Phantoms and Solitude
Seeking peace, writing music, and staying human in an overstimulated world.
Hello my dear ones,
it’s been exactly three weeks since my last sign of life. Three weeks during which so much has shifted and stirred, both outwardly and inwardly. As so often in life, we suddenly find ourselves at the end of an exciting and important chapter without ever really having had the capacity or peace of mind to process, understand, or even properly grasp it. And no matter how much we try to make sense of events, to internalise what happened, and simultaneously to give what we experienced and felt some meaning or significance, it simply refuses to be pinned down.
That’s how I felt the world, especially this past week. But let’s rewind a bit:
Roughly two days after I returned from the Ibanez Guitar Festival and my performance with Paul Gilbert (you can read about it here), I was already on the road again. This time, heading northwest to Lower Saxony to visit my friend Peter and “Die Mühle”.
Our credo: prioritise hanging out again and see if we might come up with something, musically. What I mostly care about currently is letting the creative process arise naturally and freely again. No pressure. No looming release dates circling above my head, like hungry vultures waiting for the next scrap to devour. And most importantly, no self-imposed expectations. I’ve had more than enough of those in recent years, maybe one of the reasons I wanted to break away from the automatisms of the music industry. But perhaps that’s a topic for a future newsletter. 👀
On May 28th, I finally arrived at my longed-for destination, Peter picked me up at the train station and our reunion felt like it was overdue and very heartwarming. After settling in and soaking up the comforting feeling of being back at the old mill, my first order of business was to attune myself to the prevailing sense of time and life there, because… time really does flow differently in that place. It seems to flow differently everywhere, depending on how many people and information you surround yourself with, but the contrast to Berlin is always astonishing. From nearly 4 million people in a hectic metropolis to fewer than a thousand in seclusion. Naturally, this creates more calm, more silence, and the chance to truly immerse yourself in your surroundings. Those surroundings are full of life as well: all kinds of birds (I even saw a pheasant, a rare sight these days!), countless insects, but also horses, dogs, ducks, and chickens that are part of the mill’s daily life.
My visit also included a truly beautiful experience at a small, local rave, a secret gathering with about 30 to 40 people.
Out of the blue, Peter told me that we’d be guests at a private electronic music gathering. Just what I needed to transition from big city to country life. We danced the night away, embraced the natural surroundings, and made new connections. All of this also needed to be processed, which led to about two or three days of recovery. The experience rekindled my love for dancing, something I’d often neglected or ignored amidst the exhausting life on tour. So… maybe a welcome reminder of something that has always mattered to me, especially back home in Berlin. 😌
The forced break afterwards actually helped me to downshift, to slow the engine, sometimes even switch it off entirely. The constant doing and tinkering and thinking and pondering. From A to B. From B to Z. We’re so often constrained by our daily obligations that simply pausing can become an almost insurmountable task. “I don’t have time to make time,” is the common phrase. And in many ways, that might be true… anyone who spends every day scraping together the bare minimum for a decent living can easily get lost in life’s tangled web. The calendars are full, the mind even fuller. And often only illness, injury, or unexpected crises force us to truly slow down.
In that regard getting out of the city was the right thing to do. What I love most about life at the mill is that, if you want to, you can truly be alone.
In solitude, time can finally stretch out, the relentless urge for busyness and distraction can come to a halt, and the self can rediscover itself, can spend time with itself without noise. So, for the first time in weeks, months even, my mind and body found the calm needed to do… nothing. And in that nothingness, in that silence, an open space suddenly emerged, allowing creativity to unfold and simply exist. Whether on walks through nearby fields and forests, or sitting on the balcony, just listening to the rustling trees and chirping birds. It happened naturally, and in one of the little studio spaces we had set up, equipped with a piano and a guitar, ideas blossomed, turned into sketches, and turned into demos. 🌸
The flow had room to exist.
Before I knew it, nearly two weeks had flown by and I had to pack my bags. I would have loved to stay longer. But somehow, I also longed for home and my own familiar space, where I could slip back into my little routines and habits. Because even though I feel at home at the mill, in the end it’s not mine. A pity, really. :))) The wonderful feeling about Peter and me reconnecting and spending so much time together remains and will carry itself forward through time. The talking, the laughter, the creativity, but also the silent moments together, sharing pain and grief, knowing that we’re part of a shared story that will bind us forever. I left with a bittersweet feeling, knowing I’ll return soon. And of course, knowing that the music will come and write itself when given time to unfold.
With new songs, ideas, and demos in my luggage, I headed back to Berlin and felt completely overwhelmed.
From a place with fewer than a thousand people, where sometimes I saw no more than two or three faces per day, right back into a hectic metropolis of millions: the hustle, the chaos, the noise, and the knowledge that I would have to settle in again here, too. So the past week has been about arriving, about testing my resilience against overstimulation. For now, I’ve found my footing again in this beautiful place (especially in summer). But somehow a knot in my chest remains. 🪢
This inner tension, I’m certain, also has to do with the state of the world. It’s no surprise that our current reality is an enormous challenge and source of overwhelm for so many of us. Especially the digital spaces we once felt safe in, where we connected and still connect, where we built and build real, tangible relationships, have turned into constant and unpredictable trauma-machines, relentless horror feeds confronting us daily with humanity’s capacity for cruelty.
Whatever algorithmic bubble we inhabit, we witness unspeakable atrocities, the seemingly unstoppable brutalisation of our humanity, and that underlying sense of being powerless against an expanding threat. In between ads, cat videos, the grip of authoritarianism, the unchecked spread of colonialist fantasies of domination, ever more realistic AI nonsense, and the next single release from our favourite band, we now try not to lose our minds.
That’s been increasingly hard for me these past days, and I keep having to remind myself that social media does not reflect a simplified reality. I also keep asking myself: What propaganda could I have fallen for? What narrative is being fed to me? Which premeditated mechanisms are pushing me to abandon my (hopefully) empathetic rationalism in order to give in to emotion-driven reactions? The sheer volume of change we’re experiencing is overwhelming and stirs existential fear. And my peaceful, conflict-averse self wants to give none of this my attention but instead focus on what is within my power: to make sure that here, in my small reality, the people around me feel well, loved, and appreciated. But also to make sure that my mind and body are prepared for the challenges ahead.
I don’t want to become numb. 🧘🏻♂️
I want to believe in the power of positive change, to look every person in the eye and find a spark of joy and empathy in their gaze. Sometimes I get lost in what some may label as naivety, ignoring that anger, fear, and shame drive so many to abandon their humanity and instead embrace reactionist behaviour and hate. But in this naivety lies the motivation, the drive, to stand up for a world that allows us to look to the future as an empathetic, holistic community, a world connected across all borders and languages by the simple fact that, here and now, at this point in time, we share this reality and life together.
So I hope, in this spirit, that you keep on standing up for this togetherness, for yourself and the ones around you, that you don’t let yourselves be divided, that you keep on looking each other deeply in the eyes to find yourselves in one another. In nature, in the here and now.
Much love,
Paul
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🖤🖤🖤