Ukrainian Field Notes LV (A Closer Listen blog):
talk with Cells Interlinked about creative flow and making abstract, luminous music
MAY 5, 2026 – Lviv
Cells Interlinked is a project of two people, Maria and Albert. We live in Western Ukraine, in Lviv – a city that has historically been a crossroads of different cultural influences. We are a couple and have been together for almost our entire conscious lives, just as we have been involved in music for nearly 30 years.
We’ve had and still have other musical projects across very different genres: dark/minimal wave, synth pop, industrial, psychedelic trance, IDM/downtempo. But despite all these explorations, we have always been drawn to slower electronic music – “music for the ears” – which we discovered in childhood and which shaped our musical worldview.
For a long time, we had the idea of creating a project where we could express our deepest inner states. It so happened that we began working on it during the first months of the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine. The beginning of the war was a devastating shock. What was happening outside became so unbearable that the only possible response was to turn inward. And although war is often associated with harsh emotional states, the music we created turned out to be abstract and even luminous. We chose to work with analogue synthesizers, or virtual analog instruments that come as close as possible to that sound.
Has the full-scale invasion changed the way you think about music and sound in general, and how has it affected your motivation to create?
Perhaps the main change is that music has fully become a path of therapy and self-discovery for us. When everything around you is collapsing, any creative person feels an intense urge to create. When reality itself becomes absurd, you start asking: what am I, and what is reality?
For us, the answer was to immerse ourselves in the flow of creation, where we stopped looking back at the social context of the music industry or the expectations of others. It became just the music and the one who creates it.
The physical dimension of making music also became especially important. Naturally, there is no AI involved, and almost no software – except for final arrangement and mixing. What matters is the physical presence in the studio: knobs, keys, sliders under the hands.
Cold Spring Notes is framed as a kind of notebook of inner states during a “cold and otherworldly spring.” How did this specific moment – both seasonal and historical – shape the atmosphere and structure of the album?
A year ago, at the end of winter, we released our first album “Within” on the small Argentinian label Sincronía del Viento. At that time, we were thinking about how to develop the project further, and the idea emerged to base new material on live jams recorded in nature. It was the fourth year of the war, with ongoing missile attacks and blackouts.
In such moments, one clearly experiences that nature exists as a parallel, silent layer of eternity. The smoke from an attack may still be dissipating – but birds are already singing, clouds are drifting, fish are moving beneath the surface of the lake. It has always been this way, regardless of human events. Last spring was unusually cold, and its foggy uncertainty created a space where only our attention remained – along with sequencers, synthesizers, and a lake with a watermill.
Technically, our process was simple: we would go to a natural location, bring a compact setup (step sequencer, two small synths, reverb/delay pedal chain, and a Zoom recorder), and take turns recording a base sequence improvisation, which immediately defined the duration and structure of the piece. At the same time, we recorded field sounds capturing the atmosphere of the moment.
Later, in the studio, we added a few more layers to complete each track – usually using larger, more demanding analogue instruments that are difficult to use outdoors (like a Vermona Synthesizer, Moog Slim Phatty, and SPL Vitalizer processors). An important rule was not to radically rearrange the material in the studio.
So, the result of this creative process was the album Cold Spring Notes, which we recently completed and which is scheduled for release on May 22nd on the Cyclical Dreams label, known as an important hub of contemporary Berlin School electronic music, ambient, and space music.
You describe recording in brief moments of silence between attacks, often in natural environments. How did these conditions influence your listening process and your relationship to field recording?
People who have not experienced life during war often don’t realize that missile strikes themselves are not always the most critical moment. If the strike is over, you survived, and your home is intact, it may seem that life can continue – but if critical infrastructure is damaged, such as the energy system, then there is no electricity, and your studio is powerless. The entire city is plunged into darkness. But people adapt. Very quickly, the city fills with the sound of generators. We also discovered for ourselves portable power stations, which can be used for outdoor performances.
This situation teaches us to develop one-pointed concentration. You find yourself in silence, with only one source of sound, and your entire attention gathers around it. At first, it is the soundscape of nature. Then it becomes your sequence, responding to it. Field recording becomes a similar practice: you choose one voice of nature, listen deeply, and capture it.
There’s a strong sense of dialogue between nature and synthesis – lakes, birds, and old watermills interacting with analogue electronics and effects. How do you approach blending these worlds without one overpowering the other?
We don’t try to oppose synthesis to the voice of nature. Instead, we try to express the voice and language of nature through synthesis. Perhaps our neurodivergence (we are both AuDHD and non-binary) helps us in this. The autistic mind can function as an empty observer, reflecting the Other without distortion, without mixing it with personal identity. Our goal was to preserve the authenticity of what we perceived.
Your music draws on Berlin School traditions while remaining very personal and contemporary. What does that lineage mean to you, and how do you reinterpret it in the context of your own lived experience in Ukraine today?
Early electronic music of the 1970s was described as “kosmische Musik”. The works of Tangerine Dream, Cluster, Klaus Schulze seemed to exist beyond personal emotion – like sound from a cold, infinite cosmos. But later, psychedelic culture and contemplative practices revealed that this cosmos exists within us. Music that opened access to this inner space formed a unique language unlike anything before.
We value the compositional approach of the Berlin School, but we don’t see it as something to replicate. We’ve worked across many genres, but have always felt constrained by rigid forms. Genre labels can be useful, but they only point toward reality. Perhaps the shock of war helped us let go of these constraints. When you create in freedom, your work naturally becomes both contemporary and deeply personal.
The album also gestures toward an inner dimension – what you describe as a “fluid movement of an undivided stream of consciousness.” Do you see composition as a form of meditation or a way of accessing that state?
We have both practiced one-pointed concentration meditation with mantra for over 20 years. We got this practice from the famous benedictine monk Laurence Freeman. This has taught us to see everything – not only formal meditation – as a form of practice: cooking, walking in the forest, routine work and creating music. Wherever attention gathers, it becomes a path to presence. Music is one of those paths.
Does the role of an artist change in times of war?
In peaceful times, there is always a risk of becoming a servant of the music market and trends. In wartime, an artist has a chance to become something closer to a mystic. The difference is freedom. It is also important to remind the world that people in war-time Ukraine continue to live and create.
Are there any specific works by Ukrainian artists that have helped you process or understand the present moment?
Despite the war, the Ukrainian music scene continues to develop. The spectrum of genres in contemporary Ukrainian music is very broad, but unfortunately, no one except us is currently exploring traditional electronic music/Berlin School. Therefore, our inspiration among Ukrainian musicians lies in other genres.
One important influence for us is composer and pianist Lubomyr Melnyk. His “continuous music” combines intense speed with a sense of stillness.
We would also like to mention Yuriy Sharyfov, a legendary Lviv musician and musicologist. In Soviet times, he was a dissident figure, promoting jazz and electronic music. In the 1990s, he performed long live improvisations on analogue synthesizers and created sound environments for vocal performances.
What does it mean for you to be Ukrainian today?
It means becoming more and more free – both individually and collectively. During the 2013 Maidan revolution, there was a sign that read: “Freedom is our religion.” This idea still defines our identity. Freedom is the most important thing for us – including in music.
Finally, if you had to point someone toward a few cultural references – a book, film, album, food, place, or even a meme – that capture something essential about Ukraine right now, what would you choose?
Ukraine’s cultural context is vast and complex, so we’ll mention what feels closest to us.
The first is the archetype of “the cherry orchard by the house” – a line from Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko. It is something deeply familiar to many Ukrainians. We live in a small house on the outskirts of Lviv, and near the house there is an old cherry tree growing, it is in bloom now. It is a place of silence, reflection, and renewal – where many of our compositions are born. It feels like a personal version of the axis mundi – the tree of life. This is reflected in our track “Tree of Life” from our first album “Within”.
The second is Kazimir Malevich’s Black Square. Many people know it, but not everyone knows its connection to Ukraine. For us, it is one of the most important artistic manifestos. We even created our own hand-made copy for our studio. It carries the same idea expressed in Malevich’s words: “The purpose of music is silence.”
The third is a quote by Ukrainian philosopher Hryhorii Skovoroda:
“The world tried to catch me, but did not succeed.”
For us, it reflects the path toward authenticity as inner freedom.
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