Itzik Kagan

Drag punk, surf tremolo. Desert craters.

The Wrong Bikes

By day Itzik Kagan fixes cargo bikes in Copenhagen — the Christiania trikes and Long Johns that haul Danish children to school. By obsession he builds the wrong ones: a toxic-pink recumbent that throws him roughly every four weeks, an orange Moulton on tiny wheels that he packs into cases and rides five hundred metres down into a 220-million-year-old crater in the Israeli desert. He has no website and permits exactly one photograph of himself, taken mid-repair, not looking at the camera. The Hebrew arrives in the songs untranslated — מכתש, עוד פעם — and the song doesn't wait for you to catch up.

"The bike throws you. You get back on. This is not metaphor. This is Tuesday."

"עוד פעם. Once more. Again."