Biography
Zellrasen grew up on the 2,003th floor of the ever-growing Babylonian multi-storey building called Music. Its dwelling unit was located in a remote wing of this building, down a narrow floor. The door was covered with nylon carpet and peat moss. Inside, all rooms were subdivided into smaller ones (and most of these had a 2nd floor or a mezzanine). The graffiti on the front head of the bass drum read Pockrop. Here and there an unattended upbeat slouched in front of a chimney whereas the straight 4-4 preferred to hide behind an amp. And, geez, an unknown substance oozed out of the Triola.At dusk all the dwelling's residents met in the (rather filthy and dangerous) kitchen: one brought a riff, another one lit a spliff, yet another one provided a decaying penguin. All this (and some more) was thereupon processed in a hand-operated mixer – to built another bar into an already divided room. Thus, most of the dwelling's windows faced the night, the lot depended on electric light.Every once in a while, when Zellrasen hummed a tune out on the fire exit stairs, a young mother (from the opposite building) bursted into tears. But, to get this straight: Zellrasen would never have (intentionally) arranged the notes so that they say: D-E-A-F, neither sharp nor flat...
