Jonny Numb

[Author’s Note: because it takes me forever to finish anything, the following 3-part series is an account of my experiences in and around Leipzig during the 2025 Wave Gotik Treffen festival. Enjoy.]

While in the throes of Covid (but not realizing it was Covid)…while sitting on the aeroplane that would take me and Lizard back to the States…while sweating and restless and stinking and tired (yet still unable to sleep because, well…it’s a fucking aeroplane)…I managed to write down as many thoughts as I could about my experience in Leipzig – as many as my feverish mind could conjure – before admitting defeat and settling in for some in-flight entertainment.

So…here are some scatterbrained, ADHD snippets of impressions of things that done got experienced.

Backhanded Beers: this happened multiple times – a beer overflowing onto a restaurant table, or me accidentally backhanding a not-empty glass of beer (at Ratskeller). I flustered the waitstaff and betrayed my German heritage by coming off as such a Yankee lightweight.

Haus der verblüfften Besitzers: wherein an older, constantly harried woman who would complain loudly to and about the kitchen staff, and be delightfully blunt with incoming customers. Only a couple seats at the small indoor bar, but Lizard and I claimed two (my dinner: sausage and sauerkraut and hefeweizen; we split an oversized brownie for dessert) our first night there. The kitchen was in the basement, and something Lizard loved about this place was its reliance on an old-school dumbwaiter to transport food from one level to another. On the last night, we ate our final meal at this same location – a rainy evening where we sat outside, covered by large canvas umbrellas – and even got to watch as a car got towed, which was entertaining enough to justify a video recording:

Legends of the Not-So-Hidden Temple: we climbed the 400ish steps to the top, got a great panoramic view of the city (including a view of the extensive cemetery and active crematorium next door). I got some Leipziger Chocolate in the gift shop, and I’ll admit I was smitten mostly because the wrappers had drawings of cats on the sleeve. I brought the plain chocolate bar into the office, and still have 2 bars sitting in the freezer downstairs, awaiting consumption.

Cats!: disappointed – but not really – that I went the whole trip without seeing any cats (stray or otherwise) until we serendipitously passed by the Leipzig Cat Café, where a creamsicle cutie was observing passers-by. An ironic bookend to the trip, as a passenger on our flight from Newark to Germany had brought her cat along for the trip.

Lugging the Luggage: I’m more interested in music and merch than fashion, so as we were packing to leave, my suitcase came in below the kilogram limit for air travel. Lizard, a Hellraiser-styled connoisseur of vests and boots and things with dangly and/or heavy chains (not a euphemism), had overshot the limit, which led to some creative item-swapping and -swaddling to get a perfect Tetris score (no fancy noise and flashing screen for our efforts, though – rude). In his defense: I’d picked up vinyl by Night in Athens and Patriarchy – which went in his suitcase for safekeeping – and wax definitely adds to the poundage! Additionally, I liked Lizard’s luggage-weighing device, which did resemble the type of pulley Pinhead would use after some idiot messed with the Lament Configuration.

Blazer Day: I’d brought at least one hoodie and a blazer (acquired when Trigger Discipline opened for Rosegarden Funeral Party in Millersville back in April 2025), and it was only on the last day that I finally broke out the blazer. Despite being blessed with abnormally cool summer weather, my metabolism still renders me an uncomfortable, sweat-streaked mess, even with temps in the upper 60s and low 70s. For years now, I’ve prioritized comfort over fashion – I am far too old to bother myself with the expectations of others in the name of some superficial validation. Shorts? Black T-shirt? Driver’s cap? I’m set!

The Hauptbahnhof: imagine a train station crossed with an indoor mall, where the escalator is a flat and slanty platform instead of stairs going up or down. I liked the Rewe (grocery store) and the newsstands which carried stuff like Sonic Seducer, Orkus (and other scene-specific rags), and a variety of not-bashful pornography. Lizard recommended picking up music magazines that came with a free sampler CD.

Bums of Leipzig: despite the area in and around the Hauptbahnhof being fairly well-tended, homeless folks had their cardboard signs and meager belongings set up outside the train station, panhandling for change. Notable vagrants included:

• The guy who was standing at a solitary spot next to the tram track, yelling something over and over again while people ignored him;
• The guy in a wheelchair with an open wound on his head, who appeared to be having a conversation with 2 or 3 young men on the platform, but who quickly boarded their train and flipped him off as they climbed aboard;
• The Werewolf, who reminded me of an upperclassman at my (first) high-school: most of his left ear was missing, and he skulked about the platform, twitching and spitting and drooling into a cup. I saw him once early on in our trip, then again at the train stop near the open-air farmer’s market on Tuesday, June 10^th (near the University);
• The guy nestled in the corner of the restaurant area inside the train station, head down on a table, talking (presumably cursing?) loudly, a shopping cart filled with glass bottles parked next to him. As we placed our lunch order, a manager from one of the restaurants came over and presumably asked him to leave.
• Bench Larva: on the way to the Noise Floors at Moritzbastei, we cut through a too dark park where rustling sounds on the benches caught my attention; homeless folks were trying to get comfortable in their sleeping bags, but with the lack of light, looked like mutant insects undergoing some sort of gestation.

Sophie-Anne Surrogate: the girl who spoke English and lived in Leipzig (by way of Las Vegas) who made small talk with us as we waited for the Flixbus that would take us from the Berlin Airport to our destination. (That said, she wasn’t headed to WGT.)

Hey, Can I Sell You This…Thing?: what is it, exactly? A magazine subscription? A book of coupons? What the fuck! This phenomenon was prominent on the train platforms, of people walking around, sticking a “Pennie” publication in people’s faces, and everyone shaking their head, “no.” (A Google search reveals “Penny” as a German discount supermarket chain owned by the Rewe Group – so maybe it was a coupon book…like the American “Bonus Book”s of yore?)

Zig When You Should Zag: I can see why the vast majority of WGT patrons wear their Doc Martens (the official footwear of your favorite Industrial-Gothic festival: Get stompin’ in your Doc Martens!) – not just for fashion and comfort, but for the fucking cobblestones. Beautiful streets, but murderous on my Vans (even with some strategically placed insoles; I totally should’ve known better)!

Rock Band Panhandlers: one of our first encounters on our first proper day in the city was with a guy standing in the square, passing out free copies of his band’s CD. I’m not one to pass up free music on a physical format (no matter how awful said music may be), but Lizard informed me they’re in Leipzig every year. I still haven’t listened to the album. Though I’m pretty sure they said they’re from Slovenia, I don’t think it was Laibach.

Sadgoth Meetup: named after the eponymous website and Facebook group moderated by Dexter Holland/Martin Atkins doppelganger Mark “Sadgoth” Foreman, designed to bring together non-German folks who may feel isolated or alienated at Wave Gotik Treffen. This was held in the banquet facility at Ratskeller, where a representative from the mayor’s office said a few appreciative words about the festival and how it generates tourism (and revenue) for the city. We wound up sitting across from a British couple – Alex and Andrea – who were excited to see a Combichrist headline show, which made me realize how spoiled we are in America, where a band like Combichrist tours at least once a year. (Incidentally, Lizard and I had dinner at Ratskeller prior to the meetup, which is where I accidentally backhanded my beer.)

Water Closets: like Iceland and the UK, Leipzig knows what’s up when it comes to stalls that ensure sufficient privacy while one sits down to drop an embarrassing deuce. In America, it’s all about public humiliation and anyone being able to peek under or over the stall to shame you for your natural bodily functions. (Someone at Ratskeller actually started talking to me as I tried to clean the beer off my shorts – he was complimenting my Void Vision shirt, if I recall correctly.)

Cabbage Marinated in Armpit Sweat: it took me a decade to forget how Germany isn’t big on air conditioning, opting instead for windows that open inward at an angle. No fans, either – sweat it out, schwein! No, not even in the hot, brick-layered catacombs of Moritzbastei were fans running…and that was home to the tightest soundstage and DJ room. Despite the limited venues we explored over the course of the long weekend, only one – Stadtbad – seemed to have something resembling air circulation (and we couldn’t determine whether it was air conditioning or simply a cool breeze via open windows). At least one tram had windows that could be opened, but the majority of occupants ignored this, leading me to uncomfortably sweat it out with festival patrons in far more elaborate costumes.

Coin-Cup Grabber: [Sally Struthers voice:] “Do you want to make more money? Sure, we all do. Have you considered an exciting, part-time festival career in collecting those hard-plastic, blue-tinted Pepsi cups and taking them back to the vendor for cash money?” No? Well, me neither. But it seems to cut down on the amount of cups just being set down and/or tossed in various places for the event staff to collect and clean up. Also, not unlike in the UK, there were fewer trash cans overall, but less litter – unlike the States, where litter seems to increase in tandem with the trash receptacles.

Smoking Is Still Kool: smoking cigarettes isn’t stigmatized like in the States. While there were some vapers, walking through clouds of tobacco smoke outside venues was the norm. Does anybody else have that thing where they don’t smoke, but find the odor of some cigarette smoke strangely appealing? Guessing it has something to do with the brand.

“You Stepped On My Head, Now Apologize for Stepping On My Head”: this is the analogy I came up with for whenever I thought I was being helpful or considerate or at least trying to align my words and actions with local cultural customs, only to get thousand-yard stares or “you dumb Yankee” style contempt.

Ben: a tomboyish blonde female who reminded me of a shithead named Ben from my first-grade class. I would notice her at random venues and her presence instantly clouded my mood. Remember that Dead Kennedys song, “Man with the Dogs”? Kinda like that.

Dren: the bald mutant chick from Splice who asked me for a napkin while in line at the restaurant at Moritzbastei. I handed her a napkin. She smiled in a nice-not-nice way that screamed (again) “that’s cute…you dumb Yankee!” as she pulled a couple from the dispenser herself.

Saint Ginger: the exceptionally kind, sympathetic, female redhead restaurant worker at Moritzbastei who did a little of everything – cashing out customers; carrying large pans of food from one room to the “kitchen” area; and generally trying to keep the operation running smoothly, especially when it got slammed after the last bands of the night concluded their sets.

So. Much. Bread.: the pigeons will never go hungry!

Cultural Customs: not knowing where the dirty dishes go at Lukas (to the bemusement of some grinning locals); which bathroom is “correct” for use when both have unisex signs but still appear to be lining up male/female; low to no tipping (because Europe and the novel concept of a living wage, amirite?).

Thank You to those who showed patience with my fractured German:

• The male counter worker at Lukas, a friendly fellow who caught the gist of what I was saying by the last time we went there.
• The Flummoxed Woman at the “personality” bar we went to on the first and final nights.
• As an aside, it was somewhat reassuring that Lizard often had to “sprechen sie English” if the conversation got too involved or fast-paced for his proficiency. I assume the bilingual German population looks upon the tourists who can barely speak their own language with the same cast-off disregard we English-speakers in America perceive those who don’t speak or use English as their primary language. It’s humbling, and makes me feel even more like a cock slammed in a door jamb, exposing my ignorance (“you dumb Yankee!”)

Celebrity Sighting: while seated in the over-crowded Moritzbastei on the last night of the festival, the members of Clan of Xymox squeezed a path through the narrow, curving “kitchen” area. Ronny Moorings stopped to hug and share pleasantries with someone at the table behind us, while Anka Wolbert [?] seemed impatient to “hurry it up” and keep moving. That was kind of neat.

Hard-Headed and Unsentimental: while I don’t deny the omnipresent cliché of “Ugly American” ignorance and rudeness, the natives of Leipzig are a similarly curt, blunt, and unsentimental bunch. No “please” or “thank you,” just “move forward” (on the tram) or a rude, “can my friend sit where you’re sitting?” (at least The Friend was smiling and blowing me kisses as I vacated the bench in – you guessed it – Moritzbastei). Most sentiments are shared with a sheen of transparent irritation – as Dr. Evil would say (in German): “why must I be surrounded by frickin’ morons?”

Pro Tip: if the forecast doesn’t call for rain, pack an umbrella or hat anyway, because there will be at least some rain, every day.

Couture: I’ve long since divested myself from any sense of Industrial/Goth hipness in a pure fashion sense, or otherwise trying to fit in with what anybody else is doing. To quote Olivia Rodrigo, “good for you” if you can pull off a look, but I feel I’d be overcompensating and simply do not care about shelling out hundreds-to-thousands of dollars on some perfectly synchronous clubwear. I do feel like this was being silently judged, despite many others doing the simple “coat-over-black-T-shirt” thing. And ladies – for the love of everlasting fuck, maybe reconsider the circumference of your faux-Victorian dress if it covers the same surface area as the teacup ride at the City Fair.

Suicide Squeeze: the last band of the night has wrapped up at Agra. You will pay for this experience by taking a tram packed beyond capacity back to your hotel, with people sardine-tight and mashing into each other as the drunken and unwieldy transport takes curves as gracelessly as possible. You will moan and groan like the purveyors of the finest pornography as your hand, elbow, or ass barrel into warm squishy places. (That said, seeing Kite that first night was totally worth it.)

Renaissance Times: crowded, but the food was good. I did find a new driver’s cap and had a fun conversation with the people who sold it to me. Otherwise, not a lot piqued my interest (even a tent selling patches for every band in the history of human existence, dating back to Dick Grog’s Caveman Quartet). And for some reason, just thinking about the Ren Faire pops this song into my head. Maybe this is playing into my (irrational?) persecution complex:

Agra – The Beast: there’s a reason this venue has a name like some nightmarish being from a pretentious epic fantasy novel (e.g., “the dumb wizard in the erectile-dysfunction hat’s magic was no match for the rock-hard Agra towering over him!”) – you don’t experience Agra, you survive it! A literal airplane hangar with a flat-slab, concrete floor that makes for murder on one’s feet – and if you don’t claim a seat at one of the half-dozen picnic tables clustered in a corner of the room and don’t want your pampered bottom sitting on the cold concrete, tough cookies, Klaus! While the biggest of the WGT venues, it has a problem similar to Franklin Music Hall (Philly’s former Electric Factory) – unless you’re directly facing the stage, the sound quality does not translate equilaterally to the rest of the venue. Ergo, everyone packs in to get the best listening experience – that said, I never found it uncomfortably tight from an attendee perspective.

Ferris Wheel’s Day Off: there were food vendors in the area outside Agra (along with a camping dude who played his own private noise show throughout the weekend), along with a Ferris Wheel that, to my eyes, had a grand total of zero patrons. Whoever was running this thankless attraction seemed to be playing Depeche Mode on a loop.

Escape from Connewitz: looking like the set for John Carpenter’s Escape from Deutschland, every building was tagged with graffiti. I tried to get some video while on the tram. Also home to the tongue-in-cheek Gothic Pogo festival that runs concurrently with WGT. (Some folks attend both events.)

Meow Gotik Treffen: I got a souvenir T-shirt that became uncomfortably form-fitting after a single wash. Such are the wages of souvenirs, I guess. Also: when you’re in pop-up clothing stores, people will just block the aisle, even if you’re standing next to them and clearly want to pass. “Excuse me”s are met with stony silence! I understand you need another corset to add to your collection of hundreds, but for fuck’s sake…

Agra – The Consumption: adjacent to the concert venue was a vendor area that had more clothes and accessories, some crafty booths, some self-published authors, and disappointingly few music stands (the HANDS label was present in full force, but other than that there were only 2 independent vendors, which – considering my tendency to overspend on music – was probably a mercy). There was also a booth containing clothing, uniforms, and accessories from every military conflict since World War I…and yes, certain attendees at the festival seemed to have a bit of an Axis Powers fetish that I’m not sure was completely ironic. I dunno…maybe they were just big Nachtmahr fans.

Spousal Support: manning the HANDS stand (ha, ha) throughout the weekend was DJ and Winterkalte founding member Udo Weissman’s wife, who wore this bemused, slightly sly (yet not snarky) smile every time me and Lizard approached the booth as the enjoyably abrasive noise of HANDS artists blared through the always-spinning turntable. I attribute her facial expressions to that of a spouse who doesn’t necessarily understand her partner’s chosen profession/hobby, but opts to be supportive all the same. She was plain in a way I found refreshing from all the overcompensating black attire on display. While waiting on the card-reader to process our payments, she deadpanned, “Technology is great…when it works.”

Hotel Voyeur: what purpose, outside of a honeymoon suite, would there be in setting up an angular shower stall with two diamond-shaped windows overlooking the sleeping area? I…don’t get it? Also disappointing: the fact that the conservative, quad-setting thermostat didn’t allow us to render the room an icebox. Suffer, schwein!

Wrist Banned: as we waited in the quad outside our hotel for the wristband distribution system to open up and start processing festival-goers, I thought of some second-hand advice Lizard gave me regarding the woven-and-stapled wristbands that permit festival access (and free public transportation) throughout the weekend: “don’t get it on the hand you wipe with.” Well, guess what happened…

WGT COLON THE BOOK THE EXPERIENCE THE FLAMETHROWER: for sale at the wristband stands was a commemorative hardbound book that is published for each year’s event. Lizard recommended getting one as a souvenir, so I picked up a copy. This is what will be used to jog my memory a bit as we enter Part 2 of the Leipzig Chronicles, Jonny Numb and the Spooky Kids.

Stay tuned!