Remember that large pot of cooked noodles that you one time left out unrefrigerated and unattended to for 2-3 days too long in the darkest corner of your kitchen? You meant to dispose of it once it had caught your attention but you started to wonder how it might look like in a week or so and your curiosity got the better of you. You sealed it airtight and so it stood there in the corner again. A week passed and when the time came to open it, you hesitated. Is it maybe too early? What could it look like in another week’s time? So you waited another week. And then another. And another. Until you eventually forgot about the pot of cooked noodles. You opened it and – to your surprise – no green fog came out, no rank made the surrounding flora immediately whither. Instead you heard strange sounds emerge from within the pot of cooked noodles.
When you looked inside it, you saw a crowd of small people, all dancing to music like you had never heard before. A tiny civilization was born inside the pot. You started to get excited. How would they react to you? Would they be hostile? Or might they perhaps even consider you their god? You moved your face closer towards the pot, buzzing with excitement. But nothing happened. They didn’t attack you. They didn’t pray to you. They didn’t care about you. They we’re doing their own thing.
Remember that pot? Of course you don’t since it’s a metaphor and you‘re not a real person. The pot is actually the German region of Eastwestphalia. And you are conventional dance music. And we’re the pot people.
We are the Bielefeld Murder Boys.