Interview with Holon

How would you describe your music to any person who may have never heard it before?

I’d say it’s music for the mind and the heart—progressive and cinematic rock with emotional weight and a touch of introspection. It lives somewhere between alternative rock, ambient textures, jazz influences, and singer-songwriter storytelling. You’ll get songs that unfold slowly, with intention and detail as well as catchy melodies that are memorable.

It’s the kind of music you might listen to while driving late at night, headphones on, sorting through your thoughts—or while lying on the floor processing something you can’t quite put into words.

What's the significance of your band's name?

The name holon comes from a term coined by Arthur Koestler and expanded on by Ken Wilber. A holon is something that is both a whole in itself and a part of something larger. That idea really stuck with me—on a philosophical level, sure, but especially in relation to music.

Each instrument, each lyric, each note—they’re individual parts, but they contribute to a bigger emotional and sonic picture. I liked that duality.

What are your musical influences?

My musical influences are pretty wide-ranging, but they all share one thing in common: they’re artists who take risks, explore deeply, and create with real intent—whether that’s through complexity, emotional rawness, or sonic experimentation.

Early on, I was drawn to guitar-driven rock and metal—bands like Guns N’ Roses, Metallica, and especially Extreme, with Nuno Bettencourt’s rhythmic and expressive playing leaving a huge mark on me. That era pulled me into the guitar world—but it was Dream Theater that opened the door to the progressive universe, and from there I discovered bands like Yes, Genesis, Rush, and Pink Floyd, who really taught me the value of musical storytelling and dynamic structure.

At the same time, I’ve always had one foot in more emotionally immersive and atmospheric music—artists like Radiohead, Jeff Buckley, Coldplay, The Pineapple Thief, Arcane Roots, and Biffy Clyro. These are bands that don’t hide from emotion, and that’s something I deeply resonate with.

Then there’s the jazz and world music influence—people like John McLaughlin, Shakti, Pat Metheny, and Jaga Jazzist, who’ve expanded how I think about rhythm, harmony, and the sheer possibility of sound. That influence shows up especially in the more textured, layered side of Holon.

And of course, there’s Frank Zappa, who taught me that you can be experimental, conceptual, humorous, and completely serious—all in the same song. He gave me permission to think outside the lines.

So yeah, whether it’s cinematic emotionality, technical complexity, or philosophical exploration, my influences come from a mix of worlds—but they all fuel the way I build and feel my music.

What are your musical inspirations?

A lot of my inspiration comes from personal experiences—those moments in life that shake you up, shift your perspective, or leave you searching for some kind of meaning. But beyond that, I’m also deeply inspired by philosophy, psychology, and spirituality.

I’ve always been drawn to the big questions: Why are we here? What makes us who we are? How do we grow, change, and connect? That kind of introspection naturally finds its way into the music. Sometimes it shows up in the lyrics, other times it shapes the mood or structure of a song.

I think music can be a way of processing and exploring the intangible—things we can’t always put into words but still feel deeply. For me, it’s both a creative outlet and a kind of reflection practice. Like journaling… but louder.

If given the chance, what musician(s) would you like to collaborate with? Rather this is to either write a song or be featured on a track.

If I could put together my absolute dream collaboration—a sort of emotional-prog-supergroup—it would be something like this:

Jeff Buckley on vocals, because no one conveyed raw emotion quite like him. His voice could be both a whisper and a storm, and I’d love to see how that energy could shape a song.

Jonas Bjerre from Mew would add that soaring, surreal melodic layer. His voice feels like it comes from somewhere not quite of this world, which pairs beautifully with introspective music.

Bruce Soord of The Pineapple Thief would bring structure and lyrical weight. His songwriting is deeply human and honest—grounded without being predictable.

Pat Metheny on guitar would be the architect of harmonic color—building spaces within the music that we didn’t even know existed. He could also bring in some of his Brazilian/world music influences.

I’d bring in some members of Motorpsycho for texture and edge—they’re masters at fusing prog, jazz, and psych without ever sounding forced. They’d keep us all on our toes, in the best way.

And to tie it all together with a touch of cinematic elegance, I’d add Ola Kvernberg on violin. He brings this wild, expressive energy to everything he touches—he can go from delicate to explosive in a single phrase. I think he’d elevate the emotional storytelling of the entire ensemble.

I imagine the music we’d make would be part melancholic art rock, part jazz-infused improvisation, part sonic film score. It might never end up on a radio playlist—but it would definitely mean something. That’s the kind of collaboration I live for.

What's the new single about?

“Samsara” is about the cycles we go through—loss, renewal, change—and how those cycles often feel like a mix of pain and possibility. It’s named after the Eastern philosophical concept of birth, death, and rebirth, which felt like the perfect metaphor for what I was experiencing at the time.

It’s a song about surrendering to the flow of life while still holding on to the hope that something meaningful will emerge from the chaos.

What's something you hope people take away from the new single?

I hope people hear it and feel like it’s okay to start over. That it’s okay to sit in the in-between spaces for a while. And that there’s something beautiful about the process, even when it’s hard. If it helps someone through a rough patch, or even just gives them a moment of stillness, then it’s done its job.

What did you allow yourself to do creatively for this song that you haven’t in the past?

I embraced minimalism and emotional directness more than I usually do. Normally, I love building big arrangements and pushing the structure, but with “Samsara,” I wanted to focus on the emotional core. I let the song breathe and resisted the urge to complicate it for the sake of complexity.

When you find yourself in a creative rut, what do you usually turn to? Any habits, environments or even non- musical sources that help you reconnect with your creativity?

For this one, I really leaned into the idea of orchestration and texture in a way I haven’t before. Specifically, I arranged the intro for three cellos, which was a first for me—and honestly, it opened up a whole new layer of emotional depth right at the start of the track.

There’s something about the tone and weight of a cello that immediately sets a mood—melancholic, warm, slightly haunted—and stacking them allowed me to create this slow-moving harmonic bed that felt both intimate and cinematic. It was a nice change of pace from building intros out of guitars and synths.

Do you have any favourite songs to perform live? Could be your own music or even a cover. Any reason why?

Yeah—“Two Grains of Sand” from my first album The Time Is Always Now is definitely a favourite to play live. It’s one of those songs that seems to connect with people instantly, even in a stripped-back acoustic setting.

There’s something about the way it flows—it’s got a balance of vulnerability and movement that feels really natural to perform. It’s also one of those tracks where I can let the emotion lead, rather than worrying too much about technical perfection. It just has that live energy that’s easy to step into, whether it’s for a small room of listeners or something bigger.

And honestly, it’s nice to revisit that song every now and then—it reminds me of where this whole journey started.

If you could perform a show this very second anywhere in the world, where would it be?

It doesn’t matter where it is as long as it is before an audience that is into my music.The crowd is the important part for me - not the place. That being said - it would be cool to play at some of the wonders of the world. You know, like Yanni did in front of the Taj Mahal. Only this could be on top of a pyramid or in the colosseum.

Is there any particular venue(s) or city/cities that comes to mind?

Yes, the wonders of the world. Anything could be turned into a venue couldn’t it? ;) Well, we do have this festival in Norway called Træna festival on this island that is off the beaten path. Could be cool to play there sometime.

What do you currently have planned for the remainder of the year?

I’m wrapping up Part 1 of Love & Behold, with more singles coming ahead of the full release. I’ll also be working on Part 2, and digging into a collection of older material that’s long overdue for some attention.

The focus is really on finishing and sharing more music, connecting with new listeners, and hopefully building a deeper relationship with those who’ve been on the journey so far.

If your music was a type of food, what would it be and why?

Probably a slow-cooked curry—layered, rich, a little spicy, and full of flavour that hits you gradually. It’s not fast food, but if you sit with it, it warms you from the inside out. Plus, it’s got a few unexpected ingredients thrown in for good measure.

What's the funniest thing that's ever happened to you while performing?

To be honest, I don’t have any wild stage stories—I haven’t performed live all that much. holon is primarily a studio project, so most of the music lives and breathes in that space where I’m layering sounds, tweaking mixes, and chasing whatever idea keeps me up at night.

What's the most random thing that has ever inspired you to write a song?

Once, while staying in a bungalow in Goa, India, I heard a family in the next bungalow having a loud argument. Now, it probably wasn’t anything too dramatic—just regular family tension—but my brain immediately went full cinema mode. Within minutes, I’d constructed this whole backstory involving domestic abuse, generational trauma, escape plans… you name it.

Of course, had it clearly been anything serious or dangerous, I would’ve intervened. But it was more a case of my imagination running completely wild, filling in the gaps with emotion and narrative—something it’s pretty good at. That moment sparked a song about hidden conflict and what we don’t see behind closed doors, even if the whole situation may have just been a disagreement over dinner.

Sometimes all it takes is a sound, a sentence, or a stranger’s energy to trigger a whole story in my head. It’s funny how the mind works—and how music sometimes starts with nothing more than a spark of imagined reality.

What's the most useless talent you have and would you incorporate it into your music if you could?

I’m not sure I really believe in the idea of “talent” as much as I believe in hard work, consistency, and curiosity. Most of what I can do musically has come from years of tinkering, failing, and getting back up to try again. So if I have a “talent,” it’s probably more about stubbornness than anything magical.

That said—if you ask my girlfriend, she’d tell you I have a real gift for hoarding. I find it genuinely satisfying to hold on to random cables, pieces of gear, old notebooks, broken pedals… things most people would’ve thrown out ages ago. And the best part? Finding a use for something years later. That moment of “See? This is why I kept it!” brings me ridiculous joy.

I suppose in a way, I do incorporate that into my music—repurposing old ideas, reworking forgotten melodies, or layering in sounds from recordings I almost deleted. So maybe it’s not so useless after all. Just… long-game thinking.

Thanks for the time today, Ronny. Is there anything else you may want to add that I didn't cover before you go?

Just a big thanks to anyone listening, sharing, or supporting holon in any way. Making music like this isn’t about chasing trends—it’s about creating something meaningful, and it means the world when people connect with that.

And hey, if you haven’t heard “Samsara” yet, go give it a spin—it pairs well with a quiet evening and a cup of something warm.