Part 1

Name: Gleb Kolyadin
Occupation: Pianist, composer, arranger
Nationality: Russian, UK-based
Current release: Gleb Kolyadin's new album Mobula is out via Kscope.
Global Recommendation: I’m currently based in St Leonards-on-Sea, which is in the borough of Hastings in East Sussex. If you ever visit, here’s a plan: go on a Tuesday, start with a hike up East Hill, then wander through the Old Town, walk by the sea, and end the evening at the Cactus Hound bar near St Leonards Warrior Square Station.
On Tuesday! Don’t ask me why. Just go there – it’ll tell you everything.

If you enjoyed this Gleb Kolyadin interview and would like to know more about his music, visit him on Instagram, and bandcamp.

For a deeper dive, read the thoughts of three of collaborators in our Mariana Semkina interview, our Theo Travis of Soft Machine interview and our Tim Lefebvre interview.



Where does the impulse to create something come from for you? What role do often-quoted sources of inspiration like dreams, other forms of art, personal relationships, politics etc play?

For me, the best way to create is through consistency and routine. It’s not always about a sudden impulse – it’s more like a daily practice. Even if I don’t feel inspired at the moment, I just start working anyway – playing music, improvising, searching for new melodies, and experimenting with sound.

Sometimes, very clear ideas just pop into my head, and I can even hum them into my phone’s voice memos while walking. Later, when I get home, I start developing them. Other times, I spend time imagining the music in my head before even recording anything, which can be an interesting process – shaping an idea and painting it in my imagination without touching an instrument.

But in the end, as I said, the best approach is to work a little every day, no matter your mood. Even if it’s something small and simple – like a 40-second draft. It might take an hour or the whole day (or night, since I love working at night), but the idea should be recorded in a listenable form. That way, I can revisit it later, see it from a different perspective, and reshape it into something more refined.

I have a huge library of drafts – hundreds of tracks that I’ve made either just for fun or for various theatre productions. Most of them are still waiting for the right time to be properly released. But after years of doing this, I’ve found it to be a really useful approach because I always have the option to revisit old ideas, rediscover something interesting, and develop it when the time feels right.

I often share these drafts on my Patreon, so I can say it’s kind of a music diary.

For you to get started, do there need to be concrete ideas – or what some have called a 'visualisation' of the finished work? What does the balance between planning and chance look like for you?

It’s good to have a clear plan – knowing exactly how I want something to sound and how to achieve that result.

But at the same time, a lot of unexpected things can happen, so you have to be open to compromise. Sometimes, these compromises might seem to go against your original vision, but in the end, they can actually turn into an advantage.

Another interesting thing about visualisation – if we’re speaking in a more abstract sense – is that it can be a great way to motivate and prepare yourself. You don’t need to see every detail of the final result; the key is simply to imagine that you’re just a few steps away from completing it. Imagine that your project – whether it’s an album, a single track, or anything else – is already being close to finished.

It’s kind of a form of self-affirmation. And it takes away the inner pressure of the unknown and the fear of unexpected challenges.

Is there a preparation phase for your process? Do you require your tools to be laid out in a particular way, for example, do you need to do 'research' or create 'early versions'?

I usually start by preparing a sort of color palette for the writing process. If I have a specific idea of how a track should sound or what instruments should be involved, I take some time to find the right timbres or sampled libraries before I begin. When all the tools are in one place, I can work more smoothly without interruptions or having to search for the right sounds.

So yes, I like to do some pre-preparation to make the next steps more efficient.

For more complex pieces – like “Voyager” from the Outland album – I sometimes break the project into separate sections, each with a specific number of bars. I also create a detailed key plan, mapping out chord progressions, modulations, and how many bars each section should take.



In some cases, the process can feel almost like orchestrating a score in terms of structure and organization.

Do you have certain rituals to get you into the right mindset for creating? What role do certain foods or stimulants like coffee, lighting, scents, exercise or reading poetry play?

Oh, I love coffee. If I don’t have any at home, it’s a total disaster. I always drink it throughout the day, usually during short work breaks.

Some days, I feel less energized, and when that happens, I’m totally fine with taking a quick nap – like a little siesta. I tend to have very vivid dreams, which are always enjoyable, and often, new ideas come to me right after waking up.

But I’d say that ideas are everywhere – you just need to figure out how to connect yourself to that “field”. And if you doing some writing daily, that connection process becomes easier every time. Even your brain starts working differently throughout the day, making you more open to catching new ideas.

The key things are having time and a comfortable space for a few hours without interruptions. This is why I love working at home. Some people prefer to have a separate place like a studio, but I like do things from home, it helps to be in the right mindset, especially working at night in a silent and with a nice dim lightning. I’m an extreme night owl, so late at night is when I feel the most creative and focused. So it’s definitely the best time for me to work.

Of course, it also helps to absorb experiences from the “real world” – walking, meeting new people, chatting with friends, watching movies, exploring new places. All of that fuels creativity, like coal in a stove. Sometimes, you need to step out of your shell to refresh yourself, gather new energy from the world, and then come back ready to work again.

But inspiration can come from anywhere, and you don’t need to wait for it –because you can find it through the process of working. For me, it feels a bit like dreaming while creating. Sometimes, it’s conscious, but most of the time, it’s slightly unconscious, which makes the whole journey even more interesting and unpredictable. And that’s what makes it exciting.

All of the tunes from my recent album were composed at home, during very late nights, a few years ago. There’s no way I could have created something like that outside of my own space or in an unfamiliar environment.

For Mobula, what did you start with? If there were conceptual considerations, what were they?

Well, the thing is, this is the first time I’ve used very old ideas, blending them together to create a new album. In the past, like with The Outland or my first album, it was mostly about new, unreleased ideas.

A few years ago, I had some free time and, for some reason, decided to go through my old drafts. That’s when I found a track – now called “Glimmer” –which was recently released as a standalone single. I thought, “Wow, this actually sounds nice,” so I started looking for another tune with the same dreamy vibe and mood.

I ended up discovering fourteen tracks, blended them into one album, and shared it with a few people. They said it was a good idea and that even in its draft form, the whole album worked well. That’s when I thought, “Okay, looks like this is my next project.”

But at the time, I was already deep into working on The Outland. Then in 2022, my world collapsed – I moved to the UK, and it wasn’t the best time to revisit that idea. Last year, though, I decided it was finally time to release something new and figure out what’s next on my schedule. So despite having a lot of music and upcoming projects in mind, I chose to take it step by step – starting with that old project.

Tell me a bit about the way the new material developed and gradually took its final form, please.

When it comes to making a full album, I usually start by relistening to my drafts and selecting the ones that resonate with me the most at that moment. During this selection process, I start to catch the right mood, remember it, and it becomes a kind of framework for me – something within which I can transform these old ideas, compose new material, and develop the overall structure.

I mention albums because they’re still an important format for me. You can create a lot of standalone tracks and release them separately, but even when I start a new tune, some analytical part of me always thinks “Okay, this could be a logical continuation of that older draft”. Or, for a simple example – if I’m composing a solo piano piece, I might think “This track could follow another one I wrote a while ago. Let’s check what I did there and see how they can be unified under one name or stylistic label”.

But sometimes, I just have a random idea with no specific goal – no album in mind, no bigger project. It could start from a rhythmic pattern or an unusual time signature. Or maybe just a simple melody or chord sequence. I usually begin by recording whatever is already clear in my mind.

Then, when I listen back to that small fragment, I start feeling what else could be added – maybe a bass line, some harmonies, or even breaking the time signature in certain places. Eventually, some musical layers stand out, leading the whole section to evolve into something completely different. It’s literally like shaping a sculpture, but in an improvisational way.

Sometimes, after hours of writing, I realize that I don’t even need the original motif or rhythm I started with – because the whole point was just to discover new edges and push the music into different realms.

For example, I remember when I started working on what became “Hermitage.”

It began with a really nice, lullaby-like melody in A minor that repeated in a simple pattern. I recorded it, then realized I needed an intro – so I wrote one. But then I found that I couldn’t go straight into that repeating melody after the intro and I need to repeat that intro with slight variations. And then suddenly, I was thinking “What if I change the key? What if I add guitar? What if …” And before I knew it, I no longer needed the original lullaby at all. The track had evolved into something completely different – unexpected and complex.

But it was still fun! And that’s the most important thing – to create something you genuinely connect with, with love, curiosity, and enjoyment.

Still thinking about that lullaby, though … Maybe it’ll find its way into another piece someday.

Many writers have claimed that as soon as they enter into the process, certain aspects of the narrative are out of their hands. Do you like to keep strict control or is there a sense of following things where they lead you?

I would say it depends on what mode you’ve chosen. If you don’t have a specific goal and just want to float through the process, exploring new dimensions, then at some point – yes, the material you create starts to go beyond your control. But there’s no right or wrong approach, just different ways of working.

I like to challenge myself sometimes by setting limitations, like restricting the number of instruments.

For example, I might decide that the next few pieces should be written for a trio – piano, vibraphone, and bass. In that sense, it becomes like a puzzle, because having constraints forces my brain to think differently and more analytically.

There are so many ways to approach composition – you can decide to write a classic verse-chorus song, experiment with an ostinato rhythm, or even set a maximum duration and create a short, simple two-minute piece (like "Dawnlight" from my recent album).



I also love working with drama theatres because the music often needs to serve a very specific purpose there. It usually has to remain minimalistic, subtly affecting the audience on a subconscious level rather than being noticed outright. That’s a completely different approach, but sometimes I prefer it even in my solo projects.