An artificial figure in search of yourself – and what happened.
For years, Max Gruber wanted to make his visions on bending and break reality – then he reached a trial point. In order to save his artificial figure tribulation, he has to bury her a bit. The new plate can be understood as a fatalistic drama grotesque. In the end, however, their creation of the ODE alone gets to the music.
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Every year life confronts us with questions, after the answer of which nothing can remain as it was. Neither know of such route straight routes, nor do they allow it to linger. Three years ago, Max Gruber stood at this point: if he slides the right -wing fork in the road, he will have to leave tribulation behind him. If he takes the left junction, he remains nothing but the splitting of his art figure. What led him there?
“And so I plead at the end of the night: give me my song back.” (“I dreamed of music”)
For a while, indie-Darling Gruber really wanted to know with the hit parade. He had gotten his rock music more and more frankness over the years. At the style level, the human -negative darkness of the early day gave way to a mass -flaming flamboyanz. From his alternative sound structure, he had broken down most locks, barriers and tips on Exit Strategy (2021) at the latest. Today he looks back on this work of the work as follows: “It was about the egg-glatted and artificial, about fleeing in the sense of disguising or hiding, lazy celluloid magic.” Gruber articulates lightning -cut words. Sometimes his being struggles with the first impulses in a frenzied contemporary, but his intellect always draws from the administration to reflect on the past. He doubts that the charts at the time actually came to sixth place arose: “I simply sent the right signals on all channels at the right time. That was a very conscious decision – being present as a person.” But the lonely construction of the songs at the desk, the later stacking on top of each other and the grinding of the traces demanded a lot – both from his strength reserves and his joy of playing. High -frequency mechanisms of himself rolled in it. Then a chronic illness follows the artistic exemption. He remembers: “I was bad with the idea of creating music in my room for another two years. This process would have produced nothing enthusiastic. I didn’t even want to get up, I didn’t even want to get up.” How and whether it should go on with tribulation, only knew the stars after pandemic. There would be a break, at least the booth set in stone.
He looked for a little bit of lightness in two band projects of a climbing stimulus. The super group poppunk of the Benjamins and the anti-folk duette of the mausis called back to the awareness that making music can be a lustful affair with a carefree moment. He found fulfillment in the collective. At some point Gruber knew: Should it really go on with tribulation, he needs help. The crossing sign continuously approached: stop or split. So far, fear of the control of the control of the controls – with a firm handle he had always grown into his fists. But what if he lets go? When he buried control constraints and greed for perfection? Can there be tribulation without the great gesture of the ego? On June 16, 2022, Gruber shakes Marvin Holley’s hand. Half a year later, when he randomly encountered from a spontaneous gut feeling, he asks him to make music together. His answer is “yes”. In Holleys studio you ponder ideas and pianociplaviator in Holleys studio once or twice a week. Gruber had already said goodbye to the musicians of his live band – everyone except for Lukas Korn. The two send him their sketches from Berlin to Wuppertal. The first song scaffolding is created in the Ping Pong of the Language Memos.
“One shoulder, a brother kiss / with the continued, we will break up.” (“Nation of Resignation”)
Soon afterwards, Gruber chooses the left path and the tanner of urge is transformed into a troika. “I found two people in them who can interpret my signals and do not simply go there blindly – but rather show me more exciting ways. The more we worked together, the more vague and diffuser my impulses became more and more space for filling,” says Gruber. After a meeting in Wuppertal, the three drive on a farm restored to the studio on the Polish border. They carry the floor plans of the pieces in their luggage. They dawn quite quickly that an album will be created here. “In the first week I still broadcast noticeable fear, was very controlling. Sometimes I chose things hastily that later turned out to be beneficial and beautiful,” recalls Gruber. Seven days off until Max Rieger is added as a producer. The longer the wind pulls over the north German fields, the less panicked it insists in Gruber. At some point he could even get lost in his sleep while Rieger, Korn and Holley do their works. A painting becomes a painting in two times two weeks. Last brush strokes in the Funkhaus Berlin complete the picture – it does not have the title from any of my bridges that lie in ashes.
The progressive rock music modeled on it dreams of turning away. Your jazz passages unload confusion, your blues lines drift into resignation. “I am constantly trying to get to the nucleus of the unsteady in myself – but I just can’t do it. The impossibility of a really sustainable self -exhaustion makes me grumbling,” says Gruber. Some ears are likely to see these 17 pieces as a fatalistic manifesto. Some songs are split into two parts by jerk -like shocks. The volume, the clock and the dynamics are similar to galloping Mustang horses and sometimes a grazing bison herd on the distant horizon. In all cases, however, audible creatures made of flesh and blood interlock, the machine only serves as a means to an end. The synthesizers so infinitely stylish for tribulation since the beginning of his career do not find a plug in the prairie Western Pomerania. In addition to the constitutive acoustic guitar and the equally essential piano: harpsichord and violins, xylophone and cellos, saxophone and flute, organ and clavinet are explored on the homestead. “We quickly decided that we look at the computer as little as possible and actually only want to let him be a band machine,” says co-producer Lukas Korn. In addition to the unpleasant play equipment, the microphones also document the creakers in the beam. Max Rieger encourages the trio to raise the supposed imperfection to the shape -giving design means – the final work of art as a image of an organic process sequence. Sometimes Holley thought: “Here, the chair creaks, I want to do it again. But then knowing someone who shares this trust and this vision was very nice.”
Even if Gruber may not want to pronounce it directly, its verses of various disillusion: the loss of creative naturalness, the natural laws of incessant change, the battle with his health. All of this can be found at least between the pointed -tongue lines of this drama grotesque. She will demand her audience. For fun, the question of what you are currently doing with the punch line: at Drängsal’s careeruin. But much more important than it can ever be: Gruber fell in love for the second time, for which he once moved out of the Palatinate into the wide world. If he thinks of the album today, no darkness unfolds, but joy. Holley piled him back from dead ends when he had done. Korn knew how to kill every sound from the head of his singer into the recording device. With words, Gruber draws the picture of three people who drop back and do not tip over. This requires both tension and trust. Then he says: “Marvin and Lukas saved me. In the past I harvested fruit, so fermented them. At some point I didn’t want to do it anymore and had to worry about what was left in the end – and that’s the music.”