“When something becomes too comfortable, I deliberately break it.”
From sweeping cinematic music to club bangers and everything in between, Sascha Ring’s muted and orchestral music has become synonymous with Berlin electronica. Under the producer guise Apparat, he has worked alongside Modeselektor as one third of the supergroup Moderat, collaborated with BPitch Control boss Ellen Allien, composed the soundtrack for Netflix’s Dark, and received a Grammy nomination. His new album, A Hum of Maybe, refers to being stuck between states, blending classical instruments with modern electronic world-building, solo intent with collaborative artistry, and non-negotiable routines with parental lament.
How does it feel approaching music as a solo artist again?
Returning to my own world feels like stepping into a quiet place after a long conversation. Suddenly, I can hear the small things again. Working solo lets me follow impulses without having to justify them. It’s more vulnerable, but also more intimate and instinctive. Having said that, none of my last records have really been solo records. Philipp [Johann Thimm], my co-producer, was around a lot while working on A Hum of Maybe.
How do you separate your creative personas on a conscious level?
Both projects feed different parts of me, and switching between them keeps me balanced. Moderat is about collective momentum, while my solo work is slower and more internal. I don’t separate my personas deliberately. Each project simply brings out a different temperature.
On LP5 you had a lot of collaborators and studio help. Who did you turn to this time, and how do you select the other musicians you work with?
This album started in a smaller circle. I worked closely with a few long-term collaborators and friends who understand the emotional logic of what I do. I’ve been collecting these people over a long time. I needed to find musicians who can follow a feeling without needing a roadmap.
The new record has taken a more instrumental approach, especially when compared to earlier records. Does this help you find a different connection to composing music?
These songs all started very electronically, but somehow they transformed during the process. It wasn’t that we did it on purpose; we just went with the flow. It made the compositions feel more human, less engineered and it allowed imperfections to become part of the story, which I guess, helps the story of this album to unfold.
How do you associate yourself with the electronic music scene nowadays? What do you listen to and how do you get inspired?
I still love electronic music, even though I think the days of it being innovative are long gone. I don’t feel the need to sit inside the scene. I listen widely, from experimental electronics to folk to modern classical. I let textures influence me more than genres.
How do you find ways of breaking structures and inducing creativity and spontaneity when it comes to writing music?
I try to sabotage my routines by changing instruments, moving studios or imposing strange limitations. When something becomes too comfortable, I deliberately break it. In the case of this album, there was nothing more to break. I couldn’t make music for almost three years, and at some point, I had to force myself until something magical happened and wait for the music to start pouring out of me.
Speaking of structures, how do you find routine when you’re not on the road, and how do you ground yourself in Berlin?
These days, my routine is built around my family. It’s the only rhythm that feels non-negotiable. Outside of that, I try to keep my days open and let the work grow around real life, instead of the other way around. Berlin grounds me through its chaos and its quiet corners equally.
The new record explores themes of fatherhood and uncertainty within the modern era. What are the difficulties posed by parenthood when leading two very successful music projects, and what do you do to resolve these?
The hardest part is the constant split in attention, wanting to be fully present at home and fully committed to the music. It forces me to be more intentional with my time and to accept that some things will move more slowly, which is quite hard for someone lacking patience. I try to resolve it by prioritising presence over productivity.
How is it to be a parent in Berlin? Do you ever yearn to return to the countryside?
Berlin is unpredictable but full of possibilities for a child: chaotic, inspiring and sometimes overwhelming. I don’t yearn to return, but I do miss the silence, and sometimes I imagine raising our child closer to nature.
“Returning to my own world feels like stepping into a quiet place after a long conversation.”
There’s a lot of soul-searching on this record as well. How has your music helped with this, and how do you balance creativity and purpose, fighting against the pressure of meeting expectations?
Music became a mirror for me during a difficult period, helping me understand things I wasn’t ready to articulate. I try not to write to meet any expectations; I write until something feels honest. Then I let it stand as it is. Purpose emerges afterwards, not during. The songs start from a very personal, lyrical place, but production is still how I sculpt emotion. So I don’t choose. I just follow the form the song wants. I’m drawn to themes that sit between states: doubt, transformation, identity shifts. I like exploring the moments where life doesn’t offer clear answers. Most of my work circles ambiguity rather than resolution.
Do you feel that you have to excel or move the needle with each record?
I’ve stopped thinking about progress in that way. Each record is simply a document of where I am, not an attempt to outdo the last one. If it moves in a new direction, it’s because my life has moved in a new direction. Or because I get bored easily.
The album title refers to the unresolved states of being. Now that it’s finished, do you think that it helped you resolve any of these inner conflicts and provide any answers?
Finishing the album didn’t really solve anything, but it helped me see the questions more clearly. This record definitely served as therapy for me. Some things feel lighter now. Others remain open. But that’s what therapy is: reflection. I enjoyed making this album a lot. And that’s very untypical for me. Touring is becoming less and less interesting to me, to be honest. I just want to keep making music.
A Hum of Maybe out Feb 20, 2026
