The Interview

After a performance, a music journalist suddenly appears. I had already heard from the drummer of a popular band that there are some incredibly dishonest people out there. ‘They simply write something different from what you told them.’ Somehow, his story gave me the impression that these guys despise honest answers. Maybe they just want the big story, the brilliant lie. I remembered an interview with the Who guitarist: ‘You must never tell journalists the truth.’

If I ever found myself in the awkward situation of being interviewed, I knew what to do.

So now this person is sitting next to me and asking me something completely banal.

I wouldn't have expected this question from an adult.
I look at him briefly: ‘Have you ever read a book?’
He replies, completely unimpressed: ‘Several.’
Our guitarist brutally steps on my feet, sensing what is coming. Unfortunately, Westphalians tend to speak their minds, which is a lifelong disadvantage for them.
This always reminds me of a supposedly Mongolian proverb:

‘Those who love the truth should always have a saddled horse.’

The beer is having an effect and I now want to know from him ‘whether he has ever heard the name Kafka’. ‘I live on Kafka Street,’ he says. That was not to be expected. I just say, ‘How nice for you.’ That was the end of the interview.

He then wrote a great review. It had little to do with our music, but his love of music was obvious. I have sometimes wondered what it's like to be a journalist sitting across from a successful musician who has nothing in his head except ‘eating, fucking, drinking, watching TV’ and stays in the best hotels.
A strange and dangerous job.