Who is Rookling?
In the autumn of ’18, Rookling swapped the spires and hills of England for the Berlin underground.
He stepped off the plane with a guitar, a suitcase, and a dream: to share his music with the world.
The city sent him reeling. He escaped into his songbook and the solace of storytelling, evoking love, death, and landscapes strange and dear. All the while, the hearth-fire warmth of Fleet Foxes and Nick Drake were helping mould his harmonies.
Each Rookling song blends the solemnity of an altar with the urgency of a church bell. The influence of the greats is unmistakeable: he channels the uncommon poetry of Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen, adding a more archaic thrill of his own. At a tender twenty-three, Rookling is a folk-prophet in the making.
A playlist of Rookling’s best
Blog from the Crow’s Nest
No wild post-show outings, nothing racier than a cool Pils or two, and never before singing . No tour bus bouncing to country-rock screamers - only the decorum of the Inter-City Express and flat skies, flat lands, a novel and a notebook.
Seven o'clock start, six hours on the Bummelzug or "Slouch-train", and five episodes of a pleasant railway comedy drama that is German through-and-through.
Silence is like solitude. The absence of noise and the absence of company are not an accident. They must be allowed to settle.
A thousand-mile journey begins with a single step, so you might as bloody well get that first step right. Fingers crossed the weather's fair, too. But even if you do and it is, there's no guarantee of safety or success.
On the outbound train, I missed the sunrise for writing my diary. This time I'm determined to catch it.
It was the kind of dilemma that I never like to face at 4:30am on a Sunday morning: suit or no suit? It now seems trivial but to my bleary morning mind I felt like my founding principles were on the line. What it boiled down to was: which version of me will they get in Basel?
Most of you, most of the time, are not where I am. I can ping you the occasional recording or ...
It is unforgettable and profound, how a beloved friend or kinsman reshapes one's name between their fingers, with their unique contrivance of scratches, loops, and blots. When I read my name from the pen of another, I feel I am looking into an oracular mirror.
In the late 00s, Jack Conte and Nataly Dawn were a music and YouTuber duo with handsome online audience and ...
I imagine I’m not alone in feeling short on inspiration. My response is to ask for help from the very ...
LISTEN ON YOUTUBE LISTEN ON SPOTIFY DOWNLOAD & DONATE ON BANDCAMP Today, I’m sharing with you my second single, ‘The ...