9 thoughts on “Hans Albers is Married to the Sea

  1. They don’t call it the land of the singers, they don’t…

    But HERE’s a real jewel:


    A woman be-singing and be-sighing the qualities of a real man… that man…
    and be-crying the loss. Sounds like real love.

    What more can a man want, but to be thus remembered?

    Now, go listen to James Brown’s “Its a Man’s World”


    Crying towels, fourth floor.


  2. that’s from the movie “Große Freiheit Nr. 7.“–a classic of sorts. it’s from director helmut käutner who later made Der Hauptmann von Köpenick with heinz rühmann, which is quite charming (if you’re an old fart and like mr rühmann), so i once forced me to watch it, but i had to stop after 20 min, it’s pretty awful. yet, hans albers has his charms. i recommend eierlikör or whatever substance you need abused to mellow your harsh, cruella de bloggersville.


  3. For a “contemporary” (cough, cough) take on Hans Albers’ sensibility, check out Rummelsnuff:

    Salzig schmeckt der Wind https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr8uiNbIkKo

    and Trägt die Woge dein Boot https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lr8uiNbIkKo

    You know, it’s been a long time that an out-and-out flaming homosexual like Rummelsnuff had to face even so much as a raised eyebrow, let alone graver repercussions, in Germany. The Käptn, as he is affectionately called by his fans (including heteros like me), is a good egg and generally well-liked (except by stupid SJWs who think anyone with a polished bald head singing in German must be a skinhead Nazi).

    This is just one more of the things that are so confounding about the regnant politics in Germany. Germany is multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, sexually permissive, accommodating to minorities, and always eager to show its openness to foreign cultures. But the uncontrolled mass immigration of Muslims (mostly Arabs) is not making Germany more diverse. Rather, it is massively unbalancing the mix in favor of a medieval, freedom-hating, supremacist, Jew-hating, misogynistic, homophobic, anti-scientific, brutal, nasty, violent “culture” that leaves scorched earth wherever it takes over.


  4. “But the uncontrolled mass immigration of Muslims (mostly Arabs) is not making Germany more diverse.”

    Most muslims lead extremely non-diverse lives.

    This is one reason the culture shock trauma migrants experience in Europe is so severe. And then they do their best to pass their trauma on to their children (aided by addlepated ideas of ‘multiculturalism’). Once the first Europe born generation fails (in no small part due to their parents) the pattern is set and all but impossible to change except for a few isolated individuals here and there.


  5. The Käptn, as he is affectionately called by his fans (including heteros like me), is a good egg and generally well-liked (except by stupid SJWs who think anyone with a polished bald head singing in German must be a skinhead Nazi).

    Stakhanov got it wrong once again here. The first people who liked Rummelsnuff actually came from left-wing radical Antifa circles and Berghain (possibly the epitome of the ‘permissive society’) regulars. That’s also where I came across him back in 2008.



  6. As we are talking poetry and politics here, I summon –

    The Grandfather of ConspiracyThe Bard of Avon!

    With “Route 66” – on the signs o’ the times:*

    Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
    As, to behold deserv’d as beggar born,

    And needy nothing, trimmed in jollity,
    And purest faith, unhappily forsworn,

    And guilded honour, shamefully misplaced,
    And maiden virtue, rudely strumpeted,

    And right perfection, wrongfully disgraced,
    And strength by limping sway disabled,

    And art, made tongue-tied by authority,
    And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,

    And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
    And captive good attending captain ill:

    Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
    Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

    And on buying opinions:

    How now! What news?

    He has almost supped. Why have you left the chamber?

    Hath he asked for me?

    Know you not he has?

    We will proceed no further in this business.

    He hath honored me of late, and I have bought
    Golden opinions from all sorts of people,

    Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
    Not cast aside so soon.

    Was the hope drunk
    Wherein you dressed yourself? Hath it slept since?

    And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
    At what it did so freely? From this time
    Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
    To be the same in thine own act and valor
    As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that
    Which thou esteem’st the ornament of life,
    And live a coward in thine own esteem,
    Letting “I dare not” wait upon “I would, ”
    Like the poor cat i’ th’ adage?

    Prithee, peace:
    I dare do all that may become a man;
    Who dares do more is none.

    What beast was ‘t, then,
    That made you break this enterprise to me?
    When you durst do it, then you were a man;
    And to be more than what you were, you would
    Be so much more the man. Nor time nor place
    Did then adhere, and yet you would make both.

    They have made themselves, and that their fitness now
    Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know
    How tender ’tis to love the babe that milks me.
    I would, while it was smiling in my face,
    Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums
    And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn as you
    Have done to this.

    *That’s Sonett 66, actually.

    However, the point is, people don’t learn.

    Right now, Germans are behaving like the three apes: As long a you see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, you’ll surely enter the kingdom of heaven.

    Basically, of course, that means closing your eyes fast, sticking two fingers in your ears and yelling out the national anthem (or Lalala, as we do here, as singing our national anthem would be evil – who even knows the faggy second stanza? Full Nazi, you know – and respects, Käptn Rummelsnuff!). And if you do google for them, you will find umpteen, and often very scary, depictions of the three apes on the web – this is because everyone here knows, or should know, that this sort of behavior is evil in itself (it has quite a different connotation in Asia, but are we in Asia? No!).

    And as one of them apes once told a reporter: “We have a fourth brother, admit no evil, but he left the group for a career in politics”.


    Which about says it all. And now, one last excerpt, from the most modern poetry on turmoil, written half a century ago:


    When shall we three meet again?
    In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

    When the hurly-burly’s done,
    When the battle’s lost and won.

    That will be ere the set of sun.

    Where the place?

    Upon the heath.

    There to meet with Macbeth.

    I come, Graymalkin.

    Paddock calls.


    Fair is foul, and foul is fair,
    Hover through the fog and filthy air.

    They exit.


  7. So nice, a Shakspere sonnet. Admit it, you found it on Klonovsky’s web page. A ray of light in the darkness, though that, too, has gone semi-dark, not being updated anymore due to what appears to be either legal action from a touchy SJW or trouble with his employer. Nicolaus Fest fired, Mathias Matussek fired, maybe Klonovsky is next. Our esteemed host appears to be safe for the nonce, because (1) student council president only pretends to English-language proficiency, can’t read German Joys to check up on the nutty Texan perfesser, (2) Amerikanerbonus (no, not a buy-one-get-another-free holeless glazed donut special), (3) actually the handful of commenters on this blog is its entire readership, ever. Security through obscurity!

    (cf. the 1500+ comments under the recent Guardian article by short bus-riding German gutmensch Konstantin Richter)

    I won’t be joining y’all in Zuckerberg’s House of Horrors, so as my farewell gift to our host and the commentariat here is a date and time to mark in your calendar. Saturday May 7, 12 noon to 2 PM, turn your browser to http://www.radiox.de for the livestreamed “saasfee” radio show. Set your alarm, a hangover won’t be a hindrance but will actually enhance the experience. In my opinion, it’s the only radio show on the planet, in any language, to rival the legendary Shirley & Spinoza webcasts. (Not affiliated with the producers, YMMV, no responsibility for impact on your mental and emotional health, etc. etc.)


  8. You, Stakhanov, are a clever man. And you’re right 🙂

    I am now in that time of life when the brazenness of youth is gone, and you count your blessings – and realize your mistakes.

    I do not know if I will live to see that day, when the cheerleaders of today will sing the chant of their disdained forefathers (and foremothers): Das hamwa nich gewußt, das hat uns doch niemand gesagt, das konnten wir nicht wissen, wir sind doch auch betrogen worden, vierzig Jahre lang. Wir sind genauso Opfer gewesen, wir waren eigentlich immer schon dagegen, das waren doch nur ganz wenige – We did not know that, no one told us, we could not have known, we were betrayed, for forty years. We were the victims just as well, we were really against it all the time, they were only very few – and perhaps look up the UN definition of genocide:


    Or otherwise, as Danisch just put it: Let the 10% that carry the load go, to build a good life somewhere else, and leave the rest to the hell they have themselves fought so hard to create. ‘twould be a pity, though. That used to be quite a nice place here the last few decades, as you say, and it would be a let down of the helpless.

    CU in a better world, and one last Macbeth:

    If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well
    It were done quickly. If the assassination
    Could trammel up the consequence, and catch
    With his surcease success; that but this blow
    Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
    But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
    We’d jump the life to come. But in these cases
    We still have judgment here, that we but teach
    Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
    To plague th’ inventor: this even-handed justice
    Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice
    To our own lips.


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