Like a Clown live at one of the last Open Sofa Sessions – Filmed by The Night Gardener

Open Sofas has been the reason I could pay my way as a full time musician since 2017. It started as a late night Open Mic I hosted at famous old spot, in the 30’s, in the centre of Berlin, now well past its prime, Kaffee Burger. Madonna once released an album there. While I was there, setting up the first Kilkelly Kabaret, I watched with Jess Smith as a rat the size of a small dog twaddled in-front of the stage at soundtrack. So… things had changed, somewhat.

The show started somewhere after 9pm, and went on till everyone fell out the door, or the tourists arrived in their droves expecting some kind of pop disco. It got increasingly messy and belligerent as the the night wore on, with my “hosting” no more than nonsensical improv’d songs on a key board I couldn’t play, or screaming obscenities at people talking over quieter acts. But, somehow, in-spite of that, I had a steady crowd of regulars, and some of the most wonderful musicians, I still play alongside with now and again, when I’m lucky.

Rufus Coates &Jess Smith, Mone, James Michael Rodgers, Michael Brinkworth, RoryReilly, Jessie Monk to name a few. I met them all either there, or in the early days of Kindle Stuben, “the church of the folk scene in Berlin”, as Zeit called it. It was that evening’s host, and my soon to be flatmate, bandmate, and matemate, David Stewart Ingleton, who decided I should give hosting a go. “You can talk, and it’ll take the pressure off constantly booking shows.”

I don’t know what would have happened without it. In 2016 I had quit my job, with no prospects, or notion of getting another. All I knew is if I didn’t play music, I felt physically ill. I’d wake up each work morning. Puke. And go out the door. Only after my flatmate took me aside one evening, forced me to go for a pint, did he give me the ultimatum –“either you quit your job tomorrow and pursue music, or you’ll die”, did I actually try this whole music gambit.

And, 10 years later, I still am. I’m playing tonight at a folk session. Have a fare-well concert to Berlin in two weeks. Another Kathal Fest on the cards, and a one-off show with Rufus Coates & Jess Smith, and Brahwen brewing in Clare in August. I have no idea how any of this happened. Truly, I’m not sure where songs come from, or how they end up turning into rent. But, I’m over the moon, that me holding a stringed piece of wood, and sending sounds from my lungs into an electrified metal pipe, somehow ends up in emotional resonance for a choice few listeners. It stupefies, and reaches the point of awe for me, still, every time I play and it all hits right.

When Kaffee Burger closed, (due to a robbery that tanked the business – inside job suspected), we moved to Zum Krokodil and the night only grew, and the talent more honed and professional. Then, the mafia robbed the safe, with considerate violence, and the manager decided, that, too, was a good time to maybe hand over the reins to a new crowd. And so, I ended up at Hank Chinaski. I chose on account of the name, the pseudonym of one of my favourite writers, Charles Bukowski.

It’s been a wonderful few years, with an incredibly talented crop of musicians, loving owner, and charming team. We’ve ended this season abruptly due to a stern warning over noise complaints by the local office, but, truly we always go on summer break at this point, and they are eager to keep going in the new season, when the windows stay closed.

But, after 10 years, I think it’s a good round sum to start anew. I’m off to Clare, Ireland – and will use that as my base for gigging. It may fail miserably, but, then again – what can’t?

I’ll always think of Open Sofa Sessions as the thing that allowed me to be. Somehow, all the years and venues, all merges in mind into one thing. Once, while reading Charles Bukowski at 3am at Kaffee Burger, while working my side hustle at the weekend collecting coats in the Gardenrobe, a drunk pukes all over the room in-front of me. The manager came in, and started cursing that he had to clean it up. The drunk, evidently taking insult to this, punched him full force in the face, and raised his hand to deliver another to the back of his head, having spun him round.

Before I knew what was happening, I was on the giant bull’s back. He heaved like, well, a bull, and launched backwards into a shelf lined wall. My back cracked, and I fell to the floor below in agony, watching through squinting eyes as the bouncers finally arrived to pull the bull out.

A moment of quiet, listening to the din of terrible pop from the main room beyond, was interrupted by the wails of my manager, who I noticed was lying in equal agony to me, on his back, on the puke-stained floor.

“I don’t think we won”. I said.

“No. Definitely not.” he replied.

Since, I’ve changed my mind on that. Open Sofa Sessions, and the incredibly meager finances I’ve made a musician’s life out of because of it, this past decade, has been one of the greatest honours and makings of a life.

Long live Kaffee Burger.

Long live Open Sofas.

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25/June/2026

P.S. If ever there was a time to jump on the Patron. This is it.

Wish me luck! I’ll bloody well need it!

Love,

Conor