Frank’s Corner #14: In Conversation With Jogging House
Chopped loops, fuzzy frequencies, and albums as chapters in one’s life story.
Welcome back and happy last bits of 2025. Definitely a notable and semi-fucked up year, but that’s not to say there haven’t been some pretty spectacular bits musically and personally! I’m really excited about the last couple of interviews, as they are some more recent discoveries of mine that I have been heavily rotating through at the year’s tail end.
As many of you know, I am a drone and ambient fanatic before I am a man. It’s a simple fact, really - I love it so much. It’s the long tracks, big fat atmospheres, even the type of stuff you can neglect is playing, but it persists that scratches that certain nondescript itch. It’s a refreshing, rather malleable sensation being able to build a personal perception strictly off sounds rather than lyrics, which often hold pre-determined narratives that cut this feeling short (though I am, and forever will be a fan of a good lyrical hook, and lyrics in general…that is NOT the point I am trying to make here).
It was a cold, wet, kinda miserable evening in the East Village the other day, when Kiosk by Frankfurt-based synthesist Boris Potschubay, professionally Jogging House began on auto-play after the album I had been listening to was finished. The record is, in a word or two, “worldbuilding hyper-streamlined.” I felt I did not need lyrics as the heavily synthesized, chopped up, occasionally reversed, compacted, reverberated loops built vivid scenes I can’t describe in my own words (meaning lyrics likely wouldn’t be able to describe them either).
“Each album I make is like a chapter of a specific part of my life,” Potschubay tells me, the sounds reflecting what he believes each scenario in his life might sound like. I’m always endeared by approaches like these, and it was a super pleasure to get to hop on a call and chat about his music and processes from the past, present, and near-future.
I hope you take a read, it was a great time.
25F: I heard you describe your music as warm, hopeful, at times isolating or “distantly melancholy. What ingredients in Kiosk give that feeling to you?
Jogging House: I think tone plays a big role. I like to have a good bass presence, which isn’t always common in ambient music, and a bit of fuzziness or quirkiness in the sound. Within my music spectrum, Kiosk represents the more rhythmic, quirky side.
I like it when music feels like a memory. Not necessarily a real one, but something nostalgic and hard to define. That quality gives it warmth, or at least I hope so.
Was there a track on the record that especially emphasizes that feeling?
My personal favorite might be “Saddle.” It has a bit of a Western-ish vibe. I wouldn’t call it the warmest track, but it creates the strongest “fake memory,” if you will. It conjures the most vivid imagery for me.
Are there any little details in any songs that you love but listeners might miss?
There’s a track called “Door,” which has sort of a dance-y, rhythmic aspect. A subtle rhythmic layer not from percussion, but from smaller, almost accidental sounds.
The whole album was built from four-second tape loops a friend sent me, all short guitar snippets. I’d cut, stack, and rearrange them completely. Sometimes I’d take just a tiny noise, like a hand moving on the strings, and amplify it until it became the rhythmic foundation. Those little accidents are some of my favorite discoveries that turn non-music into music.
Was there a moment while making Kiosk when the project really “clicked” into place?
I tend to think in albums from the start. I’ll sit down and decide, “I’m making an album now.” It doesn’t take me months, but maybe that’s just my workflow. I pick a few instruments that feel cohesive and start experimenting until I can tell it’ll work as a whole. Then I build from there.
I made Kiosk in a similar way to Rendezvous, which was one of my favorite creative experiences. So I was eager to repeat that process.
Were there other artists or kinds of music you were listening to leading up to Kiosk that inspired you?
Not really. I actually don’t listen to much ambient music outside of my work. Since I make it myself and also run a label that releases it. I’m exposed to plenty of ambient already.
I mostly listen to rap, especially sample-based beats. It doesn’t influence me directly, but sometimes a clever lyric or rhythm can spark the urge to make something “smart” or interesting myself. I get more inspiration from mundane things, like watching trees or quiet moments.
Does running your label or collaborating with other ambient artists impact your own music or your passion for it?
Not at all. I’m truly happy to be involved in music. The label work takes up time, so there are stretches when I just can’t create anything myself, but that actually keeps me excited.
Working with other artists and discussing technical or philosophical ideas can ignite new thoughts, even if they don’t directly influence my sound. It’s more like a creative back-and-forth that keeps me engaged.
Do you think about how Kiosk fits alongside your other albums like Rendezvous or Whisper Glyphs, or do you treat each project as a fresh start?
Each album is its own world, usually with its own limited set of instruments and workflow. I like to approach each one as a separate environment, even if there’s some overlap.
Technically and emotionally, they each have their own “upbringing.” I also try to alternate between a few different moods, so I don’t repeat myself too much. My catalog forms little clusters of albums that feel related, but I enjoy starting fresh.
Do you feel different emotions while creating each project — and are there emotions you hope listeners feel when they hear them?
Yes. My albums almost map out my life story. They’re very personal, though they don’t always reflect my emotional state at the time. Sometimes I make music to create the mood I want, rather than document the one I’m in.
I hope people generally feel good listening to them, but reactions vary a lot. My favorite tracks might go unnoticed, while listeners love ones I nearly cut. I think that’s beautiful. Once the music is released, it’s out in the world and takes on its own meanings for each person.
That’s why my track names are just single words. I want to leave interpretation open.
Once a record is finished and released, is that a feeling of relief, or does it feel bittersweet to let it go?
Usually by the time it’s released, I’m already detached. I might have even recorded another album by then. Right after finishing, there’s a bit of emptiness, like a small creative hangover. It takes a few days before I can do something meaningful again.
What do those days after release look like? Is it mostly promotion work, or do you step away from music?
There’s a lot of DIY promotion like social media posts, emails, and shipping cassettes. Some aspects I enjoy, but social media, in particular, drains me. It’s necessary, but not something I like. After doing all that, I definitely can’t make music the same day. It completely saps my energy.
What kinds of things do you enjoy outside of music?
We live a fairly quiet life. Hiking, taking photos, spending time with our cats, watching films, and playing video games. Movies are probably my favorite. I can talk about them endlessly. I avoid loud or crowded places; I prefer calm environments.
Now that Kiosk is out and you have space to breathe, what’s next for you — musically or personally?
I just finished recording a new album four days ago and already received the masters. So now there’s another creative hole to fill.
I’m also planning to make new sound packs for synths and samplers. They take a long time but serve as a nice palate cleanser — still musical, but more technical. And I often learn something new in the process.
On the personal side, we moved into a new place in April and are still finishing renovations. There’s always something to do, pictures to hang, a wall to re-paint — that keeps me plenty busy for now.
Listen to Kiosk on Spotify and Bandcamp. Follow Jogging House on Instagram and Patreon.