Traumprinz - The Story of the Prince of Dreams

In the incandescent magma that is contemporary electronic music, whether for listening or dancing, very few artists are unanimously considered exceptional. In a world that makes hype and the chase for the next big thing one of its defining traits, where hundreds of artists explode like supernovas - maybe with one well-placed track - only to burn out their momentum within a couple of years, sometimes even less, those who string together an almost perfect run of releases without ever missing a beat are extremely rare. Traumprinz is probably one of them. Indeed, we can only refer to him by his moniker, since his real name remains unknown. In a scene that thrives on fame and visibility, staying completely hidden takes real, committed effort: always letting the music speak, as if the composer himself were secondary, reversing the usual process entirely. The best stories often come from Germany - Weimar, in this case (though, to be precise, the story actually begins a little further west, in Hanover) - and from England.

The first comparison that comes almost automatically to mind for the prince of dreams is with another artist who made anonymity his modus vivendi, hailing from south London, and who over the years has won over the hearts and ears of thousands of listeners: we're obviously talking about William Emmanuel Bevan, known as Burial. Here lies the first important parallel with the German artist: this against-the-grain decision to never show himself to the public, never a face, never a body, only a handful of elusive photos of dubious origin, and extremely rare interviews granted.

It's easy to stay hidden and produce music that's aseptic, superficial, detached and fundamentally pointless - in fact, doing so also keeps you safe from media pillory and merciless criticism, though we shouldn't forget that the quality of the composition always comes first, regardless of who made it. But when your name starts echoing across every corner of the globe, when your tracks are loved by countless listeners, the urge to step into the spotlight and say to everyone, "Yes, it's me, this is my work," must be almost irresistible; keeping a low profile under those circumstances, then, is an almost revolutionary stance. Of course, behaving this way can create the opposite effect: this aura of mystery, of the unresolved, only fuels general curiosity further, to the point that a vicious circle can form in which staying a ghost becomes increasingly difficult.

Another parallel between the two artists concerns their respective labels. How many artists manage, single-handedly, to carry the name of the label they record for onto everyone's lips? Just as Burial thrust Kode9's Hyperdub into the mainstream spotlight, Traumprinz did the very same for Giegling.

Giegling: a crew of kids who went from an abandoned factory in Weimar to the biggest stages in Europe

Before diving into the German artist's discography, it's essential to spend a few words on this extraordinary story that goes by the name Giegling.

In Weimar in the mid-2000s, in an abandoned factory improvised into a bar, parties were held on a regular basis. The factory was split into three small rooms, each just a few square metres; in one, mostly house and techno were played, in another, smaller room jazz was on rotation, while in the third, hip-hop and breakbeat dominated. All these spaces were essentially unlit, dirty, run-down, yet they were always packed. This gave rise to a unique environment with an indescribable energy that would go on to become the driving force behind the future label.

In 2009 the factory was demolished, likely for safety reasons, but the young crowd from Weimar - almost all students at Bauhaus University - driven and energized by the success of those nights, carried the mission forward, founding what is effectively the legacy of that derelict building: Giegling.

The first official release was a twelve-inch titled "I Believe You And Me Make Love Forever," by the duo Kettenkarussel, made up of Dj Dustin and Konstantin. With the proceeds from that release and the ones that followed, Giegling would go on to self-finance every subsequent production. Luckily things went well, and the label slowly began gaining more and more recognition among industry insiders, allowing for a steady output of releases, the launch of a dedicated podcast series, the Giegling Mix, and eventually gigs at some of the most renowned clubs in Europe.

Every member of Giegling's so-called "core" has a precise role: it turns out Vril is the "minister of fate," Leafar Legov is in charge of wet knickers on the dancefloor. Dustin handles contracts, Konstantin takes care of pressing, Prince of Denmark looks after dreams. Ateq deals with artistic vibrations, Dwig is responsible for samples, while Deer serves as the project's technical mentor.

What makes this label so special lies in its philosophy of always letting the music do the talking, steering clear of flashy marketing gimmicks, endless advertising, and pressure on webzines of every kind. An incredibly minimal style accompanies every new Giegling release, starting with its famously bare-bones website.

What matters most to these guys is not letting what happened during those nights in the factory fade into oblivion; that "magic" needed a legacy, a continuum, as can be gathered from statements made by Dustin and Konstantin: ⟦Q1⟧.

And words were never more fitting to describe the philosophy behind Giegling: music born in the club, but which expands into listening contexts for any situation in everyday life, from one's own sofa to the bus, on the street, among friends or alone.

Among this handful of artists, however, Traumprinz stands out as the one who probably touches the most sensitive chords of the human experience, loading every track with a miraculous sense of introspection and stirring emotions that go well beyond those of the pure dancefloor.

Prince of Denmark: dub techno all’ennesima potenza

The first of the German artist's three “multiple” personalities is that of Prince of Denmark.

To simplify the story, let's start here, since it's the first to appear in Giegling's chronology. We're talking about 2010, back when the fledgling label was still in its infancy, when the name “Prince of Denmark” first popped up. The celebratory release is an EP under the name Soulfood, which lays out the future coordinates of what would become the productions of the German label's flagship act.

Approaching dub techno, as is well known, is always a tricky business. It's a genre that makes constant repetition its own form of catharsis. Bradycardic beats and extremely deep basslines form the pairing of the Soulfood–To The Fifty Engineers EPs, released by Giegling in the label's first three years of activity. Nothing new under the sun, considering that the genre's highest expression had probably already been achieved by people like Deepchord and Levon Vincent: the former, through a boundless body of work, had sifted through every possible influence of the genre, ranging from space to ambient, while the latter added his own “personal touch,” built on the experiences and listening habits of early-90s techno.

However, this is merely the prelude to a slow but inevitable explosion that began in 2013 with the German artist's first real display of talent. The Body is the name of the effort, released on Forum, Giegling's sub-label, which to date counts five releases of incredible depth, built on experimentation, major collaborations, and the abyssal dub techno of the Prince of Denmark.

A good hour of solemnity and depth, culminating precisely in the closing act, “Sublimation,” makes The Body a decent production. Good, but not great. Still, 2013 is an important year for the artist, who racks up a series of well-placed podcasts for a couple of non-German labels, also proving he can handle the art of sonic patchworking with real class.

These are merely dress rehearsals, though, because the following year his return to Giegling proves providential, yielding the first of the successful Live At Planet Uterus podcast series. The solve et coagula formula finds one of its highest expressions right here: dub techno pared down to the bone, enriched by ambient drifts and by what would later reveal itself as one of the German artist's trademarks: that enormous, cinematic synth that swells and recedes over five or six seconds, repeated over and over, adding a distinctly loftier, almost extraterrestrial quality to the sonic fabric.

2015 is a sabbatical year (so to speak): the prince tends to other projects, launches new possibilities and explores other territories with even greater success. 2016 seems to follow the same pattern, but before the year is out, with a masterstroke, the release of his definitive consecration suddenly appears on our radar: 8.

Returning to Forum three years after The Body, 8 is quite simply the anthology album of dub techno. Released in an extremely limited box set containing no fewer than eight vinyl records, its market value doubled within just ten days of its official release, so the lucky owners found themselves holding not only an extraordinary piece of craftsmanship, but a genuine investment.

So get comfortable and set aside some time — a lot of time, given the album's monstrous three-hour runtime. Across the more than twenty tracks that make up the set, the Prince of Denmark sifts through at least a decade of the Berlin school: techno, minimal, industrial, stripping away all the surrounding electronic artifice, reducing it to a bare skeleton and fitting it with a dub kick drum that is at times paranoid, at times obsessive, at times psychedelic. The opera maxima of “mentalism,” the kind we'd already been trained for by a certain Luke Slater in his guise as the demolisher Planetary Assault Systems. From “Neoclassicaldub” to “Mentalbeam,” via “Squidcall,” “Desire,” “Pulseriendes Leben,” all the way to “Desire” and “Tool 517”: sensory deliriums, acoustic hallucinations and hardline statements of intent, split three at a time across each 12-inch, the prince draws a thread, stronger than ever, connecting Weimar to Berlin. Genre die-hards will be overjoyed, and newcomers will finally have a reference point to turn to from here on, while everyone else simply tips their hat.

Dj Metatron: a dive among the stars

For a few years already, the name Prince of Denmark had been on everyone's lips.

2014 is a pivotal year for the German artist: momentarily shedding the guise of the dub techno prince, he throws himself fully into what would become the main project of his, so far, short but intense musical career: Traumprinz.

There's enormous excitement in the industry underground, and after a couple of EPs — Intrinity and All The Things — and with yet another installment of the hugely successful Giegling Mix series, This Is Not, entirely curated by the mysterious producer, 2014 already seems destined for glory. By the end of the year, though, a new release pops up on our radar that leaves us utterly stunned: U'll Be The King Of The Stars, credited to a shadowy Dj Metatron. The pairing would seem entirely unnatural, given Traumprinz/Prince Of Denmark's previous output and the drastic shift in genre and sound, were it not for the fact that the label putting out this release is none other than Traumprinz's own personal imprint.

Once past the initial, understandable disorientation, we're a little wary about yet another split personality from the German artist — reservations that vanish at supersonic speed after listening to U'll Be The King Of The Stars.

It's clear to everyone that we're in the presence of a visionary genius: whatever he touches turns to gold for our eardrums.

Dj Metatron, then, represents the creative peak of the artist's vein, starting with this EP, which features some of the most accomplished tracks of recent years, above all "Oh Ah" and the title track "U'll Be The King Of The Stars". In his own modest way, the German talent carries out a revolution of what is the classic concept of house music: dance music, devoted more to hedonism than to reflection; in this case, however, the formula is enriched with a series of completely intimate sensations that are antithetical to those typically evoked by the house repertoire: nostalgia, solitude, vulnerability, melancholy. Dj Metatron's sound is a catalyst for feelings, amplifying the emotional spectrum to such an extent that you genuinely feel as though you're floating among the stars, through a total detachment induced between mind and body.

We could spend hours pontificating about this artist's talent, beyond the unique sensations each listener can experience with his music. Except that the following year he delivered what is, by now, universally recognized as one of the most incredible podcasts of the 2010s in less experimental electronic music.

While with U'll Be The King Of The Stars the seed of intent had been planted, its fullest (probably unmatchable) expression is reached with the seventh instalment of the Giegling Mix series, This Is Not. To call this production moving would be an understatement. A good fifty minutes of submerged house, harmonious synths, melodic kick drums, gentle but never intrusive vocal samples, a cradle for the synapses and a form of spiritual elevation.

The same artist provides us with another overwhelming piece of evidence, met with unanimous approval — absolute proof of his greatness and of his way of understanding and making music: he cuts and splices a speech by a then very young Jake Gyllenhaal from an interview mentioned in the film "Donnie Darko", which appears halfway through the podcast and is then repeated later on:

For me, personally, when approaching the role, it was sort of hard to figure out, because there’s so many things that he gets hit with.

In the simplest terms, like, in most abstract terms, I could say it’s… It’s a journey, like just a journey about discovering.

And the irony of the whole thing is that hopefully by the end and they have to go back and watch it again, and then watch it again.

It’s just this ridiculous, fantastic,

completely absurd mixture of humour,

it's sadness, madness…

It forces you, if it does force you at all, to come to your own conclusion about what it's about, it's like an individual experience for everyone. It's not about one thing.

And no one can really come to any finite or objective conclusion.

As if that weren't enough, the podcast probably also contains one of the most incredible tracks in his entire repertoire. Indeed, right after the speech, an unreleased track begins that, for a year and a half, kept everyone in the industry — and beyond — holding their breath, hoping it would one day see the light of day. A wish that came true with the extraordinary Giegling compilation released in late 2016, Mind Over Matter. We have our name: "State Of Me". An evocative power with no equal — perhaps only Burial has ever come close — and yet not a single word is spoken in the track. As Brian Eno once said, during the production of "Remain In Light" by Talking Heads: "I don't consider the lyrics to be the central point of a song, but the melody." Never has it been truer, and never have we all been more in agreement.

Traumprinz: thesis, antithesis and synthesis

In fairness, it was only right and proper to first discuss the parallel "identities" of the Prince of Dreams, which ultimately converge precisely in the Traumprinz project.

On one side the father, the techno of Prince of Denmark; on the other the mother, the house of Dj Metatron. The two great teachers of electronic music, from which hundreds of subgenres branch out, along with different currents, opinions, and various personal reinterpretations.

Their adopted offspring, namely the "beat" — in the most generic sense of the term — closes a circle that draws on an extremely broad spectrum of electronic music, including even ambient and minimalism, two currents of the electronic macrocosm that influence and enrich the German artist's discography. That "beat" which had laid the groundwork for the birth of hip-hop and for a boundless series of productions mixing an electronic base made of "beats", precisely, with torrents of words from the world's finest lyricists.

The name Traumprinz was still unknown to most at the time, a promise not yet fulfilled; it was viewed with a certain scepticism and irreverence, despite the prince already having half a dozen EPs under his belt and that The Body which had only half convinced those in the know.

The September-to-December period is a frenetic time; everyone expected the bomb to go off at any moment, with hype skyrocketing after Podcast 387, released by the most important music publication in the field, "Resident Advisor", which was meant to provide a fitting conclusion to an extraordinary 2013 for Giegling and for the German artist.

The old formula of beats, but entirely new for the Prince, finally reaches completion in December, with the release of one of his most accomplished and acclaimed works ever: Mothercave.

This new artistic drive takes shape above all in the middle of the record, thanks to tracks of the calibre of "Believe", "The Monkey" and "There Will Be Xtc", where, among other things, we get a glimpse of the artist's enormous musical background, drawing samples from the most varied corners of hip-hop, breakbeat and even English drum'n'bass. Without heaping on further praise, we can say that Mothercave marked the breaking point with the prince of dreams' earlier, more immature productions. From this moment on, in fact, there begins an escalation of extraordinary works that continues to this day, and one we hope will carry on for many years to come.

The die is cast. Traumprinz is on everyone's lips and in everyone's ears. Every release of his is celebrated to an absurd degree, everyone fights over photos (which never materialise), ultra-rare interviews, snippets, previews, any possible scrap of gossip. For its part, Giegling always keeps a low profile, mainly out of respect for the Prince's wish to avoid the spotlight like the plague.

In the years that follow, he alternates releases across all three fronts, constantly shuffling the deck and dropping the "big stuff" always at the end of the year, throwing every critic's year-end lists into chaos. Under the moniker Traumprinz, though, the releases that stand out most are All The Things (2014) and Diva (2016), on which the artist has fun playing with old-school Chicago house, blending it with that personal, introspective touch that has brought him so much success.

This is Traumprinz: thesis, antithesis and synthesis of electronic music, of its production and of its very personalities; he unites and builds, working on a large scale, a unique and inimitable imaginary world.

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