{"id":54741,"date":"2025-07-05T08:00:00","date_gmt":"2025-07-05T07:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/?p=54741"},"modified":"2025-07-13T18:50:25","modified_gmt":"2025-07-13T17:50:25","slug":"city-of-incidental-song","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/?p=54741","title":{"rendered":"City of Incidental Song"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/a>
Buildings are music for the eyes<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019re off to the showers \u2014 The Mathematician, Bugbear, Punch, and I.\u00a0 <\/span>The beauty of friendship is being able to spend intimate time together, in this case looking at each other\u2019s naked desire through the steam of a hot garlic naan. Or it would have been if the former 19th Century place-for-buffing-up-the-poor-turned-restaurant wasn\u2019t fully booked for a venue.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDamn,\u201d we all say, in various tones of disappointment. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI was looking forward to some Indian food,\u201d says The Mathematician.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFood that\u2019s actually spicy,\u201d(*) I add, making myself just a little bit hungrier. \u201cPlan B?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The \u201cB\u201d plan is anywhere nearby that serves food (half-decent\u2019s a plus). We pull out our phones and search. It\u2019s Bugbear who scores the first hit \u2014 a Biergarten five minute\u2019s walk away. (So many Bs \u2014 it must be a sign.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so it is we leave our normal patch, four unwitting participants in a psychogeographical d\u00e9rive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s a sign outside the Biergarten advertising bands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s a stage inside, which we sit behind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There\u2019s a small menu on the table and a large queue at the bar. This must mean the food\u2019s worth waiting for(**). We order.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bands play from 7pm. They\u2019re good. The second one\u2019s gooder \u2014 they\u2019ve a double bass, guitar, and jazz flute. (Jazz flute! Be still, my beating heart.) The singing\u2019s smooth \u2014 enchanting \u2014 and the tinkle of the tambourine marks one of those \u201cHey, lucky we found this place!\u201d moments. We realise what we\u2019d have missed had chance not shoved us sidelong into Connewitz.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

An ocular orgasm ensues.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The next morning I walk back alone from the main train station, The Mathematician on her way to Vienna. When I pass St Nicolas Church (patron saint of travellers), the bells begin to toll. It fills the city centre with rich, warm sound, and as the faithful (and tourists) are drawn to the doors, I\u2019m lifted to scenes of the medieval past. The bells have been ringing here eight centuries long, over sweet hay and shit, knight and knave. I vibrate as I make my way through the square.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here\u2019s a man not answering the call. He\u2019s lying on a bench in the Lenn\u00e9anlage park, two black tarpaulins pulled around it to make a tent. His back\u2019s to me as I pass, to the chimes and the city at large.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In contrast to this is a man in a dark t-shirt and shorts, athletic looking, trailing a dog. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The dog sits down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No amount of coaxing seems to work, so the man tries a bit of sports psychology. \u201cCome on,\u201d he says, enthusiastically, and starts running. Soon the line grows taut. The dog has no interest in exertion. What it does<\/i> have an interest in is the number 11 tram that\u2019s just arrived. It stares at it fixedly, to its owner\u2019s dismay. I can\u2019t help but laugh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cross the road by the abandoned underground bowling alley and pass two men passing words to each other in something Slavic-sounding. They\u2019ve both a beer bottle to hand. One picks something up off the ground, inspects it, and throws it away.  <\/span>It makes a tinkling sound as it bounces on the concrete. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A little farther on, by Wilhelm-Leuschner Platz, I find a man lying on the ground. He has a few bags gathered about him and is covered by a dirty sheet, which he pulls up to his neck. When I draw close, he leans up and bawls something, also Slavic-sounding. Is he shouting at me or those other guys? I walk on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Crossing the road by the police station, I glance down Dimitroffstra\u00dfe at the fine yellow building with the tower \u2014 more banker\u2019s than wizard\u2019s, with its black tented roof and gold geometric patterning. (Maybe wizard\u2019s?) I\u2019m drawn to it, so I head down a street I hadn\u2019t intended and bathe in its Greppiner Klinker glory. (Seems I\u2019ve a thing for Hugo Licht\u2019s work.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the end of the road, the foreplay\u2019s vorbei when I set eyes on the Bundesverwaltungsgericht (the Federal Administrative Court). An ocular orgasm ensues. Look at that Italian renaissance styling! Look at those columns and domes! Once more, I follow my eyes and am soon past the Harkort traffic to the sweeter airs of birdsong. The open square captures the stone-notes of a Leipzig Sunday. Well, if I\u2019m walking this way \u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I pass an old policeman keeping guard outside the US embassy. He looks at me, bored, as he patrols. There\u2019s no one else about, save a pigeon who\u2019s taken a liking to his guardhouse. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve every intention of staying the course, of walking west till I reach Clara Zetkin, but then, on the corner of Grassi, I hear a cheeky piano. It tugs at my ears and I follow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m soon standing across from the doors of the HMT (the University of Music and Theatre), listening. Smiling. Folk arrive in ones and twos with cellos and flutes, a violin. I\u2019m amused that more people answer this call than the one from St Nic\u2019s tower.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A security van pulls up. A guy gets out, leaving the engine running, and walks in my direction. He\u2019s carrying an armoured case. He looks me over, much like the policeman before and for just as long, then walks over to the parking meter. He opens it up, and empties it out. There\u2019s a hiss of silver shingle. As the flow slows, he gives the container a few shakes \u2014 pub urinal style \u2014 to get the last few drops, then buttons it shut. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He leaves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A piccolo joins the piano.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stand there long enough to see the shadows move. I check my phone. Oh, my favourite caf\u00e9\u2019s about to open. Well, seeing as I\u2019m nearby, it\u2019d be rude not to. I hitch a lift alongside a passing couple, their small baby chirping in its pram, and turn off past great 19th century works of law and learning. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Soon I\u2019m standing in front of Sehnsucht.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCoffee?\u201d he smiles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019d love one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

(*) Many Indian restaurants in Germany, and indeed many Germans, seem rather indifferent to spice of the burning (or even bemusing) variety. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

(**) In the UK, this just means the food\u2019s cheap. <\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Sometimes letting the city guide you is the best way to go.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":54740,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[213],"tags":[244,243,214,245,209,242],"class_list":{"0":"post-54741","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-cf","8":"tag-birdsong","9":"tag-church-bells","10":"tag-city-fables","11":"tag-hugo-licht","12":"tag-leipzig","13":"tag-music"},"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54741","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=54741"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54741\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":54780,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54741\/revisions\/54780"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/54740"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=54741"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=54741"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=54741"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}