Getting Back to Music After a Break
After two straight years of working on films and albums, I hit a wall. The period that ended with the KoMaRa tour had drained me so much that I knew I needed a break.
Of course, my workaholic brain immediately kicked in with guilt: “Bad idea? Am I going to disappear? What if I never get back in shape?”
And then there was the question—what does “rest” even mean? Lying around all day, watching TV? That actually makes me feel the worst.
A Summer Without the Guitar
So I did it differently. I packed away my guitars and spent the summer moving, reading, and listening. Mornings with the news—BBC, the Guardian, NY Times, local papers, sometimes even Russian outlets just to see their upside-down view of the world. Eventually I stopped, but at least now I know who Ivan Ilyin was.
Mornings on the yard with kettlebells and weights, afternoons biking or running. On the hottest days, I strapped on a weighted vest and went hiking in the woods—10 kilos at first, later 20. I read, listened to audiobooks, rode my motorcycle down empty roads. Inside a helmet is the perfect place to scream things you don’t want anyone else to hear.
I even made it to Prague to record two podcasts with Ján Sudzina about the Hevhetia label. I consider Prague my capital—it was a great reset.
Silence Instead of Music
Every now and then I’d pull a guitar out of its case. And every time, the same heavy question hit me: “What should I play? Scales? Chords? Improv?” The weight of it made me put it back and go for a walk.
At one point, I thought it was over. Maybe I’d never have another idea for new music. Maybe I’d never get back to the level I used to play at. Each attempt only proved to me that I’d fallen out of it. That’s when the first spark came—the thought that a break doesn’t have to mean failure. But that realization didn’t come fully until much later—until yesterday.
For months I feared I’d never get an idea again, or never recover my playing form. Only when I touched the strings again did I understand that creativity doesn’t work like the body. The body rests, sleeps, and bounces back. Creativity isn’t a 9-to-5 job. You can’t force it. It comes when it wants. It’s like a container that needs to be refilled—like my rain barrel in the garden. Shake it all you want, if it’s empty, nothing comes out.
This was new for me. I’m 41, and I know I have to be careful not to burn out. I learned a lot from this. Sports and movement didn’t just keep me healthy—they kept my head clear and helped me stay positive.
Illness and Other Trials
I kept listening to podcasts and audiobooks until I felt like I had a concrete block in my head. And then Lyme disease hit. Antibiotics, weakness, fear of the stories I’d heard from others who had it. Thankfully, I recovered. Even during the illness I kept moving a little—not much, but I had to.
We traveled to Krakow, Slovenia, and Italy. In Trieste I opened a book, The Club of Murdered Letters, translated by my friend Ivana Kupková. After just one page I realized it needed full focus, and I didn’t have it. So I rented an e-bike and rode around the island. That moment taught me something too: a break from music isn’t just about putting the guitar down—it’s about finding focus and inner calm again. The summer was full of things, but my drive for art stayed quiet.
The Return
Until yesterday.
Yesterday I pulled my electric guitar out of its case and started playing. My fingers were stiff, the calluses gone, like a total beginner. I panicked that I’d lost it completely. But after an hour it started to flow. I ended up practicing for over two hours. My fingers hurt, but it felt amazing.
I decided to go through my own course, 7 Days to a Better Musician. Seven days straight, daily, systematic—the routine I came up with for myself.
And it feels great.
Music came back on its own—when the time was right. All summer I felt cut off, like it might never return. But it did. That’s my lesson: don’t force it. Music and creativity have their rhythm and their cycle. That’s how it is with everything—when it comes, you work hard, and then it demands a pause.
And even during the pause, you still have to keep moving.
D.