With Paul Gehl and his latest single “Train to Nowhere”, we are invited into a sonic space that feels suspiciously like the inside of a pressurized cabin just before the oxygen masks drop. It is fascinating to consider that Gehl, an artist hailing from Luxembourg City, has roots in the disciplined worlds of classical and flamenco guitar. You might expect delicate fingering or warm wood tones, but an injury pushed him toward electric songwriting, and the result sounds like a bone healing crooked stronger, perhaps, but aching when it rains.
The track opens with clean, chiming metallic vibrations that loop in a hypnotic pattern. It reminds me vividly of the way a refrigerator hums in an empty kitchen at 3 AM that specific frequency of loneliness that gets louder the harder you try to ignore it. Gehl, who self-produces every aspect of his work from his home studio, captures a sense of claustrophobia that a glossy studio team likely would have polished away.
When the song transitions, it doesn’t just get louder; the floor drops out. The somber restraint collapses into a thick, fuzzy wall of distortion, mirroring that precise psychological moment where suppressed sorrow curdles into explosive angst. The deep, gritty vocal performance moves through this sludge with a mournful heaviness, anchored by a rhythmic thumping that feels less like a drum and more like a heartbeat under stress.
As the high-pitched lead line begins to wail during the finale, soaring over the grunge instrumentation, I caught myself holding my breath. It’s a cathartic scream in musical form. Listening to this, you get the distinct sensation that Gehl isn’t playing for an audience, but rather trying to exorcise a shadow from the corner of the room.
If this is a train to nowhere, why does the scenery look so startlingly familiar?
