Interview with Bruno Karnel

The title Villa Solitude suggests something both grand and isolated. What first inspired that name — was it a particular image, feeling, or idea?
The funny thing is that Villa Solitude is an actual villa, in Bad Gastein, Austria. I was on a trip there and saw this beautiful building in the mountains… and I thought it was a great title for the album I was writing at the time! Actually, the villa seems to be something very luxurious, some kinda Agatha Christie manor if you see what I mean. But it worked well as a title.

The album features a variety of cities, like Diaspar, Okhta-Tsentr, and Candlelight City. Do these places come from your imagination, or do they reflect something deeper from the real world?
The first one you mention, Diaspar, comes from the imagination of Arthur C. Clarke. In his sci-fi book The City and the Stars, Diaspar is a city run by a computer – you would say an IA, today. Whereas everybody say it’s impossible, the main character manages to escape from the city, gaining freedom and free-will. I think it’s a great metaphor of the world we’re living in today. We have to leave Diaspar, as well, or it will absorb us sooner or later.
Okhta-Tsentr actually exists, it’s also called Lakhta Centr or Gazprom City, near St Petersburg. It’s a kind of dystopian, deshumanized center with a brutalist architecture. A post-apocalyptic place run by a post-soviet mafia. Quite scary, actually.
Candlelight City is a name I gave to Kyiv, Ukraine. I have many friends in the country, and since the war began they often have to run to bomb shelters and use candles because there is no more electricity. They are so brave and resilient, I wanted to write a song for them but a sober one, with no pathos. I hope I succeeded.

You’ve mentioned being influenced by Central and Eastern European scenes, like Kauan and Molchat Doma. What drew you into these underground currents? Was there a specific moment or band that unlocked that door for you?
It’s a very interesting question, I’m glad you ask! My musical background is very British, with progressive rock bands from the 70’s (especially Genesis and Van der Graaf Generator) and metal bands like Anathema or Paradise Lost. I also listened to a lot of Scandinavian bands, like Anekdoten, Opeth or Pixie Ninja. But since the 2000/2010’s, inspiration has gone dry in my opinion (except for Pixie Ninja, which a new band actually, or sort of). When I have the time, I like to wander on Bandcamp and music forums, in order to discover some new music. And one day, I discovered ‘Ice Fleet’, by Kauan. It was like a revelation, like I always wanted to listen to this music without knowing it. I instantly became a fan. At the time I was also travelling a lot in Central and Eastern Europe. The underground scenes are so rich there, so fresh, without the boundaries we have in Western Europe. I listen to a lot of artists from Slovakia (Autmunist, Waterbased, Nina Kohout…), Lithuania (Kamaniu Silelis, Whalesounds…), Ukraine (A Noend of Mine, Krapka;KOMA…), Belarus (Dlina Volny Molchat Doma), to name only a few. I have seen several of them live now. They all influence me, especially by their use of electronics and vintage sounds. I could talk about these bands and artists for hours!

You’ve talked about a presence ‘lurking in the shadows of the notes’ — is this presence something you’re actively trying to summon, or is it a more subconscious part of your music?
It’s very conscious. I think I had the idea while listening to ‘Are you there ?’, by Swedish artist Mattias Olsson, AKA Molesome. And also because I love crime or sci-fi series, which use this a lot in their music. I actually recorded a lot of sounds in city, or very urban places, like corridors, train stations, halls… and turned these sounds into loops, percussion and pads, using sound design technics. They are everywhere on the album.

Do you see your music as something you build, and if so, how do you visualize it before it becomes sound?
I don’t have synaesthesia, I mean I don’t see colours when I listen to music or when I think about it, but I kinda visualize how the songs have to be built. I often have an aim, an ambience I want to create, something I want to evoke, and I try to take the time to pick up the different ingredients I would like to use. Sometimes, it takes months – or years. In this album, some of the lyrics were written a long time ago (Heliopolis, Oktha-Tsentr, Edepol). But sometimes, I also work in a more conventional way, I take my guitar or my keyboards or whatever, and I improvise, in the hope that it will lead somewhere.

This album is more instrumental than your previous ones. Was this a creative choice, or did you feel the music itself didn’t need words this time around?
With my two first albums, Las Ilusiones and Hic sunt dracones, I have sometimes been torn between two feelings: in one hand, even if some lyrics are in English I like to write in French, because this is my language and I think I have a good command of it. But it’s a lot more difficult to sing in French than in English or say, in Spanish, because of the rhythm and the pronunciation of the language, all these nasal sounds for instance. And on the other hand, the more I propose new music, the more obvious it becomes that my audience is more international than French. Which is cool, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes non-French speakers seem to find it difficult to listen to my songs, because of my tone, and/or because they would like to understand the lyrics. And as I’m more and more into post-rock, and instrumental music in general, it felt like it was the right moment to evolve in that direction. My next album will be half instrumental, half sung (in French and English).

How do you approach working with drummers to make sure their rhythm serves the emotional atmosphere of the songs?
I always write all the music, all the arrangements (except the cello or the violin, because I can’t). But when it comes to play, I let the musician decide if they want to strictly follow the music sheet or not. I choose them, because I like what they do and I trust them. On ‘Hic sunt dracones’, Pavel proposed his vision of the parts I had written, a very Porcupine Tree-oriented vision I would say. And it had an influence on the record, at the end of the day. On ‘Villa Solitude’, it was different because Basile Combes (from Dislimn, who played the drums on this one) and I recorded together in the studio, me playing bass. So there was a lot more interactions than with Pavel, who recorded in his own home studio (I never met him, even if I consider him a friend today). The bases of ‘Villa Solitude’ sound much more live and emotional because of that.

Your sound is eclectic — mixing post-rock, metal, prog, and more. Do you still think in terms of genre when you write, or has that idea become irrelevant for you over time?
You’re absolutely right. I don’t care about genres, I never did. When I was a teenager, that’s what fascinated me with all those 70’s bands, be they Genesis, Deep Purple or Pink Floyd: they didn’t give a fuck. Genesis could sound heavy or medieval, Deep Purple could sound funky, Floyd could sound disco… It’s all music, why try to categorize? I go back to one of your previous questions: that’s what I like in these Central and Eastern European artists, they often propose music without boundaries. But you know, it can be hard to sell haha.

Your titles always feel like they’re laden with hidden meanings — “Hic sunt dracones,” “Las Ilusiones.” How do you come up with the titles for your tracks? Do they come before or after the music reveals itself?
Yeah, I like that. I like that the titles may be like little riddles. I think I got the title ‘Las Ilusiones’ long before finishing the writing the album. It was the name of a place I visited in Ecuador, if I remember correctly. It sounded so much like an album title, I couldn’t resist! And as there were some South-American influences on this one, it felt relevant. On the contrary, the title ‘Hic sunt dracones’ came after the writing of the songs, but I don’t exactly recall the circumstances. As the album was about extreme places, be they in the North or in the Mexican desert, I chose this title because on the medieval maps, it marked the unknown, dangerous places, where there was supposed to be dragons and monsters. And about ‘Villa Solitude’, I think the title came while I was writing the songs.

You’ve worked with several guests on this record, including Artem Litovchenko and Polina Faustova. Were there any moments in the studio where one of them brought something unexpected that altered the direction of a song?
Well, in the studio near Paris, there was only Florent, Basile, Matt (the bass player on three tracks), Sonia (vocals) and myself. All the other musicians recorded in their own studio. Most of them are Ukrainians, that’s my way of supporting the country. I often collaborate with Artem and Polina, I love to work with them, even on other projects of mine. Polina played on ‘Hic sunt dracones’, and also on ‘N+8’, an electronic EP I released with my friend Frédéric Gerchambeau. Artem played two songs on my electronic side-project Abstrakt Lake, for example on the new single ‘Psittacalling’, which is now live. He is very good with ambiences, he can make his cello sound like a pad. Both of them will play on my next album as well, which makes me more than happy! One fun fact is that, on the end of ‘Lightnings’, you can hear Polina Faustova on cello and Polina Chorna on the piano… I didn’t know it when I invited them, but they know each other very well. They studied together in Kharkiv and even played in the same band! So, on the next album I decided to reunite them together, once again, and wrote a song for them.

You’ve been working with the same team — Florent Morel for mixing, Thomas Johansson for mastering. Do you feel like this familiarity breeds a deeper level of experimentation, or do you find it harder to push boundaries when you’re too comfortable with a team?
It’s my third album with Florent, we know each other quite well know (we have known each other for a much longer time, actually). Both of us like very much to experiment with the sound, especially with vintage sounds. The fact that we worked several times together before makes things easier: we can work very efficiently, without wasting our time. And he is as cool as he is meticulous, it’s great to work with him. We have already planned sessions for the next album. And Thomas is a master of details, he knows how to make the music sound powerful without letting down all the details. The work he does with Molesome and Pixie Ninja is just fantastic, that’s why I knew he was the guy.

Your music has this lingering feeling that there’s something watching or listening from the shadows. When you’re writing, who or what is the listener in your head?
Oh, I have to be careful with my answer, I don’t want to appear as schizophrenic haha. It may sound naive or idealistic, but I try to write and produce music that I would love to listen to. So I try to put myself in the place of a potential listener, who would be happy to listen to the record again and again, just to catch up some details he would have missed before. I love immersive music, that’s what I try to do.

There’s a strong analog feel to this record — a warm, slightly gritty texture. Was that a conscious move to embrace an older, more tactile sound, or is that just where the music naturally led you?
Thank you, that’s exactly what I tried to do. In most prog or metal released today, it seems that a lot of artists can’t get rid of that old, polished 90’s sound. I liked that at the time, but I’m so tired of it now. I wanted something a bit rough, like you hear the pick on the bass, or you see the guy programming his old plastic drum machine. Like in Molchat Doma or Ploho, you know. Something a bit punky. No Transatlantic 34′ fucking epic. I used a lot of vintage sounds, especially samples from the Soviet period, like Elsita drums, Maestro synths… I even bought an old Borisov bass, from the late 70’s/early 80’s, to get closer to that good old post punk sound (you can hear it growling on ‘Heliopolis’ or ‘Edepol’, for instance).

If Villa Solitude were a real place, not just an idea or concept, what would it look like? What would it sound like, and what would you leave behind when you walked out of it?
I like to think it would be some kind of old suburb, with wind howling and machines growling. Rusty metal trash on the floor. An industrial place that at first could seem cold and unfriendly, but that you would finally come to like and appreciate. And maybe rebuild, with more colours.

www.brunokarnel.com