Peaches Superstar

Deutsche Welle's new culture column, "Scene in Berlin," appears every Friday. Click on the link below to get the RSS feed.

Nestled as it was for 40 years in the middle of godless, communist East Germany, Berlin is not a city where religion looms large. As always, Easter this year has been heralded by little more than the arrival of piled-high stacks of chocolate in the supermarkets and banners adorning the shopping malls announcing that rare treat so beloved by Berliners: Sunday shopping opportunities. So far, so profane.

But this year of all years, such impiety might be forgiven. What with the Catholic abuse controversy still making waves across the country and the recent resignation of the head of the Protestant church after admitting to drunk-driving, religious institutions are looking far from saintly. So while churches across the city are hosting traditional concerts such as Bach's "Easter Oratorio" and "St John Passion," the non-devotionally inclined opted to mark Eastertide with a slice of far less sanctimonious cultural fare, which arguably captured the true spirit of Easter a lot better than the scandal-tarnished church can right now.

Crusading creativity

The event was "Peaches Christ Superstar," which ran at the Hebbel Theater for three sold-out nights the week before Easter and was billed as an irony-free tribute to Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice's classic 1971 rock opera "Jesus Christ Superstar," based on the Gospel according to John and his account of the week leading up to the crucifixion. Star of the show was Peaches, aka Merrill Nisker, an honorary Berliner who originally hails from Canada, and whose in-your-face brand of pelvic-thrusting electroclash has always been warmly received in the German capital, where shock value never fails to make up for a multitude of sins.

A performer once described by British daily The Guardian as "an equal-opportunities vulgarian" and a high priestess of emancipation both artistic and sexual, Peaches embodies Berlin's crusading creative spirit and has long served as the reigning queen of its underground clubland. But these days, she's moved away from transgressive, sexually explicit shock-rock and on to more mature projects - only to find herself cast out from the listings.

Too much bad press

Her fall from grace began earlier this year when she twittered that she had been refused permission to stage her scaled-back version of the legendary musical after German rights holders allegedly refused to license the songs.

The project was "crucified before opening night," she declared. "[They] claim that this project is of no interest to them due to its unconventional form. It's a shame that the authorities feel threatened by this fresh approach. I know a lot of people who really love the music and would appreciate this stripped-down solo performance."

Then, after the story was picked up not only by the local media by also by the international press, the project rose from the dead, as it were. "In 48 hours it was all over the place," Peaches told a Canadian radio station. "It made its way to Tim Rice's office. They called the theater and said, 'This is way too much bad press. Just let her put it on.'"

'Berlin loves you'

And so it came to pass. This musical tour-de-force saw Peaches herself perform all the roles - from Jesus to Judas, Mary Magdalene, Herod and Pontius Pilate - accompanied by her long-time collaborator Chilly Gonzales on piano, in what one critic called "a project of biblical proportions."

The show was attended by the usual coterie of outcasts and sinners who make up Peaches' Berlin fan base, most of whom probably weren't even born when "Jesus Christ Superstar" premiered on Broadway almost 40 years ago. The benevolent but somewhat bemused general response suggested that most of them had bought tickets simply to see Peaches, and had only the vaguest familiarity with the original material. But if they were disappointed by the absence of bawdy extravaganza - the only concession to her trademark raunch and sleaze being the giant phallic cross on which she was crucified - they hid it well, and gamely gave her a standing ovation.

Like so many creative types, Merill Nisker has always said she moved to Berlin because of the artistic freedom it affords her, so it seems ironic that this relatively demure production should have met with official disapproval here, of all places.

But after all, there's nothing like an x-rating to get bums on seats in Berlin. As the audience spilled out of the theater after the Friday performance, one punter was spotted wearing a t-shirt that read "Berlin Loves You." That's probably as close to a traditional Christian message as the capital is going to get this Easter.

Author: Jane Paulick

Editor: Kate Bowen