On My Own: A Day in Potsdam with Thunder
I took the S-Bahn out to Potsdam with no real idea of what to expect. The ride was long enough to let the city fall away, giving me time to think, maybe overthink, about what might come of the session. At Potsdam Hauptbahnhof, Thunder was waiting. He waved as I stepped off the train, and we started walking together through the beautiful streets towards his studio in the old Rechenzentrum. Once a computer center, now a place full of artists and musicians. It felt right before we’d even played a note.
Inside, his dimly lit studio was warm and neatly structured: guitars, amps, cables, and a height-adjustable desk in the center with a wide-screen monitor on top. We were all set. After a little chat, he picked up a guitar, letting a riff fall into the air. I sat down at the keys and followed, not forcing anything. The song began to take shape without much talk. That’s always the best sign.
We called it “On My Own.” The name just seemed to fit. I imagined slipping into my Satin Jackets outfit for the video filming later that day. It’s a little ritual that helps me shift into performance mode while Thunder leaned into the microphone. His voice carried something raw and open, and my chords wrapped around it just enough to give it a frame.
We filmed it right there with his Osmo Pocket camera. No plan, no set. Just Thunder on guitar and vocals, me on the keys, the studio around us. It didn’t feel like we were making a “video,” more like we were just documenting a moment we didn’t want to lose.
When we finally put it online, I thought maybe a few people would connect with it. But then the views started climbing. Slowly at first, then steadily. At some point it passed a million, which still feels a little unreal. For a video born in an old Potsdam computer center, it was more than we could have asked for and a nice confirmation that we were on the right track.
Looking back, it wasn’t about chasing numbers or headlines. It was about a walk from the station, a room full of instruments, and two musicians figuring something out together. The rest just followed.
So High: From Sanssouci to the Rooftop
A few months later we met again, this time in the middle of summer. Potsdam looked different under the sun: brighter, calmer, even more beautiful. We had a bigger plan now. Instead of just capturing a moment in the studio, we wanted to shoot something more deliberate, with a small team and a new track we’d been working on called “So High.”
The idea was bold: set up in front of the Orangerie at Sanssouci Palace, that endless stretch of steps and terraces, and let the music breathe in a place that looked almost Mediterranean. For a while it felt like it could actually work. We unloaded some gear, started setting up, and imagined how it would look on camera. But it didn’t take long for reality to catch up. A couple of officials approached us, polite but firm. No permit, no filming. German bureaucracy at its finest.
That could’ve been the end of the day, but Thunder quickly called a few of his mates back at the Rechenzentrum. Within no time, they came through and offered us the rooftop. An hour later we were back in familiar territory, climbing stairs instead of palace steps, setting up against the open sky.
The rooftop turned out to be the better stage. The city stretched out in front of us, the perfect summer light catching the instruments, the air carrying every note across. Thunder stood with his guitar, the skyline behind him, while I worked the keys, feeling the height of it all. It was less polished, less official, but more direct.
The video for “So High” came together there, appropriately named, with nothing more than Potsdam’s rooftops and the blue sky above. In the end, being turned away at Sanssouci didn’t feel like a setback. It felt like the story steering us where it needed to go.
After those two collaborations, I felt something deeper than just satisfaction. I felt reassured. Thankful that this is my job: to be in rooms and on rooftops with people like Thunder, chasing songs that didn’t exist the day before. To be an artist, a producer, and still surprised by where the music leads.
