Ompa till you drop!

On the outward journey, the word play God in the trunk of our castle green Polos cowered. With gentle rise julianae he pushes on the bladder, so that her chosen in Müssingen out urgently need our Polo-whereupon briefly later on a dirt road between two fully verkrümelt corn fields. The goal is the rußverdunkelten brick halls of the Bielefeld Ringlokschuppens, a Norwegian cargo rattling Endorphinschübe to refuel: Kaizers Orchestra live. Light fog creep up in the fields of golden chestnuts crowns plop few ripe fruits and burst on the windshield, everywhere seems to be harvest festival. But eventually, the east Westphalian durchkurvt roads and parking goal. By far not as spectacular as the icy glacier in Norway, high above the fjord, where they played some time ago, but rustic ambience. Actually, I had already previously tags also want to be here - Kettcar but everything is not, and after the hamburgers I have repeatedly seen, were by far Kaizers Orchestra exciting choice.

Ricocheting about the friendly beer prices from 3 € tough guy in the barren concert hall and through equal to an entire network of discussions. But when they slowly ebb, lower the light. In the light cone fahlblauen ambles beglatztes a single males with accordion: The Canadian Schalk Geoff Berner. Five pieces weighs long he gets to be like a young elm in the autumn wind, Quagga sings songs about flying, the plunge into the whiskey glass or in the forties active European despots, conjures with his mocking humor Schmunzelfalten lumberjack shirt in the mouth angle of the audience before the stage stairs hinunterklettert, because the real heroes are still hiding.

Light. Anticipation in the dark.

Only under a yellowed lampshade on the pump organ dimly shimmering light. Only hesitant zerflossene 10 minutes later sorts Rune, the strubbelbärtige drummer on the stage and begins with peppiness and lots, supple loszupoltern, dängelt at its tinny dustbin, threshes in the skins. One of his pelvis is broken, so a brass monkey off of Locke, the warped in the amount rises. A little later, rolling Jon, the muscular bear on bass, and lets the deep tones peppy grooving before the odd key Tiger Helge with his gas mask on the legendary portraits hinterherstolpert bald. Swish full swing, the guitarist behind him before Janove, strubbelköpfige front man with sideburns, big as sails on a windjammer, saunters onto the stage. Around him around the sparks fly, rants, grooving, and it crackles. He pours himself initially but something in his glass of Merlot and mischievous grins into the swaying mass.
Yet he only handles the microphone cord around his finger, but he knows the crowd will follow. A few short jokes about the rotkrawattigen Schwarzhemd- partnerlook front of the trio and even then the post. A anderthalbstündiger haunting, it is still before the public.

You know not what a rake? Then fits times. Right at the beginning of the guitars fly to the short side and Terje Geir and the guitarists to grab hockey clubs, with a precise balancing rhythmic fireworks from oil and car rims to fight as if they are neckischer dwarf Troll into ear frisked. And as in a barrel at the highest flame let her musical mixture simmer. What rouses already on board, completely thrilled here. Messerscharfer rock and desert Ompa (the Norwegian Polka) fly into a pot, surf guitar, accordion delicious grinding, comfortably bouncing bass lines, ohrwurmende melodies. Dynamic is here rollercoaster. Herbstmelancholisch soft Chan's hanging with deep chords as the delicate branches of weeping willows are followed by fluffy dancing Gute-Laune-Fegern locker before the cruise short to provide full and wirlbelwindig wuselnde Polkas high-speed chase, as if the gods gone mad, and they are on the escape. Beads of sweat glisten on the forehead, on the dance floor shrugs, removed ecstasy in the audience, including Rune behind the shooting has been the jacket from the body and crashed in the hammer shirt. The celebrations of the Day of the domestic unit may follow tomorrow, today, the Nobel unit celebrates. The hall cooks, hoots, cheers. Who knows, sings with the melodies. For the texts, but it reminds a little of the time when my classmates in elementary school David Hasselhoffs "I've been lookin 'for freedom" and wanted to sing along, because they were so far no English, original seals afternoon as "Luckefuckefiedem" made. Again, only embarrassed syllable rates. Those who already speaks Norwegian? But: So what! Schietegal. The most important is the music, and that is great. Skurril-abseitigen swept into a vortex, and dripping with sweat nassgetanzt immerses one in the music of Norwegian oddballs.
Full conceal the guys hardly their commercial intentions, asking the audience and incessantly smiling, after the concert, so all the disks to buy. In return shows Janove is generous and gives the public its half-bottle of Merlot. Give and take. Much too quickly rushes past the time before suddenly well as gifts from the four winds. What remains? A concert with the genius and madness together their favorite song sung have you by the hand packed and thrown through the air, a bauchkribbelnd exciting, totally exciting evening. And since none of the grad Kaizers here, I repeat the message: If you have no record of Kaizers Orchestra in shelf-whizzes in the next load your confidence and change that! And then we look forward to the next concert, if it means Ompa til you dřr.