WEEKEND MUSIC TIP PT 114 BRUNO KAWELKE

A LANGUAGE OF HIS OWN: BRUNO KAWELKE ON HIS DEBUT ALBUM “DIE KUGEL”

 

 

 

Outside a café in Cologne, we sit down with Bruno Kawelke to talk about his upcoming debut album, Die Kugel. Created together with Sam Moran, the project finds Bruno exploring the spaces between memory and the present, turning familiar moments into something that feels different when seen through his lyrics. We talk about what it means to revisit the past through music and find new meaning in the things we thought we already knew.

 

 

 

Lea Schaub: You use a different name for your music. Why did you choose Bruno, and what does the name represent for you?

Bruno Kawelke:

I’ve always liked the name and wanted to do something with it. I once considered using it for my journalistic work, but ended up going with Jan instead. Now I’m really glad I did, because Bruno represents more of what I do with this project and who I am as an artist. My parents gave me the opportunity to live out two different sides of my identity through these two names. I love the journalistic work I’ve done, but I’ve always felt that a part of my personality was missing. For a long time, I held myself back from making music because I thought journalists or presenters weren’t supposed to do that. I kept wondering what people would say. Then one morning, I asked myself how much longer I wanted to worry about what others might think. It was ridiculous. Just do it, and do it for yourself.
LS: When listening to your music, I noticed how precisely you choose your words and how you hardly use any anglicisms, for example. What is your writing process like?

BK: I start by collecting things. I have two documents on my phone. I wish I were the kind of person who only writes in leather-bound notebooks, but I always end up losing them or forgetting to use them. So, in the end, my phone became the slightly less romantic option. One document is called “Fragmente” and the other “Diebesgut” (“fragments” and “stolen goods”). Whenever I observe something in everyday life, listen to other people’s music or discover a feeling I want to explore, it ends up in one of those documents. In the studio with Sam, I go back to them. Sometimes it’s just a word or a sentence; sometimes it develops into rhymes, entire verses or a hook.

 

LS: When you’re out on the street, what tends to catch your eye? Are there things that immediately make you think you could turn them into something?

BK: I think the most important thing is to look closely. When I don’t know what to write about, I sit down for 15 minutes and observe how people move and speak, or what particular quirks they have. I also pay attention to how my friends and family express themselves. How things really look: A cloud, leaves, marble, waves, a rock, floors, paint, dogs, anything really. I think you can find patterns in all of that, like a map that gradually fills up over time.

 

 

BY SUSAN MCFADZEAN
“THAT’S WHAT ‘DIE KUGEL’ IS ABOUT: WHO AM I WITHOUT THE LANGUAGE THAT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME?”
LS: You just mentioned developing those fragments into lyrics in the studio. Who or what inspires you most when you’re doing that?

BK: Language has always been incredibly important to me and something that shapes my identity. That’s also what “Die Kugel” is about: who am I without the language that means so much to me? Language gives me an anchor, helping me make sense of difficult experiences and turn them into songs. In the studio, I’m inspired above all by working with Sam. I feel like he can read my mind. He starts playing a melody on the piano or guitar, and I might come across a sentence in one of my documents. If there’s a spark, it’s worth exploring further.

 

LS: You’ve been working together for quite some time, haven’t you?

BK: Yes, three or four years now, ever since the project began. Sam was the person who helped me bring this project into the world. It wouldn’t exist without him. I’d spent a long time looking for someone who could translate what I had in my head into music. Then our mutual friend Goldroger suggested we should work together. We talked, went into the studio and came out of our very first session with a song. We kept meeting up after that, always leaving with something we both liked.

 

LS: What song comes to mind when you think about your collaboration with Sam?

BK: “Atlanten” holds a special place in my heart. It was the first song we made in Hamburg, and we finished it on the first day, so we knew the trip had been worthwhile. While Sam got to work, I watched “Fire of Love”, a documentary about a married couple of volcanologists who share a passion for their work. I thought they were such a beautiful parallel of Sam and me: two people who share a passion, who found each other against all odds and found a sense of purpose through it.

LS: Your album is called “Die Kugel”. How did you come up with the title?

BK: I already had the idea of calling the album “Die Kugel” when I was working on “Jede Welle fotografieren”. I knew back then that the album that followed it would be called “Die Kugel”. The inspiration came from a book by Wolfgang Herrndorf, who wrote “Tschick”. His subsequent work, “Bilder deiner großen Liebe”, is about the girl who also appears in “Tschick”. At the end of the book, the girl is standing in a field with a gun in her hand. She fires a bullet into the air, and the final sentence of the book says, paraphrasing here, that the bullet rises, hangs there, turns and falls straight back into the barrel.

When I read that, I knew I wanted to do something with that image because I find it incredibly powerful. I don’t even know what he meant by it. Unfortunately, I can’t ask him anymore because he died far too young. But for me, it was the perfect image for the idea that we spend our lives trying to distance ourselves from the things that have shaped us, from our fate, from whatever some people might call God, from our families, friends and siblings. We run as fast and as far away from home as we can, only to end up back where we started.

 

 

LS: And where do you feel you are in that process right now?

BK: I think I’m suspended in the air right now. Maybe there’s still some running away left to do, but I’ve already come a very long way, and I can imagine that the momentum and energy will run out soon and I’ll start falling back down.

BY SUSAN MCFADZEAN
“WE SPEND OUR LIVES TRYING TO DISTANCE OURSELVES FROM THE THINGS THAT HAVE SHAPED US, WE RUN AS FAR AWAY FROM HOME AS WE CAN, ONLY TO END UP BACK WHERE WE STARTED.”
LS: What should listeners pay particular attention to, the lyrics, the voice or the instrumentation? And what makes a song emotionally resonant?

BK: I find it difficult to prescribe one particular way of listening, because both work for me. The lyrics are essential, of course, but I sometimes feel that the music itself acts like a Trojan horse. It draws you in emotionally, and then you start listening more closely, discovering new meanings and references. There isn’t a single sentence or word in my music that’s there by accident. Everything is where it’s supposed to be, and everything has a meaning. Some meanings you can piece together yourself, while others invite you to ask questions.

 

LS: Have the meanings of individual songs changed for you over time? Have you continued developing the songs after writing them?

BK: I think the songs have changed again and again, and I’m very grateful that this project has taught me to trust my gut. We’ve had songs that were essentially finished and ready to be released, but if something didn’t feel right, I scrapped them and said we needed to reopen the whole thing.

The latest single, “Wie du läufst, wenn du dich von mir entfernst”, sounded completely different at first. We’d already played it live in a very different version, but at some point I realized that I wouldn’t be happy if we released it as it was. The same goes for “Orcas”, where the entire ending wasn’t there initially. I’m grateful to have the freedom to make all these decisions myself. I want us to make the coolest things we possibly can without worrying about anyone else’s expectations.

 

LS: Do you check the streaming platforms regularly, then?

BK: I think it’s fine to look at the numbers out of curiosity. What matters is whether you let them influence you. “Machen Götter aus Männern” was a song I thought would have performed differently in terms of numbers. But when we were making the vinyl and listening to the test pressing, I thought: This is one of the most incredible songs we’ve made. Regardless of the numbers, the song still means a great deal to many people. And above all, it means everything to me.

 

 

LS: Is there a line or a verse on the album that made you think, while writing, “Wow, that turned out really well”?

BK: Hmm, wow. It’s difficult to answer that without sounding arrogant. Of course, there are lines I’m particularly proud of. One reason I started making music again was the possibility of returning to past feelings. I’ve struggled a lot with impermanence and the feeling of time passing, with the fact that I can never go back to hanging out at some petrol station with the same ten guys I knew when I was 17. I wanted to make songs that would allow me not just to remember those moments, but to experience the same feelings I had back then. Which line do I particularly like? Let me try to do a quick run-through of all my lyrics.

 

LS: I was already thinking that might be a bit tricky without having them in front of you.

BK: One example is: “Wurde für die Wörter geboren, dann erst für Sonne und den Regen/Glaubst du das wir enden, haben wir nichts mehr zu erzählen? Aus Briefen blüht die Liebe Erz glüht in meiner Brust/Herz wühlt sich durch den Schmutz formt Flüsse aus den Tränen”For me, that captures the essence of the album: “who am I, really, if I no longer have words?”.

 

LS: You mentioned wanting to experience certain feelings from the past again. Are you trying to return to specific memories, or is it more about the feeling itself?

BK: I do try to return to specific memories, imagining exactly what happened and which words describe those scenes. In “Mohn”, for example, I talk about my grandmother’s death: “Wir decken dich zu – Gänsefedern und Gartenerde – und alle erzählen mir es sähe aus, als wenn du schlafen würdest.” That’s the exact scene, the funeral. The same goes for the scenes of bullying and violence within male cliques in “Machen Götter aus Männern”. Those are real images I return to and write about.

 

 

BY SUSAN MCFADZEAN
LS: When you revisit the past in your music, do you tend to write from your current, more reflective perspective, or do you try to put yourself back in the shoes of the person you were at the time?

BK: I always try to write from the immediate perspective of the person I was back then. People often say my music feels cinematic, and that’s what I try to achieve: immersing the listener in a scene, as if experiencing it through the protagonist’s eyes. “Vase”, for example, is about the final days, hours or minutes before death, told from the perspective of the person experiencing it.

 

LS: And when those memories are painful, what is it like to perform those songs live?

BK: I notice it particularly with “Machen Götter aus Männern”. It takes me back to that time, and I think the song needs those emotions, especially towards the end, when I almost start screaming. It’s physically and emotionally exhausting, and I need a long break afterwards to come back to myself. But that’s what art is about. I couldn’t imagine it any other way.

 

LS: The suffering of the artist.

BK: Hahaha, yes.

“IT FEELS AS THOUGH LANGUAGE AND I ARE WORKING IT OUT TOGETHER, CREATING SOMETHING TOGETHER.”
LS: When you write about these memories, how do you find your way back into them?

BK: I always have some anchor, a word or a sentence that works like a key to a portal, bringing me back to that memory. Then I close my eyes and write everything down. It also comes down to my relationship with language: which expressions work well together, and why do certain words that describe my story so well happen to rhyme? There’s something almost magical about it. It feels as though language and I are working it out together, creating something together.

 

LS: Do you think your background in journalism has influenced the way you approach your music?

BK: I’ve often wondered whether I should have started releasing music earlier. But I always come back to the fact that my experiences have made me the artist I am today. A large part of my work has involved engaging with other people’s art, analyzing it and writing about why it works. Journalism is ideally more objective, of course, but the tools are similar, and my journalistic work has helped sharpen them.

 

LS: Do you still see boundaries between different genres, such as pop, rap and indie, or is it more of a combination of all of them?

BK: I find it difficult to categorize myself because that would be another limitation, taking away the freedom I’ve worked hard to achieve. I don’t want to waste time wondering whether something fits into one genre or another. Ultimately, it just has to be really, really good. That’s the only category. What we make should have a strong aesthetic, good taste and be incredible art. That’s all that matters to me.

 

 

 

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