Fracktura is releasing |Time: Machine| on 21 March 2025—an album that fuses American jazz, alternative rock, and the soundtrack to a film that doesn’t exist. Their music offers no easy answers, and the story behind the album is anything but calm.

The single I Hear The Wind, directed by Diogo Oliveira, is a work that provokes emotion. Stark black-and-white visuals, tilted angles, and a restless camera create a sense of studio chaos. The music is just as unsettling—sharp jazz chords crash against Karis Tucker’s operatic vocals, leaving no room for passive listening. The recording of |Time: Machine| unfolded in complete turmoil: an armed robbery, a car crash, a wrecked studio, even the clinical death of one of the band members. Amidst all this, Fracktura still found time to compose a soundtrack for Brazilian filmmaker Ruy Guerra. We spoke with guitarist Machado III about how the band navigated the chaos without losing themselves in it.

photo by @FrackturaOfficial

When I listened to your upcoming album |Time: Machine|, a peculiar sequence of images came to mind: hypnotic black-and-white frames from the “I Hear The Wind” video, a dialogue between jazzy sounds and dramatic operatic vocals, and a mysterious, almost cinematic atmosphere. If all your music existed in some imaginary space, it could easily be placed alongside David Lynch’s surrealism and the avant-garde experiments of early jazz. What initially drew you to combine such diverse inspirations, from classic jazz improvisations to the expressive techniques of art cinema?

Life itself. I have always been drawn to the strange side of things. I have always thrived in darkness, so to speak. By darkness, I don’t mean the mainstream Hollywoodian take on it. I mean the darkness deep down, the abyss within. When I was younger, I liked to push the boundaries way beyond its limits, because from chaos, unexpected things happened. There’s a feeling that everything is possible when you find yourself in situations like that. It was all very primitive and instinctive back then. When I inevitably hit a wall and felt a bit lost, art cinema and avant-garde music found me. I still remember the first time I watched Twin Peaks and realized that darkness and madness can also be beautiful and inviting. Since then, I became obsessed with contradictions and how complementary they actually are. When you go to some type of hell, and there’s Jazz, everything changes. That’s a contradiction that opens up so many possibilities. I always try to keep that in mind when I’m in my creative mode. That’s probably why Fracktura’s music is drenched in so many layers, as we are always trying to focus on the conflicts rather than the resolutions. Resolutions take away the space for the listeners to use their own imagination. Free from resolutions, they can dance with their own shadows if they want to. 

Each new generation of musicians draws from the past, reinterpreting it to create something fresh. However, with |Time: Machine|, it feels like you’re delving into the very principles of time and how we perceive it. How did you approach crafting this sense of an album that sounds like it exists beyond time?

This is a concept that requires imagination and the total embrace of abstract mediums. If the collective unconscious does us good, people will be able to find elements in this album that will speak directly to them as well, crafting a connection that will enable us to communicate with them through music. 

|Time: Machine| seems to have been born from numerous collisions—both stylistic and personal. A series of tragic events, an armed robbery, the destruction of a studio, and even coming back from the brink of death have been mentioned. This list reads like the plot of a multi-episode arthouse film. How did these dramatic experiences shape the atmosphere of the new album and your inner state during its creation?

We are used to dealing with dramatic events such as these during our creative process. It’s reality imposing itself, and when that happens you can either fall victim to it, or feed from it. We like to think we choose the latter. And by doing so, it becomes part of who we are, how we perceive the world and its imperfect systems. These events are not direct influences for us, because we prefer to focus on what’s inside rather than outside. However, I’d be hypocritical if I said we are immune to them.  

Modern music often avoids complex emotions and tones, favouring simplicity and commercial appeal. Your approach, particularly with Karis Tucker’s operatic vocals and jazz elements, clearly goes against this trend. Did you intentionally set out to create an album that demands the listener’s full attention?

Machado III: When I start the process for a new album, my first and main focus is on the atmosphere I am looking to achieve. Here, art cinema is often a huge source of inspiration. Our lyricist, Diogo Oliveira, is a rising filmmaker in Brazil, so it is also helpful to communicate with him in these terms. Now, when it comes to art cinema, we are talking about the true Gesamtkunstwerk. How can we strive to achieve something like that by means of music only? That remains an open question. In my experience, once you let the music go where it needs to, without worrying about mundane issues such as financial return, the ego-stroking-appeal to a bigger audience, etc, you end up with something that will certainly demand the listener’s full attention. At best, you might end up with something that can be enjoyed both on a superficial level, but still has something to deliver to those defiant listeners who want to dig deeper. This is not to say that strategy and money are not important in this. But there is a time and a place for them, and the creative phase is not it. In this way, the choice to create an album that demands people’s full attention might be more the music’s decision than my own.

In your case, American jazz, David Lynch’s films, alternative rock, and even contemporary dance are often mentioned. However, there’s always something left unexplained. How would you describe the core of what defines Fracktura?

Obsession, the embrace of contradiction, and an urge to defy the parameters of existence. 

Your album has been described as “a soundtrack to a great movie that unfortunately doesn’t exist.” When creating the music, did you imagine this “nonexistent film” in your mind, or did it remain more abstract?

It is usually abstract. Music should take you where words failed to, poetry excluded. If you have something in mind that you can describe with words, why use music?

Recording the soundtrack for Ruy Guerra’s Aos Pedaços must have been a unique experience. How did working with such a legendary director influence your perception of music and the process of creating this album?

Machado III: It was definitely unique, and I was surprised to see how his (sometimes chaotic) methods were aligned with ours in a way. He is relentless and won’t stop until he believes he achieved what he had in mind. It doesn’t matter how frustrated some people might get in the process. He keeps pushing forward, he keeps tweaking small things here and there. For me, personally, it was a relief to see I’m not the only one that gets engulfed by this madness. It was also a testament that, sometimes, when technique fails, instinct can be your best friend.  

Knowing your passion for moving forward and constant experimentation, where do you plan to direct your energy after the album’s release? Do you have plans for a tour or new projects?

A tour would be great, although unlikely given the state of things. But we are working on doing at least a few shows, hopefully many, in different places. We are also already starting to think about the next album, so it won’t take us another three or four years until we have something new to show. 

Listening to |Time: Machine|, it feels like it could perfectly complement Lynch’s visual world. If you could pick one of his films that your music would suit best, which one would it be and why?

Lynch’s movies are perfect the way they are. They are so rich already, they don’t need music that has so much to say. That could actually become a distraction. Angelo Badalamenti, for example, had the talent of creating soundscapes that were simple but very inspired. It sets the tone perfectly, without getting in the way. I’d hate to be the one to try and compete against the work of someone like David Lynch. In fact, when I write for movies, I wear a completely different hat. I am there solely to serve the purpose of the film. When it came to working with Ruy Guerra, we were fortunate to have sections from our last two EPs that worked perfectly with the purpose of his film. The EPs are also not as dense as |Time: Machine|. That’s not to say that we couldn’t possibly have something from this album in a movie. But it is certainly more difficult when the music comes with so much information like ours.

You clearly draw inspiration from various art forms—films, contemporary dance, and more. Is there anything completely unexpected that inspires you? For example, morning coffee, walks in the park, or collecting odd objects?

I love dogs. Every time I see one, it reminds me to take a few steps back towards simplicity. It’s a happier place.  

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