
Katarina Gryvul – a Ukrainian-born composer, violinist and producer who embodies both classical rigor and rebellious exploration in her musical DNA. A graduate of the Lviv and Krakow music academies and a student of computer sound techniques in Graz, she creates music that is a bridge between the cathedral and the cosmos. Her latest album Spomyn is a sonic memory card, but also an intimate memorial of transience – where ambisonic landscapes mingle with choral motifs, and modular synthesizers tunnel through the bedrock of memories.
Gryvul is not frightened of paradoxes. On one hand – a precise structure, developed through years of analysing scores. On the other – vigorous deconstruction: the human voice becomes a sound wave here, and church harmonies crack under the pressure of glitches. “I like to play with contrasts and sometimes push them to their limits,” she admits in an interview, and indeed this is audible in her work. Spomyn is like walking through a foggy cemetery of emotions: sometimes you stumble across fragments of Tysha (her pandemic album about isolation), only to fall into a vortex of frenzied sounds that remind you that solitude can also be the result of a painful loss.
Her music is a laboratory, where technology serves not so much for effects as for the archeology of feelings. When she speaks of “rocky, wet mountains” as inspiration, you see these landscapes in harmonically distorted synths. When she deforms her own voice, you hear the painful beauty of decay.
I invite you on a journey through the world of an artist who prefers to ask questions using sound rather than providing answers. And who, in Spomyn, proves that even the most fragile memory can become a monument – not of stone, but of frequency.
Artur Mieczkowski

Artur Mieczkowski: Spomyn explores memory as a fragile and fragmented phenomenon. What personal experiences or reflections inspired you to delve into this theme?
Katarina Gryvul: It is often very difficult for me to find the right words to describe my emotions, so I often use music for that. Music has long become, for me, a kind of emotional diary of memories. Spomyn is about the memories of people I have lost over the past three years. It is a form of remembrance that, in my opinion, is the most sincere and honest.
A.M.: You describe your work as “distorted choral pop” and mention experimenting with the full frequency spectrum. Could you walk us through the production techniques that helped you craft this unique sonic identity?
K.G.: In my tracks, I used the Buchla Easel extensively — a synthesizer with such a wide timbral palette that it never ceases to amaze me how much is possible within such a small instrument. I also incorporated many recordings of live instruments like violin, zither, and various wind instruments, as well as sounds from different objects. However, the sound of almost all of them was reshaped — deformed through various warping techniques, different types of distortion, ring modulation, granular synthesis etc.
A.M.: Could you walk us through the creative process behind Spomyn? What emotions or memories were you aiming to explore or preserve in these compositions?
K.G.: The work on the album was very difficult. I spent a long time searching for the direction and selecting the palette of timbres, but the idea itself came after the full-scale invasion. It was important for me to somehow preserve memories, as memory took on a completely new meaning, especially due to propaganda and disinformation. Memory is what stays with you and what no one can take away from you.
While my grandmother’s generation tried to forget and never speak of the horrific things carried out by the Bolsheviks and the Soviet regime, my generation reinterprets memories. We, on the contrary, speak about these things, and I realize how important it is to remember and pass this memory down through generations. Without it, everything will start repeating itself cyclically once again.

A.M.: How has your formal training in classical music shaped your approach to electronic music composition?
K.G.: Classical education helped me a lot with musical form, harmony, and polyphony. In fact, when you have played countless compositions throughout your life and analyzed just as many, it gives you a great deal of experience.
The structural component in Spomyn is a conscious choice for me — I enjoy playing with contrasts and sometimes pushing them to their limits.
On the other hand, classical education also gave me certain frameworks and patterns that are not so easy to break out of, but I always try to rethink and reinterpret them.

A.M.: You’ve studied in Lviv, Kraków, and are now based in Graz. How have these distinct academic settings shaped your creative journey?
K.G.: I’ve recently moved back to Kraków, and I’m based here now. To be honest, all these cities feel quite similar to me — at least in their slower pace of life, and even a bit architecturally. Overall, I wouldn’t say that the cities I live in directly influence my music. I usually work in a small studio at home, with the windows always closed and the room half in darkness — it helps me tune into a certain mood. Very often, I can go for weeks without leaving the house; I even had to get a dog to force myself to break that habit.
A.M.: Your previous album, Tysha, emerged during the pandemic, exploring themes of silence and isolation. How does Spomyn differ from Tysha in terms of sonic palette and conceptual focus?
K.G.: I feel that Spomyn is more cohesive than Tysha — it’s narrower in its dynamics but broader emotionally. I spent much more time working on the timbral palette. It was important for me to find sounds that would evoke, for me, an association with rocky, wet mountains and coldness. I also used my voice more boldly — it appears in every track here. Often, the voice is heavily deformed or treated as just another instrument, but the way I worked with it in Spomyn is much deeper.
Still, like Tysha, Spomyn remains quite epic — I just can’t seem to get rid of that in my music. Maybe for the next album, I’ll try to be very minimalist.
If I were to compare the two albums and find a common theme, it would probably be loneliness. If Tysha was about the feeling of loneliness through isolation, then Spomyn is more about loneliness through loss.

A.M.: In Tysha, you delve into silence as both a compositional tool and a thematic force. How do you define its role in your creative practice?
K.G.: I can’t imagine my life without silence, but now I realize that silence is a great privilege. I’m often in Ukraine, probably every 3–4 weeks. There, especially at the front, there is no silence — people dream of it…
Music, of course, is impossible without silence — it’s like the air that allows you to breathe freely. To highlight a climactic moment more powerfully, it’s important to allow for that breath. To emphasize more intimate moments, silence is also very important.Silence can take on different emotional or conceptual forms in music; it is very flexible.
A.M.:
You have collaborated with Flora
Yin-Wong.
Can you tell us about that adventure?
K.G.: Actually, the label owner, Paul, asked me who I would like to collaborate with on my album. I really love the work of Flory Yin-Wong, and it was a great opportunity to try creating something together. She chose the track for the remix herself, and I sent her the stems. I love how she preserved the important elements, reinterpreted them, and added something of her own.
A.M.: What is the importance of Ukraine’s cultural and musical traditions in your work?
K.G.: I feel that there is a lot of folk influence in my album, even though I didn’t use any melodies from existing songs. It’s just something personal, something that has been with you since childhood. My grandmother used to sing folk songs to me, and in general, our family often sang traditional songs during holidays, so I think this had a big impact on my musical development, which came out in Spomyn.
A.M.: You have performed at many festivals, such as Warszawska Jesień, Ars Electronica and CTM. What experiences have you gained from these events and how have they influenced your work?
K.G.:
Festivals
are always a challenge for me. Since I perform my own music at these
events, it feels like I’m exposing a part of my soul, and
emotionally, it’s very exhausting for me. After the concerts, I try
not to interact with the audience and instead spend time in silence.
I always feel like I’ve given away everything I had emotionally.
But this emotional tension and the complete release afterward give me
a sense of life. It’s in those moments that I feel more alive than
ever.
A.M.: You founded Gryvul School as a space to share your expertise with fellow musicians. Could you share what led you to launch this initiative and what you hope to achieve through this educational platform?
K.G.: Teaching has always been a long-time dream of mine since childhood, and it came about because I always wished I had a teacher that I never had, the kind of teacher I’ve become and continue striving to be.
I enjoy helping people, especially with their dreams, especially in music. Very often, my students are people who couldn’t realize their dream as children, and now, they’ve finally gathered the courage to take the first steps toward it.
The greatest reward for me is witnessing a student’s musical evolution — seeing them grow, uncovering their unique timbre, and watching their style gradually take shape and become more refined.
A.M.: How do you navigate the challenges of balancing your multifaceted practice as a composer, producer, performer, and educator?
K.G.: In reality, combining all of this is very difficult; I have almost no free time. But often, everything comes in phases. At one point, I focus more on teaching, at another, I’m composing, or performing concerts. I don’t think I could dedicate myself to just one thing. This way, it allows me to constantly refresh my approach and my thinking.
A.M.: What is the importance of space in music for you? How do you use the spatiality of sound in your compositions?
K.G.: Space in music is one of the most important elements for me. I often perceive the spatial placement of sound as a key aspect of composition. The movement of sound within space can depend on many factors — like its timbre, for example. Sometimes, the very nature of a sound’s timbre suggests its movement, or it’s shaped by its interaction with other sounds. It’s like building a world through sound, with its own set of rules.

A.M.: What other arts or inspirations besides music influence your creativity?
K.G.: Ceramics deeply inspire me. I would love to experience form through touch, to feel it with my hands. Musically, I often perceive form as texture and color, and I’m fascinated by the idea of translating these abstract sensations into physical experiences.
I also wonder how people connect with music through their bodies, through dance — how they truly feel the sound, not just hear it. Butoh dance, in particular, is a profound source of inspiration for me, with its powerful connection between movement, emotion, and the physicality of sound.
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A.M.:
What are you currently working on? Are you already thinking about a
new album?
K.G.: Actually, I already know the direction of my new album, but I think I’ll start working on it in the autumn. I usually like to begin albums at this time of year.
Right now, I’m writing an opera as part of the Gaude Polonia program.
A.M.: Thank you very much for the interview. I wish you the best of luck with your plans.
K.G.: Thank you so much for your questions. I hope our paths cross again soon.