"A state of flow" - #3

The rough wooden floorboards thumped beneath my shoes, a group of five or six men at the table to my left clapped slightly out of time, and the smell of Guinness spilled years ago filled the air. 

My fellow musicians and I played the tune ‘Whiskey Before Breakfast’ – a little show piece in which the tempo increases with each repetition until it reaches an absurd speed at which no sane person would rush through such a lovely melody. I played the mandolin, the only melody instrument in the group – and was barely aware of what was happening around me. 

My eyes were closed, the pick glided across the strings as if by remote control. It was almost as if I was watching myself play from the outside, an uplifting feeling of ‘No matter what I try now, it will work.’ 

This kind of flow state is one of the greatest feelings you can have as a musician. But unfortunately, you can't force it. It's been five years since that performance, and I've experienced this flow maybe two or three times since I first picked up an instrument almost 30 years ago. You can lay the right groundwork, but in the end, it's a spark of magic that has to trigger this state.

'Cause here's the thing: Making music look effortless, or even better, sound effortless, is hard work. Especially on stage. What do I need to pay attention to for the next song? How do I move so my cables don't get tangled up with the others? How do I let the sound engineer know I need more of my mic on my headphones so I can sing on pitch? 

It's different for me with the Wüstenberg song ‘Hold On To’. I only come in with the electric guitar for the chorus, accompanying the vocals and melody instruments with warm, sustained chords – but, to use a sporting metaphor, nothing match-winning. I tried muting the electric guitar in the mix, and the song works almost as well. It's probably comparable to a good meal: you have the finished plate in front of you, the food smells fantastic, tastes great – but if it weren't there, very few people would say, ‘This is missing turmeric.’ 

The good thing is that this subtle role gives me the opportunity to completely absorb what is happening around me on stage, even without being in a state of flow. The spotlight on Franz, the beautiful intro on the acoustic guitar, the couples in the front rows who snuggle closer together after just the first few lines. Bea, who puts her whole body into her heart-wrenching violin melody. Simon, who enters so sensitively with his sparse mandolin tones, as only someone with decades of experience and a great deal of musical sensitivity can. Cat, who, like me, has only a few piano parts in ‘Hold On To’, but watches what is happening with complete inspiration and always enters the melody interlude with beautiful arpeggios. Alex, who really gives his all in the harmony vocals and infinitely tasteful bass lines, and last but not least Phil, who not only delivers the most solid but also the gentlest drum groove – and at the same time sings along as if he had written every word himself. 

And at every concert, I can hear the voice of Heike Probst floating through the air, singing along as Franz's duet partner on the studio recording – and I hope that everyone reading these lines will have the chance to hear the two of them singing the chorus of ‘Hold On To’ together in the same room. It's hard to describe how much the air vibrates when Heike and Franz sing the long drawn-out ‘Hold on to’ in the last chorus together. 

‘Hold On To’ has become one of my absolute favourite moments in the set. Playing with these great musicians in front of such an appreciative audience – it's almost as good as a state of flow. And not a bit less magical. 

Torben