts where the youth centers that actively supported our music were located.
When did you start making music yourself?
I grew up with music. As a little girl, I learned to play the flute and organ at home, later adding a bit of piano and violin. There was a lot of music coming from both parents. When I was 17, I fled from my parents and moved into a youth flat share for a year. Then I got my own apartment. I performed for the first time in December 1988 in Flensburg. My boyfriend at the time had just died. We were actually apart, but we had seen each other again and again and it was clear that we would get back together. And then suddenly it was all over. Nevertheless, I performed.
You found your way to punk through music. What role did clothes play for you?
Clothing was one way that made me belong, but again I rejected that. The clothes really were my most important expression, my language. I didn’t get a peep out until I was ten years old, I was so shy I just didn’t want to be visible. And I found my language through playing with clothes and these different materials. I started with Domestos pants. I had jeans, you could get Domestos anywhere. You could immediately see that someone was playing with his clothes and that it was punk. I was ten then.
What did your parents say about that?
I had quite acceptable parents, my mother tolerated a lot when it came to clothes. When it later went in the direction of alcohol excesses, however, things looked different. I’ve had more conflicts with my father.
What did the clothes look like?
I’ve had things given to me, people have left things with me, I’ve stolen one or the other, although that wasn’t actually my style. And I’ve been playing around, cutting up pieces and putting them back together. I have almost never left anything in its original condition. I’ve also always been on the lookout for lace and mesh, which was difficult because it was later in fashion. And leather, I loved leather, it was gold for me. Later I experimented with rubber and made designs out of it. Someone once forgot a leather jacket on me, I made a mini skirt out of the sleeves, which I wore for a long time. It now also belongs in the collection of the Hamburg Museum of Arts and Crafts. From the jacket part itself I built a vest that I have worn in all seasons.
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