And the livin' ain't easy on Munich's jazz scene
Thomas Vogler is no stranger to the blues. Ever since he opened Jazzbar Vogler in Rumfordstrasse seven years ago, he seems to have been fighting to save it. He’s had court battles over royalties, tussles with the state when they expelled his Albanian chef from the country and tiffs with the neighbors. His worst enemy, though, is the weather, and after last year’s record summer seriously dented takings, he handed his notice in to the brewery that owns the building. But somehow, Vogler bounced back. Which, considering his career record, is somewhat surprising. After all, persistence is not a word you’d usually associate with someone who hot-footed it through the media and PR scene before opening a bar at 30. “I just didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life,” he says. “So when a friend suggested the idea, I thought I’d give it a go.” The cards were stacked against him from the beginning. With breweries reluctant to take on someone with no experience, he had little choice but to take the one thing offered to him—a previously unsuccessful Spaten bar, which had changed hands six times in ten years. “As far as they were concerned, I was just another hopeless link in the chain,” he says. “One supplier even refused to deliver to me, because he thought there was a curse on the place.” Vogler was given just three weeks to get things up and running. “I’d never pulled a beer or made a cocktail before,” he says. “I knew no musicians, didn’t have a clue where to get a coffee machine or what glasses and drinks to order, and I didn’t know where to start when it came to calculating costs.” Incredibly, things came together. “The opening night was full—we had Johannes Beckmann playing and you could hear it all the way to Marienplatz,” says Vogler. “That was in July. In August, the sun shone and my turnover plummeted. Good weather really has been my worst enemy over the years. Back then, though, it seemed as if everyone who said I’d last six months was going to be right.” The learning curve was tough. With limited cash, Vogler ended up doing most of the work himself, from cleaning to cooking and mixing drinks. “I was serving gin fizzes made with whisky, because I’d made a mistake when copying the recipe down,” he says. “I found it slightly odd, but because no one said anything, I thought it must be right.” He managed to scrape through the first six months, which soon became 12, which soon became 18. And although the punters were not so plentiful, the bands were, with world-class acts approaching Vogler to ask if they could play. “Although there are hundreds of bars in Munich, there are very few where decent bands would want to play,” he says. “The scene is extremely small, because jazz still has a pretty negative image.” Despite the high-caliber artists, Vogler won’t advertise, as he does not want to attract solely jazz nerds. Nor does he want people who have no appreciation for good music. “I’ve had people who at the end of the night have refused to pay the entry fee, because they claimed they didn’t listen to the band,” he says. Vogler does not want to attract the in crowd, and he doesn’t want people who can’t appreciate the finer things in life—“I once had a stag night, where ten men sat and drank tap water all night.” And, surprising as it may seem, nor does he want financial assistance from the state, claiming, fatalistic as he is, that the venture will either work or it won’t. Which all begs the question—what does he want? “My aim is to be a great host,” says the 37-year-old. “I’m not a music critic, a wine connoisseur or a chef. I just want people to come here, have a good time and enjoy good wine, music and food.” Ah, the food. When his chef lost his fight to stay in Germany, Vogler decided he would spare himself the overheads of paying someone to run the kitchen. Instead, he now offers a full Italian menu—and simply phones orders to the local takeaway. Basta. Vogler makes no profit on food and the quality of dishes can’t be faulted. So assuming you don’t mind your Crema Catalana in the shape of a takeaway box, who’s to complain? Indeed, no one could ever accuse Vogler of shying away from problems. He has his own practical way of dealing with them. “I like to think I’ve tried everything I can,” he says. “If something still doesn’t work, then I can accept it, but not until I’ve exhausted all the possibilities.” Add to that doggedness a good dose of humor—Vogler once invited members of the Munich press to an evening featuring Paolo Conte, Ute Lemper and Dee Dee Bridgewater with food by Eckart Witzigmann and Paul Bocuse, before revealing it to be an April Fool’s Day joke—and you have a unique recipe for success, indeed a success that has undoubtedly enriched Munich’s cultural scene. And, like his loyal punters, Vogler seems to be enjoying himself. “I’ve never worked so hard to earn so little,” he says. “But I’ve also never had as much fun in my life.” As for the future, Vogler refuses to be drawn. “Who knows what tomorrow will bring?” he says. “If it works, great, if not, then I’ll move on.” Whether his followers will let him or not is another matter. Jazzbar Vogler, Rumfordstrasse 17