Back at the Keys

I sat in the audience and watched Ivan on stage. It was a special night — his seventieth birthday, and the room knew it. People hadn’t come just for a concert. Every one of them knew him personally.

At some point I realised something strange. I couldn’t remember what it felt like to play in front of people. I could only imagine it. And the image was strong enough to keep me from letting it go.

That feeling on stage — when the music runs through you and through the other musicians at once, and you can feel everyone in the room tuned to the same current. Players and listeners alike. It’s not a feeling you can explain easily. But once you’ve had it, you know exactly how irreplaceable it is.

Ivan and I go back to the nineties, when we were both singing in German opera houses. Our paths split — he went into journalism, I disappeared into IT. The music didn’t die. It just went quiet.

When he asked me to join the band in 2022, I knew at once: yes. Not because I needed professional validation, or a gig. Because I wanted to.

And that’s exactly it. When you play music because you want to — not because you have to — the whole thing shifts. The pressure lifts. Only the music is left. And suddenly it’s far more interesting.

Let me pause here for a moment. Years ago, as a young musician, I knew stage fright well. Professional music has its standards, its critics, its reviews — and its gossip. I always felt measured, compared. Today no one judges me, for the simple reason that I’m no longer a professional. The nerves stayed, of course; I feel them every time, right before the first note. But the moment the sound arrives, the notes and the rules vanish. What’s left is a conversation — between us in the band, between us and the room. And in that conversation there’s no room for judgement.

It means a great deal to me.

I sit at the stage piano, right in front of the audience. The piano sound is joined by two other loves from my younger years — the Fender Rhodes and the Hammond B3. I arrange every recording from this period myself, and with it comes a happiness only making something can give.

Four albums in, I understand why it works. The latest one pushes furthest in mixing styles: rock and roll, tango, salsa, sweeping piano ballads. Worlds that shouldn’t fit together. And yet the whole thing holds in harmony — each piece gets exactly what it needs.

On the album Porucha systému there’s a track called Žilina. Ivan and I shot a video for it from footage filmed on a phone, right there in the city. No production. Just frame after frame, cut so the picture breathes with the music.

Fifteen thousand views. The most-watched clip in the band’s history.

Sometimes all it takes is the right eye. And looking with your heart.

Not every song needs a full band.

Ranná Impresia is just Ivan’s voice, a guitar, and the piano. We filmed it in Tenerife — a beautiful setting, the sea and the palms rustling in the background. The edit is mine too. It never came close to Žilina’s numbers, but I love it for that unforgettable atmosphere.

Sometimes music is most honest when it gives up everything but the essential.

IC Band brought me back to the stage. But not to where I left off. To something new — to music I play because I enjoy it. Not because I have to.

That’s a different kind of freedom. And it sounds different.