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
This poem was distributed in December 2020 in the last edition of the year’s letter series, Raven Mail. GRAVITY ...
This poem was distributed in October 2020 as the fourth of the letter series, Raven Mail. ALL EYES OTHER ...
This poem was distributed in November 2020 in the fifth edition of the letter series, Raven Mail. THE CORNED-BEEF ...
This poem was distributed in June 2020 in the third edition of the letter series, Raven Mail. BLESSING Pain ...
This poem was distributed in July 2020 in the second edition of the letter series, Raven Mail. THE PROPHET ...
This poem was distributed in June 2020 in the first ever edition of the letter series, Raven Mail. GRIEVANCE ...
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?