When Steve Braun told me about his project, i thought to myself "fuck you! surely you are an undercover investigator, a V-Mann. Wouldn`t be the first time." I even threatenend him when i was completly pissed.
But I have to confess that V-Mann takes good pictures.  So I let him be and wait for what happens. Do bollocks, hang pictures up on walls of their smelly offices and dream about being more like us and less like Julius Streicher? Do they secretly jerk off to them? To make it clear: I always consider art as bullshit! These Brainfucks only reveal themselves to blasé, self-claimed elite or to a mass of slowly rotting zombies. That wont give me a hard-on. I think people are sick though. And I love stories. If art succeeds in telling stories about people, then I can accept it. This book shows living beings, no stiff fashion dolls. Man becomes an artistic figure. Tenderness, violence and energetic outbursts, real emotions and the ultimate ugliness of live are all embodied in enembellished honesty by the depicted punks. I hope that the picture of the 1000 elephants is chosen for the catalogue. Everything gets impressing if you get to show 1000 elephants! What is certain, however, is that in a few years many of the protagonists of this book will be dead. By this I also mean the small death of leaving the scene. This happens when squareness, jobs and the conservatisvism of advanced age finally at last win the fight and bring the affected person creeping home to the realm of established society. On the other side there is medical defined death. Over. Out. Boom. In every respect life expectancy in the punk scene is quite short. I confess that I have never looked at this book myself. But fuck it, nothing keeps me from making any judgment about it and warmly recommending it to strangers on a rainy summer afternoon in a public toilet in the pedestrian zone.


Text:  Nille Hangoverson, the asocial father of Bavaria