Somewhere, in a reality only slightly out of sync with ours, a team of exhausted celestial clerks in ill-fitting suits and existential dread has already logged this album under “Unauthorized Dimensional Leakage #4096-B.”
According to their records, Cloud Nine was an atmospheric fluctuation, not a song. Madman was never meant to be understood, only whispered in static between radio stations at 3:33 AM. And the Phoenix? He was supposed to rise exactly once—not forever combust in a spiraling, progressive-psychedelic symphony that plays forwards, backwards, and sideways depending on how you tilt your head.
And then… things got weird.
Somewhere between Eternity and Invisible Enemies, the clerks weren’t the first to notice an anomaly.
The Archivists of Lost Sound, a group of spectral librarians who catalog every melody that was never played, reported distortions in their collections. Notes that played themselves. Harmonies that weren’t written. A crackling presence in the silence between tracks.
The Observers of Motionless Travel, those who watch over roads that don’t lead anywhere, claimed they saw something moving where nothing should.
And then there’s Schichten.
The last recorded attempt to categorize this track ended with the auditor staring into the void for 47 minutes, muttering something about layers within layers within layers. Layers that unfold, layers that disappear, layers that were never there to begin with. Schichten inside Schichten inside Schichten.
When they finally snapped out of it, their fingerprints had changed.
By the time anyone noticed Tangerine Dreams humming softly in the background, reality itself was beginning to stretch. Walls breathed. Streetlights whispered poetry. Gravity became optional.
And then, the cracks started appearing.
At first, they thought it was the fabric of reality itself fracturing. But no—it was Made of Glass.
Something so fragile, so impossibly delicate, it shouldn’t have survived dimensional travel—and yet, there it was, shimmering at the edges of perception. Some say it shattered upon impact, its fragments scattered across time. Others insist it never broke at all—that it simply moves, slipping through fingers the moment you try to hold onto it.
The Elders of Unfinished Journeys, keepers of paths abandoned midway, grew concerned. They had seen this before.
And then, the final, unexplainable phenomenon:
Walking Without Walking.
A contradiction. A step that leaves no footprint. A journey that never starts, yet never ends.
The Astral Navigators, those who guide lost travelers through the spaces between realities, raised the alarm. One of their own was missing.
A missing astronaut.
He was last seen drifting toward Eternity, but never arrived. Some say he reached his destination. Others believe he’s still walking without walking, trapped in a place where movement has no meaning and time refuses to pass.
But the most disturbing theory came from the Space Mussle Incident.
A report so classified that even the celestial clerks refuse to speak of it. A phenomenon where sound itself became muscle, stretching, flexing, contracting—bending the very structure of existence.
Those who heard it felt it.
And those who felt it never quite returned.
At that moment, the clerks, the Observers, the Archivists, the Navigators, and the Elders all agreed on one thing:
This album wasn’t supposed to be here.
Somehow, it escaped its intended universe, bypassed extradimensional customs, and landed here, in your reality.
And now, you have a choice:
You can listen.
Or you can pretend none of this is happening.
But either way…
The universe is already listening to you.
Vocals: Alexander Nantschev, Peter Horvat, Marcel Illetschko, Silke, Corinna Lenneis, Elke Pichler, Julie Helena, Claire K Nicholson, Mariela Spacek, Juliane Greifeneder
Drums: Chuck Sabo, Michael Lind, Alexander Dostal
Percussion: Andrea Piccioni
Bass: Robert Siegel, Zoltan Renaldi, Tymek Wojtewicz, Maximilian Ölz
Guitars: Peter Horvat, Marcel Illetschko, Alexander Nantschev, Ziv Shalev, Vladimir Gapontsev, Jay Stapley
Keys/Synthesizer: Alexander Nantschev, Christo Popov
Hammond: Alex Kamm
Strings: Alexander Nantschev
Sitar: Subrata Biswas
Recorded, produced and edited by Alexander Nantschev
Mix and Master: Yoad Nevo
Artwork and Design: Philippe Luptak
Listen on Bandcamp, Spotify, Apple Music
The Vienna-based composer, violinist, and producer Alexander Nantschev once again merges the worlds that have shaped him since childhood in his new album Your Star Smells Like Mine. Between the classical compositions of Vivaldi, Mozart, or Shostakovich and the psychedelic-progressive sounds of the Beatles and contemporary rock music, he found an early musical home where contrasts dissolve. This complex fusion is what he describes with his own term progadelic—a psychedelic-progressive blend of diverse styles that transcends conventional genre boundaries.
Originally emerging from the sessions of his previous album, these new pieces have now found their own identity: intricate, at times challenging and unconventional—yet precisely because of this, utterly captivating. Your Star Smells Like Mine resists quick accessibility and mainstream formulas. Instead, it unfolds a sonic universe defined by radiant violin lines and bold, unpredictable arrangements. As a classically trained violinist, Nantschev draws on his deep musical foundation while embracing experimentation: Baroque influences meet ethereal textures, unusual rhythms, and progressive riffs.
The result is an album that both inspires and challenges. From mysterious harmonic progressions to intricate beats and luminous melodies, Alexander Nantschev explores the full spectrum of his multidimensional musical universe. Romantic, modern, psychedelic, and experimental elements merge seamlessly to create a rich and authentic listening experience. Nantschev invites listeners to engage deeply—to immerse themselves in a musical journey where the boundaries between tradition and innovation constantly shift.
As in previous projects, such as the album Selves, Your Star Smells Like Mine revolves around the interplay of identities, tonal colors, and alter egos. For Nantschev, music serves as a stage where different facets of his multidimensional personality engage in dialogue. Through this interplay of “inner voices,” a distinctive sound aesthetic emerges—one that fuses classical instrumentation, avant-garde techniques, and the spirit of psychedelic rock into a singular expression.
With Your Star Smells Like Mine, Alexander Nantschev invites listeners on a journey where musical tradition, boundless experimentation, and personal expression weave into a dynamic mosaic. Those who embrace this sonic world will discover more than just an album—they will enter a creative cosmos that effortlessly transcends conventions and opens new horizons.
