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MIN t: "I Want to slowly build my tribe"

There comes a moment when surviving is no longer enough. When the real question is no longer how to keep moving, but who we are moving with.



Before The After unfolds within that fragile space. Beneath its fractured electronics and restless rhythms lies a quiet desire to reconnect - with ourselves, with others, with the possibility of building something meaningful in a world increasingly shaped by speed, algorithms and endless distraction.


In this conversation, MIN t reflects on hope, community, technology and the courage to remain emotionally honest. Not because music can solve the uncertainty of our time, but because it can still remind us that, even now, we don't have to face it alone.


Welcome. Before The After feels suspended between collapse and transformation, almost like documenting the emotional atmosphere of a world losing its sense of direction. Do you feel music today has become a way to process collective anxiety, or simply a temporary refuge from it?


I want to believe that it is a way to process collective anxiety, but many people nowadays simply follow what’s popular, chasing numbers and hype. Yet I still think there are people who seek connection, release, and community through music. At this point in my life, I’m realizing how important community is. I used to be a lone wolf, but I don’t want to follow that path anymore. It feels scary to be alone in times like these, so I want to slowly build my tribe.


Throughout the album, hope appears fragile, almost exhausted, yet never entirely absent. Do you think our generation still genuinely believes in the future, or have we become more focused on surviving the emotional weight of the present?


I can only speak for myself, but music is definitely a coping mechanism that helps me manage the weight of the present. Many people search for escapism in music these days, so I feel that people often don’t want to hear about the hardships of the world. Before The After is about exactly that.



Your music constantly moves between organic emotion and digital manipulation: glitch textures, granular sound design, synthetic rhythms. Do you see technology as an extension of emotional expression, or as something that increasingly fragments our inner lives?


Definitely an extension of emotional expression. However, it has two sides. We have to be careful about what we watch and listen to these days so we don't become blinded by AI-generated content.


Unfortunately, platforms like Spotify don’t make this any easier by creating AI-generated artists and filling playlists with them. Every technological development has two sides to the coin, and awareness is the answer.


Tracks like “Digital Flower” suggest something simultaneously beautiful and artificial, alive yet constructed. Do you feel identity today is becoming more performative, shaped through screens and algorithms rather than direct human experience?


Definitely. Everybody is trying to fit the algorithm, and social media platforms reward you for creating content that resembles what others are already doing. In that way, we risk losing originality and human creativity just to fit industry standards. It’s happening across popular culture. In many ways, we’re all playing a computer game every day of our lives.


Many moments on the album balance physical intensity with emotional vulnerability. Do you think the dancefloor can still function as a space for collective release and reflection, or has it become mostly another environment of distraction and performance?


I live in Berlin, and from what I can see, the dance and club scene is changing. The prices of clubs and concerts keep rising, and these events are becoming accessible mainly to the upper middle class, who don’t necessarily care about the music itself as much as the performance, status, and hype surrounding it.


Luckily, there are still people creating underground events with their own hands, built around community and music. Unfortunately, capitalism doesn’t make it easy for them. You can burn out very quickly when you put so much work into an event and then struggle to pay your rent afterwards.



You describe the album as exploring apocalypse, self-destruction and toxic relationships, but also reclaiming agency. Do you think destruction can sometimes become necessary in order to rebuild a more honest version of ourselves?


Definitely. Every experience and every failure has taught me something valuable. This album is about that process. It’s how we grow, and ultimately, it’s what makes us human.


Looking toward the future, as electronic music becomes increasingly shaped by algorithms and digital acceleration, do you imagine audiences craving even more hyper-stimulation, or returning toward something slower, more intimate and emotionally human?


It’s hard to say. I think it will be both, and I believe we should explore both directions. There’s a new genre called laptop twee that literally merges these worlds: traditional twee-pop songwriting produced in a way that feels distinctly post-hyperpop.


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