In conversation with Lucy Krabigell
Midsummer in Hamburg, I’m sitting on a balcony with the artist Supermagnet, aka Joseph (to some) and Ella (to others). Supermagnet is a queer tech house DJ, performance artist, and one of Hamburg’s most famous Tunte.
For non-German speakers: Tunte is a German word that cannot be easily translated into English. It’s a self-description from the second gay movement in Germany, circa 1973-74. The protest was against the hegemonic ideals of gay men, done by wearing dresses and makeup. To describe oneself as a Tunte is both a performative and political statement.
The day we meet is sunny and hot, a rare kind of day in Hamburg. We’re drinking sparkling wine because Supermagnet’s birthday was two weeks ago. Their kitchen is full of empty bottles, and we’re finishing the last of them.
I know Supermagnet from the backstage of Südpol, a legacy club and music venue in Hamburg. We sat there one night years ago and started a conversation about the club scene, a conversation that’s still going! That night, they told me about their event Spektakel, known as an alternative CSD.
For this Hinterhaus Stall Talk, we chat about identity, destiny, and what real political resistance looks like.
This is Stall Talk with Supermagnet.
Lucy Krabigell. Some people know you as Joseph, others as Ella. Let’s start there. What are these names, and what do they mean to you?
Supermagnet. This has concerned me a lot in the last few years. I’m always wondering how to introduce myself to be taken seriously, and how I want to be recognized. Is the political goal more important than my gender identity? In particular, I ask these questions when I’m submitting funding applications. But there are also physical spaces where I am known more as Ella or Joseph. The name has nothing to do with my identity. My gender doesn’t change with the name. It’s more about others and how they regard me, and how they feel about my gender.
LK. So, it sounds like you’ve had negative experiences using the name Ella.
Supermagnet. Not in the context of my name, more in a general way. As a queer person, I experience negative things and hostility all the time. This has nothing to do with what I call myself. It has to do with the general homophobic society we live in, as we saw at the end of July in Berlin during CSD.
LK. You told me once that you knew you were queer since you were 14. How was life as a teenager?
Supermagnet. Growing up in a small town near Duisburg in the west of Germany, I came out at 16. It was a hard and weird time. In school, there were maybe one or two other queer people. I was a bit lonely with my queerness. I was not popular. But then, by taking responsibilities and fulfilling a function in and for the school, I earned people’s notice and respect. I learned then that if I want to be taken seriously, I must provide a service.
LK. Did that lead to your work in clubs and culture?
Supermagnet: Yeah. I found a circle of people to organize events with, and for the first time in my life, I had friends. It was nice to be seen. I started organizing community events outside of school.
By starting my own events, I recognised that I’m not only meant for the stage, but maybe I’m also meant to build the stage.
This is why I set a high standard for myself. I want to inspire people to do the same as I did years ago: stand up for myself and reveal myself to the world with all my flaws.
LK. How did you start doing your own events?
Supermagnet. I write poetry and have been to many poetry slams. One day, I decided to build stages and queer spaces. By making my own events, I finally could use my freakiness to empower myself and other queer people who suffered. It was also kind of funny to learn that the people I was working with had nearly the same experiences as I did when we were young.
Now we are stronger because we are together.
LK. Why did you move to Hamburg?
Supermagnet: My parents told me that I could try to find my luck in a different city. I wanted to study electrical engineering. I searched for queer-friendly cities and chose these options: Hamburg, Munich, Berlin, Dresden, and Frankfurt. Between these six cities and six universities, destiny chose for me. I could not be happier that I got stranded in Hamburg.
LK. What is your life here like now?
Supermagnet: Moving here was one of the best decisions of my life. I love the culture and events here, especially the queer spaces. So I finished my bachelor’s degree, but during my studies I knew this was not what I wanted to do with my life. That’s when I started organizing parties like Heimlich Hertz. I am good at getting things rolling.
LK. You are also a DJ. Let’s talk about that side of your life.
Supermagnet: Gigs come and go. I don’t put much energy into it. But this doesn’t mean I don’t take it seriously, because I do. I have gotten some big gigs, like playing at Uebel & Gefährlich as the opener for Felix Jeahn. There are some gigs that make me think I’ll quit DJing forever. Then there are moments like last month when I played at the first CSD in Oberhausen, a small city near my hometown, and that gave me so much energy and gratitude. It was the city where I found my first queer space and discovered myself and my talents.
LK. Let’s talk about your artist name, Supermagnet.
Supermagnet: Destiny again! It came into my life on New Year’s Eve of 2023. I was a spiritual witch at a party, giving out cards to all the guests.
At one point, I held the cards in my hand and asked them to tell me how my journey as an artist would continue over the next year. The card told me I would be a “supermagnet” and should trust the world. Two minutes later, I changed my Instagram handle.
Sounds a bit superstitious, but that’s the story.
LK. You are co-founder of SPEKTAKEL, the alternative CSD of Hamburg. Tell me about that.
Supermagnet: We offer a space of possibility where different ways of living can unfold freely. “Alternative” to us means an alternative to a commercialized Pride. Hamburg’s official CSD shows an image of queerness that’s mostly white, middle-class, and able-bodied. It’s framed by corporate logos and party floats.
Queer people are more than a marketing target group. SPEKTAKEL wants to bring Pride back to its protest roots: no sponsors, no company booths, and no police.
It’s DIY culture, volunteer collective organizing, and a program that puts marginalized voices in the center.
LK. Why did you start this?
Supermagnet: In Spring 2020, due to the pandemic, cultural spaces were closed, and the CSD celebration itself was uncertain. Out of that came the idea for a political drag and Tunten performance. The Gängeviertel is a cultural space that was occupied in 2009 and has been a non-profit club and community space ever since. We proposed the idea of the event, and they said yes right away. On August 1st, 2020, the first SPEKTAKEL happened. Not a perfect event, but it worked! From there, a collective grew, working out of the mission to imagine what a solidarity-based and accessible queer space can be.
LK. Do you think queerness is intrinsically political?
Supermagnet: I became a political Tunte because I’m loud for others. I rub up against social norms. I’m political and always have been.
The culture queer people make gets used and exploited, and we rarely, if ever, get credit for it.
Right now, being queer means deviating from the norm. That’s why it’s political. I’m out on the street for queer rights. Our mere presence apparently unsettles some people so much that they get into a car and drive it through a crowd.
LK. That shocked me and made me feel so sad. In August, I went to Rave the Planet, and when I saw the Tiergarten, I instantly got goosebumps. Thinking about all the pain in the world, I still have hope when I see how the queer communities stand up for each other. How do you feel about the attack on the CSD in Berlin?
Supermagnet. It shocked me too. My sympathy goes out to everyone affected. In my community, I’m seeing a lot of fear, anger, grief, and despair. On the day of the attack, I was moderating the program of the “In der Schwebe Festival” in Hamburg. Our performance actually dealt with the history of Berlin’s CSD, a history that now feels eerily current.
In 1997, the CDU’s parliamentary group leader, Klaus-Rüdiger Landowsky, said in a Berlin Senate session: “It’s simply the case: where there’s garbage, there are rats, and where there’s squalor, there’s riffraff, ladies and gentlemen, and that has to be removed from the city.” Punks, queers, and Tunten answered by building a papier-mâché-rat, riding along in the CSD parade, and rolling around in mud. They became the rats they’d been described as.
We’re the rats the conservatives want gone.
Seeing these speeches from politicians who never protected us hurts. We need solidarity and real actions. What happened on July 25th wasn’t the first attack on queer life. Queer people face exclusion, hate, and violence every day. That’s why so many of us aren’t doing well right now. The situation for queer people in Hamburg, in Germany, and across the world is more crushing than ever.
If you ask me what I’m feeling, the answer is: Rage. Goddamn rage.
Follow Supermagent on Instagram and SoundCloud, and follow COMMAND QUEER, the collective that runs the SPEKTAKEL parties in Hamburg.
Lucy Krabigell is a DJ and journalist from Hamburg. Within the scene, she does political empowerment work and runs a monthly radio show focusing on the club and rave cultures of Hamburg. She is interested in narratives about clubs and nightlife in the context of community and identity. Follow her on Instagram.
Edits: Alexander Cheves
Images: Courtesy of the artist
