Hiya Amir, thanks for joining us in the virtual RGM lounge today. Grab a brew and take a seat.
Thank you for having me. It’s a pleasure to share this space and to talk about the world of Yellow Majesty and the new single release.
What was life like for you before you got into music?
Music has always been there — long before I even thought of it as “getting into” something. I grew up surrounded by sound and movement, and it became a kind of internal architecture. Before I started releasing music as Yellow Majesty, I spent much of my time in other bands as a singer and guitarist, as well as being in the academic world — teaching, researching, writing about technology and human experience. But even there, music was the undercurrent. It’s always been the way I process meaning, emotion, and transformation.
What’s the live music scene like in Gothenburg right now? Anyone we should be looking out for (bar you, of course)?
Gothenburg has a very distinct energy — it’s a city that breathes creativity in many forms. The scene is alive, eclectic, and constantly evolving. There’s a lot of collaboration across genres, from experimental electronic acts to post-rock and emerging avant-garde performers. I think what stands out here isn’t just the sound but the atmosphere — an openness to explore, to fail, to begin again.
It seems like being a social media curator has become added to the many jobs of a musician, how do you feel about this?
It’s a double-edged thing. On one hand, it allows artists to create direct connections with listeners — to shape the aesthetic world around their music. On the other, it can pull you away from the stillness needed for creation. For me, I try to use social media more as a space for signals — subtle traces of what’s to come — rather than a constant stream of explanation.
How do you manage engagement on your socials?
I tend to approach it intuitively. I share fragments of the process, visual moods, or philosophical reflections that relate to the music. I’m less interested in pushing content and more in creating a small world that people can step into. I like to think of it as curation rather than promotion — a continuation of the same creative energy that shapes the songs.
What’s your view on the music industry today?
The industry is both more open and more fragmented than ever. Technology has given artists immense freedom, but it’s also created a constant noise floor — an endless scroll of distraction. I think the challenge today is not just to be heard, but to matter; to create something that resonates beyond the algorithmic pulse. I’m drawn to artists and listeners who value presence and intention, even in a hyper-digital world.
Where do you feel you currently sit within the music industry?
Somewhere between the inside and the outside. Yellow Majesty isn’t built for mainstream structures — it’s an independent, artistic space. But I’m interested in dialogue with the wider world: crossing boundaries between art, philosophy, and sound. I think that’s where the most interesting things happen — in the in-between.
What’s the biggest thing you’ve learned recently as you progress with your music?
That being truly honest means everything. Every time I write or record, I’m reminded that the most powerful moments come from surrender — letting the music lead instead of trying to control it. It’s very similar to philosophical inquiry: you begin with a question and end up being transformed by it.
What was your best experience on stage?
For me, performing isn’t about re-creating the record — it’s an embodied extension of the music. The best experiences are those moments when the sound almost leaves the body, when the boundary between performer and listener dissolves. It becomes something collective, something alive. That sense of shared presence is what keeps me returning to the stage.
What was your worst experience on stage?
There’s always an element of chaos in live performance — things break, sound shifts, silence appears when it shouldn’t. But I’ve learned to embrace that too. Even the so-called “worst” moments often reveal something raw and real. It’s all part of the process.
Tell us something about you that people would be surprised about.
Perhaps that I’m also a professor of Information Systems with a particular interest for philosophy of technology — working with questions about technology, meaning, and human experience. For me, these worlds are not separate. Music is another way of exploring those questions — but through emotion, rhythm, and embodiment rather than words or theory.
I hear you have new music. What can you tell us about it?
Yes — the new single APHANTASIA is out now, and it’s the title track from my upcoming album APHANTAZIA. It’s an epic and cinematic piece that explores illusion, memory, and transformation. The song has the presence of Ilan Rubin (Foo Fighters, Nine Inch Nails) on drums, with co-production and mixing by Aaron Rubin (Blink 182) and mastering by Maor Appelbaum (Faith No More, Sepultura, Yes). It’s both intimate and monumental — a reflection on the tension between control and release, knowing and unknowing.
What was the recording process like?
It was very immersive. I tend to build worlds rather than just tracks — layers of sound that carry both atmosphere and meaning. Working with Aaron and Maor brought another dimension to that. Every detail, every resonance mattered. The process felt like sculpting: slowly revealing what was hidden inside the sound.
What was the biggest learning curve in writing the new tunes?
Letting go of perfection. I tend to think deeply about structure and concept, but some of the most powerful moments came when I stopped thinking and allowed intuition to take over. The album APHANTAZIA is full of those moments — raw, imperfect, yet truthful.
Would you change anything now it’s finished?
No. Every release is a snapshot of a moment in time — a trace of where you were, what you were feeling, and how you were seeing the world. Once it’s out, it belongs to the listeners. I wouldn’t want to interfere with that.
Is there anything else you would like to share with the world?
Just a sense of openness. I think we’re all navigating layers of illusion — digital, emotional, existential. Music can cut through that noise. It can remind us of what it means to feel alive, to be here, even if just for a few fleeting minutes.
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