There’s probably no better place to talk about falling and getting back up than a bowling alley. Christin Nichols chose the oldest of its kind in Berlin for the meeting, the “Bornholmer Hütte” in Prenzlauer Berg. Inside chandeliers and stucco. Outside, the musician and actress sips a “Schultheiss” in the mild summer breeze and flicks over a pack of cigarettes. “There is an English proverb: When something is on the table, it is for everyone”. The 35-year-old explains that you still have to set up fallen skittles yourself. That’s almost too much of a metaphor for the first few minutes of a conversation that will be about getting up and moving on.
It doesn’t matter whether you’re a musician or a music journalist – the name Christin Nichols is putting a blissful smile on the lips of Berlin pop fans these days. Because she’s an incredibly engaging personality. And because she released the highly acclaimed solo debut “I’m Fine” at the beginning of the year. 12 great songs between Indie, Synth-Pop and Post-Punk. It rightly ended up on the long list for the “Pop Culture Prize”. Christin Nichols and her band will open the Pop-Kultur festival in Berlin this Wednesday.
She was born in Bünde in East Westphalia in 1986, once the center of the European cigar industry. The mother comes from a German-Polish family, the father from England. A trilingual childhood. Despite her language skills, she finds it difficult to communicate. She was “very shy” as a child, says Nichols, who to this day not only suddenly switches from German to English in her texts.
Although the first songs are written in the children’s room, her biggest hobby is her funeral home for small animals. Whether ladybugs or hamsters: she creates filigree miniature tombstones out of matchboxes and foam rubber. How strange, says Nichols today, she was afraid of so many things – just not of death.
Ballet lessons at the age of four. Circus classes at six. Piano lessons at eight. Nevertheless, to this day she does not see the stage as a natural habitat. “For me it’s always confrontational therapy.” Where there’s fear, there’s a long way – since her first acting coach asked her to hit something with a pillow.
At the age of ten, his parents move to Mallorca. El Arenal. There, where German drinking tourists get drunk. First steps as an extra in the Proll adventure comedy “Ballermann 6”. With a tic-tac-toe shirt and adidas jogging pants. It’s hard to believe when the charismatic artist says today that she was “the saddest teenager in the world”.
It takes many Bach flower drops before Nichols finds himself at the Ernst Busch Academy of Dramatic Arts in Berlin. She has been with the Berliner Ensemble for five years. First roles in Tatort and in movies. But acting alone is no longer enough for her.
Together with bassist René Riewer she founded the eccentric electro-punk duo Prada Meinhoff. Slogan-like political texts, catchy beats. Somewhere between excess and rebellion. The first performance is followed directly by an invitation to a tour. Then a label comes knocking and suddenly they are on stage with DAF and Peaches. Everything went so fast. And was quickly told again. Different ideas. “We finished growing up,” says Nichols.
In the pandemic, she finally finds time for her own musical ideas. The world is terrified, but in private she has experienced “apocalyptic-magical moments”. The voices from outside fell silent. Finally allowed to listen to yourself again. Even if there are “all those stupid little feelings” that you have ignored for so long.
The last impulse is a message in her mailbox: “You won the lottery!” Are all your worries over? No, the prize amount is 7.04 euros. “Fuck you, Destiny!” Nichols thinks to himself. “Then at least I’ll make a song out of it.” When she was twelve, she recorded “I’m Fine.”
The political moments of Prada Meinhoff are still present, enriched by a strong personal component. “Mindfulness with a stretched middle finger” is aptly summed up by the Berlin city magazine “Tip”. In “Today I choose violence”, Nichols addresses the everyday sexism she experiences in her own bubble over a pounding bass. Sentences like, “Think about the signals you’re sending out when you dress like this” or “You need to work on your body, especially your legs.” If you communicate what doesn’t work, you’ve already gained a lot, says Nichols. “Self care isn’t just matcha tea and meditation, it’s setting boundaries.”
Mental self-care and social criticism are not mutually exclusive. Her recently released single “Citalopram” is a hymn to her ambivalent experiences with the antidepressant, at the same time an indictment of the inadequate health care of the mentally ill and the meritocracy.
End the damned speechlessness. Your own and those out there. When you play a concert, you’re not alone for a moment. In front of the stage, but also on it. The pack of cigarettes is long since empty that evening, but if Christin Nichols puts something on the table, it’s there for everyone.
