‘Trauma’ has certainly been the most draining album for me, and it’s likely to be a real hellish ride for some listeners too. Because I wanted to create an album that doesn’t offer the sort of colourful advertising slogans we see on billboards in the underground. No “Everything will be alright” or “Help is available”! Just the brutal, merciless reality of people trapped in trauma.

Of course, I must point out from the outset that some of the stories told are my own, whilst others I have witnessed in other people. Both have their own cruelty.

Because there’s one thing I’ve been able – or rather, had to – observe time and again. When people fall into an abyss, genuine help is very rarely forthcoming. On the contrary, people are cast aside, they are stigmatised, they are fobbed off with silly remarks and, in the worst cases, they are even berated for their suffering. No matter what these people called themselves – family, friends, partners – when a person stops functioning, they become a nuisance. And what is a nuisance must be removed.

I myself have received the greatest help from strangers. People who had no reason to help me. Of the people who patted me on the back for years and sang the praises of our friendship, exactly one person remains. The sad truth of a superficial world.

This, too, is one of the reasons why my album does not set out to provide solutions. It aims to voice what is otherwise kept hidden. Families are not always a safe haven; a mother does not always feel love for her child; people are all too happy to accept the façade of someone suffering from depression; and much more besides. People want harmony and superficiality. Mental illness no longer allows for precisely these characteristics. It shatters the façade. But as it is not a broken leg or a bleeding head wound, the disruptive element can quite easily be concealed. Naturally, there is no mention of this in the colourful adverts.

I remember well the first time I read a leaflet about depression. It listed what you shouldn’t say to people suffering from depression. I, on the other hand, was told precisely these very things. Apparently, the promotional leaflets aren’t very effective. Or, to put it more bluntly, it’s naturally much easier to ridicule someone with silly platitudes than to really face up to their problems.

The sad truth is that, amongst broken people, I’ve discovered something that healthy people lack: humanity. Perhaps that’s why the ‘sick’ people are sick in the first place.

That’s why this album is also an album for the ‘sick’ people! Whether this album appeals to ‘normal’ people or shocks them is, frankly, I couldn’t care less! The healthy have enough mouthpieces; they can affirm each other’s goodness amongst themselves, and at Christmas they can clear their consciences with a hundred-euro donation. These people deserve no pity. These people don’t deserve an album dedicated to them.

But why did I decide to give the album an 80s synth-pop and new wave sound? Wouldn’t gothic or perhaps coldwave have been much more fitting? There are actually two reasons for this. The first is very personal and reveals something about my own (twisted) sense of humour. As a child of the eighties, I felt it was fitting to choose a sound that matched the time when my suffering began. The second reason is somewhat more conceptual. On the one hand, synth-pop and new wave carry a certain melancholy within them, but they also suggest a sound that stands for superficiality and style. Behind the colourful neon signs, however, lies an abyss. Episodes of the series *Miami Vice* were very often a source of inspiration. The eighties understood how to combine brutal truth with a beautiful, glowing façade. It was perhaps the last decade in which there was still genuine social criticism. When someone like Taylor Swift represents rebellion today, you realise just how hopeless our times are.

You can read about exactly what lies behind each individual song below. I hope you enjoy an exciting journey.