I’ve been getting away with this since 2017. Madness! I remember literally the first six months after I took the plunge, and quit my office job to pursue songwriting – I woke up laughing. Which was in stark contrast to the six months prior to leaving my job where I woke up nauseous, even vomiting some mornings. Gotta listen to the gut, or it’ll come for you either way!
I started laughing, because I couldn’t believe was I actually doing it, well, attempting to anyway. In Germany, once you leave your job you get 6 months of docked pay to tide you over until you find a new job. I decided I’d give myself a year – 6 months, docked pay, 6 months on the dole – and If I couldn’t make music work within that timeframe, then I’d quit.
Open Sofa Sessions is what carried me through. Hosting an open mic was never part of the plan. I just suggested to Kaffee Burger, who struggled on Mondays and Tuesdays, that they should try an open mic to get punters in.
“Good idea, would you host it?” said Manuel, one of two identical twins who ran the place.
That one drink with Lucas Laufen – where we couldn’t find anywhere to go in Mitte to discuss him recording my first EP – that’s what changed it for me.
“Let’s go to this place I played a few weeks back – Kaffee Burger” I said.
I spent the next next three years there, till it closed down. I remember taking the night-shift, cloak room job for extra cash, listening to the cheesiest playlist of 90’s hits, booming from the next room, and being shouted at by college kids about their misplaced possessions. (I was a terrible cloakroom attendant)
The rudest I ever had was a group of law students. Most entitled kids I’ve ever seen – barking orders about their bags, and shouting how slow I was. Finally, I had enough, and, thankfully, the perfect line came to mind.
“You know, I studied law too – welcome to your future” I said with the widest smile I could manage. I watched their faces drop. It was beautiful!
It’s true, too, I did get my bachelor in law. But, I studied philosophy, too. That’s what ruined me for the workforce. And arguably for any semblance of a regular life in general.
Once you start going down the philosophical rabbit hole of the perpetual “why am I really doing this?” – you end up with too many uncomfortable, but irrefutable self-truths, you either face, or, well, you ignore until you end up vomiting on your toothbrush.
Deep down I only ever wanted to do music. I tried to convince myself I’d make a better academic. Then I tried to convince myself I could live with life any job – secretly writing children’s books in my email threads. But, always nagging at me – since I can remember, have been songs. And songs don’t like to be kept quiet. They’ll brew only so long, till they simmer out of you, embarrassing yourself at a party. Yes, I’m ashamed to say – I was occasionally that guy. It was like an uncontrollable urge to get something out of you before it chokes you.
Songs are strange creatures. More mysterious than anything internal, not so much thoughts, but – well, I don’t know what they are.
I’ve been so obsessed with where songs come from, ever since I wrote the first one I actually liked.
It was a song called “Like A Clown”. I had broken up with my first love – brutal. Until then, I had no idea you could be so sad you actually couldn’t get up in the morning. I had no idea what was happening. Days in bed. But, being in college, still socialising is inevitable – as you live with friends, and the ones you don’t live with just arrive anyway, due to an open-door policy.
Under that mess of emotion I had no means to understand, let alone fend off – a song fell out, fully formed, melody and words in the time it took to play and sing it.
Once that happens, you’re hooked. There’s no bigger fish, just different variations. I didn’t know what to do with this fish.
I made it on guitar. This fish wanted to be played on a piano. I didn’t have a piano, and even worse – I couldn’t play piano. Still, the fish insisted. So, I learned piano – well, not really, I learned that one song on piano. Then the fish wanted a band, so I asked my friends from my hometown if they’d form a band with me. We did. We were fine, but not good.
Good was beside the point. The point was getting what’s lurking within, festering, turning into nausea, out of your system.
The fact that any of you come to see me sing songs is mystifying to me. The only other joy that comes close to it, is the fact so many beautiful souls join me on stage. I honestly think I play with the best musicians Berlin has today. They’re incredible to witness up close. Tobias Tinker, who plays trumpet, keys and accordion with me, closes his eyes when he plays. It’s like he’s gone off into another realm. I started closing my eyes when I sing. I never used to. Bob Dylan doesn’t recommend it. Doesn’t keep the crowd’s attention good enough, he says. Bob knows a lot. But, I wanna know that Tinker realm on occasion, too.
I think it’s where the fish live.
If anyone’s asks, I’m gone fishin’.
All the love,
Conor
P.S. Even after I got a better band, still, That fish wasn’t happy. I had to wrestle with that fish for literally eleven years. I had to learn harmonium for that fish. That fish finally emerged, contently recorded, and will surface as the opener of the new album. I’ll let you know when that day’s coming. Nearly, there now. Thanks to you, for supporting its coming about!
Pictures: Open Sofas Sessions at Kaffee Burger, left and middle. Open Sofa Sessions at Zum Krokodil, Right.
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Conor Kilkelly
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