Words by Joe Williams

It’s not often that two musicians from diverse backgrounds find a seamless synergy and craft in the way that Krononaut has.

Leo Abrahams, a multifaceted guitarist, producer, and composer, embodies this spirit of collaboration and creative freedom. Known for his eclectic range and staggering list of session and production credits, his journey is marked by a profound dedication to servicing other artists and an embrace of the unexpected — and, now, by two album instalments in an ongoing experimental jazz collaboration.

With Krononaut II, a follow-up to his first record with drumming maestro Martin France, Leo pushes deeper into the art of improvisation. Recorded as a “true duo” album, this project showcases the complex dance between the two and their respective instruments, focusing on what emerges from their spontaneous sessions. Snagging some free time in-between a session with Florence and the Machine, Leo opens up about the creative decisions behind his new record, his ethos of supporting fellow musicians, and the liberating power of working within — and, in turn, breaking free from — conceptual constraints.

What attracted you to the concept of Krononaut? What did early conversations with Martin France (co-creator and drummer) look like?

The first record came about very naturally, because a lot of our mutual friends had been suggesting that we play together. We set up an initial session and, even though we have pretty different backgrounds in music, we just found that we had a certain synergy without even talking about anything very much. It was all quite organic. There was a space between his expertise and mine which created something wonderful and unusual.

What sonic direction were you hoping to take with the upcoming follow-up, Krononaut II?

We featured a lot of artists on that first record, guest soloists and also guest bass players, and because of that it became a bit tricky to book shows. So for the next record, we discussed this and decided to make a true “duo record”, which we recorded at my studio. Stylistically, Krononaut II is less obviously melodic, but also I think it's kind of a purer representation of what happens between him and I when we improvise together.

There's a certain delicacy to the complexity of the sounds that I generate from the guitar, and in the response that Martin has to those sounds. And the more things get layered on top of that, the less attention is drawn to it. So we wanted to see if we could make a really coherent record where the emphasis was on the detail of our interplay. That was quite a conscious decision, and that's what I hope we've managed to show.

Are there any specific tracks you could speak to about, which you think highlight what about the record excites you?

Well, the first track is called ‘Silver Silver’, and it's probably the most accessible of the four tracks — despite its length! It's the closest we come to sort of “space rock”, because it's quite tonal and quite dramatic. I've always liked first takes; when I produce records for bands, I'm always going for first takes to try and capture what a musician does in that early moment. This particular track on Krononaut II almost feels like you can hear a song being written over the course of nine or ten minutes. I'm very happy that we managed to capture that and it was listenable.

The rest of the tracks, particularly the second one, ‘Mirage’, show this contemplative attention to detail. It's almost like undergrowth. That's the feeling that we were going for. Something that on the surface seems quite uniform and consistent, but if you start looking deep within, there's all this life and interaction. Sometimes having a concept can bind you, like making the frame of a picture too small. But in this case, I think that concept was broad enough that we could actually work inside it and explore and make something interesting.

How has your collaboration and creative partnership evolved by this second album, and in what ways did you guys work differently?

I feel like this time it was much more focused because we knew each other better. It was a little bit like when you haven't seen an old friend for a few years, and then you have loads to talk about. That's kind of how it felt. Whereas the first time, we were feeling each other out a bit more. And of course there were other people in the room playing with us, so it wasn't quite so intimate. Krononaut II felt really intimate, had loads of flow and was just generally a lovely musical and collaborative experience.

Your career has been marked with collaborations, playing with and producing for lots of other artists. What is it about working with other creatives that you find so inspiring?

I think it's the diversity of it. I like being the missing piece in a production situation. So, for some people, it might be that they need someone to play some instruments. For others, they might need a therapist, and then others might want someone simply to edit and nurture their performances. I'm that kind of producer, rather than someone who has ‘a sound’ that everybody comes to me for. The other part of it is that, although I have released my own music, I've never tried to be an artist in the sense of creating a following and cultivating a fan base. So being able to work with other people and be part of their process is just sort of my natural state. When I make my own music, it's because it absolutely has to come out of me. So I think, ultimately, my true nature is as a collaborator.

Because of my background, my range is quite broad. My interests and tastes are eclectic as well. So I wouldn't want to only work in one area of music. Another element of it is that I don't like attention very much… Whenever I've been on stage as a solo artist, it does kind of freak me out. Whereas when I'm on tour with an incredible artist — I just finished a tour with Anohni and the Johnsons — it's so liberating to help them hold the space rather than have all the attention on oneself. It’s a lot like that with the music, or the production, or playing guitar — you're serving someone else's vision, it’s just the way that you serve it is individual to yourself.

On that topic of serving a vision, you’ve worked on film compositions and scoring before with the likes of Hunger and The Lovely Bones. What was that experience like?

At one point, I thought that my career was going to go much more towards that part of the industry. But my busiest film score period as a composer was always in collaboration with other people, whether that was David Holmes, Brian Eno or Jon Hopkins. The benefit of that, frankly, is that someone has to deal with all the bullshit. The downside of that is that you don't get to make those industry connections. So, again, I found myself really gratefully and happily in the role of co-creator rather than the one on whom all the focus is, and the one whose name is at the front of the credits. I'm happy with that. I think once you get 20 or 25 years into a career, you find your natural habitat — and I'm happy with my natural habitat.

I have done a few feature documentaries where I worked more directly with the director, without anyone in between. I really enjoyed that. I think I just didn't push it because I was always busy with album productions and other projects that were less in the film world and more in the record world. Again; that's my natural habitat. Film sessions do come along, and I get to play guitar for an awful lot of film composers, and sometimes that crosses over into a little bit of additional writing here and there. But, overall, I'm happy being a glorified assistant!

Where do you find the most inspiration? Do you have an ideal environment for writing?

I don't put things physically around me, but I've always found a lot of inspiration in visual art, particularly 20th-century paintings. Contemplating that — not necessarily in the studio, but just in daily life — helps me to generate ideas. Or, maybe more accurately, it helps me generate a certain attitude towards work. I've always thought that art students had a much healthier practice to their craft than a lot of musicians; they have sketchbooks that contain many sketches, and none of them are intended to be “finished”. They're part of a greater process, and I try to incorporate that into my practice somewhat.

In terms of my favourite work environment, about four years ago I built a studio out the back of my house in East London — and it's changed my life. It's a fantastic space to work, built above an old bomb shelter, so the name of the studio is ‘The Shelter’. I've got tie lines into the house, so I can use the kitchen as a sort of reflective space if I want to, which sounds amazing for drums. And it's just lovely. I can go in there, close the door, and be in another world.

How do you incorporate the sketchbook ethos into making music?

Well, there was one very simple lesson that I got from Brian Eno really early on, which was to just simply “always be recording”. We should always be documenting what happens in the studio. While it’s true that we're not the best judges of what we're doing at that exact moment, there's no reason not to be in record when you're trying out a new guitar pedal, or even just generally if you're not sure if what you're doing is any good. So many times before I've been sure that what I was doing was no good, and it turned out that it was. And sometimes I'm just testing out a plug-in or something, and the stuff that I play when I'm just tuning up is so much better than the stuff that I play when I'm trying to make something. I suppose I'm saying not to get too caught up in intentionality, especially if you're a player.

How does that relate to your collaborators too?

Well, I think when you're working with other people, it's really important to help them to feel like there's no pressure, no expectation. That's not to say that you're just messing around and what you're doing isn't serious — it is — but I don't think that pressure to deliver is right for all people… or even most people. I know that pressure very well, because of my session work and also parts of my production work, but when I'm with other people, I try to make them feel like they're free to make mistakes. And sometimes those mistakes turn out not to be mistakes.

What compositional tools did you find most useful for Krononaut II?

Well, I don't know if this record is the best way to get into “compositional tools”, because it truly was improvised with no edits — the only tool, really, was that limitation: it was going to be a document rather than a composition. But in terms of what informs my improvising these days, and particularly for that record, I'm quite influenced by the classical composer Morton Feldman.

So instead of conventional structures and conventional development, he dealt with little units, not even necessarily motifs — they can be chords — and he'd just examine them from every angle. Through the sheer power of his concentration, you’d lose track of time in a very strange and powerful way that’s much closer to true meditation. It's not chilling out, it still requires intense concentration. This approach to thematic material was quite a revelation for me when I brought it into improvisation, because it liberated me from having to think there had to be an argument, and a climax, and a ramp down etc. It's just simply one's own concentration examining these little nuggets that come along. The way Martin picked up on that and framed it in more of a jazz context is something I find really compelling.

What does composition mean to you?

The dry answer? It’s simply the arrangement of sounds over time… But no, it’s a very natural thing, and it’s a part of being human to be creative. Why compose? Not to say that I don’t often grapple with it, find it difficult and experience anxiety from it, but it’s nevertheless a natural part of me to put myself in that situation. The question of whether one wants to be a composer as a career is much more complicated. And, actually, I have not made that decision. I made a decision for my career to be really diverse, because I didn't want there to be too much pressure on any one thing, but I'm not sure whether writing music was a decision… or just what happened.

Your career is marked with exceptional collaborations with incredible artists. Are there any you've not yet had the chance to work with that you would really look forward to?

Oh, there are a lot. A lot! There's an artist called Yeule who I really love. And also Julia Holter. But actually, you know, a lot of the people who I really revere — they probably don't need collaborators because they're such geniuses. They just do everything on their own.

If you could rescore a film, which one would it be and why?

Rescore? Does that imply that the original score wasn't good?

No, not at all. In fact, it could be that it was so good and so inspiring that you'd like to riff off it.

I'd love to rescore one of David Lynch's films. Inland Empire. It’s the one that he made on digital in the mid 00s, and I just think it would be very interesting to go really deep with sound design that was generated live. Like a lot of my guitar sounds, they played around a lot with frequencies that you don't normally hear from the guitar. Above 5k and below 100 Hertz. I'd really love to do some distorted, sound design / score stuff on Inland Empire.

Krononaut II releases this Friday.