I vividly remember listening to Spomyn by Katarina Gryvul for the first time in James Ginzburg’s studio. The experience was virtuosic, bordering on religious — I felt as though I was dissolving into the sound itself. The room seemed to expand and contract with each shift in frequencies. When I relate this experience to the album title, Spomyn, which translates to ‘memory’ or ‘remembrance’ in Ukrainian, it made me think of memory not just as something we hold onto, but as something that actively reshapes us in real time. Was there a particular personal or historical memory (or a specific interpretation of the word) that sparked this album? Or did its meaning emerge as a closing statement during the process?
Memory holds many meanings for me. The thing is, I know almost nothing about my father’s family’s origins — it was even forbidden to ask about that in childhood. The reason lies in the brutal repression of the past, because the shock and trauma were so great that it was easier to never speak about it. Stories like this aren’t unique to me; every second Ukrainian has a similar one, and now this history is repeating itself. However, while the older generation tried to forget, to erase it from memory, mine does the opposite. Because memory is a marker of our identity. We must pass it down through generations to protect those who come after us.
Each song on the album serves as my emotional diary, a memory of the loved ones I’ve lost over the past three years. Russia isn’t just taking lives; it’s taking away entire worlds that never got the chance to exist. In a time when disinformation manipulates facts, we piece together memory in fragments. This memory also breaks us apart and reassembles us again, making some stronger, others emotionally numb. But it’s something that always stays with us, something that cannot be taken away.
The cover image has a haunting, almost mythological feel. Can you talk about its concept and how it relates to the music?
The idea with the hair came to me before I started working on the album. Very often, it’s important for me to first shape the meaning for myself, and only then can I start to translate it into music. When I was little, I spent a lot of time with my grandmother. She practiced alternative medicine, and many people came to her, usually sent by doctors who could no longer help. My grandmother used herbs and rituals, and they worked. Hair held a lot of importance and sacredness in those rituals. She used to say that hair is memory, and the longer it is, the more memory you carry with you. On the cover, I wanted the hair to be so long that it would touch not only the memory of my own life but also the lives of past generations.
The shoot was done by my close friend, Yana Ilo, whom I met back in 2021 in Kyiv. She was also one of the directors of the music video for my song Tysha from my second album. I knew right away that I would ask her to shoot my album cover. Her vision really resonates with me.
The shoot was done by my close friend, Yana Ilo, whom I met back in 2021 in Kyiv. She was also one of the directors of the music video for my song Tysha from my second album. I knew right away that I would ask her to shoot my album cover. Her vision really resonates with me.
Collaboration is also an integral part of your practice, not only in the album’s visual language, but also in your work with costume designers, stylists, photographers, ensembles, orchestras, and your audiovisual performance with Alex Guevara. How has friendship and professional camaraderie shaped your artistic path?
I’m very careful about the people I choose to have around. First and foremost, a person’s character and principles matter deeply to me. Only after that comes their artistic vision. Collaboration expands my own perspective and helps me step outside of my comfort zone. With it, you grow much faster. I always like to give freedom to the people I work with; I’m primarily interested in their vision, and that also helps me see myself and my music from a different angle.
In the past, when I worked with Alex, we focused more on the visual aspect. We’ve shifted entirely to working with light in order to better support the concept of the album. That was actually Alex’s idea. He wanted to build a performance around the music itself, and I’m endlessly grateful to him for that. Spomyn also includes choreography created by the incredible Martyna Dyląg. I’m truly grateful for the people in my life who help bring my dreams to life.
In the past, when I worked with Alex, we focused more on the visual aspect. We’ve shifted entirely to working with light in order to better support the concept of the album. That was actually Alex’s idea. He wanted to build a performance around the music itself, and I’m endlessly grateful to him for that. Spomyn also includes choreography created by the incredible Martyna Dyląg. I’m truly grateful for the people in my life who help bring my dreams to life.
“Timbre and sonic aesthetics are important to me, and I really enjoy working with structure, but even that is more about feeling than a mathematical approach.”
The album conveys a strong sense of atmosphere and depth, rich in textures and evolving sonic structures. Do mathematical or algorithmic processes play a role in your own approach to composition?
Not really, to be honest. I rely more on intuition. Of course, after so many years of analysing and performing different kinds of music, I think I’ve developed certain patterns that I tend to use. But by now, they’ve become subconscious. Timbre and sonic aesthetics are important to me, and I really enjoy working with structure, but even that is more about feeling than a mathematical approach.
In a recent interview with 15 Questions, you mentioned spatial sound as a growing interest in your work, with holophony being one of the concepts applied to the album’s composition. Do you view sound as something that inhabits/reveals space, or do you approach it as a force that actively constructs and transforms spatial perception? When composing for headphones versus loudspeakers, how do you think about spatiality differently?
I’d go more toward the idea of not just a single sound, but the interaction between different sounds — it's that interaction that shapes and transforms the space they inhabit. The way they interact depends heavily on the character and unique qualities of each sound.
In general, when I create music, I understand that most people will listen to it through headphones, so it's incredibly important for me to build that sense of spatiality specifically in that context. At live shows, in order to preserve that spatial feeling, it’s essential for me to have access to a surround sound system. Of course, I work with monitors when composing, but I really feel that stereo is very limiting.
In general, when I create music, I understand that most people will listen to it through headphones, so it's incredibly important for me to build that sense of spatiality specifically in that context. At live shows, in order to preserve that spatial feeling, it’s essential for me to have access to a surround sound system. Of course, I work with monitors when composing, but I really feel that stereo is very limiting.
Eastern European experimental music has a rich legacy, with pioneering figures such as Ludmila Frajt, Valentina Goncharova, and Elżbieta Sikora, and contemporary Ukrainian artists like Alla Zagaykevych, Olesia Onykiienko, Heinali, Zavoloka, Kotra, Maryana Klochko, among many others. How do you see yourself in relation to this evolving lineage, and to what extent has your academic background influenced your artistic identity and sonic explorations?
I don’t feel like I’m continuing any specific tradition or that I’m deeply influenced by particular figures. I think what shaped me most was playing the violin from a very young age. The thing is, when you start learning that instrument, you begin with a terrible sound and completely missing the notes, and you end (if that process can ever truly end, which I seriously doubt) with a perfectly clean tone and precise intonation.
After finishing my master’s in violin, I had reached that level, and you know, something in me broke. After so many years of polishing perfect sound, I found myself craving the exact opposite in composition: detuned notes, raw textures, and so on. That’s how my exploration of acoustic music began, and eventually it evolved into electronic.
After finishing my master’s in violin, I had reached that level, and you know, something in me broke. After so many years of polishing perfect sound, I found myself craving the exact opposite in composition: detuned notes, raw textures, and so on. That’s how my exploration of acoustic music began, and eventually it evolved into electronic.
A friend of mine, a singer based in Italy, recently shared how challenging it has been for her to navigate gender dynamics in the music industry there, especially when working with male producers, as she sometimes feels there’s a risk of being sexualised. Given the historical gender imbalances in music, have you experienced environments or countries where you felt more supported or included in your work?
In the past, in classical environments, I had occasional experiences with this, but fortunately, I don’t encounter it as often now. Perhaps over the years, I’ve learned how to set strong boundaries, but it would be better if the environment itself were such that these boundaries didn’t need to be built at all.
“After many years of polishing perfect sound, I found myself craving the exact opposite in composition: detuned notes, raw textures, and so on. That’s how my exploration of acoustic music began.”
You founded Gryvul School. In your experience, what do people starting a music career now need most from an education programme?
I think it’s important to convey up-to-date information. Things are changing and evolving so quickly now, and it’s crucial, especially if you’re learning something, to keep relevant information. It’s also crucial to create a safe environment where there is no fear of asking questions or making mistakes. And most importantly, a space where there is no fear of accepting yourself as you are. Most of the time with my students, we focus more on psychological issues than on musical ones. Because, in order to find your unique sound in music, we first need to find ourselves.
If you could create a work in a medium beyond sound, what would it be?
I would really love to sculpt something out of clay. It’s an old dream of mine. I see music through form, colour, and texture, but I can’t physically touch it, so I would like to try moulding something with clay to feel that form under my fingers.
We’re in a time where virtually anything, from hobbies to passions, can be monetised. Is there something you love doing that you’d never want to turn into a job?
I love creating my songs. I’ve never considered it work, and I would like to continue keeping this process solely as a passion and a hobby.
