Interview – Numéro Berlin https://www.numeroberlin.de Thu, 29 Oct 2026 10:33:47 +0000 en-US hourly 1 WEEKEND MUSIC TIP PT 115 ACID PAULI https://www.numeroberlin.de/2026/10/weekend-music-tip-pt-115-acid-pauli/ Fri, 23 Oct 2026 09:12:35 +0000 https://www.numeroberlin.de/?p=76718 ACID PAULI & THE ART OF FINDING YOUR OWN RHYTHM

Martin Gretschmann, better known as Acid Pauli, has spent decades moving between musical worlds, from the experimental electronica of Console and The Notwist to the hypnotic techno, house and psychedelia of his solo project. Guided by a restless curiosity and a love of experimentation, his work brings together disparate influences, constantly shifting between the introspective and the dancefloor.

On 20the November, Gretschmann releases Mystic Meltdown, his first full-length Acid Pauli album since 2020’s MOD, via his own label, All Is Acid. Drawing on years of musical exploration and encounters made through travel, the album brings together collaborators including Kurdish vocalist Hani Mojtahedy, Sophie Hunger and members of the Ugandan-based collective Kingdom Molongi. Moving between hypnotic rhythms, experimental textures and unexpected vocal contributions, it unfolds as a continuous journey, balancing darker, introspective passages with moments of playfulness and unrelenting energy.

Alongside the album, Gretschmann is revisiting earlier work through All Is Acid’s reissue programme, giving older recordings a second life while continuing to explore new creative territory. We spoke with Acid Pauli about finding coherence in musical chaos, the influence of the Nyege Nyege community, and learning to trust his own instincts after decades of making music.

Billy Burrell: You’ve described Mystic Meltdown as an album that took months to find its coherence. With so many different sounds and influences in play, what eventually made everything click?

Acid Pauli: Finding the right coherence in this case meant finding the right order. I tried many different orders and listened through the album until I found one that felt right. It’s somehow maybe the DJ in me who tries to tell a story in a longer form.

BB: Your work has moved between The Notwist, Console and Acid Pauli, each with its own musical language. Looking back, what connects these projects, and what separates them?

AP: The connection is probably me and my approach or style. Plus, love for music and experimenting, thinking outside boxes.

BB: Acid Pauli has developed a distinct identity, moving between club music, psychedelia and more experimental territory. Was there a moment when you realised the project had become its own world?

AP: Maybe the moment was when the name appeared on the dance floor, in the form of my bandmate and friend Axel shouting “Aciiid Pauliiii” when I did one of my first solo sets with Rebirth. But frankly, I’d say it was pretty much of an evolution in the course of a few years.

BB: Your work with The Notwist and Console emerged from a very different musical landscape to the one in which Acid Pauli operates today. What did those early projects teach you about making music?

AP: All that I know.

BB: On Mystic Meltdown, voices become part of the music in different ways, from Hani Mojtahedy’s Kurdish vocals to Sophie Hunger singing Lhasa de Sela in Spanish. What makes a voice interesting to you?

AP: I’ve worked with voices a lot. In Console there’s a voice, as well as in The Notwist, and of course I did heaps of remixes that contain voices. A voice is probably the most immediate instrument there is. We don’t need to touch anything, like an instrument, in order to generate tones. In the best moments, a voice can touch one very deeply with only a few notes. And of course it gives us the link to poetry, i.e. words. Oftentimes the music and the voice, plus lyrics, have about the same importance, which means the voice is taking quite a big chunk of attention. That’s why I also love instrumental music a lot, as there is more focus on the music. And no words that convey any meaning. It simply leaves more space for the listener, I think.

“A voice is probably the most immediate instrument there is.”
BB: Your connection with Kingdom Molongi and the wider Nyege Nyege community has become part of the album’s story. Did that encounter change the way you listen to or think about music?

AP: In some ways for sure, but I can’t really explain how. It is just so incredible to see and hear their approach to electronic music. It’s so different to ours.

BB: You’ve drawn on everything from the Beach Boys to contemporary electronic music. Are there particular records you keep returning to, even when you’re working in a completely different direction?

AP: Yes. I always come back to Leonard Cohen, mostly his work from the ’60s and ’70s. But mostly I listen to newer releases, always on the search for this moment when you listen to something for the first time and it touches you in a way. That’s magic.

BB: You’ve spent much of your career moving between different musical worlds and working with people from very different backgrounds. Do you still feel the need to reinvent yourself, or have you become more comfortable with the contradictions in your own music?

AP: Yes. Also that, or at least trying to. My friend Viken Arman gifted me a deck of Oblique Strategies cards last year, so I started to draw a card every now and then. Amongst a few others, I had “Don’t be afraid of clichés” and “Be less critical more often”, which I had even twice, which is quite extraordinary as it’s a big deck. So now I am trying to incorporate this into my work, meaning I don’t need to reinvent myself all the time anymore. I can also just do what I am good at and what is my style. The output is always a bit different still, as the input is different as well. And of course, even if I try to be less critical, I am still quite critical. I think as an artist one should be critical, especially with their own work.

“I don’t need to reinvent myself all the time anymore. I can also just do what I am good at and what is my style.”
BB: You launched your own label, All Is Acid, in 2025, and have begun revisiting some of your earlier work through its reissue programme. What prompted you to create the label at this point in your career, and has it changed the way you think about your musical legacy?

AP: It hasn’t really changed the way I think about my musical legacy, but I just felt an urge to start a new label where I take all the decisions when it comes to music, while my wife Shirin is taking care of all the visual stuff (and much more), which feels like a very good symbiosis. We started re-releasing stuff because I still play these tracks in my sets, and being able to play them without getting bored, even after 20 years, meant for me that they are entitled to get a second life, especially also because back when they were released there was no streaming yet.

BB: The album moves between darker, more introspective moments and tracks with a real sense of playfulness. After decades of making music, what still surprises you about the process?

AP: The music…

“Being able to play them without getting bored, even after 20 years, meant for me that they are entitled to get a second life.”
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IN CONVERSATION WITH IMAN TAHERI & CONROY CHAN https://www.numeroberlin.de/2026/10/in-conversation-with-iman-taheri-conroy-chan/ Mon, 19 Oct 2026 15:21:00 +0000 https://www.numeroberlin.de/?p=74836 CONROY CHAN AND IMAN TAHERI ON THE FREEDOM OF BEING UNDEFINED

What happens when a surgeon becomes an actor, a poet becomes a screen presence, and a filmmaker discovers his next talent somewhere he least expected to look?

Conroy Chan has spent decades moving between worlds — from modelling and acting to music and filmmaking — building a career that refuses to settle into a single definition. As the producer behind 852 Films, the Hong Kong-based company he co-founded with Josie Ho, he has continued to champion films that exist somewhere beyond the obvious, embracing genre, risk and stories with the potential to travel beyond their place of origin.

Iman Taheri arrived from an entirely different direction. A former surgeon and lifelong poet, the Iranian-Canadian artist entered Hong Kong cinema almost by accident, after meeting Chan and Ho through circumstances far removed from a film set. What began as a real-life encounter evolved into a creative collaboration, eventually making Taheri the first talent signed by 852 Films. His screen debut in The Mage, directed by the Pang Brothers, marks the beginning of a new chapter — one in which medicine, poetry and performance begin to occupy the same space. 

Their story speaks to something larger than reinvention. In an industry increasingly built around recognisable formulas, both have chosen movement over definition: between cultures, disciplines, identities and creative languages. Now, as The Mage carries a distinctly Hong Kong supernatural story into an increasingly international landscape, Chan and Taheri talk with Numéro Berlin about crossing borders, finding new creative identities, the freedom of being an outsider — and what happens when the most unexpected parts of a life become the material for something new. 

 

SB: Hong Kong has historically existed at a fascinating intersection of cultures — Chinese, Cantonese, colonial, international — and its cinema developed an identity that travelled far beyond the city itself. What does Hong Kong represent to you culturally today, and what part of that identity are you trying to preserve or reinvent through 852 Films?

Conroy Chan & Iman Taheri: I feel with the advent of mass transportation, the internet and the smartphone that culture has evolved and is not purely designated to one place or another. It’s funny when people ask me what 852 stands for; I just say call me! When we first started our journey we were finding ourselves and our identity but at the same time the driving motivation for 852 Films was always and forever be creativity and entertainment!

SB: Contemporary culture is increasingly shaped by algorithms, franchises and the pressure to be immediately legible. 852 Films has often moved in the opposite direction, towards genre, cult cinema and unconventional characters. Is being difficult to categorise becoming a form of cultural resistance?

CC&IT: At the start of our journey it was sort of like that but as you evolve you realise we are all one living under the same sun! The boundaries and borders slowly melts away! If anything it adds to the melting pot that is known as culture.

SB: Cult films often begin outside the mainstream and end up influencing it. When you make something deliberately unconventional, are you thinking about an audience at all — or does cultural relevance sometimes require ignoring what an audience supposedly wants?

CC&IT: We follow our instinct and creativity and try not to be bounded by the audience or any boundaries. If you build it they will come! Just don’t know how many though.. haha!

 

 

 

 

 

SB: Conroy, you have moved through modelling, acting, music and film production rather than allowing yourself to be defined by one profession. Has reinvention been a conscious philosophy for you, or simply a necessity for surviving creatively over several decades? What have been the biggest lessons you learnt throughout your career?

CC: When I was young it looked like I would’ve gone down a more traditional path of going to school, finding a job, settling down and having a family. I mean I even got my BA in Electrical Engineering! But during my firs Summer holiday at University I was doing work experience in Singapore when one night at a club I was asked if I was modeling.. From then on “ The rest was History “ as they say! Develop your instinct, this is your compass! Live, Love, Learn and Appreciate!! Keep on rolling!!

SB:  Through 24Herbs, you were also part of developing a distinctly Hong Kong expression of hip-hop. Hip-hop itself is a culture built on translation, localisation and resistance. What happens to hip-hop when it becomes Hong Kong music rather than an imported American form? And how do you look at the contemporary global Hip Hop culture right now?

CC: Haha! In the band we always say “ 好聽Clan “ Ho Tang Clan (riffing off Wu Tang Clan): “Sounds Good Clan. “ Doesn’t matter what genre, where or when as long as it sounds good! Love the vibes now, love seeing people doing their thing!

CREATIVE DIRECTION & STYLING / ALVIN GOH PHOTOGRAHY / Reuben Foong MAKE-UP / ALVIN GOH, assisted by Carrier and Yen HAIRSTYLING / Ben Lee (IMAN), Ken Hong (CONROY) INTERVIEW & FASHION DIRECTOR: SINA BRAETZ

 

 

 

SB: Hong Kong cinema had an extraordinary global cultural influence in previous decades. Do you think a new generation of Hong Kong filmmakers feels the weight of that history, or is the more interesting question now how to escape it? What are other young filmmakers you are looking at right now? And what shapes their language and how is it different from yours?

CC&IT: I don’t think the newer generations feel the weight of history as they’re having a hella of a time trying to handle the “ Now “! Recently got to see “ Magic Farm “ by Amelia Ulman and “ Backrooms “ by Kane Parsons. I’m loving the more DIY culture now as there are more tools at your disposal! Love that creative force. Definitely the same spirit but now is at a more mature state. We had to experiment more as things weren’t as accessible as now!

SB: The Mage belongs to supernatural and horror cinema, but horror has historically been one of the most effective genres for talking about collective fears, trauma and social anxieties. What fear beneath the supernatural surface of The Mage interested each of you most?

CC&IT: That fear stems from humanity whether you are human or ghosts and that no matter how dark it seems there is always hope!

SB: Asian horror has profoundly influenced the global visual language of the genre. What do you think audiences outside Asia still misunderstand about the cultural or spiritual ideas behind Asian supernatural cinema?

CC&IT: The misunderstandings are far less now with so much information out there! It’s more to do with sifting through the information and misinformation to form your own opinion! It’s more about perspectives nowadays!

 

 

SB: Iman came into the 852 Films world through an extraordinary real-life encounter with Conroy before eventually becoming an actor. When you worked together on The Mage, did that history change the level of trust between you?

CC: I already had a great level of trust when I met Iman, I was lying on my hospital bed with no mobility that is my Tao! When he started really transitioning to an artist/actor his passion shone through even more as this was his lifelong dream for him. This gave me confidence that he was going to give it a good crack!!

SB: Iman, what was the moment during The Mage when you stopped feeling like a doctor who had entered a film set and actually began to think, I am an actor? And Conroy, having watched Iman first in an entirely different professional context, what did you recognise in him that made you believe he could carry a screen presence?

CC&IT: To be honest when we started filming I was still rehabbing and recovering, so I had to rely on Josie’s ( my wife and cofounder of 852 Films) judgment and recommendation that he belongs on the silverscreen! After seeing him prep and start work on set it was obvious he belonged on the silverscreen!

SB:  Both of your lives suggest that identity does not have to remain fixed. In a culture increasingly obsessed with defining people — by profession, nationality, image or market — what do you think we lose when we become too easily definable?

CC&IT: Cognition and Courage!

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WEEKEND MUSIC TIP PT 114 BRUNO KAWELKE https://www.numeroberlin.de/2026/10/weekend-music-tip-pt-114-bruno-kawelke/ Fri, 16 Oct 2026 09:28:33 +0000 https://www.numeroberlin.de/?p=76213
A LANGUAGE OF HIS OWN: BRUNO KAWELKE ON HIS DEBUT ALBUM “DIE KUGEL”

 

 

 

Outside a café in Cologne, we sit down with Bruno Kawelke to talk about his upcoming debut album, Die Kugel. Created together with Sam Moran, the project finds Bruno exploring the spaces between memory and the present, turning familiar moments into something that feels different when seen through his lyrics. We talk about what it means to revisit the past through music and find new meaning in the things we thought we already knew.

 

 

 

Lea Schaub: You use a different name for your music. Why did you choose Bruno, and what does the name represent for you?

Bruno Kawelke:

I’ve always liked the name and wanted to do something with it. I once considered using it for my journalistic work, but ended up going with Jan instead. Now I’m really glad I did, because Bruno represents more of what I do with this project and who I am as an artist. My parents gave me the opportunity to live out two different sides of my identity through these two names. I love the journalistic work I’ve done, but I’ve always felt that a part of my personality was missing. For a long time, I held myself back from making music because I thought journalists or presenters weren’t supposed to do that. I kept wondering what people would say. Then one morning, I asked myself how much longer I wanted to worry about what others might think. It was ridiculous. Just do it, and do it for yourself.
LS: When listening to your music, I noticed how precisely you choose your words and how you hardly use any anglicisms, for example. What is your writing process like?

BK: I start by collecting things. I have two documents on my phone. I wish I were the kind of person who only writes in leather-bound notebooks, but I always end up losing them or forgetting to use them. So, in the end, my phone became the slightly less romantic option. One document is called “Fragmente” and the other “Diebesgut” (“fragments” and “stolen goods”). Whenever I observe something in everyday life, listen to other people’s music or discover a feeling I want to explore, it ends up in one of those documents. In the studio with Sam, I go back to them. Sometimes it’s just a word or a sentence; sometimes it develops into rhymes, entire verses or a hook.

 

LS: When you’re out on the street, what tends to catch your eye? Are there things that immediately make you think you could turn them into something?

BK: I think the most important thing is to look closely. When I don’t know what to write about, I sit down for 15 minutes and observe how people move and speak, or what particular quirks they have. I also pay attention to how my friends and family express themselves. How things really look: A cloud, leaves, marble, waves, a rock, floors, paint, dogs, anything really. I think you can find patterns in all of that, like a map that gradually fills up over time.

 

 

BY SUSAN MCFADZEAN
“THAT’S WHAT ‘DIE KUGEL’ IS ABOUT: WHO AM I WITHOUT THE LANGUAGE THAT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME?”
LS: You just mentioned developing those fragments into lyrics in the studio. Who or what inspires you most when you’re doing that?

BK: Language has always been incredibly important to me and something that shapes my identity. That’s also what “Die Kugel” is about: who am I without the language that means so much to me? Language gives me an anchor, helping me make sense of difficult experiences and turn them into songs. In the studio, I’m inspired above all by working with Sam. I feel like he can read my mind. He starts playing a melody on the piano or guitar, and I might come across a sentence in one of my documents. If there’s a spark, it’s worth exploring further.

 

LS: You’ve been working together for quite some time, haven’t you?

BK: Yes, three or four years now, ever since the project began. Sam was the person who helped me bring this project into the world. It wouldn’t exist without him. I’d spent a long time looking for someone who could translate what I had in my head into music. Then our mutual friend Goldroger suggested we should work together. We talked, went into the studio and came out of our very first session with a song. We kept meeting up after that, always leaving with something we both liked.

 

LS: What song comes to mind when you think about your collaboration with Sam?

BK: “Atlanten” holds a special place in my heart. It was the first song we made in Hamburg, and we finished it on the first day, so we knew the trip had been worthwhile. While Sam got to work, I watched “Fire of Love”, a documentary about a married couple of volcanologists who share a passion for their work. I thought they were such a beautiful parallel of Sam and me: two people who share a passion, who found each other against all odds and found a sense of purpose through it.

LS: Your album is called “Die Kugel”. How did you come up with the title?

BK: I already had the idea of calling the album “Die Kugel” when I was working on “Jede Welle fotografieren”. I knew back then that the album that followed it would be called “Die Kugel”. The inspiration came from a book by Wolfgang Herrndorf, who wrote “Tschick”. His subsequent work, “Bilder deiner großen Liebe”, is about the girl who also appears in “Tschick”. At the end of the book, the girl is standing in a field with a gun in her hand. She fires a bullet into the air, and the final sentence of the book says, paraphrasing here, that the bullet rises, hangs there, turns and falls straight back into the barrel.

When I read that, I knew I wanted to do something with that image because I find it incredibly powerful. I don’t even know what he meant by it. Unfortunately, I can’t ask him anymore because he died far too young. But for me, it was the perfect image for the idea that we spend our lives trying to distance ourselves from the things that have shaped us, from our fate, from whatever some people might call God, from our families, friends and siblings. We run as fast and as far away from home as we can, only to end up back where we started.

 

 

LS: And where do you feel you are in that process right now?

BK: I think I’m suspended in the air right now. Maybe there’s still some running away left to do, but I’ve already come a very long way, and I can imagine that the momentum and energy will run out soon and I’ll start falling back down.

BY SUSAN MCFADZEAN
“WE SPEND OUR LIVES TRYING TO DISTANCE OURSELVES FROM THE THINGS THAT HAVE SHAPED US, WE RUN AS FAR AWAY FROM HOME AS WE CAN, ONLY TO END UP BACK WHERE WE STARTED.”
LS: What should listeners pay particular attention to, the lyrics, the voice or the instrumentation? And what makes a song emotionally resonant?

BK: I find it difficult to prescribe one particular way of listening, because both work for me. The lyrics are essential, of course, but I sometimes feel that the music itself acts like a Trojan horse. It draws you in emotionally, and then you start listening more closely, discovering new meanings and references. There isn’t a single sentence or word in my music that’s there by accident. Everything is where it’s supposed to be, and everything has a meaning. Some meanings you can piece together yourself, while others invite you to ask questions.

 

LS: Have the meanings of individual songs changed for you over time? Have you continued developing the songs after writing them?

BK: I think the songs have changed again and again, and I’m very grateful that this project has taught me to trust my gut. We’ve had songs that were essentially finished and ready to be released, but if something didn’t feel right, I scrapped them and said we needed to reopen the whole thing.

The latest single, “Wie du läufst, wenn du dich von mir entfernst”, sounded completely different at first. We’d already played it live in a very different version, but at some point I realized that I wouldn’t be happy if we released it as it was. The same goes for “Orcas”, where the entire ending wasn’t there initially. I’m grateful to have the freedom to make all these decisions myself. I want us to make the coolest things we possibly can without worrying about anyone else’s expectations.

 

LS: Do you check the streaming platforms regularly, then?

BK: I think it’s fine to look at the numbers out of curiosity. What matters is whether you let them influence you. “Machen Götter aus Männern” was a song I thought would have performed differently in terms of numbers. But when we were making the vinyl and listening to the test pressing, I thought: This is one of the most incredible songs we’ve made. Regardless of the numbers, the song still means a great deal to many people. And above all, it means everything to me.

 

 

LS: Is there a line or a verse on the album that made you think, while writing, “Wow, that turned out really well”?

BK: Hmm, wow. It’s difficult to answer that without sounding arrogant. Of course, there are lines I’m particularly proud of. One reason I started making music again was the possibility of returning to past feelings. I’ve struggled a lot with impermanence and the feeling of time passing, with the fact that I can never go back to hanging out at some petrol station with the same ten guys I knew when I was 17. I wanted to make songs that would allow me not just to remember those moments, but to experience the same feelings I had back then. Which line do I particularly like? Let me try to do a quick run-through of all my lyrics.

 

LS: I was already thinking that might be a bit tricky without having them in front of you.

BK: One example is: “Wurde für die Wörter geboren, dann erst für Sonne und den Regen/Glaubst du das wir enden, haben wir nichts mehr zu erzählen? Aus Briefen blüht die Liebe Erz glüht in meiner Brust/Herz wühlt sich durch den Schmutz formt Flüsse aus den Tränen”For me, that captures the essence of the album: “who am I, really, if I no longer have words?”.

 

LS: You mentioned wanting to experience certain feelings from the past again. Are you trying to return to specific memories, or is it more about the feeling itself?

BK: I do try to return to specific memories, imagining exactly what happened and which words describe those scenes. In “Mohn”, for example, I talk about my grandmother’s death: “Wir decken dich zu – Gänsefedern und Gartenerde – und alle erzählen mir es sähe aus, als wenn du schlafen würdest.” That’s the exact scene, the funeral. The same goes for the scenes of bullying and violence within male cliques in “Machen Götter aus Männern”. Those are real images I return to and write about.

 

 

BY SUSAN MCFADZEAN
LS: When you revisit the past in your music, do you tend to write from your current, more reflective perspective, or do you try to put yourself back in the shoes of the person you were at the time?

BK: I always try to write from the immediate perspective of the person I was back then. People often say my music feels cinematic, and that’s what I try to achieve: immersing the listener in a scene, as if experiencing it through the protagonist’s eyes. “Vase”, for example, is about the final days, hours or minutes before death, told from the perspective of the person experiencing it.

 

LS: And when those memories are painful, what is it like to perform those songs live?

BK: I notice it particularly with “Machen Götter aus Männern”. It takes me back to that time, and I think the song needs those emotions, especially towards the end, when I almost start screaming. It’s physically and emotionally exhausting, and I need a long break afterwards to come back to myself. But that’s what art is about. I couldn’t imagine it any other way.

 

LS: The suffering of the artist.

BK: Hahaha, yes.

“IT FEELS AS THOUGH LANGUAGE AND I ARE WORKING IT OUT TOGETHER, CREATING SOMETHING TOGETHER.”
LS: When you write about these memories, how do you find your way back into them?

BK: I always have some anchor, a word or a sentence that works like a key to a portal, bringing me back to that memory. Then I close my eyes and write everything down. It also comes down to my relationship with language: which expressions work well together, and why do certain words that describe my story so well happen to rhyme? There’s something almost magical about it. It feels as though language and I are working it out together, creating something together.

 

LS: Do you think your background in journalism has influenced the way you approach your music?

BK: I’ve often wondered whether I should have started releasing music earlier. But I always come back to the fact that my experiences have made me the artist I am today. A large part of my work has involved engaging with other people’s art, analyzing it and writing about why it works. Journalism is ideally more objective, of course, but the tools are similar, and my journalistic work has helped sharpen them.

 

LS: Do you still see boundaries between different genres, such as pop, rap and indie, or is it more of a combination of all of them?

BK: I find it difficult to categorize myself because that would be another limitation, taking away the freedom I’ve worked hard to achieve. I don’t want to waste time wondering whether something fits into one genre or another. Ultimately, it just has to be really, really good. That’s the only category. What we make should have a strong aesthetic, good taste and be incredible art. That’s all that matters to me.

 

 

 

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WEEKEND MUSIC TIP PT 113 VERSACER https://www.numeroberlin.de/2026/10/weekend-music-tip-pt-113-versacer/ Fri, 09 Oct 2026 12:34:23 +0000 https://www.numeroberlin.de/?p=76010 VERSACER ON NOSTALGIA, UNCERTAINTY AND WHAT COMES NEXT

 

 

 

 

Since 2020, Versacer has been shaping a sound somewhere between indie pop, ’80s jangle and contemporary pop. Made up of siblings Julian Knobloch-Krippner and Marlene Knobloch alongside Lasse Altmark and Jeremias Otto, the quartet creates music that feels both nostalgic and distinctly of its time. Their sound draws inspiration from the energy of cities like New York and Manchester, while reflecting the realities of a generation caught somewhere between Gen Z and millennials.

Following their debut album nothing was gonna happen if I didn’t say anything (2023), a DIY release that helped establish the band within the German pop landscape, Versace is now returning with their second album, I Want You Back Sometimes, which was released on September 25, 2026.

Across the album, dreamy synths and catchy hooks meet grunge guitars and driving backbeat drums. The result is a sound that moves between ’90s nostalgia and modern pop sensibilities, held together by a surprisingly optimistic core. There is a sense of looking backward while trying to understand the present and figuring out what might come next.

 

 

 

 

“I’m 33 years and everything feels like I’m living a life after the Goldrush.”
Photography by Christian Bardenhorst

 

 

 

Lyrically, frontman Julian increasingly turns the focus inward. He sings about uncertainty, loneliness and the strange feeling of growing older as the world around you becomes more uncertain. Personal questions about friendship, identity and getting older sit alongside wider generational anxieties, from climate change and political tension to the feeling of having lost sight of where things were supposed to lead.

On the album, Versace confidently explores a darker side of that uncertainty. Their lyrics touch on a generation navigating a world where a familiar sense of stability feels more fragile than ever, balancing personal anxieties with larger social and political questions.

“For the easy cases there’s still help, for the hopeless only a lie.”

 

 

 

 

At the same time, I Want You Back Sometimes moves between darker and more intimate moments. Tracks like Goldrushand Hinterm Eis sound like the perfect soundtrack for late-night walks to the nearest Späti, while Can’t Get Enough (Of You) and Flash Light Money Cars capture the restless energy of late nights: the cigarette, the argument, and everything left unsaid.

One of the album’s most striking reflections on the future is Hinterm Eis. The song opens with the verse “Die Polarkappen schmelzen und du frierst dich ein, um in 200 Jahren am Leben zu sein” (“The polar ice caps are melting, and you freeze yourself to be alive in 200 years”). But despite its icy imagery, the song is less about climate change than about cryonics and the idea of sacrificing the present for the promise of a future life. Versacer turns this futuristic fantasy into something deeply personal while asking what we might miss when we are too focused on what comes next.

Stripped-back bass and drums, icy synths and sonar-like sounds create the atmosphere, while new-wave guitars and trance-inspired synths open up the chorus. At its heart is the question: “Hat dir unsere Zeit nicht gereicht?” (“Wasn’t our time together enough for you?”) What if the promise of a future life means missing the one happening right now?

 

Rennfahrer approaches the theme of time in a more playful way. Opening with “Es war an New Years Eve und uns war so schön warm, draußen war Climate Change und das Weed war bald legal” (“It was New Year’s Eve and we were so warm, outside there was climate change and weed was about to become legal”), the song captures a fleeting moment of warmth, love and political change. Everything seems to move at once, from love and politics to the passing of time. The song turns falling in love into a race: “Wir sind zwei Rennfahrer und unsere Liebe ist viel zu schnell” (“We are two race car drivers and our love is much too fast”). In the end, whoever crosses the finish line first is simply the one who is more in love.

The mood softens with the title track, I Want You Back Sometimes: a sweet reconciliation that offers a more intimate counterpoint to the anxieties running through the album.

Rather than pretending to have everything figured out, Versacer embraces uncertainty while holding on to optimism. I Want You Back Sometimes ultimately becomes a record about finding a way forward without necessarily knowing where it leads, but trusting that it might be somewhere worth going.

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IN CONVERSATION WITH ADRIANO SACK https://www.numeroberlin.de/2026/10/in-conversation-with-adriano-sack/ Tue, 06 Oct 2026 15:44:20 +0000 https://www.numeroberlin.de/?p=75815 THE GLAMOR AND THE CRACKS BENEATH

After years of working as a journalist, Adriano Sack turned to fiction with his first novel, Noto. His latest book, In die Sonne fliegen, enters the world of fashion through Felix Kellergeist, a young man whose appearance quickly becomes his greatest asset. We spoke to Sack about glamour, ambition, friendship and the realities beneath the surface of the fashion world.

 

You worked as a journalist for many years before publishing your first novel, Noto. Why did you only turn to literature at that point?

Literature was always there. I just didn’t see it. Maybe it scared me.

 

Did your work as a journalist make literary writing easier, or did you first have to unlearn certain journalistic reflexes?

A good rule in journalism is: show, don’t tell. But in fact, I had to unlearn the whole explaining, analysing, contextualising, commenting thing. At least the kind of literature I try to write doesn’t proclaim pamphlets, but tells stories.

 

Your first novel is about love, grief and loss. In die Sonne fliegen now takes us right into the world of fashion. What appealed to you about this change?

In die Sonne fliegen is about grief, love and loss. But it is also about private jets, photo shoots and parties on oligarchs’ yachts. What appealed to me was the glamour on the surface – and everything that was simmering and starting to crack underneath.

 

Everything simmering and cracking underneath.

 

 

The novel begins with an unusual image: Felix Kellergeist works as an Easter Bunny for a fashion designer and shortly afterwards becomes a sought-after model. What was the first idea or scene that this story grew out of?

I found this image so endearing and surreal: a dream boy dressed up as an Easter Bunny and a crazy fashion designer who hires him – who wouldn’t want to read on?

 

Felix is discovered before he has decided for himself who he actually wants to be. Is the novel also a story about how other people construct an identity for us?

Felix is quick-witted  and doesn’t leave control to others. His literary role model, Felix Krull, also made the transition from hotel page to con man in the blink of an eye.

 

What interests you about people to whom success seems to come effortlessly, and who suddenly become part of a world they previously had no access to?

For one, I’m profoundly jealous of people who make it all look effortless. At the same time, I’m fascinated by what new worlds, circumstances and people do to them. Even in my own novel. I knew from the beginning where the story would end, but I didn’t know how the protagonists would get there.

 

In fashion, people are constantly being looked at and judged, their appearance turned into an image. What happens to Felix once his looks become his most valuable asset?

Felix had been used to being, as the novel puts it, the most attractive person in the room from childhood onwards. But while in his youth he simply accepted and enjoyed it (girls, boys, parties, etc.), he increasingly begins to use his charms strategically.

 

Without a fall, the ascent isn’t worth telling.

 

The title In die Sonne fliegen suggests ascent, but also carries the danger of burning up. Was this ambivalence central to the novel from the beginning?

Yes, of course. Without a fall, the ascent isn’t worth telling. Otherwise the novel would be a never-ending escalator.

 

Felix, Merc, Genie, Kelly and Fox form the “Glam-Gang”. What connects them beyond parties, success and their shared status?

What connects them is something they first have to figure out. Beauty, intelligence, hunger and an over-alert sense of reality? At first, it’s simply the feeling that together they can conquer the fashion world. They quickly realize what separates them, too. In the end, it’s about friendship.

 

Are genuine friendships even possible in a world shaped by competition, attention and hierarchies?

They are possible, but they require a sharp eye, a good heart and a lot of work.

 

You have known the fashion industry from a close perspective for decades. Why did you want to write a novel about this world now?

I wanted to write a novel about a young man who enchants the world and drives it to despair. And the fashion world, with its beautiful and dark sides, seemed to me a suitable habitat for this kind of person. Besides, we live in a world where so many people present themselves on social media, optimize themselves and yearn for recognition. Basically we are all Felix.

 

A sharp eye, a good heart and a lot of work

 

How much reality is in the book, without individual characters being identifiable as specific people?

They’ll have to figure that out for yourself. Reality is lurking everywhere, although sometimes disguised or distorted. The visit to the Capitoline Museums, to see the Dying Gaul, really happened. So did the homeless man with his bare backside and a robe pulled over his head.

 

Were there experiences from your own career that you could only tell through fiction?

Everything is very personal. This novel, too.

 

From the outside, the fashion world is often described either as a glamorous fantasy or as a superficial, exploitative system. What gets lost in both portrayals?

Wonderful, highly talented, sensitive people work in fashion. Or, as a fashion designer in my novel says: “Fashion requires a particular openness. It attracts the vulnerable.”

 

The fashion industry presents itself as more diverse, conscious and political today. How much has actually changed in its power structures?

Much less has changed than we were promised. And much of it has been rolled back again. Or how many plus-size models have you seen on the important runways lately? Instead, robots are dancing at Vogue World in Milan, and everyone is utterly ashamed of themselves, because the current discourse around the power of machines is happening somewhere completely different.

 

You tell the story of this world with humor and affection, but also with a great deal of skepticism. Is the book more of a declaration of love, a reckoning, or perhaps both?

I can’t write a book without anger and love.

 

“I can’t write a book without anger and love.”

 

Looking back on your own early years in the magazine and fashion world: do you recognize yourself more in Felix, or in the people who observe and steer his rise?

I’m not a director, I’m a chronicler. But of course I always wished I had Felix’s almost perfect ears and foal-like legs. In the end, I’m probably Fox, the trans woman with good intentions.

 

What has the fashion world taught you about people that you might never have understood outside the industry?

That flamboyance requires a particular kind of toughness. But honestly, I already learned that when I was working in nightlife.

 

Has writing the novel changed the way you look at your own past or at success?

Writing my novels has fundamentally changed my life. But I don’t know exactly how yet.

 

Success, of course it’s fake.

 

What do you want to tell next after In die Sonne fliegen? Is there already a new story occupying your mind?

I’m working on a pirate novel. And at some point, the great fantasy epic will come. And in between, the autofictional book Verlorene Männer about drugs, sex and torn PVC trousers by Jean Collona.

 

And what does success mean to you today, after experiencing and observing it from so many different perspectives?

Success is the hare the greyhounds are chasing. Of course, it’s fake.

 

 

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IN CONVERSATION WITH NEUSWANSTEIN https://www.numeroberlin.de/2026/10/in-conversation-with-neuswanstein/ Tue, 06 Oct 2026 14:34:09 +0000 https://www.numeroberlin.de/?p=74494 Neuswanstein and the Return of Something Real

 

Maybe it’s the guitars. Maybe it’s the return of indie sleaze, blurry flash photography and nights that feel a little less calculated. Or maybe it’s simply a longing for music that doesn’t sound like it was made with an algorithm in mind.

Somewhere within that feeling, Neuswanstein is taking shape. The new duo brings together two quite different musical worlds: Julian van Zico comes from indie rock, Fabian Prekrat from hip-hop and electronic music. What started casually — through mutual friends, jam sessions and no particular master plan — has turned into a sound that combines guitars and electronic production, pop-punk nostalgia and a distinctly contemporary edge.

And this is only the beginning. With their first tracks out and a collaboration with Dschungel and the mastermind behind it, Götz Offergeld, coming soon, Neuswanstein is a name to keep an eye on. But before things start moving faster, we wanted to catch Julian and Fabian at the beginning — to talk about where they come from, why indie suddenly feels exciting again, the value of imperfection in an increasingly AI-driven world, and why sometimes the best things are the ones you never planned.

 

Ann-Kathrin Riedl: First of all, tell me a little about your musical backgrounds.

Julian: I’m actually part of the indie-rock scene. I play in various bands and have been involved in all kinds of projects since my teenage years. My main instrument is the guitar. As long as a project leans towards rock or indie, I’m really into it.

AKR: How did the two of you meet?

Fabian: About two years ago, I started jamming with Stefan, a mutual friend from Peru. We were just playing guitar, trying things out, messing around. Then Julian and I happened to meet at a Christmas dinner Stefan had organized, and he brought me over to Julian’s studio. The three of us jammed together, and it immediately felt right.

Julian: Stefan is actually the hardest rocker among us, which makes it funny that he brought us together. Fabi comes more from hip-hop and electronic music, while I’m somewhere in between. You can hear that in Moving to LA: his instinct for contemporary sounds meets my endless nostalgia for Sum 41, Blink-182, post-punk and pop-punk. It comes together really nicely.

 

AKR: That’s funny, because when I first heard the song, I immediately thought of the music I used to watch on MTV.

Julian: Before we started writing, we had a bunch of demos that were still pretty electronic. But at some point, we listened to a lot of reference tracks and realized: okay, no, this needs to rock. I had already sensed that. Fabi had been missing some of that guitar energy too. So it suddenly clicked.

AKR: Why do you think that sound feels so right again now?

Julian: Indie sleaze has been creeping back for a while, but right now it feels especially present. You see it in a lot of new bands. I recently came across this new Berlin duo, the Nightclubs, and they look like they’ve stepped straight out of New York in 2009. Maybe we’re drawn to that era because it was the last time the world still felt somewhat in order.

AKR: I think there’s also a longing for something authentic and wild. Everything has become so calculated and cautious. People want to break out again, to let something loose.

Julian: Totally. Nights just felt different then. Even the aesthetic takes me back to the Flickr days — that time right before everything became driven by algorithms. Maybe that was the last truly authentic phase of the internet. I’m sure there are a million reasons why it’s coming back. But for me, it’s also just about the look. It simply looks cool.

Fabian: For me, it’s also about the physicality of it. I started playing guitar as a teenager, then moved into electronic music and eventually hip-hop, sampling and all of that. At some point I realized I missed actually holding an instrument and recording it. Maybe not everything goes perfectly during the recording, but that’s exactly what gives it character. That’s my approach.

Julian: And that’s the last thing we still have over AI: the unpredictability of a live performance. You already hear AI-generated music that’s almost indistinguishable from other music. But if there’s a tiny mistake somewhere in a guitar take, something that isn’t perfectly quantized, that suddenly feels valuable. In a strange way, imperfection is becoming precious again.

AKR: Because with AI, live performance is basically the one thing that can remain real.

Julian: Exactly. And a lot of people in music are already saying that everything is becoming more expensive while budgets are shrinking. AI videos will probably become normal soon. But the live moment is much harder to replace. I think that will become increasingly important.

AKR: When did this turn from having fun together into an actual band?

Fabian: It came out of this very specific project. We started seriously planning to record something and put it out. The whole thing was confusing and crazy at first, but at some point we thought: okay, we’re actually going to make this. We never really sat down and said, “Now we’re a band.” It just happened.

Julian: It started with jamming and having fun. It was very idealistic: “Hey, we’re friends, let’s make something cool together.”

AKR: Which almost feels unusual now, when creativity is so quickly expected to become a strategy or a product.

Fabian: Exactly. We grew purely out of fun. We didn’t have a band name, a target or a release plan. We met a few times and tried to establish a routine simply because we wanted to get better together and have fun. Only later did it become: okay, maybe we should actually release something.

Julian: I also think people often approach music in a very goal-oriented way now: “I need a hit, I need a record.” But when you’re young, you don’t think like that. You just play. Maybe the next song is a reggae track, then a ballad, then something completely different. We’re trying to keep some of that freedom.

AKR: So essentially, you create from a place that comes from the heart rather than overthinking it.

Julian: Exactly. There are endless days where we try a thousand things in the studio and end up sticking with nothing. We don’t have a huge master plan behind it. That’s actually what I love about it.

AKR: Your name is Neuswanstein, which might raise an eyebrow or two. Where did it come from? What was the original idea behind it?

Julian: I just think König Ludwig was crazy. My dad used to act in a play where King Ludwig was a character. Even as a kid, I found it absurd to learn about this person in school who went wild with state funds, was gay, and cared way more about art and culture than boring day-to-day state business. He had this almost extravagant, tragic existence. I’ve always found that fascinating. And of course there’s the castle — this completely over-the-top symbol of fantasy.

AKR: Fabian, as a native of Munich, what does the name mean to you?

Fabian: I love it. We’re both from the Munich area, so there’s obviously a connection. But what I like about Neuschwanstein is that it’s almost surreal. You have this very conservative idea of Bavaria, and then suddenly there’s this completely excessive fairytale castle sitting in the landscape. That contradiction is great.

AKR: That’s actually what I find interesting about Bavaria in general. It has this very traditional image, but there’s also another side — eccentric, rebellious, sometimes almost punk.

Fabian: Definitely. None of us completely fits the Bavarian cliché. I moved to Berlin, and when I tell people I’m from Bavaria, they sometimes have a very specific image in mind. Then they meet you and realize it’s not quite that simple.

Julian: Bavaria is strange because the inventive spirit is there, but it often comes through industrial channels: cars, engineering, huge companies. At the same time, there are these eccentric characters who completely contradict the stereotype. King Ludwig is probably the ultimate example. There’s something rebellious in that too.

AKR: Fabian, your own path into music wasn’t necessarily straightforward either. You studied business administration in Munich.

Fabian: I studied sports, event and media management. For me, music was never a planned career path — just a hobby and a feeling. I’m still not the best guitar player or musician, but whenever I hear something, I try to figure it out. I’ve always enjoyed recording little ideas and putting them together. Eventually I thought: why not see what happens if I actually give this some time?

Julian: And now Fabi has an extremely good taste level. I’m always impressed by what he finds. I had no idea about artists like Mk.gee until he showed me. I was like: where do you find this stuff?

AKR: Things can move incredibly fast now. What are the next steps for the whole project?

Julian: We want to make an EP and hopefully gain a few listeners along the way. But honestly, the main thing is that we enjoy making it. If it evolves naturally, great. If it doesn’t, that’s okay too.

Fabian: Over the last few months, we’ve had references and a direction we liked, but whenever we tried to push too hard toward something specific, it became too calculated. The EP will tell us where this wants to go.

AKR: Moving to LA, your new release with Dschungel, feels quite different from your other tracks. What does the song represent for you?

Julian: I basically had the song completely done except for the bridge. The first demo already had that line, “I’m moving to LA without you,” and the first verse. I immediately thought it was a strong idea. At first, I was worried people might misunderstand the title because it can sound a bit cliché — moving to LA, chasing something bigger. But then I realized that misunderstanding was interesting in itself.

Fabian: When Götz first heard the demo, it immediately resonated with him. At the time, both he and Julian were going through heartbreak and were in a similar emotional state: you have a certain idea of your life and where it’s going, and then suddenly things don’t turn out the way you imagined. Götz continued writing the lyrics, and together we finalized the song. So Moving to LA is essentially a snapshot of how we were feeling at that particular moment in time.

Julian: My initial idea was actually to write it from the perspective of someone leaving LA and moving back to Berlin — because that was becoming a reality for some people around us. But eventually the song found its own meaning. It wasn’t planned. That’s often the best way things happen.

 

AKR: What’s the musical idea behind the project as a whole?

 

Julian: For me, it needs to contain enough guitar that we can actually reproduce it live. I want it to feel electronic and indie at the same time — a bit like the way The Hellp combine those references.

 

Fabian: And I want to be able to DJ our music, but also play it live. We could bring in external friends and family if we want to stand onstage as a five-piece with drums and everything. But there’s also enough of an electronic backbone that we could simply DJ and plug in a guitar. That versatility is the idea.

 

Julian: It’s too early to define it too strictly. For us, it’s mostly about expressing emotions through music.

 

AKR: I hope I get to see you live soon.

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IN CONVERSATION WITH ARNAUD FRISCH https://www.numeroberlin.de/2026/10/in-conversation-with-arnaud-frisch/ Fri, 02 Oct 2026 16:33:44 +0000 https://www.numeroberlin.de/?p=75608 ARNAUD FRISCH BRINGS PARIS’ SILENCIO CLUB TO BERLIN

 

 

 

Fifteen years ago, Silencio opened its doors in Paris and quickly became a landmark for the city’s creative community. Its founder is French entrepreneur Arnaud Frisch. To mark its 15th anniversary, Silencio is bringing its concept to Berlin with a temporary pop-up in the former Watergate space. Opening on 30 October 2026, Silencio Berlin will bring together music, art, cinema and design while connecting with the city’s creative scene. Following the opening party, our Deputy Editor in Chief Antonia Maria Schmidt sat down with Frisch to talk about Berlin nightlife, the idea behind the new space, his long-standing friendship with Mumi Haiati and the evolution of Silencio over the past 15 years.

 

 

 

 

MILENA ZARA

 

 

Antonia Schmidt: You’ve already done several pop-ups in other cities. Why now Berlin?

Arnaud Frisch: In Berlin, club culture has historically functioned as a cultural form in its own right, bringing together music, performance, visual culture and communities in an organic way. In that sense, Berlin feels very close to something that has always been central to Silencio.

 

AS: Nightlife as well.

AF: Berlin is the model. This city has inspired the rest of the world. I have great admiration for the clubs here, the ones still running and the ones that are gone, and not only for the music. What Berlin built is a place where individual freedom is taken seriously, where people are protected and where everyone is allowed to be whoever they are for a night.

 

AS: Watergate specifically is a great location.

AF: Watergate is a landmark, and taking over a room with that history is intimidating. It drew its own path to the city with that window onto the Spree. Anyone who has watched the sun come up over the water from the lower floor knows it. Its closing was a real loss for Berlin. What mattered to us was that it stays a club rather than becoming offices.

 

 

 

 

 

 

AS: Can you tell me a bit about the program already?

AF: Cultural programming is the centre of the project. In Paris, beyond the club nights, we run carte blanche invitations, art performances, concerts, installations and talks. The first Berlin night already gave a sense of it: a performance by Valentina Magaletti, DJ sets from Richie Hawtin and Ben Klock, and a limited-edition military tag by Maurizio Cattelan given to everyone who came.

AS: Berlin has this quality, where all these different scenes are already so connected to each other. The music scene overlaps with the fashion scene, the film scene… A lot of people are already in exchange with each other.

AF: In Paris the scenes overlap, but they’re vertical. Everything passes through institutions, and each world has its own gatekeepers. Berlin is horizontal. People collaborate before anyone has given them permission, and that changes what a night can be.

AS: Tell me a bit about your relationship with Mumi, the founder of Reference Studios who is now supporting you with the pop up.

AF: It happened naturally. Mumi came to our first Fashion Week at Silencio. His agency was new then and was doing things nobody else was doing: connecting fashion with art, hospitality, and other fields. That was very close to how we were already working. We kept crossing paths around the world, and it grew from there.

 

INTERVIEW & WORDS BY ANTONIA SCHMIDT
MAX HEEB
JOSEPH KADOW
JOSEPH KADOW
MILENA ZARA

 

AS: I’m curious, how do you see Berlin nightlife?

 

AF: What Berlin has is unique, and it’s now official: the city’s Technokultur has been recognised as intangible cultural heritage. And it comes with things no other city can offer, spaces you simply don’t find elsewhere and a freedom that has no equivalent anywhere in the world. That’s also why we’ve spent years bringing Berlin to Paris rather than the other way around. At our Parisian club FVTVR we regularly host Berlin collectives and clubs: BCCO, Pornceptual, Primal Instinct, Multisex, RSO…

AS: You’ve spent so much time in Paris and now you’ll be spending more time in Berlin. What feels different between the two cities?

 

AF: Berlin is much bigger than Paris, with parks and green space everywhere, and you feel it immediately. Paris is a finished city, in the sense that it was built long ago and nothing is left over. You work inside what already exists.

AS: You collaborated with Studio Karhard for the club.

 

AF: Studio Karhard made this project possible. Thomas Karsten knows this city and everything that opening a club here involves. Marc Leschelier’s work is fascinating: brutalist, sometimes uncomfortable and very poetic. Then Studio Raito did the lighting.

 

 

AS: The lighting was great. I told my friend at the opening party, the lighting is really, really good.

AF: Lighting can transform a room completely. Studio Raito doesn’t light a space the way a club is usually lit, from above and onto the crowd. They treat light as material: they place sources within the architecture, work with reflection and shadow as much as with brightness, and let the fixtures themselves be visible objects rather than hidden equipment. The result reads closer to an installation than to a lighting rig.

AS: Tell me about the objects in the club, particularly the big installation on the terrace?

AF: Marc Leschelier’s work draws on an abstract architectural vocabulary, using materials associated with construction and heavy industry while often leaving their function deliberately unclear. On the floating pontoon, this pavilion is draped in a cement-impregnated textile more commonly used in heavy infrastructure, which hardens through contact with water.

AS: What is it that makes a good club?

AF: There are a lot of great clubs, and there’s no single formula, which is the good news. What Berlin taught me is the value of time: giving people long enough to actually experience several artists.

AS: How you curate?

AF: Well, a club is very much about curation. The way you design the space, the artists you bring in, the music, the installations. It all shapes the experience. But at the end, the most important thing is to bring people together around artists and ideas to create a community. This is also a curation.

INTERVIEW & WORDS BY ANTONIA SCHMIDT
JOSEPH KADOW
JOSEPH KADOW
JOSEPH KADOW
JOSEPH KADOW
JOSEPH KADOW
JOSEPH KADOW
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