10 BerlinHow did they meet? Was it when the cops closed down that party in KreuzKölln? While waiting for the first train at Alexanderplatz? A mutual friend? A Craiglslist ad? At Berghain? Perhaps they were competing for the affections of a certain young lady who was flying to Barcelona the next morning? Or maybe all of the above…
So what actually happens when a French/German producer whizkid crosses paths with an American singer/songwriter in the murkiest depths of Berlin? What do you call it?
Ian Fisher + Fabian Kalker = JUNIOR
Whatever it was, they decided to meet the very next evening at Kalker`s studio and hammer out a few tunes. No big expectations. Off the cuff. Spur of the moment. I see a beat box and an old Wurlitzer electric piano with a few broken keys. An electric guitar. Late-night observations scribbled onto beermats. An old bullet-mic was lucky enough to catch the powder burns and there was just enough space on the hard disc.
Ian Fisher is from Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, on the banks of the Mississippi. Population: 4,411. If you`re looking for action, you`ve come to the wrong place. A young man from the American heartlands buys a oneway ticket from St. Louis to Europe via Chicago O`Hare. He`s already a budding songwriter and he`s yearning to escape the otherwise overwhelming pull of Americana: I heard that Berlin is pretty cool.
Fabian Kalker was schooled in music academy, then unschooled in the clubs of London and Berlin, where he honed his chops and paid his dues with a handful of bands and DJs. Theater music paid the rent and it was a nice opportunity to meet aspiring young actresses, but he was always more interested in the sound of the underground, in beats, in grooves. He set up a project studio with a handful of vintage gear. You don`t need much if it`s the right stuff.
Who played what? Who bought the drinks? What about the girl? None of that really matters. Fisher sings his lyrics alternating between the coy charm of a Harry Nilsson and the reptilian smirk of a Mark Bolan. But he`s cool enough to know that he isn`t THAT cool, which makes him SO much cooler. Kalker`s beats are crisp and to the point. The chord-changes are just clever enough to keep you on your toes. There`s enough ear-candy floating around to make these otherwise skeletal tracks feel finished. Like a t-shirt that`s torn in all the right places. Like a carnation in the ashtray. Like finding the right song when you turn on the radio.
...but it`s already tomorrow. I can`t quite remember what happened. The sun is shining. She left a note, but not a number. At least they wrote a song about it.
(Alexander Paulick)
So what actually happens when a French/German producer whizkid crosses paths with an American singer/songwriter in the murkiest depths of Berlin? What do you call it?
Ian Fisher + Fabian Kalker = JUNIOR
Whatever it was, they decided to meet the very next evening at Kalker`s studio and hammer out a few tunes. No big expectations. Off the cuff. Spur of the moment. I see a beat box and an old Wurlitzer electric piano with a few broken keys. An electric guitar. Late-night observations scribbled onto beermats. An old bullet-mic was lucky enough to catch the powder burns and there was just enough space on the hard disc.
Ian Fisher is from Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, on the banks of the Mississippi. Population: 4,411. If you`re looking for action, you`ve come to the wrong place. A young man from the American heartlands buys a oneway ticket from St. Louis to Europe via Chicago O`Hare. He`s already a budding songwriter and he`s yearning to escape the otherwise overwhelming pull of Americana: I heard that Berlin is pretty cool.
Fabian Kalker was schooled in music academy, then unschooled in the clubs of London and Berlin, where he honed his chops and paid his dues with a handful of bands and DJs. Theater music paid the rent and it was a nice opportunity to meet aspiring young actresses, but he was always more interested in the sound of the underground, in beats, in grooves. He set up a project studio with a handful of vintage gear. You don`t need much if it`s the right stuff.
Who played what? Who bought the drinks? What about the girl? None of that really matters. Fisher sings his lyrics alternating between the coy charm of a Harry Nilsson and the reptilian smirk of a Mark Bolan. But he`s cool enough to know that he isn`t THAT cool, which makes him SO much cooler. Kalker`s beats are crisp and to the point. The chord-changes are just clever enough to keep you on your toes. There`s enough ear-candy floating around to make these otherwise skeletal tracks feel finished. Like a t-shirt that`s torn in all the right places. Like a carnation in the ashtray. Like finding the right song when you turn on the radio.
...but it`s already tomorrow. I can`t quite remember what happened. The sun is shining. She left a note, but not a number. At least they wrote a song about it.
(Alexander Paulick)
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