Odd Beholder - Escaping alienation

Let's start with the album's title, “Honest Work”. What does it mean to you, and why did it become such a central theme for the record?

It was the first thing that became clear to me. Usually, before I start writing - in a kind of moment of inspiration - I already have some idea of what themes an album should deal with. For this record, the title “Honest Work” was clear to me from the very start, also because I'd been thinking for a long time about this idea of honest work in relation to being a musician in a society where the tertiary sector is the dominant one. In Switzerland, it seems to me that as a musician you produce a product that you then try to sell. Sure, you do it with laptops assembled elsewhere or microphones made in Switzerland, but, to simplify, it's a bit like being a kind of farmer who produces and sells the fruit of her own labour. And yet, making music for a living, at first glance, doesn't seem to fall into the category of “honest work” - it looks more like a hobby. Partly because music, and art in general, is something people want to enjoy. Think, for instance, of listening to a live show: you want to savour the experience of magic and joy, not think that someone is actually working right now, or wonder about that person's working conditions and pay. And this illusion is often indulged by the people working in the industry themselves. The most exhausting parts of the job stay behind the scenes. We certainly don't post about them on Instagram.

All of your records revolve around a single theme, which is then explored in depth. You've already touched on this, but I was wondering: do you choose an album's theme at the outset, or does it emerge after the songs have already been written?

Writing songs is very personal work, almost therapeutic. That aspect matters a lot to me. Not because I selfishly consider myself the most important person in the world, but because I think that working through whatever's occupying my thoughts, or whatever I'm dealing with at a given point in my life, allows other people who find themselves in the same emotional or personal situation to then find a connection with my songs. It's about finding a kind of sweet spot between a theme that's personal and one that's relevant to society at large. I don't mean to condense my opinion into the songs. Rather, I try to write about and reflect on that theme in order to understand it better. If I really manage to do that, then maybe it'll be a good album. At least, that's my hope.

Yes, I'd say you manage it. And what you're saying is interesting - we'll come back to it later - but it's true that your reflections don't seem to offer a single, clear-cut solution to the problems you bring up. Before moving on to some points about the content, though, I wanted to ask you something about a sonic aspect. Compared to those on “Feel Better”, the arrangements on these songs are darker. The same could be said of the visual and iconographic elements, from the cover art to the videos. Where does this darker atmosphere come from?

There's a fairly personal answer. I've been committed to climate protection for a long time, and Trump's election was a turning point. I remember it very clearly, because I was in a forest at sunset, the atmosphere was very peaceful, and even the birds weren't singing: absolute silence. In that moment I realised we were going to miss the chance to put in place the measures needed to slow down the looming climate crisis and its social and global consequences. I had the feeling that the end of the world was near, that despite all the commitment, effort and unpaid work poured into it, there was no hope left. That doesn't mean I think we should give up, but hope certainly isn't as solid as it used to be. I asked myself how it was possible that populist right-wing narratives, even in Europe, had become so popular, and whether there had been mistakes on our part, in terms of communication or the actions we'd taken. I felt very shaken and disheartened, and that moment coincided with the first phase of writing and conceiving the songs that make up the new record.

Did this turning point also shape the collaboration with Douglas Greed (Mario Willms), who produced the record?

Douglas Greed's beats are very clean, direct, hard, and combined with minor chords they can sound a bit more icy and sharp. The musical darkness you're referring to probably stems from his contribution to the record. While I produced "Feel Better" largely on my own, on this record I wanted to celebrate our collaboration.

I get the impression that a sort of working class Sisyphus is the key figure throughout the album. Why did you decide to reference this mythological character?

I was influenced by David Graeber's book "Bullshit Jobs", where the author argues that some jobs are marked by a lack of sense and meaning, that they involve 9 to 5 activities which simply let you collect a paycheck, and that the people doing them don't really know whether what they're doing matters or is irrelevant. It's a fairly hard thesis to defend and I don't entirely agree with it. Still, Sisyphus, seen through this lens, seems to be happy: he doesn't know why he has to push his rock, but he gets a paycheck, he has a family. It seems to work for him, even though he's missing any sense of what he does every day. That's really dark!

There are other songs on the B-side tied to the theme of alienation. It also seems to me that "Second Beer", which closes the first half, and "Drive", which opens the second, are connected. Almost as if to suggest that the only way out is to run away, driving, at night. But, as we were saying earlier, you don't seem to give a real answer: is the escape in "Drive" a real one? Or is it perhaps a dream, an illusion? Is it really still possible to leave, to escape from everything?

I think that's a great reading. It makes me think of a scene from "Lost In Translation" where two people find themselves in an unhappy relationship, they're stuck in that situation, drinking beer at a bar. At some point they look at each other and think, "what is this shitty life?" That's kind of the feeling behind "Second Beer": by the second beer at the boring barbecue with friends, everyone realizes just how dull everything is and that maybe there's something else you could be doing. And that's kind of the motivation behind "Drive" too, and what pushes you to get away from the everyday grind of your life. Although I don't think "Drive" is the solution: you can't just slip out of the system that easily, quitting your job, living some kind of van life and pretending everything's fine. At that point you're just an escapist, while the world falls apart in the meantime. What I think you actually can do, when you're not doing well in your position, in your daily life, and your mind is suffering because of it, is quit your job, yes, but in order to reflect on what to do with your life, who to work with, who to support. That seems like a good intermediate step to start with.

Even in "Focus Disease" the prescribed solutions don't seem to work... Finding a way out isn't easy even when it's prescribed by a psychiatrist.

The way out here would be taking Ritalin so you can focus better. It's a complex topic and you can't generalize: Ritalin and other psychiatric drugs help a lot of people, and it's important that research in this field continues. Still, I wonder if sometimes people can't concentrate because they have the feeling that something doesn't make sense, that there's something wrong with the reality around them. Office culture is full of expectations, rituals and codes you have to decode and reuse to get ahead. It's as if a lot of people who can't concentrate no longer realize that they actually have some agency over how they set up their own work. Some of them take Ritalin to keep going, but the question is: wouldn't they perhaps be happier, say, if they worked as a kindergarten teacher and took the class out for a walk?

In the press release you said that maybe it's not just a health issue, but also a social one. It's easy, after all, to feel overwhelmed by the sheer amount of news, input, and digital communication in general.

Yes, I think it's important to mention that aspect too. A friend of mine once asked me: do you think ADHD diagnoses would be so common if social media didn't exist? Maybe, but it's complicated, of course, since that's just our reality now. And it's not easy to avoid developing a cognitive dependency on social media, which so easily dismantles our capacity to concentrate.

Working life in the indie world differs from most people's in many ways. At the same time, though, the pressure exerted by the tech industry and by growing algorithmization and datafication is very strong - which seems to represent a further step toward the commodification of music and art. This theme comes up in "Internet Famous", but also in "Ring Light". There you sing: "I was searching for connection/ That I now know how to sell/ A bad case of dissociation/ Now that I'm doing well". Is there a way to escape this alienation? What room to act is still left?

I think there is a way out. But I'll tell you more: it's possible that at some point this system will crack completely, and that people will get sick of these parasocial interactions. I know a lot of people who are no longer on social media. If the fans aren't there anymore, then this kind of attention prostitution stops being worthwhile. It's not just a matter of having a way out as a musician, but maybe it can be a collective movement that concerns everyone. There are also alternatives to TikTok and Meta, whether that means forms of social media that aren't as algorithm-driven, or a return to an offline DIY culture.

The interests of Tech Bros in the music field have recently led to a paradox: in order to survive and reach a wider audience, you have to play along with the algorithms. I'm referring to the case of Chaotic Good and the work the company has done for bands and artists like Geese or Mk.gee. The paradox is that, despite the digitalized consumption of music, independent artists are still expected to display that same authenticity which, for a long time, has represented a criterion of artistic integrity for the music press and beyond - and which, historically, has been used to question the creative autonomy of women musicians.

I find it really interesting that you brought this up, especially since for me authenticity is Odd Beholder's biggest problem! Just kidding, but I do think authenticity gets performed in an almost trivial way (and that in itself is already paradoxical). Pop/indie culture is full of performative elements that are fucking fake, and they drive me crazy because they strike me as less authentic and less honest than, say, a project like Angine de Poitrine. Something artificial is, to me, much more authentic, because art is artificial in a sense. On Instagram I'm not Daniela Weinman, I'm Odd Beholder, and that's not the same thing at all! And the more I reveal that, the more honest I feel I'm being, because I'm showing that this project isn't me, that it isn't all autobiographical. Or, put another way, there's nothing more authentic than our fantasies and our anxieties. And these might be strange, and get perceived as too artificial compared to singing about something immediately "relatable". Which used to be something only mainstream artists did...

Not to mention the fact that you have to wonder how it's even possible for Taylor Swift to still be considered relatable... Coming from someone who's particularly fond of "Folklore".

Exactly, that's the perfect example. Of course you can appreciate a fake authenticity, but it's difficult when you actually believe in it, when you get manipulated and end up confronting that completely unrealistic false reality.

Swift is certainly still the biggest star, but this line of thinking maybe connects to the success Charli XCX has had in recent years with younger audiences, and to the fact that she has no need or desire whatsoever to reach for or pursue authenticity.

Yes, that's interesting. But what indie culture can do – and what Charli XCX can't – is be genuinely cringe. With that much money at your disposal, the possibility of a fail is basically off the table, whereas someone like Odd Beholder can afford one: if I tried making a video in her style, the DIY nature of my attempt would show through immediately. And maybe that's something we should celebrate more: there's something genuinely cool about doing everything without cameras, lighting and super-expensive clothes, producing things with very limited resources. My videos for this album were made on an extremely tight budget, and it does come across a bit like amateur theatre, a bit cringe, but it suits the context of these songs. Not to mention the fact that the whole category of production value is essentially classist: not everyone can make music videos that take months to put together, with several people working on them who have access to incredibly expensive techniques and equipment.

Before we wrap up, I'd like to talk about your other activities outside of Odd Beholder. You're a co-founder of Music Declares Emergency Switzerland. How has that experience shaped your approach to songwriting and production?

Music Declares Emergency has definitely influenced me. For me it's also been a way of always keeping myself accountable and connecting with other people who share the same goals. With some of the same people, I recently organized a series of panels on the link between Silicon Valley's broligarchy and the music industry. The work we do aims to build community spaces where these issues can be discussed. We've also organized residencies with artists, not just to find ways to limit CO₂ emissions, but also to reflect on what role music can play in this historical moment. The Swiss chapter of Music Declares Emergency has allowed us to carry out these discussions.

(June 07, 2026)

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