- Like most of Berlin's decent clubs, Horst Krzbrg is another re-used space. While pretty much every tourist knows the power station nestled between Kreuzberg and Friedrichshain, this little post office doesn't have quite such a high profile. Nonetheless, they have a vision to match. With their series of Horstopian nights, the crew seeks to explore the gloomy, harsher side of techno which suits the modern cityscape.
Entering just prior to Redshape's set, we planted ourselves firmly up front. The soundystem is a monster, a knee-shaker which feels like screwdrivers in the ear; and that's just in the toilets. Redshape's entry was greeted enthusiastically by the sparsely lit room. Sparing any theatrics, he set to laying down live beats with a TR-909. Above the controls, the customary shiny red mask began heaving back and forth mechanically, as if part of the machine below. The music was dark, and offered a wealth of dancing options. Enthusiastic limbs swung wildly, with rows of white teeth levitating above. Some swung slow, to the languid, abrasive pads, while others stabbed urgently in time to the drums.
A depressingly short while later, it was time for Regis, though the crowd seemed nonetheless satiated. The contrast was ironic—though Redshape's face was masked, his body spoke volumes. On the other hand, the Birmingham industrial maestro wore a stone face to shame Keanu Reeves. With intense concentration and stillness, he mixed sans headphones, using a U-controller and Ableton. This time there was sparse room for interpretation, Regis wielding the speakers like a battering ram. Still, the crowd complied, moving frantically to the lung-crushing beats.
By 5 AM, the floor had begun to empty, but only as if to make way for the more energetic patrons. And still Regis continued the exquisite assault; detached, almost bored. English may feel like the lingua franca in Berlin, but he proved, quite unequivocally, that techno is the universal language, speaking to all. It seemed that perhaps the Downwards label boss chose his atonal tracks based solely on the strength of the kick drums. Whatever he did, it worked, making it a complete chore just to leave for a piss. Catching him afterwards, the bored demeanour was proved a red herring—he was as ecstatic as the crowd.