Herbert Groenemeyer
Mensch

I remember that in 2002 I was in Frankfurt. I was working in a bar when I heard a song on the radio, namely "Mensch", which in Italian means "Man". It struck me immediately, the singer's gravelly voice, the suffering lyricism of the verses. I don't know why but I thought it was an old song, I couldn't place it in time, I imagined it was a track from the late '70s, early '80s. I heard it again a second time, again on the radio, paying attention to the DJ presenting the track as a single from Groenemeyer's new album.

Who the hell is Gronemeyer? I had been in Germany for a little over two years, but I had never heard of him. So, I decided to ask one of the many customers in the bar for some clarification about this singer. I learned that he was the greatest German singer-songwriter, a sort of national pride, someone who sold out every concert. That song was circulating in my head, without interruption, for me as well as for millions of other people who were in Germany at that time. After work, I went home. I had dinner: two eggs a bit of ham sliced bread an apple, all washed down with a can of high-quality beer. I turned on the television hoping that the sparse German programming would offer a good film that evening, but unfortunately, nothing, not even that time. After two years spent in Germany, I was beginning to miss Mediaset, the gorgeous dancers, Mentana's reassuring face and his news program. Instead, nothing: there is nothing reassuring on German television. In these cases, the only option is MTV, a couple of easy songs, surreal videos that reminded me of the good old days when instead of beer I consumed hashish and perfect rock stars always smiling and fit, although high on coke.

That's how I stumbled upon the Groenemeyer video: a man dressed as a bear leaves an advertising set to head to a deserted winter beach. There, on the beach, he builds a sandcastle with his own hands, only to destroy it as soon as it's finished. More secluded, Gronemeyer himself, staging a ghost karaoke under a wooden shack, where he is the presenter and the only performer. The man dressed as a bear notices his presence, turns around, heads toward him only to move away almost frightened. "Es ist ok, alles auf dem weg, es ist sonnenzeit, unbeschwert und leicht, der mensch heisst mensch, weil er vergiss weil er verdraengt, weil er schwach und stell, weil erwaermt wenn er erzaelht, weil er lacht, weil er lebt, du fehlst". By now, I knew the chorus of the song by heart. The next day I would go to the record store in downtown Frankfurt to buy my first album in German.

An exceptional album. 11 tracks, poetic lyrics, well-crafted arrangements, guitars, bass, brass, and strings. Songs that would become very well-known in Germany, like "Letzter Tag", "The Last Day", "Der Weg", "The Way", dedicated to his wife who died in a car accident, and "Unbewohnt", "Uninhabited", the bitter description of that dark malaise that seems to be depression. In short, an amazing album, so beautiful that I took it with me wherever I went.

I stopped missing Mediaset immediately. I would stay in Germany for another 4 years, until the release of "12", his latest album.