Mia’s Soundcheck Sessions (Interview)
Doodseskader in interview: Tim De Gieter talks about “The Change of Me”, change as a constant state, self-optimization, AI, social media and a music industry that feels more like a machine than art.
Interview: Mia Lada-Klein
Picture: © Diana Lungu
On April 3, the Belgian crossover duo Doodseskader released The Change of Me, an album that was originally supposed to be something entirely different. Year Three was the plan, a logical next step after Year One and Year Two. But as life so often does, it had no interest in following a neat sequence. So the finished concept was scrapped, everything reset, and a completely new album was written and recorded within a single week. Because, why not.
In this interview with Tim De Gieter, we talk about exactly that rupture. About an album that no longer fit its own original idea, about change that refuses to follow yearly timelines, and about music that wants to be more than just content for the next feed. Tim approaches all of this with a perspective that has little patience for polite phrasing.
We discuss an industry that likes to present itself as a creative home while increasingly operating like a production machine, social media as a permanent stage for self-presentation, TikTok dances no one asked for, and the growing suspicion that something in all of this is fundamentally out of balance. And while everyone pretends this is just how things are, the interview asks one uncomfortable question: how much art is actually left in this system?
Doodseskader: Between Self-Perception and Change – When Transformation Is Not a Goal but a State
You called the album The Change of Me. Why this title?
Tim: Because at its core, that’s exactly what it’s about: change as something that doesn’t happen at a fixed point in time, but is constantly present. We originally had this idea of a clear, linear development across multiple albums. But at some point, we realized it doesn’t work that way.
What triggered that shift in perspective?
Tim: Mainly Year Three. Our music has always been very honest and introspective, but on that album I was personally in a pretty bad place. When I listened back to it later, it was a shock moment. I realized I wasn’t on a path that automatically moves upward.
That sounds like a break with the original idea.
Tim: Yes, absolutely. I had imagined it as a step-by-step improvement process, until you eventually reach a point where you’re “finished” with yourself. But that’s an illusion. There is no endpoint where you can say: now I’ve arrived.
How did you deal with that material afterwards?
Tim: We decided not to release that album as it was. Because I realized that by constantly revisiting those lyrics, I was keeping myself in a state that wasn’t healthy. If you keep repeating something, it also solidifies within you.
And that’s where the new concept came from?
Tim: Exactly. The Change of Me is essentially the realization that change doesn’t wait for you. It’s already there, constantly. But you often don’t notice it when you’re focused only on trying to “become better.”
What role do all these self-optimization promises play that you see everywhere?
Tim: They obviously have an influence. This narrative of “do this, and you’ll finally become your true self” is everywhere. But for most people, life is much more contradictory. There are good and bad phases, and they don’t just cancel each other out through one simple trick.
What does that mean for your view on change?
Tim: That it’s not something that ever gets completed. I’ve changed a lot over the past few years, but not in a straight, linear way. More in waves, with setbacks and progress.
And that’s exactly what you wanted to express with the album?
Tim: Yes. That change is not a final destination, but something that is constantly happening. And that it’s important to recognize that, instead of only focusing on what is still missing.
Self-Optimisation, Relationships and the Pressure of Constant Digital Performance
Many people today constantly hear this pressure from social media: you have to become better, be your best version, wake up at five, take cold showers, optimize everything. Can self-optimization also be dangerous?
Tim: Yes, it already can be. But that’s exactly the point: you don’t actually have to do any of that. You are already okay as you are. You are fine, you are enough. If someone wants to get up at five, they should do it. If someone thinks they need to eat raw food or whatever, fine. I’m not here to decide that for anyone. But personally, I don’t want that. To me, waking up at five sounds like a nightmare. I get up at seven, go to the gym, and even that sometimes already feels hard enough. Why would I make it even harder for myself? In the end, you have to decide what you want. But I think it’s important to also acknowledge what you’ve already achieved. If you want to improve yourself, do it. But not in this exaggerated, constantly self-analyzing self-optimization madness that’s being sold everywhere right now. This constant “you need to understand yourself even more, reflect even more, have another breakthrough realization,” that’s just not reality for most people.
In your context, there also seems to be the idea that love or close relationships always contain some form of pain. Is that a personal realization for you? And does emotional hurt automatically belong to real connection?
Tim: I wouldn’t say it’s destructive. For me, the best relationships, whether romantic, friendship, or family, are the ones that go through difficult phases. Because life simply isn’t constantly easy. This whole idea that everything should always be beautiful, easy, and harmonious just isn’t true. And many of the people who sell that idea either don’t really know better or are living in a kind of bubble. A real relationship means there are differences. That someone might not be in a good place, that there are misunderstandings, that someone is struggling while the other person doesn’t always have the capacity to carry everything. And still you choose each other. Not because it’s always easy, but because you’re willing to go through those phases together.
So would you say that the real strength of a relationship lies exactly in those difficult moments?
Tim: Yes, exactly there. When both people accept that things can be hard and still keep saying: I stay, I’m not leaving, then something real is formed. You grow out of those phases and later look back and think: okay, that was tough, but we’re still here. We’re still a team. We got through it. For me, that is much more valuable than this perfect image of “everything is always easy and harmonious.” That’s often just not real.
It sounds like you’re consciously writing against this idealized version of relationships and life.
Tim: Yes, I just wanted to create something that feels real. No filter, no “everything is always good.” Just the way I actually experience it. I wrote these things because I truly felt them that way. Because I was dealing with exactly these thoughts and conflicts myself, and in some ways still am. It’s nothing constructed. It’s more like a documentation of what is actually there right now.
You slightly hinted earlier that you’re quite critical of social media. Many artists say it’s both a blessing and a curse. How do you personally deal with it, and do you feel like you have to be more of a content creator than a musician today?
Tim: Honestly, I deal with it quite badly. I really hate social media. And when I say “hate,” I mean it. Not in this ironic “I still post all the time” way, but genuinely: I would prefer it didn’t exist. I think it’s something that has completely gotten out of control. At the beginning, we were told it was about creating more connection. You can show yourself, communicate with people, maybe even more directly than before. That initially made sense. But by now it has rather turned into something like a narcissistic system. And the more you engage with it, the more you get rewarded for putting yourself at the center. That’s just the logic of these platforms. And honestly: I don’t like that about myself. I don’t like taking pictures of myself or looking at myself. If I could choose, I would probably just disappear and nobody would see me. But I’ve made my peace with it as best as I can. The band has its own account, and that’s fine for me. But I try to disconnect myself from it as much as possible so I don’t fall into this feeling of constantly having to post something. Luckily, we also have someone on the team who talks very consciously with us about these things. What we want to do, what we don’t want to do, where our boundaries are. And those boundaries are pretty clear. For example, I’m not going to do TikTok dances or anything like that. That’s simply not me. I want to make music. I don’t want to be a content creator. I didn’t choose this path to constantly stage or present myself. I’m not a model and I’m not an influencer. And honestly, I also have no interest in influencing anyone. That’s not my job.
Doodseskader Between the AI Debate, Creative Intuition and the Moment When Music Simply Happens
But it’s not just about social media. Artificial intelligence is also becoming more and more part of music production. Do you see it as a creative tool or more as a threat to real art?
Tim: That’s a good question. And I have to say: I don’t use AI, and I don’t plan to. For my own process, it simply isn’t relevant. I make music in a very immediate way. I sit down, try things out, turn knobs until something triggers a reaction in me. When I have that moment, when a sound feels right, I just follow it. That’s how a song is created. I don’t need an external system telling me what I should feel. I want to figure out what is happening myself. That’s why I don’t need AI in my creative process. It would interfere rather than help.
Are you still afraid of what AI could mean for the music industry?
Tim: No, honestly not. Quite the opposite: I actually find the discussion interesting because it reveals something. People often say AI is taking jobs away from us. But sometimes I think: if a job only consists of reproducing or imitating things, then the real question is whether that was ever a creative job in the first place. What is the difference between someone saying “make me a song like Machine Head” and a band trying to recreate exactly that in a rehearsal room? In essence, it’s the same idea. And that’s where it gets interesting for me: music is often no longer expression. It becomes a production system. You have to fit into playlists, you have to function, you have to deliver. For me, that’s no longer necessarily art in the true sense, but industry. And if AI changes or even disrupts that system, I honestly don’t feel much fear about it. Maybe it will simply separate more clearly those who actually want to make music from those who just want to be part of a system. For me, those are two different things anyway: musicians and entertainers. And we shouldn’t constantly confuse the two.
You finished your album in just one week. Is that true? By the way, I really like it. It’s perfect music for an intense workout or when you’re angry at the whole world. Two middle fingers up. What did that time in the studio actually look like, more controlled work or complete chaos with the hope that something good would come out of it?
Tim: First of all, thank you, I really appreciate that. And to be honest, it was both at the same time: control and chaos. We went in there with nothing. Literally nothing. And at some point we just sat there, looked at each other, and knew: if nothing happens now, then nothing is going to happen at all. That obviously created pressure, but at the same time also a very clear structure. There was no room for endless discussions or overthinking details. No six-hour debates about whether the bass line should maybe be slightly different. It was more like: sit down, name the feeling, play, react. And then something happens that I personally love. That moment when everything somehow connects. One person starts, the other reacts, and suddenly there is this kind of shared state. Almost like a collective consciousness. For me, that is honestly the best part of making music. For that short period of time, it feels like we are completely on the same level, without misunderstandings, without filters. Just pure understanding.
So more intuition than planning?
Tim: Completely. And that’s exactly why I value it so much. In that moment, nothing needs to be explained. I play something and the other person doesn’t just understand the notes, but also the feeling behind them. We’ve become so closely connected over time that there often isn’t even a need for words anymore. I can play something and the other person immediately knows what I mean, even without there being a lyric or a fixed structure yet. And that’s exactly what the material grows out of. Not from planning, but from reaction.
What does this way of working mean to you?
Tim: It’s probably the reason why I do this at all. This combination of calm and absolute intensity at the same time. For that one week, everything was very clear. No external expectations, no distractions, just this shared process of working. And that’s incredibly valuable. I think we’ll be doing it like this much more in the future. Because it simply feels right. And maybe something completely different will come out of it each time, depending on the mindset we bring into it. And that’s exactly what makes it exciting.
Doodseskader Between Music as an Industry, Streaming Reality and the Desire for More Honesty in the System
If we talk about the music industry: what annoys you the most about it, and what still makes you feel like it’s worth continuing?
Tim: What bothers me the most is that it often doesn’t really feel like art anymore. It’s an industry. And honestly, I can hardly see a difference anymore between it and any other production line that simply manufactures things in series. The goal is to reproduce something that already works. If a certain sound has been successful, it gets copied, slightly adjusted, and then sold again. It’s a system based on repetition, not risk. And with platforms, playlists, and streaming, that has become even stronger. Everything gets forced into categories so it performs better. But a lot gets lost in the process. Even as a listener, you eventually notice it. You scroll and feel like everything sounds the same, even though you’re actually looking for something different. Something that really hits you.
Still, you keep going. Why?
Tim: Because we have consciously decided not to be part of that system. We have our own label, we decide ourselves what we do and how we do it. That’s not always comfortable. The financial margins are honestly poor, we don’t live from it in the traditional sense. We have to work other jobs on the side, it’s exhausting. But what ends up being created is exactly what we want. When you hold the vinyl in your hands or see the shirts, it’s not something that went through a machine optimized for profit. It’s made exactly the way we wanted it. And that’s the point for me. It’s not the easy way, but it’s the right one for us. I also believe this path can exist for others. It’s not comfortable, but it is possible. And maybe at some point parts of the industry will have to ask themselves whether what they are doing still has anything to do with music, or only with exploitation.
Streaming is a double-edged sword for many artists. On the one hand it brings reach, on the other hand very low pay. How do you see it?
Tim: Yes, streaming is a tricky one. For a long time, we were told: “Don’t worry, it balances out through live shows, it will work out.” But honestly, even that has become difficult by now. And I don’t want to come across like someone standing on a pedestal saying: “I’m the big critic of the industry.” That’s not me. I’m just someone who works in it and experiences it. But if you look at it objectively, it’s pretty obvious that platforms like Spotify are not really acting in the interest of artists. It’s not primarily about music or the people who make it. It’s a system that optimizes itself. And you see similar developments in the live sector as well. Companies like Live Nation have grown massively, also through the work of countless artists, crews, and people who actually make it all possible. But at the same time, a system is emerging that increasingly shifts costs onto the people at the end of the chain, meaning the fans and the bands. Ticket prices, fees, everything around it keeps getting more expensive. And in the end, nobody on the artistic side really benefits from it. That’s not something anyone actually wants.
You sound quite clearly critical about this. Do you think people should talk about it more openly?
Tim: Yes, I think so. Because otherwise it just keeps going as if everything about it were completely normal. But it’s not normal that music is increasingly turning into a pure business model where creative aspects matter less and less. Music used to be about discovery, risk, new ideas. Today, a lot of that has disappeared into industrial structures that prioritize safety and recognizability. I think we need to draw a much clearer line between two things: the entertainment industry and what music can actually be as an art form. Both can exist. There is nothing wrong with entertainment. That’s completely fine. But it is something different from artistic work that comes from genuine expression.
What would you specifically wish for?
Tim: Honestly, just more honesty within the system. That people acknowledge what it actually is, instead of pretending everything is “for the sake of music” when in reality it’s often about completely different things. And that artists aren’t pushed into a system that forces them to constantly adapt, optimise, and function just so it works economically. I think a lot of people can feel that something has changed. And maybe it’s important to actually say that out loud instead of just accepting it.
Find out more about DOODSESKADER on their social channels.
Discover more Soundcheck Sessions on my website.
Angelo Bissanti and the Language of Metal
Kevin Hein: Between Drumsticks and the Spotlight
Mia Lada-Klein is a journalist and editor specializing in music, culture, and media. In addition to writing analytical articles, she regularly interviews musicians and creatives, exploring topics such as identity, creative processes, and media perception.
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