BONGEN’S – Hagel Graupel Weltraumschrott

Let’s not start with Springsteen. Even if it’s true. Reiser, Lindenberg, and Selig again and again—sure, whatever.
Let’s not call it singer/songwriter, even if the singer writes songs. It happens. Indie or pop? Can it be both? Anything but German rock! But why not, actually? The main thing is that we don’t claim that this band fits into absolutely no category whatsoever. This chest of drawers is truly full.
Let’s refrain from terms like search for meaning, reflection, and escapism.
Let’s leave out the desire to be a tree. Or a robot. Or simply: somebody. And let’s not even get started on the eternal annoyance of gravity. Let’s not write about writing.
Is it really autobiographical or just made up? The clear answer: yes!

I need a role
Just to be someone
Anything but myself
You just get tired of it

Going from store to store
After Jack, the therapist
Give me my script
A celluloid skin

Let’s stick to the facts: “Hagel Graupel Weltraumschrott” isn’t sold out yet. And the difficult second album can’t be that much more difficult. But now let’s get out of here. Out of this filthy train station archway and into the filthy train station bars. And then we’ll see.
I’m tired. Let’s not talk about music.
That’s why it exists.