Where All Paths Lead Back

Lately I’ve been feeling that I’m scattering myself across too many places — several social media platforms, a YouTube channel, Bandcamp, SoundCloud, and my own website.
It’s exhausting, and it fragments something that should be whole.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t really tell who sees my posts, or who still walks with me through this journey of sound and thought.

So I’ve made a decision.
From now on, I want to breathe more life into my official website — to make it the heart of everything I do.
That’s where I’ll share my updates first, where I’ll build something small but genuine — a quiet, steady space for those who truly resonate with my music and words.

I’m not disappearing from social media, but I want to rely less on these fleeting platforms, and more on a place that feels like home — free from algorithms, noise, and constant fragmentation.

If you’d like to stay connected, please subscribe (for free) on my website.
The Subscribe button is in the lower right corner (both on desktop and mobile – see screenshots below).

It’s free, simple, and means more than you might think.
Thank you for walking this path with me.

Of Failures and Small Victories

Failure in music doesn’t always mean writing something unworthy. More often, it feels like silence. Not the silence between notes, but the silence after you’ve shared them with the world.

When I first started posting on Threads, my words reached thousands of eyes each day. Now, they reach only a few dozen. What changed? Perhaps the platform, perhaps the algorithms – or perhaps nothing at all. The truth is, musicians rarely know who is really listening. Numbers and impressions don’t tell you whether someone has carried your song into their night, or let it slip past without a thought.

And so, the hardest part isn’t rejection – it’s uncertainty. You play into the void, and the void offers no answer.

Yet, in that same void, I’ve found a strange kind of growth. Without clear echoes from outside, I turned inward. I worked on my craft: learning to mix and master, to shape sound with precision rather than abandon. My early music was raw, thrash-driven, born of instinct and fire. Over time, instinct gradually gave way to intent, and fury became some sort of architecture.

No one claps when you refine the decay of a single note, or when you learn how silence can weigh heavier than distortion. These are invisible victories – but they are victories nonetheless.

Silence, then, is not always a fall. Sometimes it’s a teacher, stripping away the illusion of control, reminding you that recognition is never guaranteed. And in that emptiness, it leaves you free to create.

I cannot know how many of you truly hear me. But I know I hear myself more clearly now than I once did. And perhaps that is the quiet gift hidden inside the failures.

Earlier, I reflected on this in another post—The Art of Authenticity: Rethinking Success in Music. You can find it here.

Against the Odds

The hardest part of being an independent musician is not the composing, not even the recording—it is facing the odds.

Numbers are brutally honest. Out of a few thousand views, perhaps one or two turn into clicks or likes, and only a fraction of those become actual listeners. Sometimes it takes ten thousand (or even more) plays for a single person to finish a track. On my latest release, at a specific point of time there were eighty-five track plays, sixty-five of which were partial. That is not unusual—it is the rule.

If I were to translate this into practical terms, it would mean that to reach real engagement, I would need hundreds of thousands of views. But for an independent musician, this is little more than an illusion. To generate those kinds of numbers, you would have to pour in enormous amounts of time, energy, and resources—time that for many of us is already consumed by work, family, or simply the desire to preserve some semblance of life outside music.

This is the paradox: to be heard, you must market yourself endlessly, but the more you do so, the less time remains to create. I have written before about the dangers of approaching music as a mechanical process (“The Art of Authenticity: Rethinking Success in Music”) or the feeling of hitting a glass ceiling despite relentless effort (“Lost in the Noise: The Struggle of Independent Musicians“). What I feel now is a continuation of those same themes: that music cannot and should not be reduced to numbers, strategies, and promotional metrics.

And yet, here I am, counting the odds.

It is disheartening, but not defeating. Because in the end, music is a two-way street and it’s not just about being heard—it is also about the act of expression itself, the need to give shape to something that would otherwise remain unspoken. Even if the odds are against us, the music still exists. And perhaps, that is enough.

For those interested in exploring these thoughts further, you can find my earlier reflections here:
– Lost in the Noise: The Struggle of Independent Musicians
– The Art of Authenticity: Rethinking Success in Music

Darkwave infosheet

Recently there was a small exhibition at my workplace, where people working for the company could exhibit their paintings, photos, drawings, etc. I decided to create a small infosheet about Darkwave, and placed it in one of the showcases. As it was written in Hungarian, here I present you a more developed English version of the original infosheet. I think it turned out to be quite informative – click on the image below to see a bigger and more detailed image!

I hope you’ll like the result!

Basic toolkit for a self-promoted musician

Based on the title of De Quincey’s excellent book (Confessions of an English Opium-Eater) I thought it would be fun to create a blog entry with the title of “Confessions of a Hungarian Self-Promoted Guitarist“). However, finally I found the idea too much and a little constrained, so I chose a much less pompous heading for such a brief blog entry on this rainy Sunday evening. I don’t want to whine much about the hardships of being an independent artist: I think there are more pros than cons here, and I find it clearly refreshing that I don’t have to adjust myself and my music to the momentary needs of the music industry and market. So I stay on the positive side and enjoy my independence.

Still, it’s always good to let the world know that I still exist and do stuff that people may eventually like. I, therefore, made a small promo presentation for my Instagram page using a very handy app called Canva. The presentation is practically a carousel of infographics with uniform design and condensed information on how to find me and my various weblinks. I’ve never done something like this before: it was fun and took quite some time, so I’m really curious about the outcome.

Check it out here (or below, by clicking on the images) if you are interested in such presentations, and let me know, what you think!