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Don't you want to do it too? Frivolous as I am, I naturally want to. But then - what to write? Ten times Easter in the Academy - ten times eggs with Pfifferlingen on Easter Sunday in the “Bellevue” under the S-Bahn, where the proprietor himself still paints and writes and pastes together the Easter - menu.
Even for the tenth time it is again a joy - after 8 hours on the highway - to come into the Hall, to exclaim happily about the wooden floorboards, to attempt a first rehearsal or maybe just blow a few notes, or just to doze in the already warming-up Easter sunshine in the inner courtyard (some years there really was some warm sun).
Then in the evenings all Hell breaks loose. The afternoon went by quickly with greeting the old musician friends and then came the other friends.
Old friends and new lady friends (or the other way around) - greetings with beer in hand - and whoever comes late on the program better be damned careful or he'll have a very hard time making his way to the stage.
Now and then one peeks around the corner to see what the competition's up to - whether Breuker hasn't finally torn his clarinet apart or whether Alex has written a still more beautiful piece, or if Bennink has brought along the whole of the Black Forest to beat on! Nothing much doing, so back to the bar. A small Schnaps with Leo can't do any harm - and then there were more. Thank God he has a nice little room in the Academy and finds his own way there alone.
In the course of the years, people have become quieter - are we accountable for that? (Actually there were never any real incidents; in 1969 a few objects of the Minimal Art Exhibition, at which we were guests, were damaged; but from then on we had the Hall to ourselves.) The chairs, which we did without in the first years, have long since been brought out again, some guys bring with them various camping utensils – understandably - if you listen to music from 9.00 PM to 2.00 AM. Who is able to that? Not me! I go out then, with taxis, friends, often walking, up the Street of June 17th to Ernst-Reuter-Platz, then in the direction of Savigny.
After two or three o'clock the dive looks as if it were totally occupied by musicians and their friends; Bernd grins from a corner of the kitchen and rubs his hands together, Carola hustles through the crowd in her fripperies, Chris sees nothing and hears nothing but nevertheless you do get from him what you need. Some time or other between morning and noon. each according to his thirst or mood, one falls into bed - I usually in mine in "Les Nations", the friendliest hotel in this city, where you can get breakfast all day long. The 24-hour pace at this city is killing.
Next evening a new day begins.
The people come, more than enough, not only Berliners or West Germans, but also cheery groups of Swiss, Swedes, French and Italians. An army of photographers - they ought to elect just one man to represent them every year and then divide the possible profits among them. People have really been saying that this Free Music Werkstatt, this Workshop Freie Musik - Hell, Jost, I can't hear that word anymore is unique in Europe. What is there left for me to say except to give thanks and, I think I may do this in the name of all the musicians, to:
all the nice people who come from year to year,
the Academy of the Arts representing the city of Berlin, which with its financial support makes this unique thing possible,
the members of the Academy, who always have lent us a well-wishing ear and eye during these 10 years.
Nele Hertling, who with her modest but helpful hand opened many a door for us,
Frau Hauser, who spoiled the apartment, guests with kindness,
the Szelags, the nicest house guardians in the world,
the young and old friends who showed such patience and perseverance at the ticket office, and at the beer and sausage counters.
And not least of all to Jost Gebers, who worked for this workshop often to the point of collapse (and that is to be taken literally).
Naturally, there was music too, good music, free music. As far as I’m concerned it could
continue for the next 10 years - or as long as I can get a sound out of this god damned horn of mine!
Translator unknown
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