From the quiet corners of Nordhorn, Germany, to his current base in Cologne, rising indie folk sensation Jan Kalter has carved out a niche with his raw vulnerability and understated power, starting with childhood piano sneaks at a neighbor’s house before mastering guitar, trombone, and vocals—evolving from grunge band roots into a compelling storyteller echoing influences like Bon Iver, Novo Amor, Lord Huron, and Sufjan Stevens. His debut EP No One Bites And No One Barks has surged past 400,000 streams across platforms, spotlighting his haunting single ‘Save Our Souls‘—a reverb-soaked ballad of delicate acoustics and choral whispers that calls for empathy amid disconnection, released via Cold Skipper Inc. with a misty forest lyric video that amplifies its melancholic introspection.
With such an arresting entry into the indie folk scene, we caught up with Kalter to dive deeper into his musical path and the heart behind his work.
Can you walk us through how sneaking piano sessions at your neighbor’s house as a kid sparked your love for music?
When I was a kid, I used to sneak over to my neighbor’s house just to play their piano. I was fascinated by the sounds and the way different voices and harmonies could come together—it felt like stepping into another world, one that gave me a whole new way of expressing myself. At first, I only knew a few chords, but I would play them over and over, almost like a meditation. Sometimes I played with my friend, the neighbor’s child, and later I found myself sitting there alone at the piano, completely absorbed. I’m sure my neighbors’ patience was tested more than once, but I just couldn’t stay away. There was something about that world of sound that felt safe, healing, and magnetic—and that’s really where my love for music began.
What drew you from playing in grunge bands to finding your voice in indie folk?
It actually started pretty quietly for me—back at the piano, where music felt almost like a meditation. But when puberty hit, and with the influence of the times, distortion and screaming suddenly took center stage. It wasn’t really a conscious decision, more of an intuitive process shaped by what I was listening to back then. Playing in grunge bands was a way to channel all that extra energy, to let out anger and frustration in a way that felt rewarding but didn’t hurt anyone. At the time, we didn’t even know we were “making grunge”—it was only the local press that labeled it that for us. Over the years, though, that general sense of anger gave way to a deeper need for individual expression. The sounds naturally grew softer, and I started leaning into a sensitivity that, as a teenager or young adult, often feels uncool to embrace. But as I got to know myself more as an adult, it became something I couldn’t ignore. That’s what ultimately led me from the raw energy of grunge toward finding my voice in indie folk.
How have artists like Bon Iver and Sufjan Stevens shaped the way you approach songwriting?
Artists like Bon Iver and Sufjan Stevens showed me how deeply personal songwriting can be while still reaching something universal. Their music has this way of being both fragile and expansive at the same time—intimate confessions that somehow feel like they belong to everyone. That balance has been very inspiring for me.I wouldn’t say I try to write like them, but hearing their work gave me the confidence to explore my own sensitivities and imperfections rather than hide them. In that sense, they didn’t shape my songs directly so much as they shaped the courage to let my songs sound like me.
What’s the story behind basing yourself in Cologne after growing up in Nordhorn?
I was born in Nordhorn, but I actually grew up in Lübeck, up on the coast. After my mother fell seriously ill shortly after my birth, I was raised by my grandmother and my aunt. When I finished school, I knew I wanted to experience something new, something bigger. Hamburg felt a bit too close, and Berlin was a little too hyped at the time. So I chose Cologne—it had this energy as a media city that drew me in, and it felt like the right place to start building my own path.
Tell us about the process of putting together your debut EP, No One Bites And No One Barks, and what surprised you about its reception?
That EP really came out of me having to teach myself how to produce. You can definitely hear that in the recordings. In professional studios, I often struggled—time was always limited, and I wasn’t yet able to properly communicate the sound I had in mind. So the whole process of wanting to finally capture my songs became my teacher.The real push to make it concrete came after a trip to Northern California. The mild climate and the forests there created an atmosphere I had never experienced before, but one I had been trying to evoke in my music even before going. It felt like finding a missing puzzle piece in the picture I was trying to create. At that point, it became clear: now is the time to start.What surprised me most about the reception was how many people seemed to connect with it despite its rawness. I honestly thought the imperfections would stand out too much, but instead, listeners told me they felt the honesty in it—and that meant more than I could have expected.
What inspired the themes of connection and empathy in ‘Save Our Souls’ during those challenging times you mentioned?
The themes of ‘Save Our Souls’ grew out of reflecting on the tension between love and learning, fighting and surrender, endings and new beginnings. What struck me most was how often the “right” decision can also be the most painful one—whether in relationships, friendships, or family. I was deeply moved by that paradox. When the determination to find a solution slowly gives way to the sobering realization that some things simply aren’t compatible, it creates this surreal contrast: on one hand, a clear sense of truth, and on the other, an almost unbearable pain. That duality was at the heart of what I wanted to express.
How did you decide on that stripped-back arrangement for ‘Save Our Souls’ to capture a raw, almost live feel with imperfections?
When ‘Save Our Souls’ came together, I was in the middle of searching for a new kind of truth—or maybe a new order. At the time, I didn’t even know exactly what I was looking for. In a way, the whole project became about learning to deal with mistakes and to see the potential in them, which was a challenge for someone with more perfectionist tendencies.During a therapy session, I learned to reframe mistakes—not as enemies, but as teachers. That perspective was really powerful for me. On a more practical level, because I had to teach myself how to produce in order to find my own sound, mistakes were inevitable. You can definitely hear them in the recordings. But instead of trying to erase them, I realized they gave the songs that raw, almost live feel I was after.
Can you describe how the misty forest footage in the lyric video ties into the melancholic atmosphere of ‘Save Our Souls’?
The forest footage was meant to mirror that contrast I mentioned earlier. Forests are, at their core, beautiful and restorative—they were once our home. But at the same time, they can also feel eerie, intimidating, even dangerous. That duality felt like the perfect metaphor for the tensions within relationships, where comfort and fear often coexist. The use of vintage imagery adds another layer of melancholy. It creates this bittersweet feeling, almost like nostalgia, where you start asking yourself: how is it possible that pain can sometimes feel strangely enjoyable? That emotional tension is what I wanted to capture in the lyric video.
Looking back, what personal challenges have pushed you to embrace vulnerability in your indie folk music?
I grew up as a foster child with my aunt, uncle, and grandmother, and for a long time I carried a different last name than the rest of my family. That small detail alone often made me wonder where I truly belonged. When I was still in primary school, my foster mom explained that my biological mother had become severely ill after my birth and couldn’t take care of me. It helped me understand the situation, but it didn’t erase the quiet sense of being an outsider.
For many years I tried to set that feeling aside in order to fully blend in. With time, though, I realized that those different parts of my story didn’t need to cancel each other out—they could exist side by side. Learning to accept those contrasts has shaped the way I see the world. Looking back, I think that was the foundation of my sensitivity, and it’s probably what has made vulnerability feel like an honest and natural part of my music.
If you could collaborate with one of your influences on a dream track, who would it be and why?
If I could choose, I think working with Incubus would be a dream. Their music has always carried this mix of raw energy and emotional depth that really resonated with me, especially when I was younger. What fascinates me is how they manage to shift between heaviness and subtlety without losing their identity.I imagine a collaboration wouldn’t just be about blending sounds, but about learning from that balance they’ve mastered over the years. For me, it would be less about creating a “perfect track” and more about experiencing that exchange of ideas with artists who shaped a part of my own musical journey.
Stream ‘Save Our Souls’:
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