Text message received on Sunday 28 October, 2024:
Your name is Party Mouse. Make sure you enter the Guest List Line, tell them you’re Party Mouse and they’ll let you straight in.
It’s Sunday night in Berlin and I’ve been invited to the legendary Sisyphos, a giant club housed in a converted dog biscuit factory out in the southeastern district of Lichtenberg. I’ve just finished performing at a stand up show on the other side of the city in Kreuz-Kölln and my journey to the edge of East Berlin will take me just about an hour.
“I’m Party Mouse,” I remind myself as I descend the stairs to the Boddinstraße Ubahn, where it seems that more people are lurking about drinking, smoking and camping out on benches than are actually waiting for the train. On the U8, this kind of scene is not unusual, even in the middle of the day.
“But what if they ask for I.D. at the door?” I thought. “My I.D. doesn’t say Party Mouse.”
One of Berlin’s ‘difficult doors’
First stop Alexanderplatz, then a change to the U5 to Frankfurter Tor, then an above ground transfer to the Tram where I spot two young men who are clearly headed for Sisyphos, their playful look decidedly different than the all black clad typical Techno-Heads found in Berghain or Tresor. “Sisy” as the regulars call it, is a club that encourages more colorful, psychedelic and flamboyant attire and attracts a less reserved and stoic type of party-goer. That said, like all the difficult doors of Berlin, one’s entry is less about attire and more about vibe and a recognizable knowledge of the club and its aesthetic that the bouncers can smell.
I’ve been lucky enough to be put on the list by a Sisy regular, a colleague from my bar job who we’ll call Alex. I exit the Tram in an empty and foreboding industrial area and see the iconic giant metal gates of the massive club, shaped into two kissing ducks, the club’s logo. I follow the distant muffled “thump-thump-thump” of the party inside, enter a small door and get in a guest list line to the right of the regular queue, which is controlled by an actual traffic light that stands next to a bouncer seated at a podium up ahead, the place of judgement.
When the light changes to green, two hopeful clubbers walk towards the bouncer, are asked a few questions and are denied entry. I’ve heard Sisy can be tough for some to get in, so I’m grateful to have a guest list spot.
I approach the other bouncer on my side, a bald, thin middle-aged man with tiny spectacles and an intimidating long gray coat. He looks up at me from his clipboard with an inquisitive brow.
“Hallo, ich bin auf der Gästeliste. Ich bin Partymaus.” He checks his list, smiles and waves me in.
Marathon partying
Sisyphos is referred to by some as “Disneyland for adults” and when I turn the corner past the bouncers and red-lit ticket booths I immediately see why; the entrance opens onto a giant outdoor perimeter with various stalls, booths, bars and even a pizza restaurant, where Alex, his fiancee and another friend are waiting for me, like parents waiting to chaperone me into the void.
I check my coat at the Garderobe and we take a quick stroll around the premises. Sisyphos feels like a strange, psychedelic dark carnival that also has really good pizza. In total, the club has three rooms and a big outdoor garden, giving clubbers an experience similar to a festival, with operating hours beginning Friday night and going till Monday morning. Alex, my guide for the evening, has regularly attended entire weekends at Sisyphos without a pause.
This intense, marathon style of partying is what inspires the venue’s name, only instead of pushing a rock up a hill, one dances all night. Fortunately for us older ravers, there is a handy 5 euro re-entry option with a wrist band, so going home for a nap is entirely possible. For those going the whole time, they have great food, couches to rest on and even toothbrushes.
With a 1,500-person capacity, Sisyphos is a sprawling, mysterious beast that has three distinct dance floors.
• Wintergarten, where we are currently strolling around, has a big stage and, when weather allows, offers open air dance parties, a koi pond, an artificial beach with actual sand, and tons of benches and little nooks and crannies to chill in. Several wooden posts stick out of the sand with lampshades attached to the top of them which gives one a weird sense of being both inside and outside simultaneously.
This feeling prevails as I am led to a small dance floor in what looks like a large bamboo hut, the DJ playing upbeat house as she works her magic in the center of the space, surrounded by dancers. The lighting is orange and warm, there is sand on the ground and signs that say “No Jackets.”
• We dance together here for a while, then continue on through a smaller performance area called Dampfer, which features live acts as diverse as reggae, funk and even brass bands. Some musicians are packing up their gear on stage, we have apparently missed their show.
• From there we pass through an area I am told is an ever changing, immersive art installation which uncannily resembles a quiet Hong Kong back street, replete with neon signs decked out with Chinese characters. We are again in a completely different world, another corner of the labyrinth before we continue into the heart of the beast, the main floor known as Hammerhalle, where we watch my friend’s favorite DJ, relative newcomer Tom Cordes, do his thing on a Funktion-One sound system that rivals Berghain.
Random connections
Sisyphos is known for never announcing their line-ups online, but also for giving beginners a shot on the decks. The lighting rig is also top level with piercing moving beams over the dance floor and a custom designed wall of small yellow bulbs that I later realize are shaped like little multi-directional yellow ducks (another subtle reference to the club’s logo, and spirit animal.)
Under the glow of pulsing, multi-colored strobes and the enveloping blanket of dark, hard techno we remain, with intermittent breaks here and there, until 8 a.m. As we walk towards the club’s exit, someone has been kind enough to leave out plates of watermelon and other fresh fruit on the bar, a welcome treat. We pass through the wintergarten and a telephone, that has been affixed to one of the lamp posts, rings harshly. I look to Alex who smiles and motions for me to pick it up.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hello!” a voice answers.
“Hello?” I ask again?
“Hellloooooooooooo!!!!” The voice cries out.
“Who’s there?” I ask.
“I’m you.” she answers. “Yoooooooouuuuuuuuuuu!” and then hangs up.
Alex explains to me that there are two phones with a closed circuit at different points in the club. When you pick one up, the other one rings, connecting random people together. Alex tells me he usually picks up and pretends to be the Sisyphos HQ checking up on everyone’s “cosmic journey into the phantom realm.”
As we wait on the tiny Tram platform in the middle of Hauptstraße, surrounded by Berlin’s sun-shrouding fog, traffic whooshing past us on both sides, we all exchange silent, exhausted smiles, happy in the knowledge that our journey through the Sisyphos maze has been a safe and successful one.
