KRISTIAN WOLSKI
Between theNotes
Aquiet perspective on the life of amusician
Copyright ©2026 by Kristian Wolski
All rights reserved. No partofthis publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to awebsite, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
Automatiserad teknik vilken används föratt analysera text och data idigital form isyfte att generera information, enligt 15a, 15b och 15c §§ upphovsrättslagen(text- och datautvinning), är förbjuden.
©2026 Kristian Wolski
Illustration:Kristian Wolski
Förlag: BoD ·Books on Demand, Östermalmstorg1,114 42 Stockholm, Sverige, bod@bod.se
Tryck: Libri Plureos GmbH, Friedensallee273, 22763 Hamburg, Tyskland
ISBN:978-91-8134-149-2
First edition
This book wasprofessionally typeset on Reedsy. Find outmore at reedsy.com
TheFirst “Note”
If you hold an instrument in yourhands long enough, it eventually begins to ask questionsback. Some of them are about technique. Most of them are about you.
My parents came to Denmark from Polandin1986 with suitcases, hope, and afuture they didnot yet know the shapeof. Icameintothe world afew years later, andsomehow my storywithsound began before Ieven knew it myself.
Icannot remember atime without music. The pianowas there.The guitar wasthere. Itouched the keys, the strings, the sound. Something in me responded immediately.Not likea decisionmore like arecognition. Iwas fascinated by sound. Not just melodies, but vibrations. Space.Resonance.The way atone can fill aroom or abody. The music school in Randers became my second home. Later came 1
drums in abig jazz band during myteenageyears. I learned howtocount, how to listen,how to sit inside agroove with others. Ialso learned somethingelse: that music is not only individualskill, but collective movement.
Later Istudiedmusicology. Iplayeddouble bass, piano, and drums. Ianalyzed, wrote, listened, and tried to understand what actually happens when soundturns into meaning.
Folk music did not arrive with abang. It crept in quietly. ACDatRanders Library. Ulrika Boden.
Her voice and the musicians aroundher touched me in away that Idid not yet havewords for.Itwas earthy and uplifting at the sametime. Thesound of something older than myself. Something alive. Something thatdid not try to impress, but simply existed.
Iwas struck by it. Suddenly Iknewthat Iwanted to be part of that environment. Iwentto RODa folk music gathering where musicians, dancers,and teachers come together aroundthe sharedwork of tradition, expression, and immersion. Aplace where themusic is not only played, but lived collectively. Where you can feel that tradition is notamuseum, but movement.
Idreamed that one day Imight standthere as an instructor.Atthe time, it seemed almostunrealistic. Butiteventually became reality.
Istudied at the Malmö Academy of Musicwith the cittern as my main instrument. Later Icompleted a teaching degree at Karlstad University. During the COVIDyears, Itrained as acabinetmaker. Ihave studied more subjects than Ican fully explain the logic of myself.
Why? Idonot know entirely.Maybe becauseI have always been driven by curiosity. Maybe becauseI have searched for something that could both ground me and challengeme. Maybe becauselifesometimes moves faster than the plans wemake for it.
Ihave played on stages aroundthe world. Taught. Practiced.Toured. Pushed myselfforward. Stopped. Felt proud. Felt uncertain. Been too much. Been too quiet.
Ihave experienced periods of flow and periods of collapse.
Periodswhere music carried me and periods where Ihad to carry it.
This book is written because Ihave reached aplace where Ican speak about all of it without needing to prove anything. Ihave lived longenoughinthe world of music to begin seeingpatterns. In myself and in others. In communities. In teaching.In relationships. In thebody.
Iamnot writingbecause Ihave found theanswers. Iamwriting becauseIhavefound the questions.
And becauseIbelieve that manymusicians regard-
less of genre will recognize somethingofthemselves in these pages.
Although my path clearly runs throughfolkmusic, this book is not only about folkmusic. It is about beinga human being with an instrument. About ambition.Aboutnervousness.Aboutrelationships. Aboutcrises. About career. About sleep.About ego. Aboutjoy.
About sustainability. Iwill notmanagetotouch on everything. No book can. But if you findsomething here that awakens something in you, Ihope that one day we mighttalk about it.I love conversations. Turning things around. Becomingwiserthrough disagreementjust as much as through recognition. Maybe youwill findthe book interesting. Maybe you will find it boring. Both are equally interesting to talk about. Iwish you an enjoyable read.
And Ihope you find at least one thoughtthat resonates. Therest we will discover along the way.
Musicians’Illnesses
OW!, BANG!, CRACK! and an overactive nervous system.
These are themusicians’ ailments currently on my “for now” list. Icall them musicians’ ailments because they allstemfrom the samething:an imbalance between performance and recovery, and overload disguisedaspassion.
OW!
Iwas 24 when Idecided to becomeamusician. I threw myself headfirst into practice fourtosix hours nonstop everyday. Until then Ihad never practiced that intensively. My body simplywasn’t usedtothat kind of strain,and things wentwrong quickly.After only three monthsmybody broke downtendonitis in my left wrist.
Ifelt like atragicomic examplestraight out of an
ergonomics textbook. The dream of becoming a musician was starting to look like acase study in overuse injuries.
But when life gives you tendonitis, Isuppose you have to…take adeep breath andopenthe eartraining textbook.
Ithought: “If Ican’t use my hands, at least Ican learn to hear the difference betweena fourth and a fifth withoutblinking.”
That was the beginning of an intenseand at times rather absurdromancewith ear training.
Ihad to stop playing, butI trained my ears,and todayIameternally gratefulthat Idid.I trieddifferent treatments: acupuncture,holistic therapy, massage, and medication. Istayed away from surgery,though.
Aftersix months of constantpain, Istarted practicingyoga and meditation. It gavemea sense of relief,and Iwas able to play alittle again. Butthe pain never completely disappeared.
Oneday Iwas standing in asupermarket with my motherand simply had to lift agrocery bag. A completely ordinary bag. Not evenheavy.
And then.. OW!
Aburning pain shot through my hand, and Iexclaimedsomething that made the entire lineturn around. Awoman in afur coat placedher hand dramaticallyonher chest. Istood therepuffing and mutteringcurses under my breath until Isuddenly
