The ANTI-INTERVIEW with Diaf.

DIAF is a German gothwave/neo-folk solo project founded in 2020 in the heart of Patrona Bavariae. This area carries immense historical, spiritual, and alchemical relevance. It's a land of secrets, legends, ghosts, and occultism. Such aspects are an integral part of DIAF's DNA, and are vividly coloured across his ever-changing sound palette, one which goes from the predominantly darkwave undertones of "Weida" (2020), to the subtle shades of psychedelic rock in "Gloria" (2022), and the neo-folk sacred elements heavily introduced from "Lucid In Lava" onward.
DIAF is what I call a multifaceted artist with a multifactorial background, in a multiverse dimension. One of those musicians who perhaps should not be explained, logically understood, or ever interviewed. His music is both an intimate and collective experience, one that makes you question the sacred/profane, and the very meaning of "live experience".

We have decided to structure this article not as a regular interview (solely about his music), but as a free-flow open music conversation in which we can both ask questions and questions of questions in order to get to the depth of the many subjects we discuss.

What is an ANTI-INTERVIEW? The interviewer normally holds all the questioning power, creating an off-balance result with short and plain back-and-forth exchanges. What if artists felt freer to ask questions back, or even question the questions? This new interview format was created with the precise intention of breaking those confines.

- I've been thinking about what the meaning of an interview is, and what do people like about interviews. Do they really care about the technical instrumentation used in an album and the meaning of a song? Or would they rather get a tour inside the mind of one of their favourite artists?

DIAF: An interview cliché, for example, is talking too much about gear, like "analog synths are way better than digital", or over-explaining the meaning of songs. I feel like that robs the listener of the experience of finding their own interpretation. 
The merit of an interview always depends on how vulnerable you are willing to be in front of your audience.

-That whole analog synths vs digital argument has no reason to exist in my opinion, but we can maybe approach it from a different perspective. Let's talk about it in relation to the live experience for instance. What is a "live experience" historically, culturally, socially? The term "live" itself refers to something that "comes to life". If we analyse it in the music dimension, it's supposed to be a moment in which music takes shape. There is, of course, a performative aspect and a re-enactment of music, which makes one of the biggest arguments nowadays, the one concerning pre-recorded bases and samples. I'm absolutely not against them (just to be clear). If we were to make a comparison with contemporary art, it would be the equivalent of claiming that all art pieces using representation or parts of other precedent pieces (like a collage or free stock images) are not art, which would be unthinkable nowadays. But the difference here is, live music is supposed to be "live", and the closest example of that in art would be performance art. Many people believe that live music is supposed to have "real" instruments played in real time, and if we take analog synths, they can be played live in real time, making them maybe closer to their ideal of live instrumentation. This begs the question: What is a live experience for you?

DIAF: Catharsis. The melting of the performer with the audience to the point that there is no distinction between the two, in a state of emotional union and divine ecstasy. How that exact state is achieved, and with what gear, or how much of it is live instruments, that is of second nature. What counts is the raw experience at the core of it. It needs to move you both figuratively and literally speaking. That can happen in many different ways, from genre to genre, and with different artistic vocabulary being used. What was your most cathartic concert?

-The act of attending a gig and getting ready for it is cathartic in itself for me. If I know the band/artist and their discography, I will get ready for it specifically, with the precise intention of bringing that mood and vision to life. The way I carefully pick every item of clothing, makeup etc...is my own celebration of that artist and their vision. Committing myself to someone's live performance is helping them bring it to life. If the stage and the crowd are one thing (as we both believe), wouldn't you be dressed accordingly to what you bring on stage? The sensorial aspect is also really important of course. Being able to stand in order to feel the vibrations coming from the floor. Alcest are a very cathartic and transcendental band, so are Patriarkh (ex- Batushka). Their gig had a very powerful ritualistic aspect, like going to church (not in the institutionalised sense of course). What about you?

DIAF: Aesthetics do matter, big time, as they are an integral part of the Gesamtkunstwerk. As for my most intense show as a concert goer, there were many, but the one that has stuck with me the most was the Devil's Blood. Small, packed club in Berlin, barely any air to breathe, and the smell of incense in the air. it was self-undoing beyond the the point of self-undoing, that's the only way to describe it. Also, interesting that you mentioned Batushka. isn't going to a concert very akin to going to church? From an historical perspective, all harmonies that we are using in music originate from the church. That is why music was written down in the first place, and it was composed with the specific intention of invoking the spiritual (albeit the sell-out version of it) in the people attending the church service (=ritual). Imagine just how mighty an organ and a choir must have sounded in 1400 inside a dimply lit gothic cathedral. Fast forward to today, and we are still going to dimply lit places to listen to music that sounds mighty in order to connect with "the divine". The only difference being that we added hypnotic voodoo rhythms into the mix, that element of the body which the priests from back in the day would not exactly have approved of.

-Absolutely! This is such an on-point observation. Let's talk about the making of music. How do you feel when you have just finished a song?

DIAF: It feels how it needs to feel. I very rarely listen to my songs after they are completely finished, and when I do, it's like reading old diary entries, where you can only tell with much time in between how it actually is.

-I can relate to that, especially the part about old diary entries. When you are totally immersed in something, the act of bringing it to completion creates a sort of detachment and alienation, maybe because of the sudden sense of loss? 

DIAF: The path is the goal. The point something is finished, there is this moment where you have to let it go, and then it leaves you. If feels like it was done by someone, because it was done by a different self, one that needed to do it in order to then let go of it. To me it kind of becomes impersonal once it is fully released. The space between the formation of an idea and its release, where only a handful of people have heard it, is what I like the most, because it feels more personal.

-The process over the "object". The excitement for a fresh idea, or something new that feels immediate and you can't help. But ideas don't necessarily have a finishing line, songs do. That's probably the only limit music has (a point that you could successfully argue with fine art examples or music installations in which music is a model that keeps changing itself, forever evolving, independently from human decision). But since this is not what you do, how do you know when it's the end of a song/idea?

DIAF: It goes through various stages. The first one is the core of the song, the lyrics, and the melody. I always do that with just an acoustic guitar because it's the most vulnerable way to do it. When I begin to hear in my head how it's going to sound and it feels as a finished song, I know it's time to move on to the production side of things. At that point I need to have a clear picture of the whole thing in my head so that I can break it down into smaller tasks, and give each one the needed attention, from the overall sound to the smaller details, while constantly squaring it with the blueprint in my head. I imagine the song as a painting, moving from a basic pencil sketch to the colours, and then to the finer details, until it feels whole. When what I hear is in alignment with that initial vision, in a way that can be understood, I know it's finished. How do you know when something's finished?

-I never do. That's my main problem...and that's why I asked you! 

DIAF: Then let's solve that! Where do you think it comes from?

-An almost psychoanalytical question. Perhaps the way I used to approach art (being a painter and photographer), was too open-ended. I could never fully digest the idea that there's a clear confine, structure, and ending. Art is an act of freedom, and freedom is ever-changing, not still. In seeing art as a mutable object that keeps evolving an infinite amount of times, I struggled to see or conceive an end. The actual ending declaration " It's finished", should be the very finality of art, because art is supposed to be collected, owned, and kept forever, like a "simulacrum". isn't that what human nature always aspires to do? Capturing something free and mutable in order to make it static. What if the canvas of a painting had no physical limits, what if we kept painting over the same painting, what if we changed its orientation every day, based on different daily feelings, moods...like a diary.

DIAF: The ending is an illusion created by time and space in this reality. Art is the physical manifestation of something that comes from an infinite void of endless possibilities. When creating something, you dive deep into that void, head first, and seek to salvage the treasure it holds. It is up to you to find a way to turn those initially abstract ideas into something palatable. There is literally an infinite amount of ways to do that, one needs to become humble before it. And that is where the actual creativity comes into the picture: you take a fragment of infinity and look for ways to forge it into something that can be perceived as finite by everyday consciousness. 
In music, that happens mostly through the dimension of time: a song may be only three minutes long, but during those three minutes, your reality gets elevated to something above reality. And if the song really hits you, you get a glimpse of the endlessness it contains and makes you remember the place from where you came.

-I can really appreciate your statement here: a song is a piece of endlessness coming from an infinite void of possibilities. There is something so powerful yet humbling about it. Having said that, we can go back to your previous statement! I do think it's important in music to have strong "base material" that feels vulnerable, honest, and immediate. A lot of artists nowadays get lost in the embellishment or bet everything on big productions. In my opinion certain feelings can't be re-invented purely with a computer, actually....they can be maybe, depending on the artist. But the bottom line is: vulnerability needs to happen in order for art to come to life. How we make that come out is strictly personal, but a guitar seems quite an instinctive instrument to me.

DIAF: I hold the conviction that a good song, one with substance, needs to work without all the production stuff in the first place. Because otherwise all the instruments are not "instrumental" in expressing something. Technology is a powerful tool, but it should be used with a purpose. Speaking of vulnerability, a rule of thumb for me is that the only 2 vocal takes are really honest, while the ones that follow, maybe being objectively better, lack the initial vibe. Actual perfection lies in the imperfections that make it human and vulnerable.

-This is a really interesting rule. So, everything after the two first vocal takes would be a re-enactment of that authentic feeling. I don't think any artist has ever told me that strangely, but artists in general tend to chase perfection over spontaneity. Speaking of which, would you say isolation is absolutely necessary in your writing process? Are you the type of artist who goes tunnel vision on a song and nothing else matters?

DIAF: Working on a song is like meditation, so there needs to be a time and space free of any distractions, where only I and the song exist. And so make myself a very nice cup of coffee, go to my studio, set my phone on flight mode and begin the "meditation“. 
Now, as exhilarating as all of that is, what rarely gets talked about is how crucial it is to keep yourself grounded during the creative process. It’s intense mental and spiritual work, so one needs to balance that out. Even when I‘m fully immersed in the process, I take breaks to do pushups, and a Yoga session in the evening. It makes all the difference for feeling balanced throughout it all. 
But that was not always the case. During the making of WEIDA I barely saw any daylight, and my sleep schedule was akin to that of a vampire. Afterwards I came to the conclusion that maybe, but just maybe, there might be a healthier way to do it. Again, keeping yourself grounded when doing something that is not grounded at all is of the utmost importance.

-A very insightful contrast indeed. Speaking of contrasts, many of your songs feel like a divine act of transformation. Is the destruction of the self (in a metaphorical and artistic sense) a crucial part of your music journey? Is DIAF a sort of alter-ego who keeps dying and being born in new forms in order to keep your artistic spark alive?

DIAF:
It is always about transformation, or rather transmutation, from darkness to the light, emotional alchemy. The first time that I consciously found out about it was on a sunny day at the end of August 2009. It was morning, and I just got a call from the hospital that my mother had died. It was a feeling of profound loss, like a void opening up inside of me. Something that I needed to express, or else it would eat me up. And so I sat down, took my guitar and just played, just played from the pain. One hour, two hours, three hours, eyes closed, until I found myself lying on the floor, until my fingers were sore and my mind was empty. I found a way to say something that could not be said in any other way.

And so you say it. You say it in your most vulnerable moments, you let your heart and soul speak, with fearless vigour and grim determination, until you have conquered that particular mountain. You may enjoy the scenic view for a few brief moments. You may enjoy it so much that the thought of staying there may creep into the back of your head. But Oh!, then you see tiny spark glowing in the far distance, at the peak of another mountain, one that is way taller than the one you’re standing on. You ask yourself "Am I up for that?“ while your inner flame already firmly knows the answer.

-Thank you for sharing such a touching personal moment/memory. This has really resonated with me and many other readers I'm sure. There is enormous power in vulnerability, and remarkable courage in uncovering it in front of the world.

I am assuming you are the one playing the guitar on your songs. You clearly have a metal background. That sort of classic metal/neo-folk crossover is an aspect of your music that immediately jumps out. There is a strong and solemn element to your singing. It sounds occult, divine, sacred. When you make it clash with the electronic and more techno side of your productions, it almost desecrates it. That feeling of rebellious desecration is an important ingredient of your recipe I think. I'm not really sure what or where my question is in this, but maybe you can find it yourself? haha

DIAF: Well, if I had asked you the question "What is your view on my creative process?“, then your answer is definitely one which would not make me want to slam my head against a brick wall, haha.

For the person listening to the music, it is irrelevant how the artist who did it interprets it. They project something on it, and the artist as a person disappears. There never is a "correct“ way to interpret something, just different perspective. You can sum up the parts, but you won’t get the whole.

-Lastly, what is one question that no interviewer/journalist ever asked you, and you really wish they did (including myself of course)

DIAF: It is "Which question do you think I always wanted to ask an artist, but never did?“