Ach, es sind des Haifischs Flossen rot, wenn dieser Blut vergießt.

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With my interest piqued by a cri de cœur from , I have just watched Westlife singing “Mack The Knife”.

‘s reaction is if anything understated:

Westlife sum up everything that’s wrong with the music industry. They’re charmless. They’re gormless. They’re talentless. They have delusions of grandeur. And most of all, they sing really, really, really shit songs.

I had the singular privilege recently of spending a day with one of America’s leading Brecht scholars. I don’t think I dare bring this abomination to his attention. I sense rapid gyrations from a normally quiet corner of the Dorotheenfriedhof in Berlin.

[edit: This is what it should sound like.]

One thought on “Ach, es sind des Haifischs Flossen rot, wenn dieser Blut vergießt.”

  1. Also Zoe Fairbairns, Benefits (1979).

    I’m not sure what your criteria are, but perhaps Virginia Woolf, Orlando, and some Jeanette Winterson or Angela Carter might fall within them.

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