Name: Löwenzahnhonig
Members: Fai Baba, Long Tall Jefferson, Paul Märk
Interviewee: Fai Baba
Nationality: Swiss
Current Release: Löwenzahnhonig's new album Kirschblütenboogie is out via Inselgruppe.
Current Event: Löwenzahnhonig are currently on an extended tour. Catch them live at one of the following dates.  

If you enjoyed this Löwenzahnhonig interview and would like to know more about the band and their music and upcoming live dates, visit them on Instagram, Facebook, and bandcamp. 



When I listen to music, I see shapes, objects and colours. What happens in your body when you’re listening? Do you listen with your eyes open or closed?

When I listen to music, it’s always about the emotion that unfolds. Most of the time it’s a feeling I recognize — something that makes me happy, that inspires me in my own activities, that reminds me of myself. Sometimes it’s connected to the past, sometimes to the future.

And sometimes it’s something I can’t quite define, which is the most exciting part — because it feels like something I don’t know yet, but will soon experience. It’s about curiosity, this ever-benevolent drive that rests inside me, working on its own.

Sometimes I listen with my eyes open, sometimes with them closed. Whether they’re open or closed doesn’t matter much — the feeling is usually the same.

How do listening with headphones and listening through a stereo system change your experience of sound and music?

There’s a big difference. Some music I enjoy most just coming out of a boombox, while other music only reveals its true beauty when I hear it through a HiFi stereo system. Certain records are recorded with a very audiophile mindset, and in that case it’s pure joy to listen on a proper system. With other music, the focus on detail isn’t as strong — it’s not so refined — and then it works perfectly well on a boombox or even through a phone.

There’s music with a truly three-dimensional depth, and that’s when HiFi or good headphones become magical. But there are also songs that are produced in such a raw and unpretentious way that they carry enough emotion even through the simplest playback.

What I love, too, is when I’ve listened to an album ten times on a boombox, just because the songs are so good that the medium doesn’t matter. And then suddenly, on a long bike ride with noise-canceling headphones, I discover something entirely new.

Of course, the ultimate revelation happens in the studio on an ultra-HiFi system — for example with Manuel Egger, the producer who mastered the Löwenzahnhonig album. That’s when you really find out whether the music has been carefully crafted in detail, or whether it was captured in a more unpolished way.

[Read our KALI Trio interview in which the band also speak about working with Manuel Egger]

Tell me about some of the albums or artists that you love specifically for their sound, please.

One album I truly love for its sound is actually our own new Löwenzahnhonig record, Kirschblüten-Boogie.

Last summer we went out into the countryside near Zurich and recorded it in an old barn. I had this image in my mind of the back cover of Neil Young’s Harvest, and when we arrived it looked exactly like that.

We set up very naturally, just the three of us, and played together in an organic way. Many new songs were born right there in that space. The result is a very cohesive record where the listener can hear everything in its raw, unpolished, and honest form. What I love most is how natural it sounds — it captures the feeling of us simply making music together.

Do you experience strong emotional responses towards certain sounds? If so, what kind of sounds are these and do you have an explanation about the reasons for these responses?

It can really be anything. I don’t have an explanation for it — and that’s exactly what I find so beautiful: that there doesn’t need to be one. Sometimes it’s just a chord change within a song, a certain sound that feels like a stab straight to the heart.

I don’t know what it is, but it’s this mysterious quality that music, or a single tone, can create. And the fact that it defies explanation — that, to me, is the truth of it.

There can be sounds which feel highly irritating to us and then there are others we could gladly listen to for hours. Do you have examples for either one or both of these?

I have a good example for this.

Neil Young’s backing band, Crazy Horse, were called The Rockets before they became Crazy Horse. In 1968 they released a self-titled album, and on it there’s a song called “Let Me Go.”



That track has a driving rhythm and a voice that feels raw and yearning. On top of that there’s this shrill, distorted violin that slices through the entire piece. It creates a kind of sweet torment that makes the music incredibly intense — right at the threshold between comfort and discomfort.

That tension is what gives the song its unique power.

Are there everyday places, spaces, or devices which intrigue you by the way they sound? Which are these?

During an Indian Arti ceremony there is a device called the Automatic Arti Machine. It’s a temple drum that strikes both a drum and a small bell at the same time, creating this extremely loud, temple-typical Arti sound.



The first time I heard it, I was astonished. It’s such an overwhelming instrument — deafening, mechanical, almost like techno music, but made in a completely organic way.

For me it felt like sensory overload, yet for the temple visitors it was simply part of everyday life. That contrast fascinated me deeply.

Have you ever been in spaces with extreme sonic characteristics, such as anechoic chambers or caves? What was the experience like?

A friend once worked at a place with sensory deprivation tanks, and I got to spend a whole night in one. I was waiting for a psychedelic, transcendent experience to happen — but after about 40 minutes, I just got bored. I never reached that zone people rave about.

What I did feel was simply the empty space of the self — the same one we inhabit every moment. For some it might be frightening at first, because you become aware of the pain you carry. But with meditation and practice, the body-mind complex can relax into that emptiness.

In the end, it reminded me that life itself is this flatline, this drone of non-duality from waking to falling asleep.

What are among your favourite spaces to record and play your music?

With Löwenzahnhonig, what fascinates me most is how delicate our playing becomes, even at higher volumes — you can hear every tiny nuance.

But in the end, it doesn’t really matter where we are. The sound and the melodies seem to transcend the room itself. It all becomes about the music, and about these particular musicians playing it together.

Do music and sound feel “material” to you? Does working with sound feel like you’re sculpting or shaping something?

Absolutely not.

For me, music is something intangible. It’s only about emotion.

How important is sound for our overall well-being and in how far do you feel the “acoustic health” of a society or environment is reflective of its overall health?

Sounds rather esoteric. I believe the universe itself plays between chaos and healing — chaotic energies on one side, and energies that restore balance on the other. The same can be found in music: a kind of interplay, bound within itself, forming a harmonic game.

As for what might be right or wrong for society or the environment — that’s a question you’d maybe have to ask the Lord of the Universe.

Many animals communicate through sound. Based either on experience or intuition, do you feel as though interspecies communication is possible and important? Is there a creative element to it, would you say?

Yes, I do think interspecies communication through sound is possible — and it can even be creative.

A friend of mine once had a Spanish greyhound, and the first time I played harmonica in front of her, she immediately started to howl along. It felt like a kind of dialogue, a spontaneous duet between species.

To me, that moment showed how sound can cross boundaries and create a connection that is both playful and deeply moving.

Tinnitus and developing hyperacusis are very real risks for anyone working with sound. Do you take precautions in this regard and if you’re suffering from these or similar issues – how do you cope with them?

I’ve known the phenomenon of hyperacusis since I was a child. It can come in waves — when everything is very quiet and suddenly all sounds feel amplified. I also went through a short phase of tinnitus, which luckily passed.

Working with loud sounds is definitely a risk. Still, I find it fascinating that when I play guitar very loudly myself, it doesn’t feel as threatening as when someone else plays extremely loud on stage. It’s something we need to take seriously. In Switzerland there are even official regulations for live music in this regard.

But in the end, prevention is up to each of us — protecting ourselves through conscious volume control and using earplugs when necessary.

We can surround us with sound every second of the day. The great pianist Glenn Gould even considered this the ultimate delight. How do you see that yourself and what importance does silence hold?

For me, the more interesting question is why some people love one kind of music while others are drawn to something completely different. There’s no causal explanation for this mystery of being — and I don’t feel I need one.

What fascinates me just as much is how songs come into existence, how bands form, and how, through the absoluteness of it all, I end up standing on a stage playing an instrument. What shines through for me in these moments is the experience itself — the experience of the will-less nature of being.

Seth S. Horowitz called hearing the “universal sense” and emphasised that it was more precise and faster than any of our other senses, including vision. How would our world be different if we paid less attention to looks and listened more instead?

Maybe this is a question for a whale, not for me.