Little Talk with Martin Kohlstedt

German producer, composer, and pianist Martin Kohlstedt has just released his latest album, ‘Kluft,’ a deeply immersive and emotionally charged work that explores states of transition, uncertainty, and transformation.
Taking its name from the German word for a gap, rupture, or divide, ‘Kluft’ captures the experience of existing between what was and what is yet to come, both personally and collectively. Across twelve interconnected pieces, Kohlstedt expands his distinctive fusion of modern classical composition, ambient electronics, improvisation, and modular songwriting, weaving together piano, vintage keyboards, synthesizers, and richly textured analog soundscapes into a unified musical language. 
The result is an album that embraces ambiguity rather than resolution, inviting listeners into a world of movement, reflection, and emotional depth. Following the release of ‘Kluft’, we spoke with Kohlstedt about the ideas behind the record, his evolving creative process, the role of imperfection and tactility in his music, and why uncertainty remains a vital space for artistic exploration.

WWD: The word ‘Kluft’ suggests a gap, rupture, or divide. What kind of “distance” were you trying to explore emotionally or sonically on this record?
 
Kluft is less a clearly defined state and more a condition of being in-between. Around March 2023, I realized that the old ways of living and understanding myself were no longer working, while new ones hadn’t yet taken shape. I wasn’t old anymore, but I also wasn’t new. That applied to my identity, but also to what I observed more broadly: a kind of collective improvisation in the present, without clear direction or shared understanding of what comes next.
 
Musically, this led to a shift in my process. Instead of capturing a single emotional state, I began working in multiple directions at once — almost searching. Kluft couldn’t exist as one piece; it needed twelve tracks as markers, as points along a path. Only in retrospect does a form emerge. The “gap” is not a moment, but something that reveals itself through movement.
 
WWD: A lot of contemporary ambient music feels increasingly digital and frictionless, but ‘Kluft’ seems intentionally tactile, full of tape texture, acoustic residue, and analog imperfection. What drew you deeper into that physical sound world this time?
 
I’ve always been interested in expressing things as directly and as raw as possible, because that’s where emotion feels most truthful. The moment something emerges intuitively, there’s already a tendency to contextualize and smooth it out — and in that process, a lot gets lost.
For Kluft, I worked in long sessions, letting things unfold without interference, and only later reducing them to their essence without polishing too much. At the same time, I was very strict about what to keep. Anything that felt constructed, overthought, or emotionally dishonest was removed. What remains are the pieces that carried that original immediacy. The physical qualities in the sound — noise, imperfection, residue — are not added later; they are a result of staying close to that source.

WWD: You’ve spoken before about composing in modules and allowing pieces to evolve differently in live performance. Did ‘Kluft’ change your relationship with improvisation or structure compared to records like Flur or Feld?
 
Yes, significantly. I moved beyond simply documenting the process and allowed things to mature — to sit, to be revisited and questioned. That added a new layer of reflection. The modules that came out of this now feel more defined and carry more weight. They’re no longer just open fragments, but elements I can actively recombine in live performance. Kluft also has a way of questioning the truth of what came before. In a live setting, past and present interact, and something new emerges from that tension.
 
In earlier work, there was more acceptance. With Kluft, I feel like I have actual tools — ways to confront things, to move through them, and to go deeper.
 
WWD: On ‘Kluft,’ the production feels incredibly organic despite the electronic framework – you move between piano, vintage keyboards, synths, and processed textures in a way that never feels purely “digital.” Which instruments or keyboards became central to the emotional language of the album, and how did you approach blending analog warmth with subtle electronic manipulation in the studio?
 
For the first time, the piano stepped away from the center. It still represents my past and has a strong presence, but it no longer leads.
 
The electronic instruments took over that role — synthesizers like the Prophet-10, Osmose, Moog Subsequent, and Korg MS2000 became central, especially in terms of harmony and melody. I also worked with older Soviet synths like the Elita-3 and Polivoks, which have a very raw character that requires a different kind of control.
 
At the same time, instruments like the Fender Rhodes, Wurlitzer, CP70, and even a harmonium helped bridge the space between the electronic and the organic. The goal was not to contrast these worlds, but to fully merge them — to reach a point where they are no longer perceived as separate.
 
WWD: Many electronic artists chase clarity and precision, whereas ‘Kluft’ often feels interested in ambiguity and emotional unresolvedness. Do you think modern listeners still allow themselves to sit with uncertainty in music?
 
I think the desire for clarity often comes from a need to resolve uncertainty too quickly. I understand that impulse, but it can also prevent deeper engagement. In my early sketches, I also created more distant, almost otherworldly spaces. But looking back, that felt like a form of avoidance. The real “gap” is a much darker and more demanding place. Kluft follows a clear trajectory, but only across its full duration. The sense of resolution comes at the end, with the final piece “MEM.” It’s a process you have to go through, without any longings. I think there’s a tendency in art to escape into abstraction, but for me it was important that these open spaces remain confrontational and active — especially in a live context.
WWD: The album seems to exist somewhere between ambient listening and deep physical immersion. Do you imagine people experiencing ‘Kluft’ alone in headphones, or collectively in a live setting where the material can mutate in real time?
 
Both, but in a specific order. Alone, with focus and time, it works as a kind of activation. Almost like training a muscle that hasn’t been used for a while
 
The album prepares something internally. But its full potential unfolds in a live setting, where individual experiences connect. It becomes a shared human process — something that evolves through collective presence. Kluft is not static; it remains in motion like all my pieces and experiences. 
 
WWD: You originally came from modern classical piano and electronic production before developing this hybrid language of prepared piano, synthesis, and modular composition. Looking back, do you feel ‘Kluft’ represents a culmination of those worlds or the beginning of a new phase?
 
It’s definitely a new phase. For the first time, I no longer distinguish between these different musical directions.
 
It feels like a space without orientation — where instruments don’t take on predefined roles anymore. There are pure synthesizer pieces and piano pieces, but neither behaves the way they used to. They no longer guide in the same way.
 
These worlds have become interdependent. The distance between them has collapsed into something unified.
 
WWD: There’s a strong sense of movement through “non-places” on the album – spaces that feel transient, suspended, or emotionally undefined. Were there particular environments, cities, or moments of travel that informed the atmosphere of the record?
 
Not in a physical sense. These are not places you can travel to. They are internal spaces — states of consciousness where new emotional structures appeared. Kluft became a kind of map of those experiences, a way of navigating something that didn’t exist before. It’s closely tied to questions of identity— trying things out, recalibrating, finding orientation.
 
The “non-places” also became a visual layer. Together with my team, I created imagery where I appear in a more confident state, moving through these environments. Almost like confronting myself from the outside — like a counterpart that pushes me forward.
What once felt overwhelming or paralyzing becomes something I can engage with and understand.

WWD: Your live performances often transform pieces dramatically from their recorded versions. Are there tracks on ‘Kluft’ that you already feel will evolve into completely different organisms on stage?
 
That’s the goal. The material is meant to transform. It’s not fixed — it’s designed to become something else on stage in a discourse with all pre-existing elements. 
 
WWD: Ambient and subtle electronica are having another cultural moment right now, but much of it gets consumed passively through playlists and algorithms. How do you protect depth, silence, and intentional listening in a landscape built for constant distraction?
 
I don’t think you can fully protect it. But Kluft requires a conscious decision to engage with it. It’s not music that works in the background.
 
It’s more like entering a different mode of experience for a certain amount of time. And I trust that this kind of depth finds its way through human connection — through people sharing it with each other.
 
It’s not built for algorithms, and it probably won’t spread that way. But it works on a human level. I see that in the concerts — how people connect with it. That’s something I didn’t expect, and I’m very grateful for it.
 
WWD: That’s what it’s all about! Thanks for the chat
 
The ‘Kluft’ album is available here
 
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