A rain-soaked big city. The Nowak enters the fog-shrouded stage of the shrillest and most stripped-down club on the Kiez. A quick glance and her razor-sharp razor-sharp gaze transforms even an audience of wild-eyed hoodlums into well-behaved to listening lambs. Like a diva of the Roaring Twenties, she belts out her
the keys. Her melodies between chanson, pop and indie hurl lightning bolts into your hearts and make you and leave you with trembling knees, ready for more.