Why I Make Music
Hey friends,
A few weeks ago I watched a video by Olafur Arnalds — an artist I've admired for a long time — and he said something that wouldn't leave me alone. He said you can't do your best work if you don't have an answer to the question of why you're doing it. And if you don't have one, he said, take a step back from whatever project you're working on and figure that out first.
I sat with that for days. Why do I make music? Why do I record these Melodic Minute videos, write these blog posts, sit in front of my Moog every morning?
When music became a to-do list
When I first moved from playing bass in a band to producing electronic music on my own, the whole thing was painful. So many tools to learn, so many new approaches to wrap my head around. I treated music making like a problem to solve. Open Ableton, follow the steps, stack the layers, check the mix, repeat. Everything had to follow certain standards so the end product would be as "perfect" as possible.
But what does perfect even mean? I didn't really know. I had turned a thing I loved into an analytical process, and I had stopped giving myself permission to just play.
Three reasons that came back to me
When I finally let myself answer the why question honestly, three things showed up.
The first is self-expression. Music is how I make sense of what's happening inside me. Feelings I can't put into words become a slow arpeggio or a lamenting Moog lead. Without it, something feels off in my whole day.
The second is inspiration — both directions. The electronic music community has given me so much. Workshops, conversations at Superbooth, livestream comments, Discord chats. And on the other side, when someone writes that a video or a track or a template helped them get unstuck, it lands harder than I can describe. That two-way street is one of the most meaningful parts of doing this.
The third is exploration and fun in the process. The day I stopped forcing my music was the day everything clicked. I swapped the to-do-list approach for an explorative mindset. Mistakes became invitations. Chaos became material. Suddenly making music felt less like a job and more like wandering through a big open world in a video game I didn't want to leave.
What asking the question actually changes
You don't need to write your "why" on a sticky note above your desk. But sitting with the question — even just once — changes how you sit down at your instrument the next day. The pressure shifts. The standards loosen. You stop chasing perfect and start chasing real.
If you don't have an answer yet, that's completely fine. Keep exploring. The answer will find you somewhere between a chord that surprises you and a session that ran longer than you planned.
What's your why? I'd love to hear it.
Stay creative,
Milan (KVNDRA)
P.S.: If Melodic Minute is something you want to keep around, you can support the series on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/kvndra. It's what keeps this slow corner of the internet alive.
