An interview with
Herr Klaus of the Dee Dee Poo.
Los Angeles, 2003
We enter the Holiday Inn on Howe Street through its Southern-fried colonnade and up its Harlequin Romance staircase into the Columbia Room with its Christmas tree light candelabras. There we meet the head canadian Flack from MCA-Uni Records, who are throwing this little cocktail party-reception for Die dicken Puppen. A stereo set on a table hums out Dee Dee Poo-Muzak, in contrast to the tinny string goop in the lobby.
Interviewer Person: Mr Klaus?
Herr Klaus: Yes. Hello.
IP: Can I record this – I’m going to try some way to get it on the Internet. Do you know what that is?
HK: Someone told me about it. I don’t need it.
IP: How long have you got?
HK: Um, about 20 to 25 minutes.
IP: Alright, uhmm, so what do you think of all this red carpet reception routine?
HK: I’m used to it, believe me, I’m used to it. First time I came over to Los Angeles when it all sort of happened, I just met so many people like this … I’m immune to it now.
IP: Why do you still do this? Is it no peace for the wicked? No rest for the dammned? No sleep for the silly?
HK: Because it’s my life. I can’t imagine doing anything else now. Intellectually I know there was a time in my life when I wasn’t a celebrity but I can’t remember what it felt like.
IP: No regrets?
HK: Well, I do have always wished for this, but there was a time when it seemed to be almost turning into more of a nightmare than a dream. I mean, everybody wanted to ride on our fuckin’ coat tails.
IP: What’s so bad about being a star?
HK: I couldn’t go out anymore and play basketball, because everybody knew my fuckin’ face. All I wanted was to have a career in music and now I had to deal with so much shit! There were people coming to my house, knocking on the door. Either they wanted autographs or they wanted to fight. It was fuckin’ crazy! (accidentally knocks over his glass of champagne on IP’s pants) Sorry.
IP: Shit, I’m all wet now.
HK: Sorry. I sometimes get very emotional.
IP: Shit, man, these pants were new!
HK: Hey, I said I was sorry.
IP: Doesn’t help nothing, does it?
HK: Aww, come on!
IP: (mumbles and collects all napkins within reach) GoddamnitImwetallover…
(brief silence)
HK: Can you not just ask the next question?
IP: Whatever. (Checks his notepad.) How’s Ibiza like?
HK: Oh God, Ibiza. Are you trying to offend me?
IP: What? Why? You spent some awfully successful years there …
HK: Yeah, I know, but looking back it seems like a big joke. You know, just bumping around as if there’s no tomorrow, and using all those awful sounds… Maybe there’ll be a time when I can appreciate our output from that time, but it’s gonna take a couple of years.
IP: Hey, I’ve gotta put some dry clothes on, sorry. You know, I’ve got this sensitive bladder thing and if I stick around any longer like this I’ll be in serious trouble by tomorrow. Will you still be here in 15 minutes?
HK: Well, actually …
IP: Never mind. Thanks for the interview anyway.
HK: Sure.
