It’s a warm, still afternoon in Alatskivi – a village in eastern Estonia where time moves differently. Mart Avi leads us through the castle grounds with an easy stride, dressed like someone who’s walked straight out of a baroque dream and into a sci-fi night club. The setting is more than just picturesque: his grandfathers once worked here, and now he returns not as a child, but as an artist – one who’s pressed pause on the stage to spend the summer in a forest hut, quietly creating. Known for his genre-warped sound, hypnotic stage presence, and refusal to play by the usual industry rules, Mart Avi is both elusive and deeply grounded. We sat down to talk about teaching, time off, idols, youth, movement, and the strange ways music continues to pull him forward.
Let’s start with Alatskivi. You were born not far from here, and your grandfathers worked at the castle where we shot this feature. What does this place mean to you now?
I grew up in a neighbouring village, Vara, which was hardly a pastoral place. Think rust, oil, and sawdust. It also had a castle, which was raided and dismantled by the locals – including myself, probably. There's not even a stone left of it now. Now, to us, Alatskivi, was where cultured high elves lived. It was also the home turf of the legendary poet Juhan Liiv and the composer Eduard Tubin, among others. The nicely preserved pearl-white castle sums it up pretty well. In reality, it’s a well-masked piece of outsider pop – a miniature copy of a Scottish castle built by an architectural dilettante lord to impress his bae : ) Love it.When I was around 8, I once called the village authorities with my mates and asked for a key to the castle. Funnily enough, it worked out. We grabbed our flashlights and bicycles, and soon we were there to explore its insides. It wasn’t renovated yet back then and had stood functionless for a decade. Imagine a cursed soviet-brown version of the interiors. I remember finding a voodoo doll-like figure in one of the towers. It’s astonishing how much work has been put into restoring this castle and the surrounding area to its former glory. Alatskivi people must be proud.
You’ve spent many summers creating and performing, but this one is different. You’re not on stage – you’re in the forest, making music in solitude. What led you to take this summer off from performing?
In spring, I did a series of shows in Central Europe, Canada, and a little something in Tallinn as well. It was a good moment to pull the plug, for now. Who knows how many complete summer holidays I have left where I don't need to worry about anything practical for two and a half months? We have to own summer at our latitude to survive winter.
Do you feel you can create anywhere, or is there something about this landscape that draws music out of you in a particular way?
Talking about tracking vocals, I do believe some songs can only be built and resolved here in solitude. Here, my body feels the most laid-back and assured as an instrument. I forget who I am and become an empty shell, which is good, as the emptiness can be filled with something new. A good recent example would be “Billions Alone” from me and Ajukaja’s Death of Music LP. Wide spaces, nightly swims, swooshing bats and the humming river in my yard tune me up to a certain emotional frequency, which can be brooding and sorrowful without me leaning on personal sadness or spite. The result becomes more universally moving that way.
Most people might not know this, but you’re also a full-time teacher. How did that come about – and what keeps you in the classroom?
I went to study Special Education. Maybe because my own education wasn't that special. Throughout my entire adult life, I've worked at the same English-speaking international school, taking on various roles over the years. There have been moments when I felt I was just as skilled at teaching as I am at music. It means I have value and there's no need to stop.
I’ve taught too, and I know how physically and mentally demanding it is. Early mornings, repetitive cycles, constant planning… How do you balance that life with your work as an artist?
It balances out pretty well. Teaching in and of itself is an artistic activity. School is the only place where I don't think about my music at all. The focus is on students, and I can't let them down. It's good for me. I get out of my head and keep a good sense of reality.A stable income enables me to be unpragmatic and uncompromising artistically. This is freedom. The way I see it, living purely off music isn't a viable option if I'm only willing to play on my own terms. Every artist has battled with the idea of success. I lack the ruthlessness and vanity that often drive success, and I hold onto silly principles of honour that few care about. Our current technological reality is silently morphing us into walking achievement-machines. I'm ready to fail and get up to fail again and again. I'm a loser who might win tomorrow or the day after.
What makes you feel alive?Sudden threats. Last summer, I had a close encounter with a mother bear and her two cubs. All our hearts pounding, I made myself as large as possible and managed to scare her away. Felt pretty alive after that.
What’s something you can’t live without – creatively or personally?The creations of others, aka human culture at its best.
How do you unwind – or do you?Everything water-related. I’m a glorified duck.
What do you make of the youth today? Do they give you hope for the future?The youth is reflecting the spirit of the times, as always. They're smart-witted, ironic, savvy and good at spotting emotional fakery that's prevalent in the adult world. The future has always been slightly murky. In times of prosperity, one can fear collapse. In times of trouble, one can hope for a brighter future. Each generation develops a kind of idealised nostalgia for their youth, then feels a sense of loss as the familiar world they remember gradually disappears from contemporary life.
Take us back. What did your earliest musical experiments sound like? Who was Mart Avi before Mart Avi?
I've been recording ever since I discovered what that little dot button on a cassette player could do. Overall, nothing has changed and everything has changed. My first trackable release seems to be a music video (Badass Yuki “Changeling”, 2009) that was somehow funded by Coca-Cola Company. We were a teen duo, and that whole song was recorded with one dented crap-mic in this very same summer cabin here in Alatskivi. Lowest production value resulting in what was possibly the very first HD music video filmed in Estonia. Pretty wacky stuff.
Who were your idols then – and who inspires you now? Has that changed over time?
I’m not sure if I’ve ever been in a position of dedicated fandom. I just tend to be very thorough with those artists, directors, writers etc. whom I find fascinating. I also like to analyse their faults and mishaps – the creative output that’s surely below peak form. As an example, recently I was listening to one of the first post-unretirement Miles Davis albums (Star People, 1983). What a strange jam that was. I ain’t loyal like a fan would be, sometimes I check out to return after some years or so. Also, I’m at fault for prioritising stuff that seemingly sounds cutting-edge. In the case of music made by those who were born after I started my first band, I enjoy blasting Lucy Bedroque and Kuru for example. I get a strong feeling that their blend of “what used to be called hip-hop/rap” seems to be rooted more in Japanese pop-culture than urban America. That I dig.Also, I can’t argue that I’ve been strongly influenced by other music fanatics. Not algorithms, but people who play music, preach about music or write about music. Often those are the best kind of people – not musicians themselves. There’s a reason why we have professors in our universities, chefs in restaurants, designers for items we use or wear etc. Sometimes it’s cool to trust those who might know better, or take notes at least.
You’ve said you’d rather “smoke crack and leave civilization” than watch 5 hours of TikTok daily. (Sorry to do this to you...) But if you had to choose: make 15-second TikTok bangers forever or never make music again?
Hehe, TikTok is such an easy target. I guess it's been a while since I said that. It's just another platform, and there probably are and will be platforms far worse. I'd still rather get on that crack pipe instead, though. There's no need for me to drop TikTok bangers, as there are probably millions of users who could objectively execute them better. Also, what would I gain? Virtual fame, plays, shares, streams – these are inflated currencies that have lost most of their value. Everyone is a labourer in their own enterprise. Anyone can go viral if they're willing to do whatever it takes. I'd just continue making music without crafting it into a releasable product, or maybe just sing my melodies on the way to the lake. Also, my brain is pretty primitive. It can't multitask well. One afternoon, I was looking at a snail for an hour, and I was still thinking about its whereabouts the day after. It gave me enough of a dopamine hit.
Your physicality on stage is so distinctive – almost like movement art. Where did that come from? How did your relationship with performance evolve?
This was all very unlikely to happen, and nobody demanded it but myself. I released my first two solo records without any dedicated shows and refused all offers. Then, in 2016, I finally let go and decided to give a solo performance on KUMU's (Estonian Art Museum) fourth floor, where I had built a replica of my apartment's bedroom. I even slept there before the actual show under the very same blanket I was wrapped in after birth. Looking back, it seems mental.Nobody did shows like that then. I made it theatrical so I could emotionally compensate for a bandless performance. Then, pretty soon, I lost interest in that format and stopped relying on exterior gimmicks. After that, my body gradually started picking up nuances. It took a lot of wind. I'm yet to fully unlock my potential, though. It'll get much better from here.
Do you see dance or movement as part of your songwriting process, or does it live in a different part of you?Yeah, now it lives in everything, and it has made me a much better singer and beatmaker. Better in terms of channeling emotional depth and passion.
We shot this feature at Alatskivi Castle – a mix of the baroque and the forest floor. That visual duality also seems to pulse through your work: theatrical but grounded, futuristic but nostalgic. Do you consciously build these contrasts into your music and style?I’ve probably said it over and over again, but I love contradictions. Right now, I’m staring at my cat as a sleeping contradiction. Such soft elegance, yet I saw her menacingly decapitating a poor lizard on a porch this morning.
Your sound draws from so many sources – ambient, R&B, vaporwave, digital decay – but it always feels very "you". How do you know when a sound or idea belongs to the Mart Avi universe?I don’t want to be “me”. I’m trying to escape my universe, but gravity bounces me back. Not that there’s something wrong with my universe, but it’d be cool to witness something else.
Your work is often described as genre-blurring and experimental. Still, some Estonian media have compared you to Florian Wahl, another artist pushing musical and performative boundaries. Do you see yourselves in conversation creatively, or do you feel you're working in different spheres?
Well, we’ve been working in our distinct spheres for ages, plus his focus has been strictly local. He’s a smart jester, and Estonia needs one. Once, when he casually brought up the idea of a collaboration, I replied that it could never happen as we’d kill each other x ))
How do you feel about the Estonian music scene in general right now? Is there a sense of community or shared movement among artists?
Well, the popular tendencies and trends of late are all pretty obvious. Maximum amusement paired with false-plebeian caricatures and eurotrance tropes. I feel quite neutral about it, but would’ve actively despised it in my teens. Then, on the other hand, we have a mini punk-rock renaissance going on, which is very fitting. I’ve never been a communal person or part of a shared movement, but I strongly value the existence of dedicated subcultures. Being part of one is possibly the healthiest way to lead a fulfilling life.
What’s next for you? Is there a new direction – sonically, visually, spiritually – that you're itching to explore?
Yes, I’m hungry, but I’ll be hidden for a while. Three random facts: I’ll be touring in Western Canada this winter; the working title of my next album is Malice, but it won’t be out until late 2026; I’d like to go fishing.
If you could stage your dream performance – no budget limits – what would it look and feel like?
In time, I've gradually realised that the grandness of a performance is mostly dependent on my skill set and form. A good case study is Michael Jackson, who, undergoing physical decline and vocal fatigue, started doing punctually staged, cyborgian lip-synced stadium spectacles in the '90s. It had its appeal, but no one preferred these shows to his earlier performances.Now, what's great about riches is that they can be spread out. I'd organise a show in a way that millions would be spread among all those who have helped me along the way. So that everyone would get their due. You know who you are. Everyone would go home with a bag of money – MAXIMUM wage!
The venue. An oil rig on neutral sea territory would be transformed into a concert hall with exquisite acoustics. That might take a billion or so. We'll bring in the best tech and stage production available in the world. All transportation will be organised by a cargo ship that docks in seven key ports, including Muuga, Estonia
The performance. I'll take plenty of time to relentlessly work myself into peak form, build my everyday life around that purpose, and execute the gig without any Broadway-esque props or a band. I love a big empty stage – I can pull it off. Okay, let's get to the encore. Instead of a curtain call, the whole audience shall be blinded by rays of trillions of diamonds showering down via the ventilation shafts in a grain-like motion.
The aftermath. All that fool's gold has caused a wave of global hyperinflation :$. My naivety has led me to the point where I need to carefully plan my escape route from taxmen. Fortunately, I had secretly donated another billion to my home village. That happened on the very day I got the keys to this whole project. I make one last victorious return in a pretty knocked-up white Ferrari (I still don't have a license). The granaries have transformed into silver palaces, the playgrounds have morphed into roller coasters. Untraceable, I seek refuge. "Dream big or go home," whispers the rye as the harvester's approaching…
Story by Paula-Stina TasanePhotography by Jane TreimaArt Direction & Styling by Diandra RebaseClothes by Tallinna Kaubamaja, Cbetka Location Alatskivi Castle