Friedrich Liechtenstein in the Kaleidoscope of His Art
AVIAIR: You describe yourself as a performer – this is a title you chose for yourself. How important is it for you to be seen that way?
FRIEDRICH LIECHTENSTEIN: I am an artist. In some circles, “artist” is a derogatory term. Sometimes, a waiter carrying five plates in one hand, gracefully moving through a ballroom, is already considered an artist by admirers. Artists are usually said to be poor and unfit for life. But upon closer inspection, being an artist is the pinnacle of living well. Artists are either the richest or the most beloved people – they are powerful. On Vienna’s Zentralfriedhof, we find the graves of many incredible and great people, but no grave sees as many visitors on All Saints' Day as Falco’s. Look at museums, concert halls, stadium events, clubs with their DJs, films in cinemas or on streaming platforms … artists are everywhere.
There are, as we know, different types of art – painters, sculptors, dancers, and so on. My art is performative art. In everything I do, including the way I live my life, I am a performer. Even as a musician, I play the role of a specific type of musician, a crooner. My concepts, my collages are records of my performative work, and also my work in the advertising industry is a series of performative acts. Even my interviews are part of it.
The title you mention – I didn’t choose it; it’s just the right term for what I do. And that’s only partly self-chosen; sometimes, external circumstances play a role. I’m very satisfied with this status. I think it’s only fair that people know this.
How would you describe your musical style, and how has it evolved since your beginnings with the violin?
It’s nice that we’re talking about music. The question is quite complex and also a bit funny, which I like. My beginnings with the violin sounded awful, and although I “fiddled away” my childhood – I was in music school three times a week and had to practice daily at home – I eventually found my sound. I call it “Camping Violin.” There’s a beautiful recording on ArteKonzert of "1000 Liter," the gas station song, where you can see and hear me playing the violin. Touching, I would say. People have categorized me under chanting, but there are plenty of songs with melodies. My music is truly diverse; I work with very different musicians. There are about 100 releases, and maybe I’ll mention the latest one: "Die Maschine" with Purple Disco Machine. "Belgique Belgique" from the album Bad Gastein is my most successful song. My songs are world-loving and ironic. My voice and timing hold the different productions together, even the covers of world hits like "I Saved the World Today," "Close to You," and "Ride."
Give us an insight: How do you want your music to touch people?
I think dancing and thinking are great. Crying and laughing. They should remember love. I want to accompany my people on long car rides. I can’t say much more than that.
How do you live the freedom in your art?
Oh, now it’s getting tricky. The concept of freedom is a battlefield for philosophers and windbags. I’m at my best when I do my own thing; that’s become known, and so I do my thing in the interest of my partners. That’s worked out very well. The more I do my own thing, the better it is for my clients. Lucky me.
STAGING IS EVERYTHING. FOR ME, IT’S MOSTLY ABOUT CASTLES IN THE AIR.
What role does irony play in your art?
Irony is fantastic. It’s not just two things at play; entire worlds resonate. The moods and realizations you provoke often can’t be described satisfactorily with words – only with ironic gestures, glances, words, the sound of the voice, obvious thoughts that you can sense … body language – everything can be imbued with irony. People say children don’t understand irony, but that’s not true. Sometimes they don’t know the context that’s being ironically subverted. But when a mother says goodnight with, “I’m a hungry rabbit, and I’m going to eat you up,” the child knows: It’s my loving mother, not a rabbit, and she’s not going to eat me; she just loves me to bits. Irony is also proof that my performance is working. Performance art is ephemeral. When people suddenly laugh, something has happened and had an effect.
Berlin is your home. What special connection do you have with the city?
I love Berlin. Berlin is family; you don’t get to choose it. On the album Good Gastein there are two Berlin songs: "Westberlin" and "AchBerlin." My children also live in Berlin. Berlin has been good to me, but a lot is going wrong. "Poor but Sexy" turned into "Dirty and Expensive." Education, housing, construction … it’s really bad, no joke, no irony.
And staying on the subject of places to live: We know you also enjoy living in Vienna. Is that a special place for you?
I love Vienna too, but it’s more like an old lover you still know. I wouldn’t leave Berlin for it. It’s easy to love Vienna. But I don’t immerse myself in society there. I go to coffee houses, parks, and museums. I go to the Danube, to well-maintained baths, and I look at the sky over Vienna. Vienna is beautiful in every season. Utterly beautiful.
You are a trained puppeteer. In retrospect, does that seem like a prelude to your later career in acting, music, and dance? Would you like to disappear behind the scenes again and just "pull the strings"?
I’m a graduate of the Ernst Busch Academy of Dramatic Arts. A very influential school. The training was excellent. I still benefit from it today. Puppeteers had a special status back then. Until the fall of the Berlin Wall, I was very proud of it, then it became a bit embarrassing. I started when my kids were still young, and there was no doubt about the greatness of puppetry. The kids grew up, and I grew with them. I really wanted, and still want, to please my children above all. The detached atmosphere, the bird’s-eye view in puppet theater, the artificial world you create, growing up in the ideal city of Stalinstadt – a sort of Truman Show – has shaped me to this day. I want to create worlds. I also have a certain folksy long-suffering. For all my extravagance, I want to please many and even simple people.
What does staging mean to you, both the staging of the persona Friedrich Liechtenstein and the staging of a performance?
Staging is everything. For me, it’s mostly about castles in the air. My son Franz is a writer, and with his short story "Friedrich Liechtenstein – a story in two words" he described my life as a pop star. This story is coming true, step by step. Whenever I stand, walk, or lie somewhere, I’m staging myself and the space. I’m funny.
There’s the concept of the "Lebemönch” (“Bon Vivant Monk”). What is it supposed to change, for you and for the world?
Now it’s getting intense. A new type of person should take the stage. That’s what I’m working on. All the insights about mindfulness and care, about intoxication, love, and sustainability, about specialized knowledge and lust, all the things that knock on the door everywhere, should be embraced by the Lebemönch with dignity and exuberance. The Lebemönch might be a bit childish, the word is a bit silly, but the lifestyle it stands for is grand – that’s the plan. Women and non-binary people can also be Lebemönchs. Maybe I’ll present the entire concept someday. There are flâneurs, ornamental hermits, playboys, and James Bonds – now the Lebemönchs take the stage and heal the world.
5 QUICK QUESTIONS
Champagne or Cocktails?
Champagne.
Suit or Bathrobe?
Suit.
Vintage Car or Subway?
Subway.
Vienna or Berlin?
Vienna.
Supermarket or Kiosk?
Kiosk.
