Hamburg-born musician Niklas Paschburg has carved out a niche for creating rich, textured atmospheres with his blend of classical and electronic music. Panta Rhei sees him continue in a similar vein, breathing life through the keys of his piano and creating something wonderfully cohesive.
Paschburg has cultivated thematic mood pieces in the past, bringing a cinematic, mesmeric quality to his music. 2018’s Oceanic saw him encapsulating the beauty, serenity and loneliness of the Baltic sea through the delicate notes of his piano. On 2020’s Svalbard he went bolder, capturing and embodying the darkness of the frozen land. Paschburg doesn’t sketch the outline of landscapes, but rather he brings them to life with an emotional articulacy. Panta Rhei is similarly built around a theme but is more abstract, celebrating the Greek philosopher Heraclitus’s central idea that “everything flows”.
Heraclitus represents something of an enigma, an obscure epithet who was considered a misanthrope, often referred to as the “weeping philosopher” and driven by the notion that the world was constantly in flux, coining the phrase: “No man ever steps in the same river twice”. Paschburg takes this philosophy inward, flowing between warm, positive feelings and darker ones, describing the songs as “places I’ve visited within myself”, but true to Heraclitus’s philosophy, he never visits one place more than once.
On Panta Rhei, Paschburg’s pieces often shift and evolve like they have taken on a life of their own, Paschburg bending to their will. ‘Zimt’ is a prime example of where the emotional textures subtly shift, the bright, airy sound of the keys evoking a sense of wonder until the melancholia of the accordion comes in towards the end, while anxious percussive crackles lurk beneath the surface. The delicate keys on ‘Flâneur’ create a realm of relaxation until the ethereal, pulsing synth pads lift you. ‘Serafico’ is similarly serene, unfolding gracefully until Pashcburg introduces this mournful saxophone line, like a lonely boat passing through the sea.
Paschburg’s piano playing is a delight, applying varying pressures like an emotional scientist. On ‘Sunrise’, the twinkling keys combine with the sound of birds chattering to evoke the image of a spring morning, while ‘Istria’ has a similar pastoral serenity. The undulating rhythm of ’21st of June’ is harnassed by Paschburg’s dexterity, gliding across the piano like a ballet dancer. Pachburg’s piano serves as each composition’s base point, driving the mood and melody.
However, Paschburg embellishes tracks with the artistry of a painter, adding depth and colour. On ‘Delphi Waltz’, the piano provides the rhythm of the dance, but Paschburg’s accordion gives it a romantic, nostalgic touch. ‘Lunatic Circus’ lives up to its title, building into a resounding crescendo with pulsing synths, crashing wave-like percussion and dissonant crackles, the atmosphere enlivened by this eerie angelic voice floating in the background, like a goddess watching a storm.
Occasionally, Paschburg enlists guests to provide vocals, something that pays off brilliantly. ‘Dark Side of the Hill’ features fellow Hamburg native lùisa, her powerful, hypnotic voice providing a gloriously uplifting pop chorus. ‘All the Secrets Left Untold’ is similarly uplifting, the synths soaring and rising as Bianca Steck’s soothing tones drift across it. While on ‘Every Morning (Night 6)’, Paschburg combines with Kaktus Einarsson to create a piece of brooding synth pop.
Paschburg’s forays into pop music are fleeting but enjoyable, adding another string to an already impressive bow. Panta Rhei may not have the overarching atmosphere of Svalbard or Oceania, but it is arguably more engaging, shifting between atmospheres, flowing between emotional states, always colourful and never dull. Largely meditative, Paschburg’s mastery of melody and experimental flair ensures Panta Rhei never feels leaden-footed but free and flowing.