Skip to content
cropped-logo-mktt.jpg

MAD KATE | THE TIDE

  • Home
  • BIOGRAPHY
  • DISCOGRAPHY
  • VIDEO
  • SOUNDS
  • TOUR DATES
  • CONTACT

BIOGRAPHY

Together, the Tide on guitar, loops, electronics and Mad Kate singing, speaking and screaming and moving grace the stage …

Read more BIOGRAPHY

NEWS

The limited edition SOUNDTRACK of Desire Will Set You Free is now available for Pre-Order through Moniker Records.

We are honored to feature here among Peaches and other great artists…

Read more NEWS

CONTACT

Write us!

Read more CONTACT

FACEBOOK

FACEBOOK

PHOTOS

13690907_1055658174470976_422114704327668744_o
13988043_1074949832541810_770882118808897663_o
884976_711299602215844_100650679_o
13680464_1071674719535988_6280014465138652683_o
13958008_1071784402858353_5940864070348936644_o
teufelsberg11
1461392_594891703891713_1200867691_n
1425736_740230116006618_305840616_n
996965_740230099339953_848186456_n
mad-kate-the-tide-kkk10
mad-kate-the-tide-kkk4
mad-kate-the-tide-kkk1
kate-6low
552980_3634681598146_1607388630_32921663_1811141992_n
img_3198
img_3156
img_3144
img_3123
img_3121
mktt-loopholeberlin0006
20131123_mad-kate_the-tide_aliveness_153_o
Mad Kate The Tide
20131123_mad-kate_the-tide_aliveness_125_o
20131123_mad-kate_the-tide_aliveness_094_o
20131123_mad-kate_the-tide_aliveness_079_o
Mad Kate The Tide
Mad Kate The Tide
Mad Kate The Tide Aliveness
Mad Kate The Tide Aliveness
20131123_mad-kate_the-tide_aliveness_002_o
07
03
jacopo_kate26low
jacopo_kate5low
892038_352679711504717_1611710928_o
891563_352679704838051_1493270807_o
887134_352679718171383_1258024410_o
882874_352679928171362_1814747213_o
cpm-mad-kate-i-the-tide-44
cpm-mad-kate-i-the-tide-32
cpm-mad-kate-i-the-tide-11
cpm-mad-kate-i-the-tide-10
cpm-mad-kate-i-the-tide-9
cpm-mad-kate-i-the-tide-16
cpm-mad-kate-i-the-tide-8
cpm-mad-kate-i-the-tide-15
cpm-mad-kate-i-the-tide-5
1491353_711299978882473_139122117_o
1490686_711299488882522_800865523_o
1487728_711299485549189_1397034683_o
1483725_711299845549153_330627841_o
1468778_594891890558361_209073301_n
1463170_465572030218557_1498754979_n
1454573_10201767291797912_585127583_n
1451462_10201767415160996_1640180357_n
1412368_711299862215818_566484013_o
1405004_711300082215796_1707452972_o
1402800_711300125549125_742130674_o
1402371_711299608882510_1252072805_o
1402369_711299728882498_356651707_o
1401339_711299715549166_1833806383_o
1398520_711299512215853_1882422906_o
919103_711299965549141_992124109_o
919026_711299835549154_1621331453_o
906205_711300122215792_1530649438_o
904442_711300275549110_755440802_o
901230_711299635549174_1098708361_o
886744_711300222215782_487850668_o
884976_711300308882440_2008475340_o
859142_711300118882459_2077785949_o
884976_711299602215844_100650679_o

ODE TO MY LEATHER JACKET

Oh leather jacket, you make me so happy when I pull you on again after another short Berlin summer. When I bring you out of the front closet and ask you to take me back. Why did I ever think to leave you? Why? I bought you used, in the heat of an Iowa summer, at a store called cowboys guns and guitars, for 60 dollars the day my brother arrived. You were worn but quite fit. You’ve always had a faded tag that says butthole surfers written in sharpie. It’s your only blemish, but I forgive it. You had it then and you have it now. It was so hot and muggy that first summer, I couldn’t have you for months, not really. We only became lovers when I moved to Berlin in October and then you were there for me, inseparable, keeping me warm in the coldest winter. I remember that one night, when I was walking home from Kreuzberg all the way to Kopenhagener Strasse because I didn’t know about the night buses yet and I was too broke for a cab. We were walking along the old wall together at four in the morning and I remember how the sideways snow stuck to you and I was still warm. I was 25 and I remember how free I felt; how unhinged and yet protected by myself alone. But it was you and I together. You could be my guardian angel; I just never thought to thank you. How many times have I fallen on sheets of black ice when I’m still riding my bike through the winter and you were there right under me, saving my skin and bones? How many times have you been there for me? We’re such good mates, such a team, you and I. You’re so androgynous, so polyamorous. How many faces have you known? I wear you in my leather daddy phases but also when I’m just playing PUNX. You were there in the dark room listening to the groans of men I wished I could be. And sometimes just for a strip tease, with naked breasts underneath. You feel so smooth and strong. When I’m broken-hearted you make me feel much tougher than I am. You’re like black eyeliner but much more resilient. You’re not too elegant but you’re so daring when you mix with glamour. You’re so casual and utilitarian when I’m just punking about. You and I, we can pick up girls and guys, we’ve sat on wooden stools and listened to bluegrass, we’ve sailed over mosh-pit heads and hands. I’ve shoved you in the piss corner of dark clubs; you’ve never run off with someone else—without me. It is raining these days and you keep me dry, even the stupid expensive electronics which I love to hate, you keep them dry in my pocket so I can keep listening to my music with my headphones on and feet scrambling my pedals. Oh leather jacket I love you. I never carry a knife but I might be. I can carry my knife when I do and when I’m not I might be. I could keep that blade right next to my heart and you wouldn’t let it knick me. You have so many pockets, so many places; I keep everything in you because I’ve always been embarrassed to carry a purse. You never make me act like a girl. You make me feel like a boy with tits and a cunt. You make me feel like me. You’re so sexy; you’ve starred in queer feminist porn—more than once. You’re immortalized on screen. You’ve tasted glass and broken mirrors and dirt. I would use you as a mattress in a greyhound bus station in Montana. Your elbow is falling out. You carry my pen, my many pens—my notebook too. And that’s all I really need in life is a pen and paper and place to lay my head. I like to chew on you; you’re such a nice cud. I’ve left my bite-marks; I’ve even torn your skin. I like to smell you just so I won’t have to smell everything else. I can turn up your collar if I want to. You’ve covered my eyes. You’ve covered my heart; you’ve held it, when it was too heavy to bear myself. I wear you with a black leather hat and I fit right in where I want to fit. I like to wear you with an expensive dress and high heels and dare my bike to rip couture. You never just rip. I would wear you to the ball, if they’d let me in. I’d invite you along to Bollywood or Hollywood or a punk rock show. I’d wear you to the ballet. You never smell like all the cum, blood, or sweat—you always just smell like you, that old familiar leather smell. That girl gang beat me up in an abandoned factory out east and dragged me across the gravel by your very sleeves. You were still there all that time. Your zipper has never broke. Not once. You’re cool in the warmer months and heavy like stone, never just a little whisper in my ear. You’re not a tease at all; you’re so direct. Your weight bears into me. I feel how real you are. I could never pretend you are not there at all. I have no other jacket but thee, not in truth. You are the one for me. All the others are just second best. We’ve gone smoking cigarettes together on those rare broody evenings I have to smoke cigarettes and walk the city streets alone like an alley cat. You’ve lain on the sidewalk with me and cried. You never have to be fed, not like my voracious hunger, but you let me spill on you all the time. You cat around with me, you bike with me to lovers and guide me home again, guilty, electrified, scared or in love. You always hide my tears. You are sturdy and tall enough to be a pillow. I’ve slept in you, in my very own bed, without any pants on, just you. I’ve refused to take you off when my partner tries to part you from me. You’ve slept in the middle of the two of us, but you’ve never come between us. Tomek tried to sew you up once on his leather machine but you’re still tearing at all the edges. It just makes you more beautiful, the way you are fading and opening and giving us both more air. Leather jacket, how I love thee. My eyes are wet with adoration. You are for me and I am for you.
Website Built with WordPress.com.
Cancel
Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy