‘Most women in my family have practiced as shamans.’ An interview with PYUR

PYUR is the burgeoning solo endeavour of Berlin-based experimental electronic artist Sophie Schnell. With a foundation rooted in classical composition and vocal artistry, her works are born from the fusion of her synesthetic experiences and her upbringing within a lineage of shamans, resulting in a unique and boundary-defying sound.

Can you talk about your background? Your music journey is rooted in classical composition and vocal practice, but you also experience synesthetic sensations and come from a lineage of shamans. Can you elaborate on this?

I grew up in a very artistic family—my mum used to be a classical singer, and my father played bass guitar in a band. An interest in music and art extends to most of my family members. I learned classical guitar as a child and continued into my teenage years, before discovering the potential of electronic music production. Being exposed to classical music and singing techniques through my mother, certain aspects of this genre found their way into my music, particularly in terms of dramaturgy and arrangements.

I actually didn’t know that synaesthesia was a thing until I heard about it on the radio. I assumed everyone sensed the world in this multilayered way. For me, it manifests predominantly as sounds appearing as colourful forms and densities, but I also experience it with numbers, taste and time. It‘s really hard to describe when you’ve never known anything else. I imagine that it helps me immerse myself in sculpting sound worlds and tangible textures, though it can also be quite overwhelming when I receive too much simultaneous input. I admit, it can be super practical sometimes—like when I use colours to remember my PIN codes.

For a long time, most women in my family have practiced as shamans, each in their own unique way. My mum was the first to go down this path over three decades ago—first starting in the US, then piecing together techniques and knowledge from many different teachers and cultures. I grew up hearing about her intense experiences and taking part in nature rituals; it felt quite magical and free to grow up like this. Synaesthesia plays a huge role in how I perceive atmospheres and move currents through my body. I don’t actively share what I do in this area, but I do sometimes work with clients when they find me. It’s definitely shaped my way of experiencing life and creating music forever.

In 2019, you released an album on Subtext called “Oratorio for the Underworld”. The album was created in isolation over two years and documents “inward archaeology”. What did you discover during those two years of composing, and is introspection still part of your creative process?

That album was created during an eight-month artist residency in Zaragoza, Spain (Santiago Latorre was co-hosting, btw) and the South Island of New Zealand—both very unique and isolated landscapes. Inward archaeology refers to discovering aspects of yourself that seemed lost and forgotten but reappear in the right moments of silence. That period was probably the peak of my meditation practice. It unlocked a lot of imagination, freedom and dedication. I was quite hooked on drifting around in those meditative states until I discovered that, in their most extreme forms, they became a kind of escapism and weren’t always helpful when it came to being a present and grounded person. After that time, I started to focus more on my body and my surroundings, which felt healthier than constantly trying to dissolve. Now, years later, I’ve rediscovered some tools from that time that help me stay in the eye of the storm when I experience sensory overload from the outside world. Especially with synaesthesia, boundaries feel blurry, and nowadays I easily feel fragmented and lose touch. In those states, focusing on writing music is especially challenging, and I know it’s time to regroup internally and reconnect with my values. Then, when I’m ready, I move outwards again. These phases tend to alternate.

Five years later, you returned to Subtext with an album entitled “Lucid Anarchy”. How did it differ, and what themes set it apart from “Oratorio for the Underworld”?

Oratorio was like a big creative playground for me, where I could put all of my ideas and themes into one large project and explore many different narratives. For me, it’s more an album of storytelling, while Lucid Anarchy is more of a direct emotional and elemental experience, tightly connected to the natural surroundings I was immersed in at the time. During the process of Lucid Anarchy, there was a lot of movement happening—I was mostly travelling—and the sense of urgency, time and flow are somehow different on this record. Aesthetically, I’d say it’s more stripped down and raw in form, while still remaining adventurous. I really love performing this album live; I get to discover so many different facets of it as it keeps mutating for each set. 

Can you talk about your compositional music-making process? How do you synthesise thoughts and emotions about yourself and the world?

My approach to making music has never been conceptual. I gather sounds from all kinds of sources—analogue, digital, vocal, instrumental, and field recordings. I don‘t have any go-to gear, formula or template for creating a piece, as every work has its own rules and techniques, which keeps the process fresh and exciting for me. I use this huge database of my sounds, and I layer and puzzle them together while jamming around. Just layering and sieving the material over and over again until interesting and unpredictable dynamics emerge that surprise and captivate me. A million little collage pieces melting into each other, like a swarm or murmuration, falling into a shared movement and unifying into a bigger voice. I spend a lot of time on detailed sound chains that have both a technological and biological feel, as if they’re semi-alive. It’s time-consuming, but I enjoy it. I also don’t like to just create ambiences that float around aimlessly; I want to find hooks—strong, fleshy elements—that bundle and direct all the puzzle pieces like a wide river carving through an intricate landscape. 

I don’t consciously try to express ideas or thoughts through the music; it’s more like a symbiotic life form that accompanies me, maybe as a completing or balancing force that gives me courage. Sometimes, on the surface, my life and my music feel quite opposite in their qualities, but when I look deeper, I see that they come from the same place and move in the same direction. 

What are you currently working on? 

I’m currently in the studio after last year’s touring, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I‘m working on two solo projects that will likely both become full-length albums. They differ from each other in their aesthetics and vibe, and I feel both weirded out and excited about them. Let’s see which one finishes first—I want to give them time and space to unfold. Some of the pieces started out as scores for contemporary dance, so it´s nice to create the music with the movements still active in my mind. I’m aiming to release them in the first half of ’26. Apart from that, I’m working on commissions for dance, film and performance art, and I’m excited about an upcoming collaboration with Sébastien Forrester!

I’m also really happy to have started a small side hustle as a technician in a beautiful church in Berlin, which means I can sing and record there at night. It‘s incredible to have access to this vast space right in the middle of Berlin and be secretly loud while I develop new things. It feels like coming up for air.

Interview Lucia Udvardyova
Photo Camille Blake