Part 2

From very deep/high/loud/quiet sounds to very long/short/simple/complex compositions - are there extremes in music you feel drawn to and what response do they elicit?

Well, the perception of extremes always depends on the context of the overall composition. But one of the aspects that captivates me is a hidden or intuitive complexity. I'm drawn to music that feels intricate, but in a rather intuitive, organic sense.

Recently, I find myself particularly drawn to the simplicity of living room recordings. The raw and unadorned quality of these recordings offers a sense of authenticity and immediacy that resonates with me. The airy, warm sound that emerges from such recordings brings a comforting intimacy, allowing the listener to feel as though they are right there in the room with the artist.


Droning and deep, warm sounds have a magnetic pull for me as well. They have an almost meditative quality to them, allowing myself to lose myself in the music's textures.

Furthermore, I feel drawn to pure, unaltered sounds of acoustic instruments. They possess a raw authenticity and a direct connection to the artist's performance. Acoustic instruments often evoke a sense of timelessness and nostalgia, resonating with the essence of human expression.

Could you describe your creative process on the basis of one of your pieces, live performances or albums that's particularly dear to you, please?

On my new solo EP For Annette, I brought together both song-based compositions and ambient, abstract flute pieces. The creative process for these two distinct aspects of the project is quite different.


The process of composing a song often begins in the intimate setting of my bedroom, with nothing more than the guitar and my voice. And that is how a song evolves until it feels complete. The result is a song with the acoustic guitar and my voice as its primary ingredients, preserving the raw essence of my creative process. I then add layers of subdued sounds to enrich the composition, allowing it to gradually open up.

In both my latest release and live performances, the flute has taken on a significant and constant role in the production. Its delicate tones and versatility add a new dimension to the overall sound. For the creation of the flute pieces, the process is quite different. It begins with the piano, almost like writing a choral movement.

While this process is less emotionally driven than writing a song, it retains an intuitive quality during the initial stages, particularly as I search for harmonies that resonate with me.


The EP For Annette reflects this dual nature of my creative process. It shows a variety of contrasting elements, offering listeners both a clear, close-up narrative that tells a story intimately, as if whispered in the ear, and a more abstract, blurred lens perspective, where words become unnecessary, and emotions are conveyed through sound alone.



Do you conduct “experiments” or make use of scientific insights when you're making music?

My approach to making music tends to be more straightforward and focused on the creative process rather than conducting specific experiments or employing scientific insights. I prefer to keep things simple, as the complexity of music software, for instance, can be overwhelming for me.

I don't consider myself particularly tech-savvy, and my musical journey often revolves around a more intuitive and organic approach.

How does the way you make music reflect the way you live your life? Can we learn lessons about life by understanding music on a deeper level?

The way I make music is a direct reflection of how I live my life. It is an embodiment of life experiences, influenced by elements from the past, the present, dreams, aspirations, and the various systems that shape my world – my family, friends, work, the places I call home, places I visit.

The way I sing, write lyrics and songs, and produce music is intrinsically linked to everyday life. The words I choose, the way I dress, my interactions with friends, the art I create, and the way I experience love all feed into my music. In essence, my music is an extension of my life, and my life is a source of inspiration for my music. They are intertwined, with each influencing the other.

In considering the relationship between music and life, it's not so much about understanding as it is about feeling and actively listening. "Understanding" seems too rational of a word to encapsulate the deeply emotional and intuitive nature of both music and life. Like life, music is difficult to "understand" in a logical sense. Instead, it calls for us to feel and experience it on a profound, emotional level.

Do you feel as though writing or performing a piece of music is inherently different from something like making a great cup of coffee? What do you express through music that you couldn't or wouldn't in more 'mundane' tasks?

I would like to distinguish between writing and performing music. 


When it comes to writing music, the process can be similar to creating a cup of coffee or preparing a meal. It often involves exploring new "ingredients" in the form of musical elements, experimenting with melodies, rhythms, and harmonies. In some cases, you may even draw from past "recipes" that have worked well in the past. There's an element of creative exploration that is somewhat akin to experimenting in the kitchen or crafting the perfect cup of coffee.

Performing music is a completely different thing: When you take the stage as a performer, you are given a stage, and people gather to listen to your music and watch your performance. It's a scenario where you are the focal point of attention, and the audience is voluntarily engaged in the experience. 



In everyday life we can encounter scenarios where we are granted a stage, be it voluntarily or by circumstance. The performance of the safety instructions on a plane is an interesting example. It prompts us to reflect on when and in what context we find ourselves in a position to share information or make a presentation.

Whether it's on a concert stage, in a work setting, or in casual conversations, the act of performing can take on various forms.

Every time I listen to "Albedo 0.39" by Vangelis, I choke up. But the lyrics are made up of nothing but numbers and values. Do you, too, have a song or piece of music that affects you in a way that you can't explain?

While I don't personally experience nausea from specific songs, I certainly have pieces of music that affect me in ways that are difficult to explain.


For instance, the sound of a modular synthesizer, characterized by its dry and feedbacky tones, has a unique impact on me. It's as if the wires in my head are being newly connected. The intricate and sharp textures created by a modular synthesizer seem to resonate with something deep within.

The unpredictability and tension in the sound contribute to an emotional response, almost like a blend of awe and apprehension.

If you could make a wish for the future – what are developments in music you would like to see and hear?

My wish for the future of music is a shift towards less focus on churning out songs to feed the algorithm and more on actively listening to what’s already there.

I want people to see music as more than just a way to express themselves – it should be a tool that brings us together and helps us communicate. Let's make music less selfish and more about being open to all the different voices and stories it can tell.

And beyond just music, I wish for a bigger change in how we approach things culturally. I want us to be better listeners, not just to music but to each other. By paying more attention to the quiet nuances of life and the voices that make us feel uncomfortable, we can foster deeper connections, empathy, and understanding.