Interviewed by Jon Mueller
When did you begin playing drums and what did you like
I started playing the drums relatively late, at the age of 21. It would
be really hard for me to say what I liked about them and why I was drawn
to playing them. I was going to clubs a lot at that time – which was the
era of punk – and the drums always seemed to make the music for me. It
always looked to me as if the drummer was having the most fun. When I
had the chance to sit down at a set of drums I had an immediate affinity
with the instrument. Of course, it was somewhat hard to coordinate my
hands and feet, but the general principle of how to play the instrument
just seemed so apparent. But what really grabbed me was the depth of sound
in each instrument of the drumkit – which means the toms, the bass drum,
the snare, the cymbals. What really appealed to me was the fantastic wealth
of sound – the overtones, the resonances – eminating from this really simple
instrument. OK, a guitar is also really simple – strings vibrating against
a body of wood – but I tried to play the guitar and for the life of me
I just couldn't make "music" with it – which is to say, with
the drums I was keeping a beat pretty soon after starting to play and
able to get a sound out of the instrument without having to learn a lot
of technique (like I imagined it must be with a saxophone or piano).
Talk about the different methods you've studied and how they've affected your playing.
Soon after starting to play the drums I moved to London for a year. There
I studied snare technique with John Taylor. For some people, learning
drum technique would seem like a bone dry chore – all these paradiddles
and flams and ratamacues, etc. But for me, I just zoned out playing these
patterns. It was like a kind of light meditation. Years later I had the
pleasure to hear Jaki Liebezeit play. He too stuck to really repetitive
rhythms and sticking patterns which reminded me of my early experiences
practicing on the snare drum.
I especially liked the snare because it was the one drum which had for
me the most sound possibilites. I was fascinated with all the minor adjustments
and how these could dramatically effect the sound. I became focused on
this one object and years later this obsessive approach would play a large
role in my music.
After London I moved back to Los Angeles and started taking lessons with
Billy Moore, who was a Motown and Hollywood session drummer. With Billy
I studied jazz and latin polyrhythms and more snare technique. It was
good to study with him because he explained how certain rhythms were being
played – which on my own I couldn't always discern. He also opened up the
world of polyrhtyms to me, which I'd only had a cursory introduction to
when I studied African music with N.J. Nketia at the University of California
at Los Angeles. With Nketia I came into contact with the music from more
of an academic, analytical point of view; with Billy Moore I was playing
I studied with Billy Moore for around two years and for the next years
after I pretty much just learned on my own, playing in bands and practising
as much as I could. During the 80's in Los Angeles I was usually playing
with three or four bands at a time, which meant a lot of gigs and touring – and
this was really important because it made me learn how to tune the drums
for different spaces; and how to play the drums for these different spaces.
I began to perceive the room I was playing in as the hidden instrument
of the band, because the acoustics of the concert space played such a
great role in how the music was played and how it sounded.
I moved to Berlin in 1989 and came into firsthand contact with Turkish
and, to a lesser extent, Arabic music. In the neighborhood where my rehearsal
room was (Kreuzberg) one couldn't walk down the street without hearing
some Turkish music blaring from an apartment or a passing. Although I
was playing mainly free improvised music at this point, which didn't exactly
focus on groove, I was still really interested in rhythm. I was basically
immersed in this Turkish street culture and going to techno clubs. So
rhythm was really vital to me (which may seem like an obvious thing to
say, but from my experience playing in the free improvised music circles
I often had the feeling rhythm was at times to be avoided at all costs).
Two of my favorite drummers have always been Jaki Liebezeit and Charles
Hayward – I loved the crazy asymetrical rhythms they played. I later read
an interview with Liebezeit where he cited a lot of ethnic music as his
inspiration. This coincided with my interest in Middle Eastern music and
so in 1994 I began studying daf (framedrum) for one year with Syrian oud
player Fahran Sabbagh. He just taught me the basic technique of the instrument
and many folk and classical rhythms from the Arabic musical diaspora.
Playing the daf took the concept of the snare drum's simplicity one step
further, as here was a drum with just one skin and no snare, played with
the hands – in fact, the oldest drum design in the world. Learning the
rhythms Fahran taught me really focused my playing on repetition and an
attention to beat placement – much more so than playing the drumset, as
this seemed at times too diffuse to me (feet, hands, all those drums,
etc). What I wanted to do was learn these Arabic rhythms and then transpose
them for playing on the drumset, substituting the dum (bass
tone) and tak (the sound of playing the edge of the daf) of
the daf for the bass drum and snare of the drumkit.
In 1995 I received a grant from the Berlin Department of Culture to study
tombak (an Iranian drum similair to the darabouka, but made of wood and
played mainly with the finger tips) in Paris with Madjid Khalaj. I was
interested in Iranian music because it seemed to me like a bridge between
the Middle East and India – I was interested in the long quarter note beats
of the classical Iranian music, which for me nearly approached the idea
of the tala in Indian music. Tablas never seemed an option to me – like
the trapset and the daf, the tombak just seemed like an instrument which
spoke to me. The first time I heard the tombak was on an old solo recording
of Djamhid Chemirani – fantastic! I knew that I had to learn to play this
instrument. I had a similair experience the first time I heard Ed Blackwell
on an Eric Dolpy record, "Live at the Five Spot," where I was
completely knocked out by the sound Blackwell got from his instrument – it
was like the proverbial lighthouse in the fog and I knew, "that's
how I want my drums to sound!"
Learning to play the tombak was a really important step for me in discovering
how to bring the most subtile nuances out of a drum – this was because
the tombak is played mainly with the fingers and not very loudly (compared
to a darbouka or conga). To a certain extent, the daf is also played with
the fingers, but not like on the tombak, which is really almost entirely
about the axis between the wrist and fingers, with emphasis on press rolls
and ghost notes. Unlike with the drumset, there was no stick between me
and the drum – just this really direct and senstive contact to the skin
of the drum through my fingertips. In a way, learning the tombak helped
me discover a simpler and quieter side of playing the drumset.
You've lived in various places around the world. How have the different cultures influenced your outlook on music?
Id have to say that growing up in Los Angeles, especially when I
became old enough to drive a car and escape the suburbia where my family
lived, I came in contact with really very many cultures and their music.
Of course, all these different ethnic communities are more dispersed than,
say, Manhattan, for example; but there was in Los Angeles at least the
same range of diverse cultures: which meant Latin, Black, Asian. As I
grew older I came in contact with more of these different ethinc groups
and realised what a culturally rich place Los Angeles was to grow up in.
In a way, this array of different cultures whet my appetitie for musical
discoveries which were to come later.<>
Living in London in 1981-82 really inspired me to pursue music as a way
of life and not just as a passtime. Seeing groups like Rip Rig and Panic,
Gang of Four, Blurt, Pigbag, the Fall really motivated me to get involved
with forming bands, touring, making records, etc. The scene was so vibrant
and the energy so positive that I couldnt wait to start my own group
and play around.
Los Angeles, too, at the end of the 70s, beginning of the 80s
was also extremely interesting for live music, with many small clubs,
independent record labels and a wide diversity of musical scenes – so this,
coupled with my stay in London, really inspired me to play music.
I lived in Berlin from 1990 to 1998. Aside from the contact with Turkish
and Middle Eastern music, which I described before, the advent of techno
had a really big impact on me. And this for two reasons: the first was,
of course, the music. Here was a music almost entirely based on rhythm.
Of course, it often lacked much of the syncopation of, for example, African
music, but it still really grooved and reminded me of the many hours Id
spent practicing patterns on the snare drum. This isnt to say I
found this to be trance music (which for me is a completely
different idea) but cetainly a mesmerizing music. Mostly when
I went to clubs I found myself dancing less and listening more. I was
fortunate to have some close friends who were DJs and producers,
so I usually got steered in the right direction.
The Berlin record store Hard Wax was at this time a great place to go
and hang out and listen to the newest releases. I had friends working
there and consequently spent many hours at that store listening to new
electronic music. Hearing all this early techno and learning the Middle
Eastern rhythms definitely took my music in a much more rhythm-focused
direction and gradually pushed my interests away from the classcial european
free improvised music scene.
This early phase of techno was also inspiring for me because it was happening
at mainly a grass roots level: people starting their own labels and their
own clubs. I love this d.i.y. spirit as I feel it fosters more communication
between the audience and the musicians. And, of
course, this was also an important element in the whole punk movement,
which was my first contact with live music. I like the idea that anyone
can start a band, anyone can start a lable, make a record, book a show.
This is vital for me.
Id like to add as a side note to this whole techno experience, one
drummer in Berlin who was very inspiring for me, especially in the context
of improvised music: Peter Hollinger. He was integrating many elements
of techno (repetitive beats, grooviness) in an improvised music context.
Of course, he didnt just lay down a beat the whole evening, but
he did manage to somehow subvert the music with a new feeling, also using
many found metal objects (as another favorite drummer of mine, Zev).
His way of playing definitely made me aware of a different and more fresh
approach to improvisation.
Another aspect of living in Germany which opened my eyes up to cultural
rhytmmic perception was the idea of the backbeat – something
people in North America certainly take for granted. But what I found in
Germany was, at live concerts people clapping along with the band (in
a rock, jazz context I mean) inevitably clapped on the 1 and
3, and not on the backbeat, the 2 and 4;
which I found fascinating – I thought, how can they not hear the
beat? And then I realized, well, beat is so relative (which might
sound obvious, but obviously this is not the case...). And I thought about
German and how speech inflections tended to accentuate the first syllable
of a word; and how we in America tend to focus on the downbeat, which
is to say the second syllable. This became a great lesson for me in the
connection between language and rhythm and also in the cultural context
of how people perceive rhythm. And out of all this it also became clear
how techno could become so popular in Germany – four on the floor: no confusion!
Id like to mention Tokyo as one last place Ive lived which
left a lasting effect on the way I approach sound. Id toured Japan
three times, and after the last tour I decided at some point Id
like to stay longer – which I did one year later, living for three months
in the center of Tokyo. Where I actually lived was very quiet – kind of
like the eye of the hurricane. But the rest of Tokyo I found incredibly
loud. Of course, Id noticed this before on my brief visits there,
but actually living there and making my way through the city on a daily
basis, revealed to me just how incredibly loud a sound environment Tokyo
has. I think this, more than the obvious Japanese cultural aspects of
Zen, made me re-think my approach to silence in music; and, incidentally,
made me understand so much better the phenomenon of extremity in Japanese
music (absolute screaming ear busting loudness; microsound, stillness – invariably
never a combination of the two). I think that growing up in such an extreme
sound environment could easily push one to extreme sound expression as
a means of somehow coming to terms with this daily sonic input. I dont
think this happens in a conscious way – as with me, coming from the west
and actually thinking this out – but more as a subliminal undercurrent
to musicians and sound artists there.
How would you describe your playing currently? What do you hope this approach communicates? What satisfaction does it give
These days my focus in music is really more sound-oriented. OK, this might
sound obvious: music is sound; but music is also about other things: for
some it is a kind of sport, for others a kind of theater or peformance;
for others a way of earning huge sums of money – and, of course, all these
practices dont preclude sound, per se, but in my case I really feel
that what interests me now is concentrating on the sound of the instrument
I am playing. This means, the theatricality and gesture of much improvised
music no longer interest me; and the hours of motoric training practicing
for better technique (which doesnt, in my opinion, always lead to
a better abitility to get a good sound out of an instrument or to a better
awareness of sound) are also of no interest to me.
With the drums, for example, I am really trying to focus in on what for
me percussion (meaning drums and metals) as an instrument offers: resonance
and overtones. I want to really get to the bottom of these two aspects
of percussion. I find that using electronics (which can mean a computer
or just a mixing desk) helps me to magnify and amplify resonance and overtones;
and to exploit them as a departure point for my playing. I am still interested
in rhythm, but not so much in the form of beats (unless, of
course, one means the beats occurring when two nearly-similair tones sound
together), as in rhythm moving slowly over longer periods of time as waves – ebb
and flow. In this way of playing I often find myself playing as well as
observing how the sound evolves around me. I am creating the sound but
in another way I am initiating a process which runs of its own accord
and which I can contribute to or only listen to – and for me listening
is equally important to making a sound.
I dont hope or intend my music to commucate any message (in answer
to your question) but I am pleased when people catch on to what I am doing
and, like myself, during the course of my performance concentrate on the
sound. My music is not about a melody or a rhythm or a text (and I have
absolutely no problem with any of these elements in music) but about sound
evolving. There are in fact many details in my music but on first listen
one might miss them; and so in a live situation it is really good to take
the time, be it only for thirty minutes, to have a good listen.
This is not to say that I demand to be the center of attention and my
music prayed to like in a religious service – actually, I find the whole
concept of giving a concert with two speakers, left and right,
rather didactic. I would be much happier playing off in a corner somwhere
in a situation somewhere between an installation and a music performance,
with speakers dispersed through out the space and sound output going through
more than just two channels. This would not mean the people attending
could not still listen attentivitely or not talk – I saw in India how both
of these activities could somehow coexist. Some of my favorite sounds
are those which seem to hover on the edge of concsciousness – refrigerators
humming, a crackling light, the drone of a large city at night – and which,
unless one really focuses in on them, can disappear just as quickly as
they appeared. In a way, this is how I would like my music to be – not
exactly Saties wallpaper music but also not an in-your-face-this-is-a-concert
The satisfaction all this gives me is being able to finally pursue in
a relatively concentrated fahion the aspect of the drums which first attracted
me to them – namely, the sound of the instrument. Using the computer I
find that I can dig deeper down into this sound, finding its source, so
to speak, and then recombining it with the acoustic source, both as reference
and adjunct. I am not interested in making electronic music
or even electronic sounding music, but in pursuing the sound
of the drums on both a concentrated level of acoustic playing and a more
microscopic approach using current digital technology.
What music did you like as a child? Are there any connections
to this interest in your playing today?
As a child my first musical experiences were with AM radio pop music.
I was born in 1960, and so the Beatles were my first favorite group, and
perhaps even my first memorable musical experience.
I moved from New York to Los Angeles with my family at the age four. Los
Angeles is a car city. One gets in the car to go anywhere, be it across
town or around the corner to the supermarket. In my moms car car
radio was always on, tuned to KHJ, which was then the number one Top 40
AM station in Los Angeles. I spent a lot of time in my mothers car
listening to pop music. This had two important and lasting effects on
me: first of all, I developed a real ear for melody. Even as a very young
child, I could go around for days singing the melody to one of the current
hits. I loved the fact that such a short song (under three minutes was
certainly at that time the ideal pop song length) could have have such
a profound emotional impact on me.
Secondly, driving around hearing the car radio always placed music within
a certain context of time and place. The time was either fleeting by,
as on the freeway, or at stillstand, caught in a crosstown traffic jam.
And in each case, music had the function of driving us on or making our
entrapment somehow bearable. The context of place meant for me the sound
of a certain song (or group) at a certain time of day, or season, or weather
condition. It should be of no big surprise that groups like the Beach
Boys virtually defined not only a way of life (which they themselves in
fact were virtually not a part of) but a certain feeling – and this feeling
was, for me at least, that of a summery Southern California day, at best
driving through one of the Santa Monica Mountain canyons on the way to – surprise!! – the
beach (and I too was no beach boy, but the Beach Boys sound still
remains for me).
Of course, the connection between pop music and the music Im making
today would seem a mighty long leap, at best, but Im convinced – and
many reviews of my recordings bear this out – that I still have a strong
ear for melody and that this plays a major role in my music. Im
not writing any pop songs, but the resonance of metals and drums contain
in themselves a wealth of tone and melody, and I am sensitive to this.
And I still love a good pop song.
How big of a role does both improvisation and composition
have in your work?
The eternal question: improvisation / composition? Where does one start,
the other end. What is what? My first two solo recordings (Drums
and Metals and Analogues) were pretty much thoroughly
composed recordings. Which is to say, when I played pieces from Drums
and Metals live they would sound relatively similair (aside from
length, tempo, etc) to the studio recording; and what I prepared beforehand
in my rehearsal room for the actual recording is what went onto the CD.
The point is, the compositions arose out of me improvising around on the
drumset or, in the case of Analogues, on the sampler. I didnt
just sit down with a pencil and paper and start writing out a score. I
cant do this.
With my third solo recording (Plurabelle) everything was improvised
live in studio. When I got home and listened to the tracks I was astonished
to hear how much of what I played sounded composed – as if Id gone
into the studio with fixed pieces in mind; which I didnt. Id
experienced this phenomenon playing improvised music – this was where the
boundaries between improvisation and instant composition
became blurred. And, in fact, I think a good improvising musician is always
composing, whether they are conscious of this or not (and
some say they are never conscious of form, movement, motif, etc; while
others seem to keep this somewhere in the back of their mind as guiding
factors when playing – I tend to be one of the former).
For me, though, music doesnt have to be one or the other – improvised
or composed. Both approaches can be interesting and rewarding and, in
fact, some of my favorite music was playing in Arnold Dreyblatts
Orchestra of Excited Strings, which was pretty much start-to-finish composed
Talk about your work with metal as percussion. What have you discovered about the tonal and performance qualities of these
opposed to manufactured drums?
I first became exposed to metal objects in the context of percussion with
the music of Zev. Of course, he wasnt necessarily banging
out rhythms on steel oil drums (he did this, too); he was also throwing
chains and large metal objects around a room and recording this. Which
especially appealed to me as I had to ask myself, music? And
not long after I had the chance to hear a peformance of Varéses
Ionization as well as some of John Cages early works
Metal objects just seemed like a natural addition to drums (much as the
computer also now does). But my fist experience with irregular
metal objects was not with brake drums or sheet metal, but with Turkish
cymbals (K-Zildjians). These cymbals were at the time made
by hand and each one had pretty much its own unique sound. This quality
appealed to me and seemed best to work with drums which, at best, resonate
with very imprecise (read noise, in the classic Helmholz sense
of the word) frequencies. And this, then, raises the whole question of
what we mean by manufactured or found objects.
Later I did start to collect metal objects and began integrating them
into my playing, both as part of the drumset and by themselves – a piece
for amplified oil drum, for example.
One of the things I like in music is unpredctability – and this doesnt
mean for me not knowing if the gig will be cancelled, etc. but more not
always knowing what kind of sound an object, be it a drum or a tin pan,
will produce. Especially with non-mass produced objects or pieces of junk there is always the possibility that one will discover a new sound, a
new place on that object which really sounds great (or really sounds bad);
and this provides for me a great chance of discovering something new.
With mass produced cymbals, though no two cymbals ever sound identical,
there is still less of a chance of deviation away from the norm. And this
I tend to find boring. I am now these days using a pair of Paiste orchestral
sound discs, but these are untuned and come closer to found pieces of
brass than actual cymbals. I have over the years gradually cut back my
use of metals because I feel it more a challenge to work with less and
try to get maximum sound out of minimum material.
How broad do you see the term "percussion" being? What do you think the possibilities are?
Well, in my case percussion can also mean an implication of percussion,
addressing those sound elements which I feel contribute to the idea of
percussion: resonance, rhythm. For example, I am still using a drum when
I perform (a floor tom) but it mainly serves as a resonanting body; and
rhythm occurs, and even beats occur, but not in the sense
of 1-2-3-4; more as pulse and harmonic beats layered upon eachother and
the pulse. Polyrhythm still occurs, but a long way off from what I was
studying years ago with Billy Moore.
It is difficult for me to say what the term percussion could
actually mean, as practically any object can be percussive; and in nature
there are certainly many phenomena which I would term as percussive: thunder,
ice cracking, waves breaking, rain falling...endless.
And in terms of electronically produced sound I often hear static or sine
waves serving a percussive role. Although my main focus in music has always
been the playing of conventionally understood percussive instruments
(i.e., drums and cymbals) it is hard for me, especially today, to not
think of what I am doing as just generating sound. This is
often done with percussive instruments but can also mean using
computer-generated sound, an analog synthesizer or field recordings.
In a sense, I am still a percussionist but much of what I
am doing has moved beyond the normally accepted notion of what I have
generally understood percussion to be.
Talk about some collaborative experiences you've had and what you've learned
My first great collaborative experience occurred in the 1980s playing
in a band called The Universal Congress Of. We played a kind
of music somewhere between the energy of punk rock and the stylistic orientation
of harmelodic music. This was really a band, which is to say, we practiced
like crazy, hung out together and did really long tours where we came
home nearly broke but which left us only more hungry to do it all over
again. The reason this was a great experience was it taught me about what
it takes to develop a group sound. And for me, this especially
meant subsuming a certain modicum of ego in the pursuit of finding a sound
which encompassed all the strengths and weaknesses of the different players
of the group. It also meant learning to play together under the most adverse
circumstances while still allowing this group sound and the chemistry
of all the different personalities in the group to shine through. I was
constantly surprised by the depth of energy and sense of purpose (our
pursuit of a certain sound) which the group possessed – sometimes wed
arrive after a 600-mile drive dead tired in a two-bit town playing on
a Tuesday night to ten people for, if we were lucky, a beer and, maybe
if we were really lucky, a hamburger (ok, maybe Im exaggerrating
a bit here, but point taken – read Eugene Chadbournes book I
Hate the Man Behind the Bar) and still create some really inspired
music. It was as if the sound of the group became an entity in and of
itself, something which we fueled with our playing and inspiration but
which also existed outside the laws of rational explanation.
Playing with the same people so long and in so many different situations
also made me very sensitive to the spaces we played in. I recently read
a an interesting book (Hörspiel für
Architektinnen by Ulrich Troyer, available from http://www.mdos.at)
where blind people are interviewed about the way they perceive sound in
relation to architecture. One person interviewed was a musician and he
spoke about how at a certain point when one is playing – be it alone or
in a group – the room suddenly opens up – which is to say, it
sounds. The musicans come into accordance with the acoustical
properties of a space and the music starts to sound, starts to work – the
space opens up. And this was an occurrence which I experienced many times
on tour, where suddenly, unexpectedly, everything started to sound good,
as if the instruments could play themselves (which is also what I meant
by the group sound in a sense being an entity in and off itself). This
made me very aware of the connection between different architectural spaces
and sound – not only from a sound standpoint, but also in terms of light,
smell, temperature; all the elements which also came into play years earlier
when I sat in my mothers car travelling around Los Angeles and hearing
AM radio in different environmental contexts.
Who's recent work do you admire and what about it affects you?
Ive recently really enjoyed listening to the work of Kevin Drumm,
whether it be solo (like his new recording on Mego) or in collaboration
with others (like the Selektion CD with Ralf Wehowsky). Whatever Kevin
does always seems for me to convey a certain resolution to find his own
sound, and this often a sound which encompasses so many different elements
(and by this here I defintitely do not mean eclecticism) and
which I admire for the precarious balance of all these different elements – when
I hear his music I often have the feeling everything could collapse at
any moment; which means for me he is often putting the pursuit of a certain
sound just beyond his reach, and in grasping at this sound he is taking
a lunge, a shot in the dark. I admire this, putting oneself on the line
and taking risks. Its like his new CD – totally full on. He did something
which probably few people who dont know him or is musical interests
would expect. Every recording he does is like this for me. I really get
the sense that he is striving to discover something new for himself – which
makes my experence as a listener also a discovery.
In a broader, more subjective sense, I admire his music becaue it hits
me in the gut. It is visceral without being heavy handed and intelligent
without being clever. For me, so much music these days is driven by pretense,
even in so-called experimental (I know, bad term but I use
it very loosely here) circles. Kevins music is refreshing for me
in its honesty and conviction.
Some other music which has really effected me lately, and which is not
exactly new, are the early recordings of Scott Walker. It may be embarrassing
to confess this here, but up to around a year ago I didnt know Scott
Walkers music. I was introduced to this by Dan Burke. I had organised
a concert for Illusion of Safety (with Kevin Drumm, incidentally) in Zürich
and after their set Dan put on some music. Suddenly I heard something
which Id never heard before and which completely knocked me out.
Dan was laughing, Oh you dont know Scott Walker?
Ive since bought Scott Walkers first four solo CDs.
Its a great thing when even at my age I can still be lucky enough
to discover a music so inspiring. These recordings often achieve an atmospere
so astonishing in their breadth and depth of emotion, that I can scarcely
believe the studio musicians could hold it together long enough to get
the takes onto tape. Like with Drumms music, Scott Walkers
early recordings hover on the brink of disaster, precarious and vulnerable.
I love when a music can transport me to a different time and place. And
this Walkers music does for me, time and time again.
What projects do you have planned/in the works?
In Sepember I will be recording a CD with Steve Roden for the Staalplaat
sub-label, Brombron. I will also be releasing two new CDs on my
label, cut: the fourth CD from Repeat (with Toshimaru Nakamura), entitled
Pool and a solo CD from Jason Lescalleet, with the title Mattresslessness.
Im also finishing up my fourth solo recording and will be touring
around in the fall, playing in Greece, Portugal, Holland and France. One
live solo project of mine lately has been playing to a film by Jean Genet,
Un chant damour. I am also doing sound installations
in Zürich in September and Berlin in October.