Full Moon Over Frankfurt
David Knopfler
(Originally published in Musik Woche)
There was a full moon over Frankfurt as our "whisper" jet screamed to a deafening halt down the eight Kilometre runway at Frankfurt Airport. After the usual twenty minutes of taxiing on the runway while the pilot desperately tries to figure out where the hell to put his plane amongst the ten thousand options and the brisk two kilometre walk thereafter, we arrived at the taxi-rank enroute to a gig where I and my band had insanely reasoned, that if we were going to do our first gig together, why not do it on a live TV performance: "Nachtwert". Good career moves were never my strongest suit. If you're going to make a complete fool of yourself - do it in front of a couple of million people???
Given that before leaving England, I had done a real sales job about wonderful Germany to a sceptical member of my band on his first visit to Germany in over thirty years, I was anxious to overcome his English prejudices and that the pleasures of a great cosmopolitan country should be enjoyed by him . . . even in Frankfurt, I reasoned (Forgive me Frankfurt.) this should be fairly easy.
Some time later we were directed to a Taxi, driven by an untypical, unsmiling beery smelling chap of about eighty, who clearly had a passion for hot Saunas given the 110 degree temperature of his aging Mercedes which none the less boasted electric windows. I looked round through the alcohol fumes for the button and proceeded to open my window a few centimetres to avoid immediate suffocation.
The driver without hesitation thoughtfully re-closed my window for me. So I reopened it. He closed it a second time. I reopened it. I guess you're getting the picture.
"I am The Captain Of The Ship" hissed the driver with an appalling English accent and a ferocious hysteria never witnessed by me in twenty years of visiting Germany. "No" I gamely replied on cue: "I'm The Captain" this being a frequent discussion I am used to having with my eight year old son.- but something I could darkly imagine, my muso colleague in the back seat were dimly recognising from terrible black and white English B movies from the forties. "For you Tommy - ze var iss over." The window was by now flying open and closed, as I began laughing at the evolving pantomime; The level of debate remaining strictly for eight year olds.
"No!!" He persisted in an even more pronounced accent, "In zis sheep, I am zee Captain!!" Baa. Just my luck I thought as he turned up his marching music - his cigarette smoke billowing into my face. I want to give my buddy a good first impression - a one in a million chance and it had to happen today - an ex U-boat Commander is piloting our taxi.
I recalled the time two German guests visiting me in England on their first trip, had enjoyed the pleasures of English rain, a British Rail breakdown because of leaves on the lines and football hooligans kicking each other to death at the railway station, all in the space of ten minutes of their arrival. Taking in their bewildered expressions I said "Welcome to England" with a shrug and a brave smile.
Meanwhile back in Frankfurt, cautiously examining the name of my driver on his taxi dashboard: "SS UberCaptain Hans Blitzkrieg" it said. Hmm.... "Okay Hansi" I said, realising the futility, and mentally writing off my soaking shirt; "You're The Captain."
"No Americans" Yelled my driver waving his arms, to indicate further displeasure at my apparent failure of understanding his notions about German protocol and possibly his anger at our American conquest of his Fatherland and Reich. "Don't be silly" I said mildly through the heat haze, as the sweat poured liberally from all of us. " I probably spend more time here in Germany than you do and anyway" I added, suddenly warmed to my new "diplomatic" mission, or perhaps in a bout of uncharacteristic pique brought on by heatstroke, "This might come as something of a shock to you Hansi, so don't pass out behind the wheel, but since 1945 you've been living in a Democracy where people like to make their own decisions" Resolutely I reopened the window to demonstrate the laissez faire liberality of such individualism. (When it comes to a Brit playing an insensitive American tourist in the theatre of absurd stereotypes I was perfectly prepared to try and play the part.) After a polite further exchange of pleasantries about life, the universe, give and take and his large fully loaded Luger, where we declined his polite invitation to "Get Out!!!" of his tank, we proceeded in a very very loud silence to the hotel where at one point, God's truth, I closed the window and he then reopened it . . a scene even Woody Allen couldn't have written, while my terrified band member made strangled sounds from the back. "Welcome to Germany" Said the stunningly beautiful lady from the record company with a courteous shrug and a smile. Tough job being a strummer.
I can however add that the next evening after doing our "NachtWert" gig we all, thank God, had one of the best evenings in ages culminating in a fantastic little jazz club where a wonderful dedicated young German jazz band played dazzlingly brilliant music to about twenty people, which was a timely lesson in humility for me, until we left at 3am, under a full moon, in a taxi driven at great speed by an amazing hairy young rocker, with an eight speaker Hi-fi, in his turbo charged cab. God bless music. "Wahoo Werewolves of Frankfurt" ... Wow. What was that I was drinking?! Frankfurt - City of contrasts! Copyright ©David Knopfler1993