Ariel Pink at Festaal Kreuzberg


Constructed with glitter glue and guarded by stoners, the gates to Berlin’s nightlife are eternally open. Everyone from expectant mothers to ancient Opas are welcome, for no Berlin party is ever complete without representatives from both the beginning and end of the life cycle. I was pleased to find this patch-work crowd at Festaal Kreuzberg, an outdoor club located near the river Spree where all you need for entrance is a body to move, a mind to lose, and exceptional hair. 

During a typical night at Festaal, one can expect everything from Brazilain DJ’s spinning Italian disco to Australian shamans leading fermentation seminars. But last night, I went for something else: to see the notorious lo-fi pop prince, Ariel Pink.

Half an hour late, Ariel stumbled onto the stage like a drunken cowboy, wearing a studded belt and black jersey jumpsuit. And like a true cowboy, whatever Ariel did looked impossibly cool.

He batted the air like a feisty kitten. He threw temper tantrums. Playing the role of both the crooner heartthrob and the fanatic bobbysoxer, Ariel swayed between realms of feminine and masculine energy with ease. It takes about seven songs to start “getting” what Ariel Pink is trying to do, and it is with seven songs that he left us, refusing to do an encore because he “simply couldn’t”. 

Ariel acting 

Two beers down and a cigarette for desert

Ariel and his hypnotized drummer

Ariel accepting a cigarette from the crowd


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