Right next to Poland. No more than fifty kilometres south of the Baltic. If anyone had told me I would some day be in this dull little village of the former German Democratic Republic, Schwedt... well, no one ever did tell me I would, but the fact remains that here I was in Schwedt. To see Alphaville in concert. Eleven years of unvarying loyalty to their music, and then this tiring journey to the end of the world. We left Berlin at 16:10 (not 15:52 as planned, so much for the myth of German punctuality) and reached Schwedt at 17:34. Waiting, concert, perhaps a little chat with Alphaville, a few hours’ sleep, the train back to Berlin, and then, finally, the train to Italy - an eighteen-hour journey to get back to Turin. But it's worth it for Alphaville, right? The station in Schwedt could be straight out of a small town in some Western: silent, solitary. No taxi, no bus. Instead, just four or five people who speak no language except Schwedtian (Schwedtese?) and who all seem to be employees of the station. So? So, my friend Raffaela and I look for the station master, presuming there is one and that we'll be able to communicate, using pseudoenglish, pseudogerman or pseudosomething-more-or-less-comprehensible. We go to the only open gate of the station, approach two women chatting to each other, in the weak hope that they, too, might be going to the concert? The two women tum towards us. Yes, they are here for the concert, but they aren't fans. ‘Marion!’ Small, slim and clad in black from head to foot, Marion1 is a girl with long, copper-coloured hair and grey eyes. Not pretty. But her strong personality makes her compulsively likeable. Marion recognises me, greets me. The other woman, naturalmente, is Karin2: quite tall, sporty, with calm, soft eyes behind her glasses. We exchange various polite greetings, and a taxi magically materialises in front of us.Well, weren't Raffa and I lucky to have met them, and not just for the pleasure of talking to them?... Marion in front, Karin and the pair of us crammed into the back. During the journey, we talk about Karin's daughter. She is so open to the world, says her mother, so happy she's Iike that, better to have a lively child than a quiet one with no curiosity, she'l1 have a strong personality. I have no opinion on the subject, since I don't know Luisa, but I do know one thing: she is fortunate to have a mother like Karin. Gentle, seemingly fragile, yet so strong. We have reached the "Neue Zeit" Sporthalle (a multi-purpose gymnasium, in fact), and it is six o'clock. Karin and Marion, apologising as if Raffa and I were two officials on state visit, leave us (they have to work, after all), and we settle in front of the main entrance. The doors are still shut, and won’t open before half past seven. For the moment, there are only five fans waiting: fours girls and one boy. We exchange a few words in approximate English (compared to theirs, mine sounds like pure Oxford English, but these are East-Germans, who had to learn Russian in school). Who are they where do they come from and all the basics of people who have never met before. We do learn one thing, though: Bernd and Ricky aren't going to be there. Aren't going to be there? No, they aren't, the show is just Marian with a stage band. Why? Who knows? I'm not so bothered by this news. True, Alphaville is a trio, and we all know their music owes more to Bernd and Ricky than to Marian, and anyway they should all be there, if only for a good "image", since they're a trio. But then Bernd and Ricky are better composers than musicians, and their presence might be superfluous, Alphaville have always been an open project (as in the Nelson3 days), and what counts in a live show is Marian's voice... and speaking of Marian: as we try to keep up a laborious conversation with the Germans, Marian and the others (no time to see who) make a fleeting appearance behind the glass doors. They spring out from nowhere, walk down the steps, return into nothingness. Marian has little hair and too much weight. A brief, timid little smile rises to his lips, …as he walks by us. Maybe he is nervous. Half-past seven draws gradually nearer with the unbearable slowness of any wait. A little trip to a hotel to get a room and freshen up, more tiring conversations with the Germans, some old hag's observations on the girls that arrive: for instance a kid with saffron-coloured hair, shorts (very, very short ones) and a tight little T-shirt and a bust like a Miss Wet-T-shirt competitor. Is she hoping to pick up Marian? maybe. Half-past seven, at last. And this time, the punctuality is all German: the doors open. No pushing, please. Good Prussians that they are, they all line up one by one, or perhaps two, and patiently wait for their turn. When in Rome, do as the Romans do... Raffa and I adapt to the local custom, get into the queue, enter the gymnasium without hurrying up to the stage as if we were chased by wild buffalo. Anyway, since we were among the first and no one here would dare take our place, we do end up just in front of the stage. To be precise, I'm right in front of the central microphone. If it is Marian's, as I suspect, my nose will be just about level with his knees. Again, the hours slow down to the pace of an Antonioni film, but with far less significance. A glass of beer (not that the beer is insignificant, in fact it's quite good), more small talk in pseudoenglish, a message from Karin that 1'm not to leave straight after the show (Marian and Co are spending a hit of time here, so I'll be able to have a little chat with them). And finally, the last minute, feverish (quite literally, too, with the heat, I seem to be losing not only a lot of sweat, but probably some extra weight as well) everyone watching the technicians as they test the instruments and microphones - couldn't they do this earlier? Another block off the German myth - and everyone waiting for the lights to go down. At last, down they come. Camera at the ready, one eye in the visor and the other on the stage (a surprising ocular phenomenon, I know), to keep track of where they are. I must admit that I'm not feeling very emotional. I haven't been all day , in fact. Perhaps because until I am actually "in" an event, I can't really believe it is going to happen. Perhaps because I have a cold character, and I am too old to got overexcited. Perhaps because Alex (not my colleague Alessandra Bertaggia, sex: masculine, nationality: Italian, characteristic: adorable) usually comes between me and the outside world. Anyway, I am calm. Good on me, at least I'll be able to enjoy the concert fully. Finally, here is the band. people I've never seen before. No Hansi Behrendt4 at the drums no Rudi Nielson5 on guitar. Instead, there are four fellows who prove themselves to be great musicians during the show, the sort that can probably count hours and hours of stage experience just as pilots count their hours of flight: blonde David on guitar, tall Alex on bass, rotund Robbie on drums, strong Martin on keyboards. And then, there's Marian. His hair styled in a crew-cut speckled with grey, not really fat, but not slim, he is wearing a blue basketball tanktop, an open military shirt, a pair of Levi's and trainers. My heart stays still when I see him. I notice he looks his forty years, that with age, his eyes have grown smaller and deeper, and his physical attraction is fading. When I think of how he was a few years ago eyes that bore right into you like X-rays, a disquieting face that changed with each compression. And now, Marian looks like an ageing puppy,his intelligent eyes looking out below his clear forehead, the flesh on his arms beginning to sag. Never mind, I'm happy to see him, and to see him like this, without any earth-moving emotions: I’m in love with someone else, I've seen Marian last year and I've got past the what-if I-meet-him-and-I-am-disappointed stage. Well, now it isn't so important to know why and how come. I'm happy and that's enough. What counts is that I should enjoy the concert fully, without any sentimental distractions. So, the concert a plain stage in a gymnasium that can hold no more than 2000 people, a simple band. No smoke, no special effects, nothing spectacular. Just a man that gives his songs and kids that return the gift by clapping and enjoying their presence there, listening to his songs. A basic concert, as it were. True, Alphaville cannot put on a Michael Jackson megashow, even if they wanted to, but I don't think they are interested in this kind of spectacular concert. I'd rather think that they are interested in the essence of a concert, not the superfluous. They give the audience their own emotions through the music, to create a little world where social, cultural and even physical differences don't count. The first song Marian sings is Fools. It is well sung, in a version similar to that on the album. I sing, I move to the music, the others are far more cold. Well, this is a pop concert, even if we aren't in an auditorium... but there, these are Prussians. They have come to listen to some music, not put on a show of their own. And although, song after song, they warm up a bit and hands reach up, voices follow Marian's, some will continue to look at Raffa and me, dancing and singing, as if we were from another planet. But Marian, too, is from another planet (not mine, of course, I am not that fortunate!). He too needs time to warm up, but he gradually changes. He who is so timid, and cannot dance, and has no experience of live shows, he turns into a stage animal. He talks to the audience, makes fun because he can remember neither the sequence nor the words of his songs (we all know that, dear Marian, you even make mistakes when singing in playback...), he is a true performer, able to communicate meaning not only with his voice, but also with his movements and the expression of his face. After Fools, it is A victory of love. I did not expect such a difficult story, but I'm happy to hear it, and Marian doesn't disappoint me. He sings it a bit lower, but very well, and I also enjoy the new, harder arrangement. This song is the first real emotion of the evening. Third song, Ascension Day: a rather long introduction and a bit different from the usual one, which makes me unsure of the song that they are starting. And then, red light, hard guitars, and Marian's excellent singing... excellent now, because, as I am to discover later, the technical problems that made his singing merely good on the first two songs, have now been solved. ("I couldn't hear my own voice" he'll tell me later: well, I could hear his voice perfectly well and there didn't seem to be any problem.) The next song is One Step Behind You: a techno version appropriate to this song and most of all a beautiful performance by Marian. At the beginning, he turns his back on us, raising one arm, and then the other, moving continuously as if, in rhythm with the music, he wanted to punch out at the air around him. He puts great strength in these movements, and it nearly seems as though the beat were coming from his tense muscles. Pure strength, both in the artist and his music. And here is my favourite song, the one our fanclub is named after, Euphoria. The Introduction is enchanting: David plays his guitar solo, and although his performance faithfully follows the album version, it is slightly different his instrument seems to be a voice, instead of making sounds. A voice that speaks, with all the inflexions, the nuances and the sentiments of a voice. So moving that I have not even noticed,.that Marian takes advantage of this moment to go off stage and take off his shirt. When he returns, the enchantment remains. Immobile behind his microphone, staring above the crowd, arms moving slowly and carefully, Marian the actor enacts the dark madness of a mind. The chorus, repeated time after time, is the sun shining through the clouds and driving them away. Second, deep emotion of the evening. No time to recover as Feathers and Tar starts up next, a new song from Marian's second solo album. He kneels down, and sings all this soft, poignant love song in this position, as his voice gently repeats "1'm on my knees" over and over again. His voice is very high, like on Oh Patti, and the music is a ballad, very sweet, without the emphasis of The Impossible Dream. The atmosphere created by the voice and the music together is very, very romantic - not in a sentimental sense, but because it communicated melancholy, sadness, desire. Third emotion. Lassie Come Home starts without the long instrumental introduction we are used to, and Marian begins to sing after only a few chords, higher than usual. Then he forgets a few words (really!), but patience: he is embarrassed enough to be forgiven, the band is clever enough to follow him as he improvises, and the new arrangement is beautiful enough to make anyone forget the words. Also, after the slow beginning, the song grows faster, becoming nearly a rock number at the end, where the hard guitar, replacing the keyboard arrangement, is particularly appropriate. I had expected Faith to be a good live act, because of its reggae rhythm. But I did not expect it to be such a wonderful live act. Marian sings it perfectly, and the finale is splendid like Bob Marley, Marian starts to sing "Everything 's gonna be alright", encouraging the audience to do the same. Some of the Prussians follow him, others don't, but the feeling is still very good. At the end of the song, my pessimistic nature doesn’t believe that that "everything's gonna be alright", but a bit of optimism penetrates me, along with the fourth emotion of the evening. Time for Sounds like A Melody. According to Emma the main characteristic of this new version is the reggae rhythm. And indeed, watching the concert on video, I have also noticed this rhythm, but on the night, other aspects struck me. What I have always liked in this song ( the one that made me into an Alphamaniac), is the mixture of electronic and classical music. When played live, Sounds is a lot harder, not as sophisticated, weighed down by the acoustic sounds that change its nature, I would say. Listening to it again now, I don't mind it so much, but at the time, I wasn't very taken. Peace on Earth is my least favourite song on So long Celeste, but live, I have to admit it is terrific. Plenty of guitar, rhythm, a text that lets Marian play out of his favourites roles, that of a drunk (...), and some the hardiest of the Prussians let themselves go a bit and shout "Peace on Earth, God in Heaven"! A techno version of And I wonder. If you've heard the version on History6 , you can imagine what it sounds like live. What can I say? By this time, the audience, the band and the singer are all well warmed up, the show is getting better every minute, and a danceable and biting song like this one just adds to the general overheating, even if it wasn't the most exciting song that evening. Another novelty, again taken from Marian's new album: For the Sake of Love. I think it is best described it as a "hammering" song. Fast, danceable, one of the songs that just penetrates your stomach, so that you can't possibly stand still. Marian sings the fast, verbose verses with Martin, pretending to be surprised and bothered by the keyboard-player's interventions. The lyrics (that Marian obviously doesn’t remember) are entirely based on a rapid succession of lines beginning with "I forgive...". These two words are the key to the whole song, played on three chords (one high, one low, one in between), the sort of tune doesn’t forget. All that was needed now was that sacred hymn, the song that everyone sings, the one that would make the spectators rise to their feet, that would make even the Prussians hold hands: Forever Young, of course. Few changes compared to the original, but that doesn't really matter. Forever Young is one of those songs which will still be remembered in twenty years' time, even by those who are not Alphamaniacs, and it is so perfect that changing the arrangement could add nothing to it. A wonderful song, an extraordinary voice, kids holding hands and, magically, everyone feels friendly, even towards those they don't know. The good that music can do, and my fifth emotion. And after this, a typical concert finish: waving and blowing kisses, the band goes off. Of course, no one believes the show is really finished, but pretending is a part of the game, and everyone, except Raffa and me, start to chant something I do not understand, but which must mean "Come back" or something7. And the band does come back, to sing Ivory Tower. The introduction is so different from the original that I only recognise the song when Marian begins to sing. This arrangement is a bit faster, and this increases the anguish that was already present in the album version. Marian's singing is good, but not excellent. He is possibly tired, after fourteen songs. I am beginning to get worried: could there possibly be an Alphaville concert without the biggest success of all, Big in Japan ? Of course not.  The original arrangements are gone, the keyboard’s role is reduced to a secondary role and it has turned into a nearly rocking number. Those who have heard History will know that this song can be very hard, and I think it has all to gain from this, and although the History version is my favourite, this one is also very good. If I were to ask you all, which song would be best to end a concert, I'm pretty sure you would answer Apollo. Et voilà, to end in style, Marian sings Apollo. Despite a mistake at the beginning, he holds on despite his tiredness, and finds not only the strength, but also the enthusiasm to give us a beautiful conclusion to our evening. The song is very similar to the version we are used to, the main difference being in the lyrics, since Marian sings "back to you" instead of "back home", and points to the audience. The concert closes on this promise, the promise that we will meet again some day. The band takes a bow in the midst of the applause, and this time they do not return. The lights come back on again, the gymnasium empties rapidly. All that remains are the technicians, the group of Germans, some other fans, Raffa and myself. And now time for the party with Marian and Co... but no, before we go up to the room Karin indicated, we need to recover a bit. We can't go and see them in this state, sweating and red in the face, looking our worst. We wait a few minutes, and then we all climb up to the fateful room.
The fateful room turns out to be something like a schoolroom, only smaller. Bare walls, a few square tables, the only thing it doesn't lack is a lot of chairs. And on those chairs, all sorts of people: the band, Karin, Marion, KP. (the manager), a dark-haired girl and a blonde one, a black-haired woman, a dark-skinned youth, and Jogi, the fan who was selling the posters, T-shirts and CDs. And Marian , still dressed the same. Immediately, I am with a considerable problem: it is all very well to be proud about my English, but these people are all Germans, so Marian is speaking in German. Well, that's democracy. Majority rules. And I don't understand English, so he can’t speak another language that only I can understand... well, all right, I'll have to speak to someone else. I don't even have time to think this over, before K.P. pounces on me. Were it not for his thick German accent in English, Alphavilles manager could be Italian: brown hair, melancholic Latin eyes. In fact, his grand-parents (or some other ill-defined members of his ancestry) were from Tuscany.What is most interesting about K.P. is that he hides his active, busy nature, under the calmest of appearances. Right now, he has barely started to talk to me than he asks, in his usual placid way how the fanclub is going. I describe the fanzine we want to do, how Alex (Bertaggia, this time ) and I are trying to find new fans. He listens quietly, but I know what’s coming. The minute I stop talking, he will start on a whole lot of suggestions (but always with Anglo-Saxon calm), pulling out a booklet from one of the dozen pockets on his jacket to write out a pile of things to do and follow-up. I wonder if it is easy for a man so active to work with Alphaville. He evidently gets on well with Marian, but Marian is not as shy as Bernd, as devilish as Ricky... but that reminds me! `By the way, why aren't Bernd and Ricky here?', I ask. K.P. has the extraordinary ability to make me feel even sillier than I feel myself. When I ask him something, before even answering he looks at me as if to say "But it’s obvious...". Unfortunately, it never is obvious to me. And this evening, too, I get the same old treatment. He shrugs his shoulders, gives me an "it's obvious" look, and answers my question with another one: `Did you miss them?' `Well, yes, a bit...' `Ask Marian why they aren't here. Now then, why don't we go back to the hotel?' K.P.'s intention is to tear Marian away from an interview (a cameraman and a journalist have found their way into the room), so that we can all go back to their hotel and have a party, since there's barely a tap to drink from here. Fine, a quick trip to the Ladies' to freshen up a bit, and pay a necessary visit to the look, and Raffa and I somehow end up in one of Alphaville's yellow mini-busses. K.P. at the wheel, Raffa and me, the fellows from the band, Emma (the blonde girl I had seen scated at a table), perhaps some others who I cannot s e beyond the tangle of legs and arms that I am trapped in. The trip is uncomfortable but exhilarating: the musicians are teasing K.P., imitating his accent, and making fun of the way he drives, and indeed‚ living in England makes it hard for him to stick to the right side of the road. He takes the jokes calmy, jokes back, participates in the general anarchic ambiene. Head knocking against the window, an elbow in my side,1 listen and observe this strange group of people: a German in his mid-forties who lives in London and manages a Berlin band, an Austrian bass-player who lives in England, but does shows in Schwedt, an Anglo-Australian drummer who is going to move to Poland to live with his girlfriend...no one who was born and bred in Turin, like me, who visits foreign lands only on holiday, and whose job barely gives them a chance to meet people from a different region. I rather envy them their cosmopolitanism, I envy their complete respect for those who are "different", the tolerance that their everyday life gives them, and which is so rare in Turin. The hotel is a beautiful one just outside Schwedt. This means that Raffa and I, after making sure we found a hotel near the Neue Zeit, will have to take a taxi back there. Usua1 luck. We stop in the lobby, and beers and nibbles immediately appear and go around. I jump on them gladly, I am so hungry. While I am stuffing my face, the second half of our party arrives: fans, the rest of the staff, Marian. He comes in with the dark-haired girl I had noticed in the room after the concert. He holds her close, kisses her gently on the forehead. It's Gabi8. She is in her twenties, and very pretty. Her beauty is a discreet one, Gabi is one of the finest girls I have ever seen. Well dressed, medium-length hair cut in a layered style, green eyes with no make-u, she looks like someone who lives a quiet life. But if she is with Marian, I don't think she does live a quiet life. It is evident how much they love each other, they are tender, a beautiful couple. I am happy for them, and so pleased that I feel no jealousy. The woman with black hair turns Uschi Fischer Schierbaum, Marian's half-sister (father's side). She must be a couple of years older than him, tall, thin, with very dark hair (but that is the only resemblance with her brother) and hard features. She teaches dancing in Westfallia (she did a choreography for Parade) and has seized this occasion to see her brother sing live for the first time. Uschi and Gabi both go to bed early: they are not the centre of attention, and by one o’clock, they are tired. The language problem, of course, remains. Marian is sitting on the floor in the midst of his fans and talks to them in German. Bad luck, really. Patience, the night is young, and he might find a minute for me. I’ll talk to the others: with Emma, who takes care of the Internet pages dedicated to Alphaville, with Marion who explains that she is far behind on the MoonPaper9 because she has a pile of exams to do between in October and February10. She is really bothered about what has Happened to the fanclub, but she couldn't do anything else, and K.P.’s plan was initially to create a federation of local fanclubs (one in Italy, one in Sweden, etc.), which she would have just co-ordinated, keeping contact with only one or two fans per country. Marion doesn't like this plan of K.P.'s because she doesn’t like the idea of ordering the fans about, but the fact remains that the international fanclub, as it is now, doesn't work. I then talk with Karin. She enjoyed the concert, and is very impressed by Marian’s ability to dominate the stage. What she doesn't like so much is the set: too many purely fast or purely slow songs following each other (well, she isn't really wrong). And she doesn't like the versions of Sounds Like A Melody and And I Wonder. Since I filmed the concert, could I send her a copy? It doesn't matter if it doesn't look professional like a television programme, she just wants to keep as complete an archive as possible of the concerts... so she'll be the first person 1 send the video to. I leave Karin and sit down beside Marian with the umpteenth glass that someone has put in my hand. The beer is full of foam. Not a very healthy occupation, eating nothing all day and then pouring warm beer on my empty stomach. Fortunately, I'm a good drinker. Marian apologises again for speaking German all the time, I tel1 him that's all right, we'll talk later, and I start a conversation with Jacqueline, the only German fan who can actually hack a bit of English, and who seems to have quite a Mediterranean spirit, as it were: she asks Marian to give her the tanktop he is wearing, as is, full of sweat and all. `What will you ask for next time?' I asked. `His trousers..?' `No, I think I'll stop at the top.' Marian gets up, goes to change. He return shortly to give the top to Jacqueline. He is now wearing a T-shirt of Antonioni's film Blow-up. He goes to get two beers, comes back towards the others and myself, seated on the carpet. He gives me a glass and sits beside me. `Now then, Alessandra.' I have always liked the way he pronounces my name, without the slightest foreign intonation, but a bit slowly, as if he was tasting it. In fact, I discover that he really likes my name. I drink a sip of beer, look at him. Now I feel a bit worried: what if, talking to him, we were to discover that we have nothing in common? What if one of those terrible silences settles between us, as between two people who do not know what to say? What if the conversation dies out after a few minutes? I do not think I could bear the thought of having dedicated eleven years of my life to someone, only to discover that we are not on the same wavelength at all. Well, a good subject to start the conversation should be the concert: `You sang very well tonight...' `Do you think so? But you know, I couldn't hear myself sing during the first two songs.' `No, no, you sang really well. But why didn't you sing any of the songs from the third album?' `I just don't find that they suit a live performance, you know.' ‘True, Heaven or Hell, heavy version, might not be a big success. `That's true... but there are some other beautiful songs, also on the B-sides. It is a pity that you don't play them live.' `Yes. One fan has just asked me why I didn't sing The Impossible Dream. But there are so many other songs I'd rather sing...' `Like Thunder, for instance?' `Exactly. That one in particular. I tell you what, next time you come to a show, I'll get you up on stage and we can sing Like Thunder together, in front of the crowd.' We then go onto the subject of Vingt Mille Lieues Sous Les Mers, another song which wouldn't work in a live show, but which he would like to sing, and I would like to hear. He tells me its original. The musical inspiration came to Ricky during a trip to South America, and Ricky had asked Marian to write a lyric describing his experience there. Marian knew exactly what Ricky had experienced, since he too had travelled in this area, but he didn't feel like expressing those emotions in a text. The lyrics were inspired by a film on television instead, a man and a woman clutching each other on a cliff before them their pursuers, behind them the sea. And that's how the words were born. And how did he get the idea to use Lewis Carroll's poem in my favourite song, All in the Golden Afternoon? `Well, the music is by Rainer11... at home, in the living-room, I have a sort of recording studio, and he often comes over to work. He had written this music and I didn't know what text to put on it... one day, I was sitting near the book-case and looking at the 700 books that I can barely reach because of the equipment... and my eyes suddenly fell on Alice. That's how I found the text.' `I'm sure Lewis Carroll would appreciate the way his poem has been put into music.' `I think so, too. But do you know that some fans have asked me how I dared cut out two verses!' `If they wanted to reproach Dante for cutting up Virgil’s verses, there would be plenty to complain about in the Comedy...' `Anyway, those were the only two verses that I could cut out.' `On another topic: why aren't Bernd and Ricky here?' `Well... Ricky lives in the south of France, and he's working on a film soundtrack right now. And Bernd is as he is, he hates concerts... and since they aren't really musicians anyway...' O.K, I get it. Though I still think their presence would be a good thing. But I don't feel like talking about that, and the conversation drifts onto other subjects, whose order I don't remember: beer after beer, Jaegermeister after Jaegermeister (only subject of discord between Marian and me: I like it, he doesn't). He gradually sinks down into a lying position on the carpet, I gradually lean over him, all I remember of this long night's conversation. We discuss Italian politics: Marian cannot understand how an individualistic people like the Italians, who he admires so much, could let themselves be had by a clown like Berlusconi. The answer isn't easy: I try to make him see the bad side of individualism, the indifference to everything that doesn't concern one's personal little world, I tell him about the disinterest of Italians for politics, their lack of information and historical ignorance, the fact that Forza Italia took over the place left vacant by the disintegration of the Christian-Democrats... but it is difficult to understand how, so near the year 2000, people can still believe in a political campaign so similar to that of the Christian-Democrats in 48, God, Nation and Family against the wicked, baby-eating Communists... only one step from this to talking about families in general. `Do you believe in family, Alessandra?' I've never known anyone who repeats the name of the person they are talking so often. Alessandra this, Alessandra that, his voice and a long, sensual S. `No, I mean, I don't believe that "blood is thicker than water". I think it is quite possible to hate your own mother or your own brother... the relationship comes from contacts, from habit. They do not necessarily turn out to be good relationships.' `Yes, I agree. Anyway, you can be as close to a friend as to a brother...' `I have a friend I consider nearly as a sister. I love her so much I could never abandon her even if she killed someone, or something. But families are often hypocritical... there was an Italian film that portrays this perfectly, I pugni in tasca, by Bellocchio.' `I've seen it! Ah, it's splendid, really splendid!' Marian has the ability to be enthusiastic for things, for life, just like a small child. Place him in front of a sunset, take him to an opera by Puccini, leave him under a colourful light show, and he will be amazed and excited as if he had never seen a sunset, an opera, or lights. Bless him. So we start to talk about Italian cinema. He loves Fellini and Antonioni. We discuss Otto e Mezzo, and then I tell him that Antonioni will soon bring out a new film directed with Wim Wenders. Hearing that Antonioni is still well enough to continue working, he seems to get all excited, cannot wait to see this film. After discussing cinema and music, we turn to literature. He loves Dante and Shakespeare, the first mainly for the structure of his poems, the latter because he has said it all,absolutely every subject imaginable is covered in his works. I insist on Leopardi, he must really read him, and somehow we start to talk of Radiguet and his Diable au Corps. `K.P. told me that' you've written a book, too,' he says. `Yes, it's a collection of short stories. It should come out next year. Some of the stories are inspired by you.' `Really?' `Yes, really. Of course, the stories are made up and I'm not saying that the characters are like you... but you gave me the idea.' `Ah, that's one of the most beautiful things that could happen to me. To be the inspiration of a story. That's extraordinary. I must read this book!’ `I'll send you a copy. But it's in Italian...' `Well, I can't speak Italian anymore, but I should be able to read itl2. I have Italian ancestors, you know.' `Really? I knew your grand-father was Polish.' `No, the one whose name Marian I took was Bulgarian. But the other one was an Italian sculptor, who was brought to the Prussian imperial court at the end of the last century. Anyway, since you're a writer... Well, let's not exaggerate. "...can you give me your sincere opinion. You must have read "Chephren`s Barge" right? So, what do you think of it? I'm quite confident about my ability to write song lyrics, but when I'm writing in prose..."' Unbelievable. Marian Gold, my idol, is hanging on my every word. He is expecting judgement from me, right now, I feel superior to him: Incredible. So... "Chephren`s Barge" , a story by Marian published in the MoonPaper... "I think it's good." And I try to explain that, although the symbolism sometimes comes close to making the story too obscure, his desciptive talent is enviable, as well as the feeling for rhythm that is quite extraordinary, especially in the part that starts with "I run and run..." Marian is listening to me, wide eyed, interrupting only to say `Really? Do you really think that", deIight to find that I appreciate him as a writer. Unbelievable. We speak of a hundred more things. Dancing: he likes Forsyte and Pina Bausch, as I do, and I explain the difference between the Russian and the American style, to make him understand why I like Balanchine so much. Italy: since he would like to visit cities like Venice and Florence without any tourists, I propose that he go to Venice and stay with my friend Veronica, promising him that that he'd be able to see the Piazza San Marco without any other tourists, and I even get the impression he might be ready to accept the invitation. Italians: how much he likes them, undisciplined and noisy and anarchic in a way that Germans never are, and that's why he likes Berlin, because Berlin is like Rome, not like Germany... I don't know, but we end up discussing that major theme of the end of the century, communication. `Something I will never understand,' he tells me, `is this: the more you talk, the more you find a conversation interesting, the less you remember it afterwards.' `I think it's because we are not capable of keeping too many things inside.' `Yes, I agree. We are too limited.' We are little pools that are only slightly moved when large stones are thrown into us. And my night with Marian, our words together will also be lost. I will remember all atmosphere, the people around and the carpet under me, a glass in my hand and Marian lying on his side, no music, no smells, just a soft background noise. I'll remember the intonation of his voice, the way he moves, but I will forget the exact words, the sequence of the subjects we discussed... I am indeed too limited. But it is now well past four in the morning, Marian is dropping with sleep. Most Fans have left, some have gone to sleep. It is now time to go back to our hotel. K.P. is complaining because Marian has monopolised me all night. Be patient, K.P., we'll talk some other time. Time to say goodbye to the people that are Ieft - a collective "Bye" is enough for them - and to Marian. He hugs me, or rather swallows me up in his arms, as if I were a hand in a muff, and he say's he is happy, very happy to have talked with me. He is always embarrassed by fans that never stop considering him as an idol... `It's true' I tell him. `Until tonight, I always felt that there was a sort of glass pane between us.' `Yes, but tonight, we've broken it. This has been wonderful, Alessandra, thank you.' `Thank you, too.' He takes my face between his hands, and places two kisses at the corners of my mouth. Good-bye, Marian. K.P. has called a taxi for us. I get Raffa and we leave the hotel, climb into the taxi. Good. I've seen a beautiful concert, I have met sympathetic people, different from the ones I am used to meeting, I have spoken with a man out of the ordinary, the sort that enrich you. And now? I'm not sad that it's over. I want to go back to Italy, to Alex. But I now have this little experience, and I'm happy. It doesn't often happen to me, but I'm happy just now. Happy and content - a strange combination in my case. Happy and content. This peacefulness won't last very long, I know. But I hope I won't forget it.
 
 
 

1 Marion is the woman who has answered the Alphaville fan mail since 1988. Since 1992 she has been in charge of the inter national fanclub.
2 The "head" of the Moon Office.
3 The "Nelson Project" was an artistic commune which the members of Alphaville belonged to, with four other people, all interested in art.
4 Ex-drummer of Chinchilla Green who often plays for Alphaville in the studio or at shows.
5 A guitarist friend of Marian's who played on several tracks of Prostitute. He also accompanies Alphaville to some of their shows.
6 A cassette of demos and live versions given by the international fanclub in 1993.
7 Translator's note: the audience was chanting Zugabe, "encore".
8 Gabi Becker is one of Alphaville's backing singers and has been Marian's girlfriend for many years.
9 Fanzine of the international fanclub.
10Marion studies psychology.
11 Rainer Bloß, compositor and pianist with a classical training, has been working with Alphaville since The Breathtaking Blue. He co-wrote many of the songs on Prostitute.
12 Marian was married to an Italian woman, Manuela, and he has travelled extensively in Italy.
 

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