Latest news with #Berghain
Extra.ie
7 days ago
- Entertainment
- Extra.ie
Track Of The Day: Throwing Snow, 'Pedalling' feat. Daragh Fleming
UK producer Throwing Snow, also known as Ross Tones, has teamed up with Cork writer and poet Daragh Fleming for their nostalgic summer dance anthem, 'Pedalling'. Throwing Snow has previously played with well-known electronic musicians like Jon Hopkins, Bonobo, and Thom Yorke's Atoms for Peace. He has also performed at Sonar, Berghain, Roskilde, and other venues and was crowned Music Radar's Best Underground Producer in 2019. Fleming, who is renowned for his poetic sensitivity and stirring writing, was shortlisted for the Alpine Fellowship Poetry Prize in 2024. In addition to writing, he is an active supporter of mental health, as well as a public speaker, having given talks at TEDx and other events. Blending spoken word, shimmering synths, and a driving bass with intricate lyricism, their new single is rooted in a sense of motion and memory. A dreamlike soundscape and slight reverb create a fantastical atmosphere that somehow feels strangely familiar. 'Cycling'the track's initial titlewas composed for extreme cyclist Philippa Battye, with the constant rhythm intended to serve as a 'sonic companion' on her challenging ascents. But when Throwing Snow discovered Fleming's work, the project took a new turn: 'When I first came across Daraghs work, I was bowled over by his lyricism, storytelling, and message,' the producer remembers. Originally a poem, the lyrics for 'Pedalling' were inspired by Fleming's own childhood, cycling down beaches in Waterford. His rich vocals float over a steady beat, taking you along on the journey to distant memories of simpler days. 'This is obviously my first step into music, which is very exciting,' Fleming explained. 'When Ross reached out to me, it felt like perfect serendipity because putting words to music has always been an aspiration of mine,' he added. Despite being a stand-alone release, 'Pedalling' displays the creative connection between Fleming and Throwing Snow that could lead to future collaborations. You can check out 'Pedalling' below:
Vogue
03-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Vogue
Ottolinger Berlin Spring 2026 Collection
Home team, come on through! Ottolinger's Christa Bösch and Cosima Gadient might both be Swiss, but their hearts and heads reside (quite literally) in Berlin. And finally, after years of showing in Paris, they staged their first-ever show in their adoptive city, just in time for their 10th anniversary. 'We've learned that it's easier to do a show in the place you actually live, where your studio is,' said Gadient, laughing. Unsurprisingly, there was quite the crowd in the house to support them, with the Ottolingers presenting at the Palais am Funktrum, the final show of the day in the Intervention day of shows curated by creative and communications agency Reference Studios. And the minute Kim Petras did a swaggering stomp of a walk around the snaking runway to get the proceedings going, dressed in a shrunken print sweater and a shrunken pair of shorts, accessorized with visor-like shades on her face, and knit leather booties strapped onto tottering curved wooden chopine heels, we were off to a flying start. This was a good collection from Ottolinger, strong on conviction; since it started, the label had this unbreakable alliance with young women that Ottolinger is a safe space for them, where you can look as cool/hot/unvarnishedly yourself as much as you want. This time round, the collection was a celebration of big sisterhood, how, said Gadient, 'we are both big sisters and we love being that role model; showing you how not to fail, because we already failed for you; that we're here to support you in all that you do to succeed. So the clothes are playful, freer.' That's the connecting part. The clothing part was a reminder of how much they've established their own look, and followed the beat of their own drum, this past decade. That means messed up, conceptualized denim, perhaps slicked up and sliced apart, or artisanal knits patched and pieced together, or sportif pieces, where athleticism (hoodies, track pants) are given a sharp, generationally appropriate jolt of sexiness. With this collection's tough weathered leather blousons swinging away from the body, and the billowing skirts that look like they'd started life as anoraks, as well as outdoors-y shoulder-strapped utility jackets that actually could be anoraks, not to mention tough-luxe bags such as the capacious shoulder purse suspended from a strap akin to a studded punky belt (Gadient and Bösch have a sharp eye for original-looking accessories), the general effect was as if a Berghain clubber had come out blinking into the blinding daylight, and headed off into the countryside, but without bothering to change their clothes. 'We had wanted to bring back our crafty side,' said Bösch of the collection's vibe. 'So there's more texture, more deconstruction.' There was also the first glimpse—a tease, they called it—of their Nike collaboration, which will likely land in 2026. Take a look at their swoosh-emblazoned micro sports bras and cut-out bodysuits, and consider yourself teased.
Telegraph
25-06-2025
- Telegraph
‘I had an onion thrown at me': The 10 most unfriendly cities on Earth, according to our writers
From the anti-tourism protests which have enlivened several corners of Spain of late, to the old cliché of the waiter who can barely conceal his disdain at your dining decisions, a city is not always guaranteed to hail its visitors with a smile and a song. Here, 10 Telegraph Travel writers reveal the metropolitan hotspots where (in their subjective opinions) the greeting has been more 'bog off' than ' bonjour '. Berlin My husband is German, and will be the first to admit: his countrymen are not particularly warm and fuzzy. Nowhere is this more evident than in their capital, Berlin; where if you aren't left wing and unapproachable, you aren't cool. It is home, after all, to Berghain, the most notoriously difficult nightclub in which to gain entry. Personally I would rather share a bath with snakes than shiver in a six-hour queue alongside the hundreds of other muppets that try their luck every weekend at this former power station-turned-rave-house. The unsmiling, heavily tattooed bouncers vet hopefuls loosely based on how they look and whether they might 'contribute to the right overall energy'. I have always found the energy in Berlin to be distinctly lacking. The most interesting thing that happened to me last time I was there was being issued a €1,500 fine for failing to wear a face mask at a deserted outdoor train station at the tail end of the Covid pandemic. I didn't pay it, and I won't be going back. Annabel Fenwick Elliott Riga It was sub-zero in Riga and I'm not just talking about the weather. Stepping off the bus and into a cab in the Latvian capital, I got a frosty reception from the driver, who rolled his sunken eyes when I gave him the address of my hotel. Service with a sigh. He fired up his wheezing Merc and sped through the city, muttering what I assumed to be obscenities beneath his tobacco-stained tash. Perhaps he'd had a row with the missus, I thought. But his brusque behaviour would prove to be the rule, not the exception. If you think Parisian waiters are surly, go to Riga – they take it to another level. Or rather, they did when I was there. That was a decade ago now. Perhaps it's shaken off its Soviet hangover. I haven't felt compelled to return and find out. Still, one thing I will say is that rude Riga did at least prepare me for my next destination: Russia. Gavin Haines Moscow It is tempting to wonder if the following words are a case of recency bias; a discoloured view of a major city whose current position as the nerve-centre of a truly horrible war has thoroughly tainted its image. But no, my visit to Moscow occurred in the spring of 2017, five years before Vladimir Putin launched his full-scale invasion of Ukraine – when (skipping over the annexation of Crimea in 2014) relations between Russia and western Europe were relatively normal. Yet Moscow did not feel particularly welcoming to this particular Western tourist. The metropolitan population seemed surly and guarded, and while a near-total inability to speak the language will always place you at a disadvantage in any conversation, my attempts at the local lingo made no impression. In 20 years as a travel writer, I have found that liberal deployment of the relevant term for 'thank you' will gain you a decent amount of credit. In the bars, restaurants and museums of Moscow, my use of the word ' spasiba ' elicited barely a grunt, let alone a grin or a cheery response. I should add that I am not indulging in flagrant Russophobia here. I have visited St Petersburg on two occasions, and found it a fabulous place, alive with art and music, and home to some lovely people; everything its compatriot did not seem to be. Perhaps Moscow is simply guilty of the rudeness so common to capital cities. Alas, I am unlikely to have a chance to check on its bonhomie levels (or lack of them) in the imminent future. Chris Leadbeater Geneva Like the mountains that encircle it, Geneva is cold and inhospitable. Once, I made the mistake of offering to pay the brunch bill for myself and a friend. Two mediocre dishes and two even more mediocre drinks set me back almost 100 CHF (£90) – worse than buying a round in London. On the way into town from the airport, I went one stop too far. Realising my mistake, I quickly caught the train in the other direction. The ticket collector was having none of it. My fault, granted, but I was instantly labelled as a fare dodger rather than a bemused tourist. Since so many people are in Geneva for work (rather than the warmth and hospitality of the people), everyone leaves at weekends, meaning there's no one left to be unfriendly to you. The rest of Switzerland is as warm and inviting as a vat of fondue, but I've learnt to skip this city. Anna Richards Amsterdam Amsterdam is, quite literally, the most unwelcoming city to British tourists in the sense that it has funded an entire tourism campaign telling us to 'stay away'. Well, OK, telling our rowdy stag groups to 'stay away'. Does it feel unwelcoming on the ground? They're not exactly rolling out the red carpet. In 2020, my housemate and I spent a month in Amsterdam. He knew a Dutch woman who lived in the city, and she invited us on a boat trip down the River Amstel with some friends. They were a cheery bunch, between themselves, but I recall being more or less ignored for the entire day. I think more so than being unwelcoming, the Dutch are busy, direct (easily misinterpreted as 'rude'), and they seem to take a little longer to warm up than other nationalities, a bit like the Danish. Fall into the right crowd in, say, Bilbao, Melbourne or Vancouver and you could easily make friends for life. Fall into the right crowd in Amsterdam and you'll get a smile and a firm handshake, at best. It's almost enough to make you want to stay away. Greg Dickinson New Orleans New Orleans is hostile. Not just unfriendly – hostile. I hate saying this because I love New Orleans: the most beautiful and hedonistic city in the Americas. One of my favourite cities anywhere. And yet, and yet. The hot, humid air hits you like a slap; everyone seems to require a tip, possibly 55 per cent; every smile feels faintly monetised; and, of course, if you walk two blocks the wrong way, you can get shot. Once, I saw half a body hanging from the ruins of a collapsed hotel – legs dangling grotesquely from the 14th floor. A crowd had gathered. They were arguing over whether anyone should photograph it. Then, for no reason, they turned and stared at me suspiciously – like I was there to judge them – or arrest them. New Orleans parties like it's possessed, and perhaps it is. There's music, madness, decay and menace. I'd go back tomorrow. Sean Thomas New York 'I'm nogunna soive yoo till yoo sayid prawperly,' demanded the lady in the Lower East Side pizza joint. ' You gotta loiyn to tawk ENGLISH! ' I tried several times to convince her that I was saying it properly – 'a bottle of water, please' – and that I actually speak English like, well, a native. Hell, I even resisted the temptation to correct her pronunciation, or to mention the War of 1812, but she remained as implacably granite-faced as old Abe Lincoln and his Mount Rushmore buddies. She couldn't understand me, she insisted, so eventually I caved like Keir on Nato contributions, and asked shamefully for a 'boddler warder'. She gave me a Dasani (tap water bottled by the Coca-Cola company) and a lesson – as if I needed another – in the unofficial motto of Manhattan: 'Welcome to New York. Now screw you!' Ed Grenby An expert's guide to New York Quito From the chatty driver who swept me from the airport in his boom-boom disco taxi, to the street vendor who insisted I try his foamy beer, egg and sugar concoction for free, I found Ecuadorians mostly friendly. Falling foul (or should that be 'fowl') of the 'bird poop trick' on my first day in Quito did dampen my enthusiasm, however. I was admiring the ornate façade of the Iglesia de la Compañía when what appeared to be bird droppings was dumped on my back. On the pretext of brushing me down, two crooks tried to steal my backpack. Later, heading back to my hotel, a random loony shouted at me, and that evening I was held up in an alley at knifepoint and had to hand over my phone (luckily a burner). S- - - on, shouted at and almost stabbed: that seems like the definition of unfriendly to me. Heidi Fuller-Love Monaco A jet-setter friend once told me that cabin crew quietly judge those who fly business class using credit card points. They'll still do their job, he said, but, deep down, they know you're playing out of your league and judge you accordingly. I remembered his words last year when I attended a climate-friendly, electric alternative to the legendary Grand Prix in Monaco. At first, the standoffishness was quite amusing: seeing the tailcoat-wearing doormen's disdain towards the selfie-stick brigade in Casino Square was more fun than roulette. But soon, it began to grate: from the begrudging table service (usually from French waiters who resent commuting to Monte Carlo in pursuit of scraps from the table) to the power-hungry police officers enforcing the complex network of road closures. After a weekend of butting heads (metaphorically) at every corner, I left with one simple conclusion: Monaco is where billionaires are courted and everyone else is merely tolerated. Djibouti City A waterside city used as a logistical base for combatting piracy is hardly the coastal escape likely to grace postcards anytime soon. Djibouti, a country within the Horn of Africa, has always intrigued me. Its eponymous capital was the final stop on a tour of beautifully austere and alluringly hostile volcanic landscapes, where sulphur-spluttering fumaroles rise from salt-crusted deserts. Even more inhospitable, however, were the troubled African nation's residents. Outsiders were scrutinised with suspicion: Yemeni refugees clustered in make-shift camps, suspected pirates awaited extradition, and intrepid tourists gulped at the price of beers in incongruously fancy hotels. During one casual evening stroll through streets lined with crumbling buildings, I was chased by a plain-clothes official and accused of being a member of the CIA. But the real low point came with a trip to the local market, where – while snapping a photo of a sleeping cat – I had an onion lobbed at my head. Bombed by a barrage of rotten vegetables, I took solace in the fact it wasn't watermelon season. Sarah Marshall
Time Out
17-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Time Out
London is officially one of the world's best cities for music lovers
A night out in London might cost a bomb, but that doesn't mean it's not worth it. Our city is packed full of grassroots music venues, has created some of the world's biggest musical artists, and given birth to hugely influential genres like grime and dubstep. Not convinced yet? A new study has just revealed that the English capital is the best city on the world for music fans. Researchers at SeatPick analysed cities around the world for their number of concerts, music venues, festivals, home-grown artists and music-related businesses to give each city an overall music score out of 10. Taking the top spot for 2025 was London, scoring 9.67 out of 10 thanks to its 199 venues, 1,734 concerts, 44 festivals and, most impressively, 3,042 homegrown artists. This isn't to say that London's music scene hasn't had its fair share of challenges. Recently, the Mayor of London launched a ' nightlife taskforce ' to boost late-night activity in the capital amid soaring operating costs and alarming closures of nightlife venues. Let's hope this taskforce can help keep London in the top spot. It's not just SeatPick that thinks London is a superior music city. The Big Smoke also took the top spot in a recent ranking of Europe's music capitals, which also incorporated the number of nightclubs. Coming in second on the list was the home of techno and Berghain, Berlin, scoring 9.55. The German city was followed by Chicago, Vienna, and Nashville respectively. Read more about the global ranking here. The 10 best cities in the world for music lovers London Berlin Chicago Vienna Nashville Manchester New York Glasgow Seattle Bristol
New Statesman
11-06-2025
- Entertainment
- New Statesman
Talking to strangers enriches our lives in countless ways
Photo by Lior Zilberstein/Millennium Images It's a weird start, but go with me. First encounters with strangers are, by their nature, unexpected. That's what makes them so potentially electric. I was visiting an old friend in Berlin whom I hadn't seen for many years. On my final day I wanted to do what everyone who appreciates a good dance wants to do when there: go to Berghain, the city's most beloved club. At first sight, an enormous block of imposing concrete in the old east. It was a Sunday afternoon: no queue, just sweaty sexy people drifting out through the exit to be disarmed by the sunlight. It takes me a while to warm up to my body as a subject in motion on a dancefloor, but once that's happened, almost nothing gives me greater pleasure. Except for the smoking area. I swear these are the most beautiful places in the world. Under the canopy of smoke, every single shimmering person is held in deep amorous conversation with someone else. It shouldn't be rare, but these days it is. You could blame the alcohol or the drugs, but I blame the dancing: every movement you make in answer to the hard, heavy music strips away something from your usual reserve, and gradually you feel yourself become unlocked, opened, until you're almost infant-like in your frame of mind. Every hour I would head back out into the smoking area to encounter strangers. I met an army veteran from Belgium who said techno helps more than anything else with his PTSD, and a Russian facing arrest back in her country for speaking out against Putin's regime. It felt like none of the conversations I had that night were disingenuous or superficial. I felt I could do this forever – back and forth between these two states: dancing, then talking to strangers; breathing in, then breathing out – but I had a flight early the next morning to catch. We need contact. That's not my line; I pinched it from the sci-fi writer Samuel R Delany's Times Square Red, Times Square Blue (1999), a non-fiction book comprising two extended essays that first detail the author's experience of spending time in gay pornography theatres in Times Square between the 1970s and early 1990s. His argument is that public spaces in urban environments are vital sites for interclass contact, especially those designed specifically with desire in mind. For desire and knowledge, body and mind, are often imbricated, he writes, functioning as 'mutually constitutive aspects of political and social life'. Delany defines contact as a particular kind of social practice. It is the discussion that begins with a stranger at the bar, or the one that emerges unexpectedly in the supermarket queue, or the bus stop or the nightclub – sudden sparks out of the dull impersonal drudgery of daily life. Contact can save our lives in small ways, by reminding us in an instant that almost all the time there are good people within touching distance, or in more significant ways: say there's a fire in your building, Delany suggests, 'it may be the people who have been exchanging pleasantries with you for years who take you into their home'. Unlike networking, to which Delany relates it, contact is spontaneous, non-competitive, non-capitalistic. Contact is how we retain the souls of our cities from annihilation by the corporatisation of all public space. Delany's book is really a eulogy because by the time of writing, almost all the porn theatres had been demolished: replaced by vacant malls and offices, 'a glass and aluminium graveyard'. From 1985 onwards, New York began closing down institutions that were deemed to promote 'high-risk sexual activity', especially those used by gay men, such as bathhouses and the porn theatres of Times Square. Ostensibly, this was all done in the name of 'safety', a response to Aids, but really it was a cynical weaponisation of that term. 'Contemporary material and economic forces' work 'to suppress contact', Delany writes. Such forces promote the idea of the Other (gay or immigrant or working class) as an object of fear. I read it immediately after the UK Supreme Court ruled that the legal definition of a woman refers only to biological women. I feel that there are obvious parallels between Delany's argument and that ruling. In the Times Square porn theatres, Delany passed whole days, talking and fucking and hanging out, all lit by the soft glow of the cinema screen. What happened to Times Square left him 'lonely and isolated'. The freedom to be gay, he explains, is no freedom if the institutions where you might embody and enact your sexuality are shut down. The freedom to be trans is no freedom if the public spaces you can attend are gradually eroded. Freedom is something which is interdependent; none of us is truly free until everyone is. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe Public spaces are for making contact. Contact is how we survive this world together – more than survive: experience life as genuinely pleasurable and meaningful. It is the antidote to xenophobia, to all kinds of othering. That's why I'm calling this column 'Contact'. I want to treat my life more like a nightclub smoking area, if you like – to go looking for contact, because I have a feeling that it is everywhere, so long as you render yourself open to it. So, hello, stranger. Nice to meet you. [See also: We are all Mrs Dalloway now] Related
