KickTracks captures the essence of the “after-hours” with this latest release. Built on layers of organic instrumentation, dusty hip hop elements, study beats and lofi aisthetics it offers a moody sanctuary for your low-energy moments. Read our discussion below!
Describe your sound in 3 words
Atmospheric, groove-driven, cinematic
Tell us a few things about black in deep red. What is the main idea behind it?
At first, there was no clear idea. I just came across recordings on my Zoom recorder. There were a lot of ambiences and foley recordings from different countries and trips, and most importantly, I found a recording from 2019 when I was visiting my grandmother, who lives almost in the forest in Ukraine. That recording is used almost entirely in the track “svitla nema.”
After that, the idea came to create an album that combines elements of ambient music with hypnotic, dusty hip-hop textures and field recordings. I really like adding these kinds of sounds — it gives the music a more personal feel.
You describe yourself as a ‘musical journeyman’, what does that identity mean to you, and how has it shaped your artistic evolution?
I’ve always had an inner need to travel. At the same time, I really enjoy being at home in my studio, making music. That’s how it was until 2021 — I was traveling, meeting and playing with other musicians, and bringing recordings from those trips back home.
In 2021, I decided to leave my studio and try living in different places. Since then, I haven’t had a permanent home.
There’s a saying in Turkey: one person — one language, two languages — two people. Being in different places and learning new languages and cultures really expands your perception. For me, it’s been mostly a positive experience — it makes you more open to the world.
In music, it also changes the way you listen and create — you start embracing a wider range of sounds, different scales, different tonalities. You don’t feel the need to stay within standard forms or fixed ideas of what something should sound like. Things that once felt strange or even out of tune can suddenly become interesting — they just need the right context.
Facing stage 4 Burkitt lymphoma is life altering How did that experience change your relationship with music on a personal and creative level?
When this happened in 2022, my wife and I had just moved to Turkey, to the Aegean coast. I had brought my entire studio with me from Georgia — set up all my instruments, studio monitors, synths. I had always dreamed of having a studio with a sea view. And finally, it happened.
But right at that moment, I was diagnosed with a tumor in my intestine. I was in shock. I was scared for my life. And I remember feeling this frustration — that I had so much unfinished music, so many recordings and ideas… and such a perfect studio to work in.
At some point, I decided that no matter what, I would keep making music. There’s even a video of me playing Maschine while going through treatment.
After I went through treatment and started recovering, my wife and I moved to a different place in Turkey. I felt a deep sense of gratitude — for being alive, for slowly getting my strength back, for simply being able to do anything at all.
And I realized that the sea view wasn’t that important. The studio itself wasn’t that important either. What really matters is the desire to bring your ideas to life — that’s what keeps you moving forward.
And it was with that sense of gratitude and that desire that I returned to making new music and continuing my projects.
Your sound blends global influences with hip-hop and lo-fi aesthetics. Can you share a specific place or culture that has deeply influenced your music?
The first and most important place is my grandmother’s house near the Carpathians in Ukraine. My whole childhood lives there. A lot of my ideas still come from that space — it shaped the way I see and feel the world. For me, it’s a place of inner freedom, full of quiet, air, and a kind of invisible music.
In 2020, during COVID, I found myself unexpectedly staying in Japan for four months. I played a small DJ set in Tokyo, traveled, and spent some time living in Kyoto. That experience shifted something deeply in me. Maybe I’m still processing it now. It’s less about sound and more about a feeling — emptiness, silence, a very precise sense of beauty.
And then there’s Turkey, which brought a completely different energy — something eclectic and unpredictable. Like a bazaar, full of movement and contrast, a kind of beautiful chaos that also found its way into my music.
If you could change anything about the industry, what would it be?
Everything moves too fast now. I think music needs more time, more silence around it, more space to be felt rather than consumed.
At the same time, I’d make the industry a bit more human. There’s a lot of pressure to constantly release, to stay visible, to fit into algorithms. I’d like to see more space for artists to develop naturally, without feeling rushed or reduced to numbers.
If the music of KickTracks was a film, which film would that be?
It would be a slow-moving documentary with no clear storyline. Just fragments of places, people, and moments, connected by a certain feeling rather than a narrative.
What is the story behind your name?
The story goes back to when I was a student in a sound design and audio engineering course. We had an assignment to mix a live band recording.
I remember doing part of the work at home, using headphones and a pair of small Yamaha HS5 monitors. When we presented our mixes to the teacher, everything in mine sounded fine — except for the kick drum. I completely missed the balance. It was huge.
And then the teacher said something like, “Well, it’s obvious someone really loves the sound of a kick drum.”
I guess that was the beginning of Kicktracks.
Thank you!
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