Stefan Gwildis - Das war doch grad´ erst eben - 50 Jahre auf der Bühne
Sack carrier, tanning bed installer and soul sensation, harbor worker and poetry reciter, factory occupier, occasional Santa Claus and Germany's answer to George Clooney - what has Stefan Gwildis not been? This charming entertainer, this walking total work of art made up of cozy tranquility, original Hamburg slush, and a hefty dose of amused unpredictability. And what does "been" even mean: he is all of that still, somehow at least, and from time to time. Just as he likes it.
"I've always been eager to do different things," says Stefan Gwildis and laughs. Different things that led to even more ideas and ultimately to an infinite number of narratable stories. Almost too much for just one life - and certainly enough for a bursting evening: "Das war doch grad ’erst eben - 50 Jahre auf der Bühne" is far more than a concert; it is a wonderful mixture of hits and treasures yet to be unearthed, of images and anecdotes, of songs and scenes, a multimedia but very analog revue of Gwildis's works.
In his resounding retrospective, Stefan Gwildis wanders freely between the various stations of his career, the many life-defining "firsts" that life brings along: the first great love with Anna, a story like in "Me and Mrs. Jones". The first self-built instrument, a bass made from a broomstick, a tea box branded "Tagtraum", horns, whistles, various percussion instruments - and with an umbrella as a reminiscence to the Hamburg weather. It’s about the first tire he changed himself in his father's business, his first own guitar. And, of course, the first time on stage - which, strictly speaking, wasn't even a stage.
"My first stage was the street," Stefan Gwildis recounts with his warm, weathered baritone that makes the glasses in the cabinets tremble. "My buddy Michi Reincke said: Stefan, if you want to know if anyone cares about what you do, then stand on the street and give it a try! So there I was, in the pedestrian zone in front of Karstadt-Wandsbek, at the tender age of 15 with all the songs of my heroes that I had learned. That was hour zero. And: No one cared! Nobody stopped - and I think that’s exactly what intrigued me. What the hell do you have to do to get people to stop?"
What follows is a career that one cannot imagine: Stefan Gwildis does street music with companions like Christian von Richthofen and Joja Wendt, plays improvised flash theater with his friend Rolf Claussen, he paints, studies a few semesters of theology, receives training in fencing and stunt work at the venerable Thalia Theatre, suffers charming shipwrecks with his band, the "Strombolis", brings anarchic musicals or the Rhythm’n’Crash show "Auto Auto!" to the stage. Hardly an artistic idea is too crazy for him - and no hands-on job is too beneath him: Concurrent with his creative endeavors, Stefan Gwildis works at whatever is necessary and what comes up, and the list of his odd jobs is already legendary.
"Being free in the things I do is like fresh air to breathe for me. Not just in music or art, but in everything else too." This includes the freedom to have a private life. The freedom to simply pay back the entire advance to the record label to get out of an unwanted contract - in cash and in small bills, collected in a plastic bag, directly on the desk. The freedom to feel the pulse of the soul in peace - and to turn his back on the artistic world when it becomes too much: When Stefan Gwildis has had enough of the creative bubble, he casually opens the tire discount Gwildis, just like his father once did. Together with his brother, he lifts and changes, screws, tinkers, and concurrently imports nostalgic street cruisers from the USA.
But the artistic abstinence doesn’t last long; the music calls too loudly. When Stefan Gwildis retextes Bill Withers' classic "Ain't No Sunshine" with "Allem Anschein nach bist Du’s", everything suddenly fits together. "My mother’s Hilde Knef records on one side and the countless black soul records that regularly came as giveaways from American tire manufacturers on the other - that’s my musical socialization. Soul classics in German - that felt totally logical and organic to me." And as soon as the idea is born, the previously settled record boss shows up again: Heinz Canibol, by then a highly regarded silverback of the industry and, despite everything (or: precisely because of that), a fan of Gwildis, takes on the project. Until then, Stefan Gwildis had only been "world-famous" in his Hamburg home, but now his reputation spreads rapidly, from the water's edge all the way to Vienna. He roars, whispers, croons, flatters, scats, improvises through the great songs of Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding or the Temptations, with unbridled joy, without leaving out the valleys of life in the lyrics. The audience grows rapidly, the tours with his fantastic live band turn into true soul happenings. And suddenly, Stefan Gwildis' visage graces the people columns of glossy magazines while the esteemed feuilleton runs wild with rave reviews. “That was, of course, all a huge fun,” laughs Stefan Gwildis and shakes his head a bit incredulously. “And somehow also crazy: I never wanted to play Champions League, otherwise the industry dictates quickly what you should do and who you should be.”
So Gwildis remains Gwildis. And continues to do Gwildis things: he writes more of his own songs, performs in various formations, from duo to the NDR BigBand to the Kiel Philharmonic. He recites "The Rider on the White Horse" by Theodor Storm, sings and reads Wolfgang Borchert. And he lets, together with his old comrades Rolf Claussen and Joja Wendt alias "Die Söhne Hamburgs", the wild times of street art celebrate joyfully. Stefan Gwildis brings to the stage what belongs on the stage for him. Different things, indeed, that he is eager for. Just as he has been doing for an incredible 50 years. And just as it will be experienced on his anniversary tour.
At the events in the CD-Kaserne, a diverse selection of drinks, as well as snacks (pretzels, peanuts, etc.), will be available.
Doors open at 7 PM, evening box office price: €39 (if tickets are still available)
Photo credit: Christian Barz
The CD-Kaserne gGmbH is supported by Sparkasse Celle-Gifhorn-Wolfsburg.
Doors open at 7 PM
Hallo, ich bin Maya.
