Milky Chance have always existed slightly outside the usual map—German-born, globally resonant, and orbiting whatever corner of the musical universe feels right at the moment. But with Mind the Moon, their third LP, Clemens Rehbein and Philipp Dausch seem to be embracing that outsider gravity on purpose. When we talked, they were relaxed, funny, and maybe even a little relieved—because after the pressure cooker that produced their sophomore album Blossom, this one came together the way albums are supposed to: slowly, intentionally, with a year off the treadmill to breathe.
“People always say the second record is the pressured one,” Philipp says. “And yeah—that was definitely true. We were touring nonstop. Studio on the weekdays, festivals on the weekends. It was stressful.” So taking a year away from the stage to focus purely on songwriting became the reset button they didn’t realize they needed. “This one felt lighter,” he adds. “Way more comfortable.”
Comfort is a funny word for an album with collaborators spread across continents. On paper, Mind the Moon looks like a UNESCO playlist: Australia’s Tash Sultana, South Africa’s legendary Ladysmith Black Mambazo, and recording sessions that ping-ponged through Italy, Norway, and Germany. I asked if arranging a record across the world—during a time when nationalism was trying to wall everything off—was its own statement. Clemens laughs. “Not intentional,” he says, “but sure, you can see it that way.”
He calls themselves “children of globalization,” raised on playlists instead of borders. “People kept telling us, ‘You don’t sound German,’ and we were like… what does that even mean?” The answer, in their case, is: not much. This is a band whose earliest inspirations came from everywhere, and whose workflow now mirrors that reality. “There are no boundaries anymore,” Clemens says. “Our music is just the result of that.”
That openness shaped the album from the inside out, especially in the writing. On their debut, Clemens wrote the bulk of the songs alone. On Blossom, Philipp stepped in more. But Mind the Moon was the first time they built tracks together from zero—or brought in friends, bandmates, or outside musicians to sit in the room and throw ideas around. “We wanted to get inspired by all the people around us,” Clemens says. “So we opened everything up.”
Which is how you get a collaboration as unexpected—and quietly perfect—as Ladysmith Black Mambazo. The origin story is wonderfully mundane: no exotic studio session, no serendipitous meeting, just admiration and an email. “We knew their music from choir class in high school,” Clemens says. “We loved their harmonies. So we wrote them. That’s it.”
They sent over the demo. Ladysmith sent back pure magic. “We hardly had to give notes,” Philipp says. “The first demo they sent already felt right.”
Tash Sultana was the opposite kind of collaboration: not remote, but deliriously, jet-lagged-in-Melbourne immediate. The night that birthed “The Game”—the album’s lead single and one of its most personal moments—started as a sleepless, wine-fueled jam after flying halfway around the world. “We were so jet lagged,” Clemens says. “Two bottles of wine, two guitars, and we stayed up all night.” The melody came first. Then, as often happens in that half-conscious space, the words arrived without asking permission.
Looking back now, Clemens admits the song probably says more about their past few years than they realized while writing it. The overwhelmed moments. The sudden success. The feeling of not knowing the rules of the “game” you’re somehow expected to play. “It’s not just about success,” he says. “It’s about our lives in general.”
The album’s global feel also came from literally leaving home to make it. Instead of locking themselves in a familiar Berlin studio, they recorded in different places, chasing unfamiliar rooms and unfamiliar weather to shake loose new ideas. “We wanted to get out of what we know,” Philipp says. “New environments change how you work.”
Even their touring philosophy has evolved. Inspired in part by their run with Jack Johnson—whose eco-conscious practices have become practically mythological—they’ve launched “Milky Change,” a project aimed at reducing their environmental footprint on the road. It’s not about perfection; it’s about intention. “What we do isn’t sustainable,” Clemens says. “But we want to try. And we want people to see that journey.”
For a band that has been global from day one, Mind the Moon feels like the moment they realized just how big their world actually is—and how much responsibility comes with it. It’s the sound of two musicians loosening their grip, inviting the world in, and letting the songs become whatever they wanted to be.
Listen to the interview above and check out the track below.
