“There’s a deep desire in me for people to reconnect, to share paths, to seek answers together even when they’re not yet visible. The album is a response to that – invisible, deeply human – and I think it will take me a year before I can fully put into words what it means,” tells us Martin Kohlstedt about his new album Kluft, which is out on May 22nd.
The inspiration for Kluft didn’t come from a single moment, but rather from a state the artist lived in over a longer period of time. It emerged from those in-between spaces he found within himself and within society. Acoustic fragments, analog warmth, electronic friction, and jazz-like responsiveness coexist in a state of constant negotiation. Nothing is sealed. Everything is breathing.
Between neoclassical precision and electronic drift, between concert hall silence and club-room pulse, Martin Kohlstedt has long been building a language that refuses to stay still. His music is cinematic one moment, improvisational the next, drawing you into its atmospheric depth. Both his visuals and his sound exist in that space between instinct, memory, and imagination. Each piece on Kluft, as with all of his albums, is reduced to its absolute origin – its root – and continues to evolve in live performances, turning every concert into a new experience for both the artist and the audience. Every time a piece is played, something new emerges from the moment.
We spoke with Kohlstedt about what sparked the inspiration behind Kluft, his intuitive approach to visuals, and this deep desire in him for people to reconnect, to share paths.
photography by Karine Bravo
Looking back at the creation of “Kluft”, was there a particular moment, place, or experience that sparked the album’s inspiration?
I’m really happy to reconnect, thanks for the full circle moment. The inspiration for “Kluft”, didn’t come from a single moment but rather from a state I lived in over a longer period. It emerged from this in-between space I found myself in, both within myself and in society.
It was liminal, suspended, neither here nor there, and strangely enough, it became both an escape and my reality for almost a year. That tension, that feeling of being caught between worlds, is really what shaped the album – a gap that’s uncertain but deeply transformative.
The visuals accompanying “Kluft” are striking. How do they reflect the music’s exploration of liminal spaces, and how do you translate such abstract states into musical structure?
The visuals were an attempt to see myself reflected in both familiar and unfamiliar spaces at the same time. They’re highly abstract, almost like a map of an inner fiction where I created a version of myself that could navigate and survive these uncomfortable situations.
I never consciously try to “represent” non-places, it’s more about the feelings and states that emerge when you’re in extreme situations. My focus is on interrupting the flow, creating pauses, and transforming the rawest forms of these states into music. So the visuals and the music both exist in that space between instinct, memory, and imagination.
The word “Kluft” denotes a gap or chasm. How did this idea of division shape the sound and atmosphere of the album?
That gap, the “Kluft”, is something invisible, intangible, but everyone knows it, otherwise we wouldn’t even have the word. The cover itself shows world A and world B, and in between, a light that hints at growth, at life emerging. That idea of space guided how I layered old and new elements in the music – almost like alchemy – letting the in-between reveal itself. Some feelings are deeply anchored and hard to reach, some emerge suddenly; *KLUFT* is like a hero’s journey to reclaim control, to not be determined by the world around you.
You describe your music as a “breathing organism.” How does your modular approach allow “Kluft” to remain alive rather than fixed?
The principle behind my albums has always been the same: three-letter titles, each storing a set of approaches and techniques that I can let collide, connect, or even argue with each other in performance or further development.
Each piece is reduced to its absolute origin, its root, and only grows further during live concerts or as life unfolds. That’s what keeps the music alive – it adapts, shifts, and evolves with my experiences, remaining flexible rather than fixed.
“KLUFT is like a hero’s journey to reclaim control, to not be determined by the world around you.”
The singles (RAH, CON, YOR, and RAI) seem to form a narrative arc. What role does RAI play within the album’s emotional landscape?
In my process, nothing is composed in the traditional “conscious” sense. I work through long, intense sessions at my instruments, sometimes 40 to 60 minutes, tracing ideas back to their origin. The pieces emerge from this exploration, almost like memory points in life.
The singles together create a narrative arc across the album. CON opens the record, presenting the problem, revealing the “Kluft”, and introducing the indescribable space between two poles. RAH develops a strong self-assurance – a confident, almost audacious way of navigating that space, shifting into a calm acceptance that it might persist.
YOR moves beyond illusion into a more flowing state, a recognition of existence as continuation and evolution.
RAI sits in this continuum as a fleeting, almost illusory moment of understanding and release. It captures surrender and physical letting go, living fully in that transient instant. Its placement early in the album is essential: it bridges confrontation and later acceptance, shaping the emotional architecture of the record.
When do you decide a modular piece is “complete”?
That was honestly the toughest part. It’s like squeezing every last drop out of a toothpaste tube until a kind of exhausted calm sets in. Then I switch perspective, look at everything that remains, trim any last escape attempts, until all that’s left is the essence, that’s when a piece feels “done.”
“There’s a deep desire in me for people to reconnect, to share paths, to seek answers together even when they’re not yet visible.”
Your work merges acoustic, electronic, and analog elements seamlessly. What was the biggest challenge in balancing them on “Kluft”?
Surprisingly, that was the easiest part. The contrast between analog and digital, loud and quiet, dense and open, kitsch and dissonant – it was already built into the process, reflecting different facets of myself. The balance wasn’t something I had to force; my subconscious became the main partner, and it just happened naturally through daily work.
In a fragmented world shaped by algorithms, you’ve said your upcoming album is about connection. How do you see music achieving that?
This is really the core question and, in a way, the answer to everything “Kluft” embodies. Music allows for connections without fear or prejudice – tender, aggressive, or simply honest. There’s a deep desire in me for people to reconnect, to share paths, to seek answers together even when they’re not yet visible. The album is a response to that – invisible, deeply human – and I think it will take me a year before I can fully put into words what it means.
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