On Home, Ziúr moves from blare to breath, opening up her voice and switching into German while inviting trusted collaborators close. The record treats home as practice and tests where borders begin. We get into the writing, the city that shaped it, and the blessing of connection.
Growing up in a small commuter town, the first train out and the last one back set the town’s pulse, drawing it thin at dawn and thick at dusk. At first light, the carriages siphoned people away in suits and school uniforms, and by early evening they spilled back in, flowing home from the cities the line bridged. In other words, the commute scored the town’s day, its rhythm felt by who came and left, aside from the retired folks who ambled NPC-like between hours nine and five.
My parents' house sat, and still sits, within earshot of the tracks (as well as a main road feeding the same hubs), so the town often felt more like a through-route than a tightly bound neighbourhood. This transience defined a “home” that isn’t necessarily a fixed point, so much as a practice. That the routes and routines you repeat wear paths into a place.
Home builds itself out of tiny repetitions, and can just as quickly shed them. Some friends stay close, others move far. Your daily check-ins and catch-up turn into a bi-yearly affair of plans that never happen. Local shops shutter as new ones open, wafting fresh smells, sounds and feelings through you, in the same spot you felt others before it. And suddenly your home anchors don’t hold the same way. You might have changed, too, with different desires, commitments or pressures. Home can move, even when you don’t. Or sometimes you do, and you forge a strong sense of belonging in a changed assemblage of people, species and things; now cohabiting with two playful cats as of one year ago, I know the joy (and, very rarely, the pain) of these changing configurations all too well.
Ziúr’s latest album, Home, sits inside this ever-changing doorway. Across eleven tracks she thinks about home as place, people, care and belonging, but also, as nationality. For the first time she writes and sings in German, acknowledging in her liner notes how she “never considered being part of Germany” and yet now, proudly states “I am”.
If her previous record Eyeroll was physical and elbows out, Home prefers things a closer conversation. The palette leans vaporous and metallic, but the centre is the voice: sometimes plain-spoken, sometimes spell-like. On “Tame” we hear her vocals unprocessed for one of the first times in her discography, while elsewhere she stretches it like gauze, shredding or layering until it becomes both atmosphere and argument.
She also builds rooms around other voices in her home setup. No Yawn snaps and sparks with tight, clipped percussion under a wire-brush of guitar from James Ó Ceallaigh, while her spoken lines smirk and bite in equal measure. All Odds No Chants folds Sara Persico and Elvin Brandhi into a single throat, as three timbres circle one microphone until the boundaries smear, while Iceboy Violet moves through low light of hushed verses on Though The Trees.
The hinge of the record is the German-sung track Im Bann Der Wehenden Fahnen, meaning “Under The Spell of Waving Flags”. Its pop-ish melody goes down easy, but the language lands sharp. It’s perhaps the sweetest coating she’s ever used to carry one of the most pointed messages, detailing how the ghosts of Germany’s past are pushing it toward a national pride of exclusion.
The record is an inward turn in some senses then, but also a reply to the weather outside, alert to how belonging can calcify into borders. In February 2025, AfD doubled its vote to 20.8%, rising to Germany’s second-largest party on a hard-right platform of deportations, cultural bans, climate rollbacks, euro exit, and restrictions on gender rights, casting itself as protector of a threatened German identity. In May, they were formally labelled a “right-wing extremist” force by domestic intelligence, though AfD continues to lead or challenge mainstream parties in national polls, suggesting such measures won’t deter the slide towards fascism (a trend also felt in France, the UK and many other nations amid a rise of nationalist sentiment).
This tension between home as a fragile intimacy and as a contemporary battleground for national identity gives Home its charge, and makes its first live staging in Germany, at Berlin Atonal shortly after our conversation, feel like an important statement. Ziúr and longtime visual co-conspirator Sander Houtkruijer built Home in public at the Kraftwerk based-festival, after the former discussed with me how language changes the body, the current status of Berlin, and what it means to stay in your home when leaving might be easier.
Thanks for having this chat, Ziúr. Let’s start with the context: we’re speaking ahead of the release of your LP Home on September 5th. First of all, how are you feeling about releasing this album? One which feels decidedly personal for you.
Hi Matt, thanks for having me. I am genuinely excited to put out this album. I’m always happy to release the big ones. My music always has been personal and as well came with a message, so this isn’t particularly a new thing. I've been talking about my feelings since I started making music, almost 30 years ago now.
I guess it might come across as being more personal because I have been getting rid of some boundaries I set for myself earlier on. Here, specifically, not talking about national identity in the past.
I guess it might come across as being more personal because I have been getting rid of some boundaries I set for myself earlier on. Here, specifically, not talking about national identity in the past.
Yes, that was exactly my thinking. Home grapples with the very idea of what “home” means, not just for you personally but also for the community around you. As you mention, in the past, you deliberately avoided identifying with your German nationality – back in 2017 you said you “don’t believe in [nationality]”. Now, on Home, you write and sing in German and confront your German identity.
What made you decide to engage with this side of you on this album? Was there a specific turning point or rupture you had? And how has that exploration shaped the music and message of Home?
What made you decide to engage with this side of you on this album? Was there a specific turning point or rupture you had? And how has that exploration shaped the music and message of Home?
Introducing these changes into my practice, unfortunately is less of a choice than it is a responsibility. The world is in crisis and so is Germany. With rising fascism – spoiler, it never left – and Germany being complicit in genocide once again, as well as marginalised communities facing existential threats, it was important to point out that I, myself, am part of an often times overlooked diverse reality that popular political trends are trying to eradicate.
I grew up in this country and have been an integral part of it, whether I identify with its values or not. The fundamental right of existing within a German context can not be taken away from me, from us.
This album doesn’t come with the answer to what home represents to me, and neither would I want to attempt to find the truth of what home is for others. It’s maybe a conversation starter, at best. It describes my experiences and taps into how I witnessed Germany’s relationship towards dealing with the ghosts of the past and about the attempt to let them resurface.
I grew up in this country and have been an integral part of it, whether I identify with its values or not. The fundamental right of existing within a German context can not be taken away from me, from us.
This album doesn’t come with the answer to what home represents to me, and neither would I want to attempt to find the truth of what home is for others. It’s maybe a conversation starter, at best. It describes my experiences and taps into how I witnessed Germany’s relationship towards dealing with the ghosts of the past and about the attempt to let them resurface.
Right, it’s almost a decade on from when you made that statement, as well as almost a decade on from your first EP as Ziúr, Taiga, via Infinite Machine. Things have thoroughly changed since then. What differences do you see in yourself compared to today? It’s often difficult to appreciate changes within ourselves – we see what we are everyday, and the changes are incremental – but are there any areas that stand out, or perhaps, that you are proud of?
With the start of the Ziúr project in late 2014, I intentionally stopped performing as well as singing, mainly just to introduce a different practice into my music, and I started to focus on producing electronic club music.
But, throughout the past decade of writing songs, playing instruments, and performing, singing snuck back into my practice, and I love it. Singing especially is such personal tool and has a very emotional and even sort of cleansing effect for the soul.
When I see my skill set about a decade ago versus where I am right now, I grew immensely throughout time. Music has no beginning or end, it has the ability to expand into all directions simultaneously at the same time. This means, there’s always ways to introduce new ideas, write another song I haven’t written before, record a new item, improve the “scientific aspect” of it, like my music production skills. I will never get bored with the endless ways of being able to grow within my practice.
But, throughout the past decade of writing songs, playing instruments, and performing, singing snuck back into my practice, and I love it. Singing especially is such personal tool and has a very emotional and even sort of cleansing effect for the soul.
When I see my skill set about a decade ago versus where I am right now, I grew immensely throughout time. Music has no beginning or end, it has the ability to expand into all directions simultaneously at the same time. This means, there’s always ways to introduce new ideas, write another song I haven’t written before, record a new item, improve the “scientific aspect” of it, like my music production skills. I will never get bored with the endless ways of being able to grow within my practice.
How did you find that experience of singing in German for the first time. Compared to English, for instance? Is it a completely different physical feeling for you, or are both languages sort of interchangeable?
Last time I sang in German was in a school musical, maybe around 1992. Since early age, I was always drawn to English language phonetically and I do believe I’m quite capable of expressing myself in well English.
Starting to write in German actually surprised me quite a bit. Being able to explore new depths of meaning and appreciate German as being a very precise and complex language. I guess I discovered its phonetic and poetic charm, and found the ways of being creative with rhymes and pronunciation to be quite interesting.
This new discovery didn’t stop with ‘Im Bann Der Wehenden Fahnen’ on Home. At this point, I’ve made another album with [Sebastian] Szary of Modeselektor, where I sing in German a lot more. It’s probably being released next year or so; brace yourself. After this, I might have got it out of my system [laughs]. For now, at least. But let’s see what the future brings.
Starting to write in German actually surprised me quite a bit. Being able to explore new depths of meaning and appreciate German as being a very precise and complex language. I guess I discovered its phonetic and poetic charm, and found the ways of being creative with rhymes and pronunciation to be quite interesting.
This new discovery didn’t stop with ‘Im Bann Der Wehenden Fahnen’ on Home. At this point, I’ve made another album with [Sebastian] Szary of Modeselektor, where I sing in German a lot more. It’s probably being released next year or so; brace yourself. After this, I might have got it out of my system [laughs]. For now, at least. But let’s see what the future brings.
I’m unsure exactly what contemporary research says, but multi-linguists seem to have a different pitch to their voices across their known languages – and yours comes across at a lower register on “Im Bann Der Wehenden Fahnen”. Is that something you notice? Do you find that affected how you produced the instrumentation to the track?
I feel like my pitch is sometimes the result of me writing music at night, and I feel like I don’t wanna disturb my neighbours with loud music in these nocturnal creative sessions. I’m not writing songs to match my perfect pitch, but also I’ve been singing all my life and am quite versatile with the use of my voice, I’d say.
I’ve been rehearsing the show recently and have realised that some songs are gonna be sounding a bit different in a live setting, which is possibly quite normal, and I would count as a win anyway.
I’ve been rehearsing the show recently and have realised that some songs are gonna be sounding a bit different in a live setting, which is possibly quite normal, and I would count as a win anyway.
Yeah, often things sound different in a live context. Purposefully or born out of the technical differences required for live performance. But, staying with your use of voice, across the LP and in both languages, you have a sort-of storytelling cadence to your vocal delivery, matching a tapestry-like writing style. It brings to mind one of my favourite artists of late in that of aya. How did you develop the way that you both deliver and write your vocals?
I find my way of delivering vocals being quite different from the way aya is doing it. I don’t necessarily always follow the same rules, merely to keep things interesting for myself. Then, I also pair different techniques with each other. I often start out singing some sort of phonetic English phantasy type language, and then afterwards pair these sounds with lyrics. Other times, the lyrics exist before I write the song. I like to introduce different techniques into my practice so I can gain more variety in my vocal delivery.
On a recording level, aya and I both play with vocal pitch and it resembles some form of puzzle. I definitely think this album reached new grounds of my vocal production, but I guess it’s a result of editing vocal snippets into a cohesive whole. This all still comes with some experimental approach to go with the flow and take things further from there.
On a recording level, aya and I both play with vocal pitch and it resembles some form of puzzle. I definitely think this album reached new grounds of my vocal production, but I guess it’s a result of editing vocal snippets into a cohesive whole. This all still comes with some experimental approach to go with the flow and take things further from there.
I’ve heard about that approach to writing lyrics before. It’s quite a logical thing in a way. I’m obviously not reinventing the wheel here, but vocals are an instrument like any other and you can shape them in a sonic sense like you do there. It’s effective, anyway.
Coming back to these conceptions of home though, I recently saw fellow musician Lyra Pramuk post about how, even in the past few years, their relationship with Berlin has changed. How the city has changed and that they are looking for a new home after spending many years there. I’ve seen others share similar sentiments, though it’s hard to say if this is a broad trend or not. Has your own relationship with Berlin shifted in recent years? Do you still see it as “home” – if you ever did – or is it starting to feel like somewhere you might outgrow?
Coming back to these conceptions of home though, I recently saw fellow musician Lyra Pramuk post about how, even in the past few years, their relationship with Berlin has changed. How the city has changed and that they are looking for a new home after spending many years there. I’ve seen others share similar sentiments, though it’s hard to say if this is a broad trend or not. Has your own relationship with Berlin shifted in recent years? Do you still see it as “home” – if you ever did – or is it starting to feel like somewhere you might outgrow?
I have seen quite a lot of people voicing their discomfort over Germany’s political climate over the past years, and sometimes it has made me smile a little. This isn’t the case for Lyra, she’s been around for at least a decade, but often times I would hear these sorts of things and think: ‘is this your first Berlin winter?’.
With my own eyes, I’ve seen fascism rise in this country since I was old enough to realise. Starting after the pogroms in ‘92, where refugee homes were set on fire in Rostock, Lichtenhagen, Mölln, Solingen, and Mannheim…
After the wall fell, the Nazi scene of East and West Germany united and gained a huge boost in structure and popularity. They’ve been organizing themselves better and better ever since. Seeing how the National Socialist Underground (NSU) killed many people, how files disappeared, witnessing politicians getting killed over stepping up for refugees and showing a basic level of human decency, how people burn in jail cells…
Then, if you dial back a bit further, the Verfassungsschutz, an office established to protect the constitution and possibly preventing Nazi Germany from happening again, hired many Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (NSDAP) members after World War Two (WW2) due to a lack of ‘skilled workers’ really makes you realize that de-Nazification never happened. That the Nürnberg trials were nothing but a showboat trial, releasing Germans from their guilt. People went from their high power positions into the next. Look at [Kurt George] Kiesinger, the 3rd German Chancellor, and his NSDAP past. Look at Bundesnwaltskammer (federal bar association) which consisted of 80% NSDAP members. I could go on and on about this…
My point is that these recent developments have all been predictable to me and I won’t leave my Berlin home just because it’s getting a bit difficult. I still believe within a global context, we’re living pretty well in our Berlin bubble. If you see recent election results, it looks like some Asterix-type shit; we’re one little left village facing the storm that surrounds us.
My choice for now is to keep fighting, to be present and vocal on my own terms. I’ve been living in Berlin for 20 years now, and it definitely is a refuge for me. Since I haven’t gotten the ultimate answer to what ‘home’ represents, let’s say my Berlin moment is the closest estimate towards home I’ve ever felt.
With my own eyes, I’ve seen fascism rise in this country since I was old enough to realise. Starting after the pogroms in ‘92, where refugee homes were set on fire in Rostock, Lichtenhagen, Mölln, Solingen, and Mannheim…
After the wall fell, the Nazi scene of East and West Germany united and gained a huge boost in structure and popularity. They’ve been organizing themselves better and better ever since. Seeing how the National Socialist Underground (NSU) killed many people, how files disappeared, witnessing politicians getting killed over stepping up for refugees and showing a basic level of human decency, how people burn in jail cells…
Then, if you dial back a bit further, the Verfassungsschutz, an office established to protect the constitution and possibly preventing Nazi Germany from happening again, hired many Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (NSDAP) members after World War Two (WW2) due to a lack of ‘skilled workers’ really makes you realize that de-Nazification never happened. That the Nürnberg trials were nothing but a showboat trial, releasing Germans from their guilt. People went from their high power positions into the next. Look at [Kurt George] Kiesinger, the 3rd German Chancellor, and his NSDAP past. Look at Bundesnwaltskammer (federal bar association) which consisted of 80% NSDAP members. I could go on and on about this…
My point is that these recent developments have all been predictable to me and I won’t leave my Berlin home just because it’s getting a bit difficult. I still believe within a global context, we’re living pretty well in our Berlin bubble. If you see recent election results, it looks like some Asterix-type shit; we’re one little left village facing the storm that surrounds us.
My choice for now is to keep fighting, to be present and vocal on my own terms. I’ve been living in Berlin for 20 years now, and it definitely is a refuge for me. Since I haven’t gotten the ultimate answer to what ‘home’ represents, let’s say my Berlin moment is the closest estimate towards home I’ve ever felt.
It was the architect Jan Gehl – and maybe many other people with similar sentiments, I’m not sure – who said “first we shape the cities, then they shape us”. But you can always remake your home, or try to. If you feel a belonging, then it is often worth staying the course, especially 20 years in.
Sonically, then, it feels like Home is a departure from the sound of your last record Eyeroll – although you could say that about Eyeroll’s jazz-inflections compared to Antifate’s dare-I-say ‘deconstructed club’ and pop-ier rhythms, and the even more club-ready records before that. Difference is something of a constant for you.
But I’m thinking specifically about how Home switches out the often frenetic energy of that record for a more vulnerable, ‘song-driven’ approach, if that makes sense. Like how your voice on Tame is bare over staccato and solemn rhythms. Why do you think this subject matter brought out this change in direction?
Sonically, then, it feels like Home is a departure from the sound of your last record Eyeroll – although you could say that about Eyeroll’s jazz-inflections compared to Antifate’s dare-I-say ‘deconstructed club’ and pop-ier rhythms, and the even more club-ready records before that. Difference is something of a constant for you.
But I’m thinking specifically about how Home switches out the often frenetic energy of that record for a more vulnerable, ‘song-driven’ approach, if that makes sense. Like how your voice on Tame is bare over staccato and solemn rhythms. Why do you think this subject matter brought out this change in direction?
I change with every record intentionally to prevent from getting bored and to keep things interesting for myself and others. I don’t know if that’s the smartest decision if I was gonna try to build a fan base. But for whoever does follow my larger narrative, I might keep them forever.
Especially after Eyeroll being set as a cultural critic and a counterpart towards art at its current state, being creatively stagnant for the sake of ultimate likeability. Home was set to counter the energy of Eyeroll and offer a more pleasing approach to sonic delivery. Twisty, isn’t it? [laughs].
Then again, I can sing a little, so why not show it for once. Pitching vocals is nice and all, but I feel it's getting a bit old… Do you remember the track ‘I vanish’? People never thought I sang it, but I did, and it was also the sweetest pop song ever.
Especially after Eyeroll being set as a cultural critic and a counterpart towards art at its current state, being creatively stagnant for the sake of ultimate likeability. Home was set to counter the energy of Eyeroll and offer a more pleasing approach to sonic delivery. Twisty, isn’t it? [laughs].
Then again, I can sing a little, so why not show it for once. Pitching vocals is nice and all, but I feel it's getting a bit old… Do you remember the track ‘I vanish’? People never thought I sang it, but I did, and it was also the sweetest pop song ever.
Collaboration is another notable element on Home, though also your previous records. You brought in a number of fellow artists for this record. Vocalists like Iceboy Violet, Elvin Brandhi, and Sara Persico to contributions from James Ó Cellaeigh. Some, or possibly all of whom you’ve worked with before. How do the perspectives of these artists, you must know fairly well, tie into the themes of home and belonging on the record?
Since the record doesn’t claim truth, trying to find a universal understanding of home, everyone sorta comes with an individual story and interpretation. In the end, involving collaborators on this album also underlines the point that it’s not my own pure narrative. We keep it fuzzy, but it still clicks. Initially I wanted to publish a book with anonymous home stories alongside the record, but it didn’t happen on time, so the idea is on hold, for now.
Did any particular collaboration surprise you or lead the music somewhere unexpected? For example, on “All Odds No Chants”, your track with Elvin Brandhi and Sara Persico, ended up with these twisting choral vocal harmonies. At points, it’s often hard to tell where one person ends, and another begins. Did working with multiple vocalists like that push the song in a direction you might not have discovered on your own?
I’m happy that you ask this particular question, as that means the vision I had before recording Sara and Freya [Elvin Brandhi], was realised perfectly. What I sonically wanted to achieve by asking these two, in particular, was to blur the lines of who is who, which I found being a very trippy effect. Sometimes their voices are almost what could be described as ‘phasing’, and this makes my brain tickle a little bit. I guess apart from what these two brought to the table, having a setup of only one microphone while recording us three blurred the lines a bit more, and added to that anticipated effect.
It’s trippy, for sure. And on the subject of Brandhi, I must ask about cigarette rolling. I believe you wrote that refrain “I roll the shittiest cigarettes” for her to sing on Eyeroll. How’s your rolling these days?
I’m not proud of how many cigarettes I rolled all my life, but I can do it one-handed in the dark. Even with my eyes closed while driving a tour bus, during a snow storm. So yeah, I’m maybe quite good at either rolling cigarettes or driving, you pick [laughs].
I’m impressed. I’m now imagining you as one of those storm chasers, rolling a ciggie as a typhoon approaches your bus head-on.
Coming back to Home though, on Spellbound to Ancestral Curses, you repeat “blood thirst, came first, spellbound to ancestral curse”, a bit like a spell in-of-itself. Paired with other fragments about hopelessness and a loss of control, it reads something like a personal reckoning with those themes of identity we mentioned, but also larger myths. I’m curious if that emerged from a specific story, family history, or cultural reference you were carrying with you at the time of record, or did it emerge purely as a poetic line in the writing process? Or maybe something else entirely…
Coming back to Home though, on Spellbound to Ancestral Curses, you repeat “blood thirst, came first, spellbound to ancestral curse”, a bit like a spell in-of-itself. Paired with other fragments about hopelessness and a loss of control, it reads something like a personal reckoning with those themes of identity we mentioned, but also larger myths. I’m curious if that emerged from a specific story, family history, or cultural reference you were carrying with you at the time of record, or did it emerge purely as a poetic line in the writing process? Or maybe something else entirely…
This one is talking about German ghosts and the way a guilt-driven dial back of feeling entitled to rediscovering national pride, shows motives of greed at its core. I think this pattern is kinda like a clumsy trap, functioning as a distraction from what once caused discomfort to begin with. It is an outcome of lashing out on nervous energy, while misinterpreting a cohesive layout of facts.
In addition to the album itself, you’re also bringing Home to life as an A/V live show, with your longtime visual collaborator Sandi. I’m looking forward to seeing it at Atonal. How’s it been collectively translating Home’s personal themes into a visual medium on stage, and with Sandi? Your recent video for the title track has quite a distinct feel, where you are blocked out in the sunset shadow, only showing yourself as a faceless figure, though a live show and A/V do serve different purposes.
The video Sandi made is not necessarily tied into the A/V live show. It has some [similar] references, but the live show will feature different visual material. I believe in Sandi’s genius, and trust him blindly to create the material it takes to push this show onto another level. A fun fact is that while performing, I never get to see his work, but I always urge him to document the shows for me to revisit and enjoy his work from my laptop later on [laughs].
I also saw you’re also scoring a performance piece, DE BRUJAS Y FANTASMAS, with dancer/choreographer Kianí del Valle, which explores the figure of the witch in Latin American culture. What inspired you to take on that project?
Kianí and I wanted to do a proper piece for years now. We’ve been good friends for a long time and we talk a lot about colonialism and spirituality. Her parents were fighters for the independence of Puerto Rico, especially her dad. Through her upbringing, Kianí’s knowledge about indigenous Taíno culture and the atrocities they had to face while basically being wiped out by [Christopher] Columbus ‘discovering’ America, is immense. It’s fascinating hearing her talk so passionately about her ancestors and I believe I connect to her though struggle. It’s an honour for me to be able to work with Kianí and for her to trust my soul and skills to align with her values enough to contribute positive energy to this project.
Zooming out to the music industry at large, there’s been a lot of discourse lately about the corporatisation of festivals. Specifically, relating to private equity giant KKR’s acquisition of Superstruct last year, which owns over 80 festivals worldwide, and KKR’s repugnant ties to structural, long-term investments in Israeli’s recent genocidal activity in Palestine, as well as fossil fuel infrastructure across the world.
Obviously, this financialisation of culture, and life more broadly, is nothing new. I’m thinking club closures from rent hikes, the downward spiral of Spotify payouts, the loss of music journalism outlets, and more. But when things are taken to the extent of an unfolding of life and death in front of the cameras, it becomes a different terrain entirely.
But despite this, there's things like Flow Strike or the artist action against Field Day, or moves against Spotify hegemony with Nina Protocol or the collectively owned Bandcamp successor Subvert, and I have this hope – perhaps misguided or naive – that surely things have to turn around at some point. The broken promises for a bright future, as your fellow Berliner JASSS shaped her LP around, are now so obvious to many younger folk in my UK and Europe more widely… to the point where, maybe, a turning point can arrive, and we can shape things back in the interests of culture.
As an artist and curator deeply rooted in the ‘underground’ – for lack of a better term – doing things DIY and supporting culture with your own club nights too, what’s been your overarching perspective on the KKR boycotts, as well as the general downward spiral of music culture? For instance, when you look at Berlin, Europe, the scenes you’re part of, do you think there’s a genuine chance to wrest some control back from these structures, or is survival now more about building parallel worlds entirely?
Obviously, this financialisation of culture, and life more broadly, is nothing new. I’m thinking club closures from rent hikes, the downward spiral of Spotify payouts, the loss of music journalism outlets, and more. But when things are taken to the extent of an unfolding of life and death in front of the cameras, it becomes a different terrain entirely.
But despite this, there's things like Flow Strike or the artist action against Field Day, or moves against Spotify hegemony with Nina Protocol or the collectively owned Bandcamp successor Subvert, and I have this hope – perhaps misguided or naive – that surely things have to turn around at some point. The broken promises for a bright future, as your fellow Berliner JASSS shaped her LP around, are now so obvious to many younger folk in my UK and Europe more widely… to the point where, maybe, a turning point can arrive, and we can shape things back in the interests of culture.
As an artist and curator deeply rooted in the ‘underground’ – for lack of a better term – doing things DIY and supporting culture with your own club nights too, what’s been your overarching perspective on the KKR boycotts, as well as the general downward spiral of music culture? For instance, when you look at Berlin, Europe, the scenes you’re part of, do you think there’s a genuine chance to wrest some control back from these structures, or is survival now more about building parallel worlds entirely?
I wish I could share your hope for a turning point, but I don’t see it happening so quickly. For me, it feels like the turning point has happened not that long ago, but it’s on the opposite end. We’re currently dialling back heavily on valuing art in general. Artists should be driven by an inner longing to create something meaningful for oneself, especially without a link to marketability.
Art should be about art, but these days it’s more tied towards having a social media following or the right set of press pics. What is art, and what is entertainment at this point? We’re oversaturated by washed out versions of same old, same old and I see mini ‘stars of the scene’ post something like “i’m a slut first and a musician second” and I don’t know if they realise that this was way less sexy than it was revealing about their true motivations and why they’re playing the game in the first place.
I believe art needs state funding to be supported properly at this point, but we’re facing funding cuts all over the place. It’s not that good art won’t exist but allowing artists to focus on being artists with a system of financial backup is really something we should maintain.
Of course the past years were heavily corrupted by corporate sponsoring and by now it feels like we’re in too deep to escape. I support the boycott of KKR, but I don’t know if acting out on one player is an example to make a difference. Of course, KKR is a big one and the boycott raised some very important questions, but I’m afraid that the people with voices will disappear more and more through this process. I don’t wanna be too negative here, but I’m a bit worried about the future of art.
From what I’ve witnessed in the past decade or so, many DIY structures disappeared. I would wish for some opportunities to create structures for ourselves. Basically, my idea of my ATØ album was a romanticised version of creating our own structures. In the past, I tried to be radical within smaller circles. For example, cutting off work relationships in solidarity with friends. But in the end, I often felt betrayed when those same friends reconnected with the very people they once said caused so much harm. I’ve seen this pattern play out more than once, and over time it shifted my perspective. I realised that when we’re facing bigger problems, we need bigger networks, and I had to let go of some of my stubbornness and grudges. Honestly, it feels good to have done that.
Art should be about art, but these days it’s more tied towards having a social media following or the right set of press pics. What is art, and what is entertainment at this point? We’re oversaturated by washed out versions of same old, same old and I see mini ‘stars of the scene’ post something like “i’m a slut first and a musician second” and I don’t know if they realise that this was way less sexy than it was revealing about their true motivations and why they’re playing the game in the first place.
I believe art needs state funding to be supported properly at this point, but we’re facing funding cuts all over the place. It’s not that good art won’t exist but allowing artists to focus on being artists with a system of financial backup is really something we should maintain.
Of course the past years were heavily corrupted by corporate sponsoring and by now it feels like we’re in too deep to escape. I support the boycott of KKR, but I don’t know if acting out on one player is an example to make a difference. Of course, KKR is a big one and the boycott raised some very important questions, but I’m afraid that the people with voices will disappear more and more through this process. I don’t wanna be too negative here, but I’m a bit worried about the future of art.
From what I’ve witnessed in the past decade or so, many DIY structures disappeared. I would wish for some opportunities to create structures for ourselves. Basically, my idea of my ATØ album was a romanticised version of creating our own structures. In the past, I tried to be radical within smaller circles. For example, cutting off work relationships in solidarity with friends. But in the end, I often felt betrayed when those same friends reconnected with the very people they once said caused so much harm. I’ve seen this pattern play out more than once, and over time it shifted my perspective. I realised that when we’re facing bigger problems, we need bigger networks, and I had to let go of some of my stubbornness and grudges. Honestly, it feels good to have done that.
That’s an important idea to think about. Networks are our strength. Obviously, some bad actors do things we can’t always ‘forgive and forget’, but the ways of the 2010s – where those kinds of ‘radical’ positions you mention were common; I’m thinking of that strict ‘identity’-first politics that was so front and centre – feels quite limiting today. We need collective thought, action, and feeling to be a stronger, united force across as many diverse lines as possible, in the face of these ‘hyperobject’ type issues that are so all encompassing.
OK, let’s go more quick fire. Fuck, Marry, Rebirth: Berlin music venues. Who are you thinking of, and what’s the reasoning?
OK, let’s go more quick fire. Fuck, Marry, Rebirth: Berlin music venues. Who are you thinking of, and what’s the reasoning?
I can only think of countless ones for rebirth… I guess that kinda defeats the purpose. I don’t wanna fuck or marry any venue anytime soon, either.
That’s valid, I don’t think that would be too pleasurable. Gun to your head: favourite sound – or period of sounds – on Home that you created? The segment you’d share to someone to explain the project.
I find it an impossible task to narrow my music down to one sound, one song, or one album even. I went to a psychiatrist once, and she made me do this ink spill game. She said my brain sees the big picture before going into smaller detail… so I guess I can opt out of this one too, referencing this professional opinion [laughs]. Maybe, I’d need a support dog? Can you offer one?
I’ll try source you one. Ok, maybe this one is for you. Something in Berlin you’d recommend to a visitor that isn’t necessarily in a guidebook, and that feels like home for you? Maybe, a ‘third space’, although I kind of hate that word now.
[Laughs] So goth, but maybe a graveyard? There’s one next to my house and I end up going every once in a while. My favourite part has some old and rusty fence that has by now been lifted by trees as they’re literally growing through it. To me, it shows nature is healing.
Graveyards have really come back into being a more popular thing. We’ve got Highgate Cemetery in London, which has become a low-key date spot, bizarrely. Someone also put a Labubu on Karl Marx’s grave there recently, so there’s that. And what’s something people wouldn’t know about you?
They always assume more than they know in general. And I love to prove ‘em wrong.
To end, perhaps on a more positive note, is there any work which is inspiring you or giving you hope at the moment? You’ve often infused your own art with a sense of resilience in the past. With Eyeroll for instance and its ideas about togetherness, humanity, and the renewal of hope. What keeps you motivated and optimistic as an artist these days?
I’m mostly optimistic when I realize who I could connect to within my practice. I’m so humbled by the meaningful connections I made, the friends I have gained, and collaborating with so much genius, or meeting some of the people who inspired me in the beginning of my journey. It’s beautiful and I’m forever blessed to being able to experience this.
Are there any newer friends, artists, communities or even non-musical pursuits that you are holding close?
I believe in the future and the young ones, in change and in growth. There will always be exciting new art, even if we’re stuck here as we know it. Let me quote the lyrics of Home because I find ‘em comforting, and this seems a lovely way to end this interview, actually:
Drawn to the unknown
In heartbeat, flesh and bone
We seek and build what we call our Home forever never alone.
In heartbeat, flesh and bone
We seek and build what we call our Home forever never alone.
