Matt Choboter | Interview | New Album, ‘Unburying, From Liminals, Emerging’
Matt Choboter’s music exists in a space where time folds in on itself—ancient traditions, myths, and philosophies become conduits for something that feels entirely present, urgent even.
His latest work, ‘Unburying, from Liminals, Emerging,’ is blending deep cultural explorations with forward-thinking experimentation. His music reimagines past in ways that refuse to settle into nostalgia. Instead, he seeks out new pathways—musically, spiritually, and philosophically—finding fresh resonances in microtonality, alternative tuning systems, and the sheer physicality of sound.
In this conversation, Matt speaks with rare depth and openness about his creative process, the role of vision in composition, and the collision of technology and tradition in the modern world. He reflects on his travels, the experiences that shaped ‘Unburying, from Liminals, Emerging,’ and the necessity of decolonizing sound. He’s an artist who doesn’t just play music; he listens—to the world, to the past, to the spaces in between—and his perspective challenges us to do the same.
He also shares some of the albums that have recently left a lasting impression on him, from microtonal composer Craig Grady’s ‘Stolen Stars’ to Balinese composer Dewa Alit’s ‘Chasing the Phantom.’ For Matt, music extends beyond human intention—it’s in the birds, the cities, the moments where sound simply exists. His approach reminds us that music isn’t just something we consume—it’s something we inhabit.
Dive into this conversation, and be prepared to see music, and perhaps even the world, a little differently.
“The act of composing music is a reconciliation of these two opposing states of mind.”
‘Unburying, from Liminals, Emerging’ is described as a “cathartic unburying of the subconscious.” How do you navigate the tension between the subconscious’ chaotic energy and the structured elements of your compositions? Do you find this tension reflected in your own life and creative process?
Matt Choboter: “Cathartic unburying of the subconscious” indicates the inner peace I found between these extremes while excavating things of the past—both personal but also seemingly collective.
The subconscious’ chaotic energy is always there. It’s just a matter of to what degree I’m seeking it or whether it just seeks me.
The act of composing music is a reconciliation of these two opposing states of mind. Namely, structured elements are often bound up in thought, while the subconscious’ chaotic energy breathes life into things if harnessed. I should mention that the act of “attending”—being in the present and without judgment—doesn’t seem to be bound by these polarities. It has certainly permeated aspects of this process, and I hope to further develop this capacity in future initiatives.
The album blends South Indian Classical music, Balinese Gamelan, and post-jazz, creating a very unique landscape. How do you reconcile the spiritual and cultural depth of these traditions with the inherently experimental and often rebellious nature of contemporary jazz?
Post-jazz doesn’t necessarily indicate modernity to me but rather where we might be in relation to jazz. Rather than trying to be experimental or rebellious, I’d rather think of myself as a child having fun with some new toys or color palettes. I try to avoid being too experimental or rebellious for its own sake—there’s a lot of that going on at the moment.
In relation to integrating the ancient and spiritual/cultural depth of tradition:
I believe it’s about the attitude, respect, and thankfulness that one holds when engaging with a tradition. I certainly would never claim to practice South Indian classical music or Balinese Gamelan, but rather, I resonate very deeply with certain aspects that are transformative to me and that could offer possible transformation for others. With the right attitude, I believe in multicultural outreach wherever possible. It’s somehow a core tenet I hold, perhaps linking to the cosmopolitan city of Vancouver, where I grew up.
You mention that your music serves as a “dream diary.” In dreams, we often encounter the uncanny—familiar yet strange. How do you incorporate this sensation of the uncanny into your work, and do you think music has the power to evoke those same dreamlike states in your listeners?
I certainly never doubt the uncanny, dreamlike states that the music might provide to listeners. I often feel like a conduit through which the ego-less subconscious can filter and say something. If the subconscious is taken as collective, then it becomes easier to imagine how the music can resonate or bring about dreamlike states in listeners.
The creation of a new tuning system that merges Balinese microtonality with Just Intonation seems almost like an act of sonic alchemy. What was the process like in developing this system? Were there moments of doubt or revelation that marked its evolution?
It was a searching process that began with a pentatonic Balinese scale (a subset of a 7-note pelog scale) that could be described as having a sedeng (more balanced intervals) microtonal quality. At the same time, I was getting to know the ratio language found in Just Intonation. Somehow, these two approaches meshed when a third element was added. This third element is called ‘Ombak,’ or among Balinese speakers, Pengisep/Pengumbung interaction. Basically, ‘Ombak’ means evoking different rates of beatings between two or more musical tones. So ultimately, I found a way to bridge these two worlds of tuning by creating three axis points of various beatings or tone rubbings (Ombak).
The latter part of the process became much more intuitive, which actually put to rest any sense of doubt. It was simply a tuning system that satisfied my musical curiosity for that pocket of time.
Your work on ‘Unburying, from Liminals, Emerging’ involves recording in unique spaces like TunnelFabrikken. How much do you think the physical environment shapes the final output? Could the same composition evoke the same emotions if recorded elsewhere, or does the space become an inseparable part of the music?
The final recorded music was heavily influenced by both the recording spaces and the production phase. Again, curiosity played a big role. The main idea was to create an organism between the saxes, percussion, and piano. The saxes were recorded separately, and I felt that working with space, depth, and reverb could bridge the gap. We actually re-amped the saxophone recordings through various objects—oil barrels, cylindrical cans, and an old beat-up bass drum. By capturing the unique sonic signatures of these objects, we were able to layer a variety of different “spaces” within the final mix and master.
In general, the glueing-together, organismic aspect of the recording would never have matured without further re-ampings and turning objects into speakers/sonic spaces. The desired effect would not have been achievable without my good friend, sound and mixing engineer Simon Mariegaard. Of course, plug-ins could have created some kind of cohesion, but I’m simply aesthetically detached from exploring that.
You’ve delved into the mytho-spiritual realms of various cultures, from the Paleolithic cave art of southern France to the myths of ancient Greece. How do these encounters with ancient histories and mythologies influence your perspective on modernity and the role of an artist within it?
For me, we’re in a time where, rather than continually looking forward (progress orientation) for answers, we need to look back as well—to take moments to pause and reflect on where we’ve come to and whether we want to renew our relationships with past cultures, places, and ways of being in the world.
For instance, Paleolithic cave art serves as a crucial transitional moment where imaginal creativity, greater degrees of self-awareness, and, in general, a more modern sense of consciousness are fully displayed for the first time in recorded history. It’s a movement away from a more animal nature, perhaps—and in that sense, the visual art brings about a continued reflection on where we’ve come from and where we’re going. Paleolithic cave art also contains what might be called a “proto-language”—a set of roughly 32 repeating symbols that are found all over the globe (referencing recent research by Canadian anthropologist Genevieve von Petzinger). Tapping into these ubiquitous and foundational aspects of what makes us human can only enrich a multi-layered reflection process, both for the artist and for society more broadly.
Similarly, exploring myths of ancient Greece through embodied interactions with the place itself brings about a deeper appreciation of recurring motifs and archetypal stories that impart lessons and serve as valuable repositories of wisdom.
In ecological terms, a renewed interest in the various First Nations cultures of the Pacific Coast of Canada (where I grew up) can teach us how to live more sustainably within the natural environment. The stories and mythologies of these peoples are intertwined with their relationship to the surrounding land.
As an artist working with these old sources of wisdom, my hope is to foster more interest, curiosity, and layered reflection points—but to do so more subliminally, allowing the personal and collective subconscious to be engaged, provoked, even nourished.
Your music has been described as having a “dreamlike aura” that “simultaneously expands and blows the mind.” How intentional is this effect? Do you consciously aim to unsettle and expand the listener’s perception, or is this a natural byproduct of your compositional process?
I’ve never thought about expanding or blowing anyone’s mind—it sounds pretty cool, though! In the same way, I don’t aim to unsettle a listener’s perception or control their experience in any way. However, it does seem to be a natural byproduct of my music for listeners to be transported into “dreamlike auras.” I suppose my own dream experiences resonate deeply enough in my working process for others to find that comparison.
“We are always interfacing with different types of technology”
In an age where technology is rapidly advancing, often threatening to dehumanize art, you ask how sound-making can retain its “humanity.” How do you see the balance between embracing modern technology in your compositions while preserving the human touch?
We are always interfacing with different types of technology, whether playing a modular synth, a piano, or a Paleolithic bone flute. When I embrace more modern technology—i.e., re-amping into various spaces or using transducers to play sounds out of objects—it’s used toward an ultimately deeper intention. It’s a tool in the workshop drawer that one pulls out and manipulates when needed.
Spanning low to high, there are orders upon orders upon orders in composing music. Lower orders relate to filling in the smaller details of the score, utilizing technological tools and tricks of the trade, etc. The higher orders always resonate with a human element or with a universal principle—for instance, philosophical underpinnings, psychological meta-stories, and tapping into one’s expansive subconscious spheres. Not to mention the human communicative capacity for synergy through sound-making.
‘Sleep Inertia’ and ‘Postcards of Nostalgia’ were both critically acclaimed. How do you perceive the relationship between these previous works and your latest album? Do they represent different stages in your artistic journey, or are they connected threads of a larger narrative you are weaving?
‘Sleep Inertia’ bookmarked the end of a particular aesthetic style in my writing and broader intention. For one, some of the music was written as far back as 2017. But it’s also a project realized between four cities—Montréal, Paris, Berlin, and ultimately my hometown of Vancouver—by Canadian musicians. ‘Postcards of Nostalgia’ reflects mainly on my time spent in Copenhagen between 2019–2022. It works in a new tuning system, disregards rigorous rhythmic frameworks and cycles, and instead follows a much freer and more intuitive narrative.
That said, both releases are heavily rooted in the same psychological curiosities—namely, dreams and the liminal states between wakefulness and dreaming. So, although they access the same higher-order motifs and meta-narratives, they serve as rather polar-opposite expressions from that spherical subconscious expanse. I should also mention that Sleep Inertia was created under more extreme conditions and pressures related to prolonged insomnia and sleep deprivation.
You’ve collaborated with a diverse array of international artists. How do these collaborations influence your work? Is there a particular collaboration that profoundly shifted your musical direction or philosophy?
I always choose my collaborators very carefully. In recent years, it has become much more focused on group psychology rather than just musicianship. It’s become about building sustainable communities beyond just music-making.
In this sense, my current ensemble, Juniper Fuse—which will release its first record in 2025 on Kairos—stands out. An intergenerational ensemble that brings together improvising and classical musicians, it confronts the learning and creative process from a variety of angles, which are reassessed on an ongoing basis. It has spanned a multiplicity of perspectives within the improvising and group-learning domain. One specific example involves group polyrhythmic interaction—how it can be expressed highly intuitively, highly mapped out, or anywhere within the vast continuum between. In this rhythmic dimension, the percussionist Peter Bruun has been particularly influential on my personal development.
“‘Unburying, from Liminals, Emerging’ represents a process of moving beyond an intense focus on my own psychological states for their own sake.”
The term “post-religious spirituality” seems central to your ethos. How do you define spirituality in a post-religious context, and how does this concept manifest in your music, especially in ‘Unburying, from Liminals, Emerging?’
“Post-religious spirituality” for me encompasses a personal and collective spiritual sphere without strict adherence to the dogma of organized religion. Communing with this sphere takes on various shapes and forms—being in close contact with nature and drawing inspiration from Indigenous ways of life; navigating with close attention to personal and collective dream worlds; exploring repositories of ancient wisdom; and seeking holism through philosophical inquiry, through the works of figures like David Bohm, Henri Bergson, and Carl Jung. It also involves exploring non-Western music-making as a holistic and embodied expression, as well as walking through life with a kind of panpsychist perspective.
‘Unburying, from Liminals, Emerging’ represents a process of moving beyond an intense focus on my own psychological states for their own sake. This album feels like it’s reaching for something outside of myself—something that could resonate more substantially with collective or objective meta-narratives. It’s an expression that moves past the more self-absorbed, insomniac-driven works of my previous releases.
Your music often seems to be in conversation with the past—whether through cultural traditions, myths, or ancient art. How do you avoid the trap of nostalgia, ensuring that your work remains innovative and forward-looking rather than simply retrospective?
To me, these cultural traditions—myths, ancient art, etc.—are as vigorous and relevant as when they were first conceived and first expressed. We live in a postmodern time now where societies around the globe are tension-filled and high-strung—population increase, a failure of political trust, environmental stress, fast-moving technological advancement, a vast spiritual void, and an immense underlying implicit mechanistic worldview.
At this moment in time, I feel there is an especially urgent interest in wholeness or togetherness, whether felt consciously or subconsciously. There’s an interest in reviving spirituality while avoiding the bad taste left in the mouth from organized religion.
In this sense, I feel that what I do and what underlies what I do is hopefully much more than retrospective or nostalgic. Rather, it offers inspiration into new and old pathways—into spiritual development or unforeseen creative explorations.
You have been described as a visionary pianist. How do you view the role of vision in your creative process? Is it something that guides you from the start, or do you discover your vision through the act of creation?
I suppose it’s simultaneously both—the effort to see the whole of what one wants to create and the willingness to let oneself go and attend to moment-to-moment process-oriented work. Perhaps it’s about cultivating the ability to weave between these two poles. When composing, the potential manifestation can often feel tangible all along, like a persistent or tantalizing dream or recurring dream cycle that carries a visceral aural image and accompanying moods, emotions, and subconscious motifs.
In a Jungian sense, a “visionary act” may actually reside closer to letting oneself become a vessel or conduit through which a message is sent. In that sense, the active creative impulse does not necessarily take personal or individual autonomy but rather taps into a collective resonance.
Looking back at your travels and the cultural explorations that have influenced ‘Unburying, from Liminals, Emerging,’ is there a particular place or moment that was pivotal in shaping the album’s direction? Could you describe how that experience found its way into the music?
I cannot really pinpoint any specific place or moment in time that gave rise to the initial vision of this recording. My various travels simply percolate, sift, and filter through a rather pantheistic way of being in the world. At a certain stage, groups of intuitions and ideas often emerge, and a “piece” can be roughly conceptualized.
It’s a vast and beautiful conglomeration of experiences found through my travels—somewhat kaleidoscopic and yet condensed into some kind of aural vision.
In your press release, you reflect on the fast-moving modern technological world. As an artist deeply engaged with both ancient traditions and contemporary experimentalism, how do you see the future of music? Do you think we are moving towards a new form of ‘spiritual’ music, or are we at risk of losing something essential?
It’s not technology but rather the unprecedented rapid development and implementation of it that worries me. It’s about what underlying conceptual systems we rely on to implement the technology. If we rely solely on mechanistic, physicalist, and materialist assumptions when developing and implementing technology, we run the risk of creating a more divisive world—a world devoid of purpose and interconnectedness. If the core belief system is fundamentally destructive, it sets a harmful standard for how we organize and interact societally and ecologically.
I think if we tune into a variety of sources—like quantum physics (David Bohm), developmental biology (Michael Levin), forest science (Suzanne Simard), mycology (Merlin Sheldrake), psychology (the Jungian tradition), Western philosophy (Henri Bergson, Alfred North Whitehead), Eastern philosophy (Buddhism), Indigenous philosophies, etc.—we start to build a collective and non-divisive way of seeing the world and our place within it. With a more holistic vision in mind, we can collectively—whether professionally or non-professionally—give rise to more authentic forms of “spiritual music.”
For me, 12-tone equal temperament—the largely ubiquitous system of music creation at this moment—is a manifestation of post-Enlightenment trends. Embedded within its philosophy are mechanisms of physicalism and materialism. (One may visualize René Descartes’ clockwork universe.) Why should pianos in, say, Damascus be tuned in Western equal temperament?
I see the opportunity for microtonality and just intonation to open up creative expression—so long as they don’t themselves become dogmatic. This could create a greater multicultural awareness, a decolonizing of sounds, and a general appreciation for holism at a fundamental level of human inquiry. With education and access to an open continuum of sounds—explored democratically and without colonial interest—we may find more interconnections, resonances, and points of mutual reference as a musical species.
Let’s end this interview with some of your favorite albums. Have you found something new lately that you would like to recommend to our readers?
Lately, I’ve run into a few recordings that have left a lasting impression—microtonal composer Craig Grady’s ‘Stolen Stars;’ rudra veena player within the dhrupad tradition, Ustad Zia Mohiuddin Dagar, performing ‘Raga Yaman’; and Leonard Cohen’s live concert recording at the BBC in 1968.
“Favorite albums” would be too tall an order to put together right now, but I must say that the music of Balinese composer Dewa Alit has been instrumental for me over the past few years. Really, all of his work, but perhaps the music on ‘Chasing the Phantom’ stands out since I got to hear it rehearsed and performed many times while in Bali this past fall. I also had the chance to dig into the scores, explore the new tuning system he developed, and talk with Alit on many subjects in and around the music. That meant a lot.
Oh, and British composer Lawrence Dunn has been a key find for me in recent years. His ‘Set of Four’ stands out. Other than that, I’ve been finding pleasure in listening to birds, the sounds of nature, the sounds of the city—exquisite sounds, mundane sounds. Music is all around and doesn’t require human agency!
Klemen Breznikar
Headline photo: Raphael Gimenes
Matt Choboter Website / Facebook / Instagram / YouTube / Bandcamp
