Lanterns in the Machinery of Memory –

Tristan Blaskowitz is the kind of artist who treats creativity as world-building by shaping sound, story and image with the same restless imagination that first took root in childhood play, gaming and long hours spent absorbing the records and films that filled his early life in Germany. In this interview, he reflects on the path from self-taught composition and early online releases to a body of work that stretches across film scores, concept albums, neo-classical arrangements, electronica and progressive rock. We discuss the formative power of study, the emotional and cinematic language running through his catalogue, the meeting point between organic instrumentation and electronic texture, and the themes of memory, connection and introspection that continue to surface in his work. It is a conversation full of insight into both the artist and the mind behind the music.

Tristan Blaskowitz, we’re thrilled to welcome you to A&R Factory to take a closer look at the aspects of your life that have allowed the expansive scope of your creativity to take shape. 

You work as a composer, pianist, producer and filmmaker, which is a seriously wide creative scope, so what came first for you: the urge to write music, the pull towards film, or the need to build entire worlds from scratch?

I’ve always enjoyed creating something new — something that didn’t exist before — or recontextualising existing elements into new worlds. As a child, I spent a lot of time playing with figures and Playmobil sets, inventing scenarios and stories in my head and improvising constantly.

My path into filmmaking came through gaming, which has always been one of my biggest passions alongside creativity itself. I spent a lot of time playing The Movies by Lionhead Studios and working with others in the German community on collaborative machinima projects. Without really realising it at the time, it planted the desire to eventually create real films myself.

A few years later I began learning piano, and shortly after that I started teaching myself composition and music production. From there, both film and music evolved from playful hobbies into serious creative pursuits, eventually leading me to study Time-Based Media for both my Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees and shaping my professional path.

Growing up in Germany, what were the earliest sounds, records, films or experiences that shaped your imagination and pushed you towards this kind of expansive, genre-crossing creativity?

A lot of my musical taste was shaped by my father. I still remember standing in his room as a child, surrounded by massive shelves filled with hundreds of vinyl records. He introduced me to a lot of music from the 60s, 70s and 80s, and I naturally gravitated towards that era. I never really connected with typical pop or radio music growing up.

The same was true for film. My father exposed me to many older films early on, which also influenced my sense of humour — often quite dark — shaped by things like Otto, Monty Python and Mel Brooks.

I’ve always been drawn to sci-fi and fantasy worlds in general, whether in films or games, and that constantly fuelled my imagination.

One of my biggest inspirations is everything surrounding The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells. As a child, I played the PC game Jeff Wayne’s Musical Version of The War of the Worlds, and I was deeply fascinated by its soundtrack. Later, I discovered the original 1978 concept album, which completely changed my perception of what music could be — not just individual songs, but long-form narrative works.

That experience led me to develop a strong love for concept albums and prog rock. I think I’ve always been attracted to media that breaks boundaries, challenges expectations, and was innovative in its time. That mindset still shapes how freely I approach music today.

Your catalogue moves through neo-classical, electronica, prog-rock, ambient and pop, which suggests you’ve never been interested in sitting neatly in one lane, so when did you realise your artistic identity would come from range rather than restriction?

This became very clear to me during my studies, when I started receiving specific compositional assignments that forced me to explore new styles, instrumentation and techniques.

I had to learn how to compose to picture, or how to adapt my writing to the needs of game designers and directors. It was no longer just about making music that satisfied me, but about serving a broader artistic vision. That was challenging at first, but incredibly formative, and it significantly expanded my musical palette.

In 2013, I released a prog-rock album called Winter, built around synthesizers, organs, Mellotron, guitars, bass and drums. In 2014, I shifted toward orchestral and classical writing for short films such as Cupcake and Night. Shortly after, I composed my first fully orchestral work for the video game Bedtime Story.

Over time, I was constantly pushed into new styles and contexts. The artist I am today is essentially the sum of all those experiences. I’m also someone who naturally embraces change, spontaneity and unpredictability, and I believe that directly feeds into my music.

You’ve independently released everything from video game scores to concept albums and more experimental pieces, so how has working outside the spotlight shaped your discipline, your self-belief, and the way you measure success?

I actually started uploading music as early as 14 on my personal website. Looking back, it wasn’t particularly strong — and I couldn’t really sing either — but I still chose to release it. Those early albums are thankfully no longer available.

At that time, I was both insecure and introverted, but also curious enough to share my work publicly, even knowing that someone from school might find it.

A major shift happened during my studies, where I received my first real external feedback. For the first time, my music was being evaluated by an actual audience — professors, collaborators, and fellow students who engaged directly with the projects I was writing for.

It’s difficult to separate personal growth from simply getting older, but I do know that I’ve become much more confident in what I do. I now have a clearer understanding of my strengths and my artistic direction.

For me, success has always meant staying true to my intentions and actually completing what I set out to do. That’s why I released music even in my teenage years despite its flaws — because the act of finishing and sharing it mattered more than perfection. That principle still guides me today, beyond music as well.

There’s a strong cinematic and emotional thread running through the way you describe your music, so what usually sparks a piece for you: a visual idea, a narrative concept, a specific feeling, or something more abstract?

Many of my pieces are rooted in emotion and lived experience. Often it starts with a melody, a motif or a rhythmic idea, which only later evolves into a complete composition.

I’ve never been a big fan of singles or fragmented release strategies. A standalone track often feels like only a glimpse of a larger artistic vision. In contrast, I’m much more interested in long-form works and concept albums.

“Short Stories” is a good example of this. On one hand, the title refers to the short form of the individual tracks, while the tracklist itself is a collection of previously unreleased pieces that essentially formed a kind of portfolio from my studies. At the same time, a subtle narrative frame is created through the two tracks “The Campfire” and “Back at the Campfire”, with the singer representing me, guiding the listener into the musical world of the storyteller. That storyteller is ultimately myself, simply presenting the worlds of my compositions and soundtracks to the listener. In a way, it’s a creative approach of saying: “Here are a number of pieces in different styles, and I’ll show you what I do” — without it feeling too direct or overly blunt.

Naturally, film and video game music already provide strong narrative frameworks, which makes them a rich source of inspiration — whether through characters, places, emotions or specific atmospheres.

Sometimes pieces also emerge from assignments. For example, Elevacator was created during a “Sound & Vision” course, where we explored musique concrète and sampling. I recorded sounds at a train station — escalators, elevators, buttons, doors — without knowing exactly what the final piece would become. It evolved organically into a structured composition, eventually accompanied by a video and installation shown at the university.

Another example is Spiral, written for a dadaist silent film during my Master’s studies. The only requirement was to score the film. Despite its abstract nature, I chose a more structured and melodic approach, while still incorporating elements of chance — including a brief cough of mine as a sudden interruption before the climax returns.

Your work combines piano and strings with analogue and digital synths in a way that feels very intentional, so what draws you to that meeting point between organic instrumentation and electronic texture?

What fascinates me most about this combination is the sense of timelessness it can create. Piano and strings feel inherently warm, human and emotionally immediate.

Synthesizers complement this in a very natural way. Especially analogue sounds can carry a similar warmth, but they also introduce something unfamiliar — an almost infinite sonic palette that allows for contrast without losing the emotional core.

I’ve always been drawn to all kinds of keyboard instruments — not only piano, but also synthesizers, Mellotron, organ, harpsichord and others. Since I usually start composing directly in the DAW rather than in notation, sound and texture are integral to the composition from the very beginning.

You’ve said that conceptual storytelling and thematic depth sit at the centre of your projects, so what kinds of themes keep pulling you back creatively, and what do they reveal about you as both an artist and a person?

Love and human connection are definitely recurring themes in my work, but often seen through a reflective or even nostalgic lens. I’m very drawn to moments that have already passed — the feeling of looking back at something meaningful and trying to understand why it stayed with you.

There’s also a strong focus on inner dialogue: questioning yourself, dealing with uncertainty, and the idea of personal growth not being a straight line, but something more fragmented and recursive.

I tend to process a lot of things through overthinking, which can be exhausting at times, but it also makes me very aware of emotional nuance. Music becomes a way to structure those thoughts and turn them into something tangible.

As someone with an existing body of work and a clear vision for where you want to go next, what kind of collaborators, industry relationships and opportunities would feel genuinely right for this stage of your career?

At this stage, I’m looking for collaborations that can help bridge the gap between the work that already exists and the audience it hasn’t fully reached yet. I have a substantial back catalogue that I believe has strong long-term potential, but it currently lacks the right marketing and distribution support to really find its listeners.

Ideally, that would be a label or partner that understands how to build and sustain a catalogue over time, rather than focusing only on isolated releases.

At the same time, I have several finished or near-finished works that are waiting for the right conditions to be brought to the stage — including a fully written musical that has not yet been performed due to production costs and logistical constraints.

My goal is to work with people who can help unlock both sides: giving existing music the reach it deserves, while also enabling new and more ambitious live formats with the right resources and collaborators.

Connect with Tristan Blaskowitz on Instagram and stream their sound on all major platforms, including Spotify and SoundCloud. 

Interview by Amelia Vandergast