Kavus Torabi: “With Gong’s prog I fight cynicism”

There is something deeply poetic about the way Kavus Torabi took up the baton from Daevid Allen. When the legendary founder of the Gong passed away in 2015, he left behind not just a band, but an entire cosmogony: that Flying Teapotthe flying teapot, which has been flying the skies of global psychedelia for over fifty years, between hippie philosophy, jazz rock and pure creative madness (for those who want to listen to them live, Gong will be this evening in Pordenone, tomorrow in Livigno and on April 11th in Borgomanero).

Torabi, an Anglo-Iranian multi-instrumentalist (even if he is too modest to accept this definition) with an eclectic career – former soul of Cardiacs and Monsoon Bassoon – has not limited himself to preserving a museum. With a “stubborn positivity” and an almost maniacal precision, led the band towards a new recording trilogy, culminating in the recent “Bright Spirit” (here is our review).

Kavus, Daevid Allen has asked you to continue the journey of the “Flying Teapot”. How did you accept this responsibility?

It’s a good question. It’s not something I immediately accepted with enthusiasm, to be honest. At first it seemed like a terrible idea: the idea of ​​carrying on a band without any original members, becoming the main songwriter… I just couldn’t see it working. We’re talking about ten years ago, when none of the current records yet existed. But Daevid cared a lot about it. While he was still alive, we had to promote the album we made together, I See You. We had an amazing new drummer, Chett Nettles, and we had to finish some tour dates without Daevid because he was sick. The idea was: “Let’s do these shows, I’ll sing (since I’ve led my own bands before) and then we’ll leave it at that.” It would have been a great story to have been a part of. But Daevid was adamant: “I want you to continue, I don’t want this band to die with me.” During those weeks on tour we discovered crazy chemistry; the music sounded great. I’ve played in bands all my life and I know that it’s not enough to put together good musicians: you need chemistry, and we had it. The label also encouraged us to record again. So we tried writing together to see if anything good would come out of it. He was born Rejoice! I’m Dead!which was our way of saying goodbye to him.

How did the fans welcome you?

The public response was splendid. Sure, some didn’t agree, and I understand that, but for me the choice was binary: either you do it or you don’t. And if you decide to do it, you have to throw yourself into it with passion and sincerity. Maybe it helped that I hadn’t been in the “Gong-universe” for decades; I loved their music, but I didn’t have the awe or caution that might have stopped me. It has been a strange journey, which has made me discover a lot about myself in these ten years. I can’t think of another example like this in the history of rock, and that’s why I love being a part of it.

The Gong mythology was linked to the hippie culture of the 1970s. How do you translate those consciousness-expanding concepts for the more cynical, hyper-connected listener of 2026?

I don’t know if our audience is cynical, but as far as I’m concerned, being part of Gong has been an evolutionary process. I have always been fascinated by mystical experiences, psychedelics, metaphysics, death and eternity. Before maybe I mentioned it in the lyrics in a veiled way; upon entering Gong, I had to allow these parts of me, which I kept somewhat hidden, to come out forcefully. Also as a performer: Daevid was charismatic and magnetic. I have never been shy, but I knew who I was replacing and I couldn’t afford half measures. I already had the same ideals and beliefs as Daevid; since I was a teenager I was attracted by the lifestyle and approach to spirituality that revolved around the band. I didn’t have to adapt anything, I just had to put my version of those mystical ideas at the forefront. Doing so made me grow as a person and made me less cynical. You can’t be in Gong and be a negative or cynical person: I would be the wrong man for this role. Being here pushes me to constantly seek positivity. I am an optimist, I always try to look upwards.

Manic precision and psychedelic abandon: you manage to make these two souls coexist.

I am very pleased to hear this, because these are two aspects of which I am aware. I have this tendency towards meticulous precision (and our drummer is the same), I come from a background of intensive rehearsals and entirely composed music. At the same time, however, I almost have to force my part linked to psychedelic abandonment to coexist with this rigor. It is an attempt to marry the two worlds. If you think I can, then it means I’m going in the right direction.

In long live suites, how much space do you leave for improvisation and what is the signal between you to return to Earth?

There are specific sections in the pieces where we know we can improvise. Usually there is a signal: it can be eye contact on my part (raising my eyebrows and chin, for example), or the drummer changing the “pull” or feel of the rhythm. We’ve known each other for ten years, now we feel when it’s time. Sometimes, if we feel like the improvisation is really going somewhere, we just sit back and see where it takes us, letting the music take its course.

You are a long-time multi-instrumentalist. Does music no longer have secrets for you?

Music is everything, but I want to make a clarification: I don’t consider myself a true multi-instrumentalist. I play a lot of instruments, but I’m not necessarily good at all of them. What I do is arrange them so that you don’t feel my technical limitations. For example, on my next solo album I play the piano: I’m not a great pianist, but by writing simple parts that fit together, the arrangement works. The only instruments I really master are the guitar, maybe the bass and the harmonium. For the rest, I tinker until it fits into the big picture. Yes, I still manage to be amazed. Maybe the trick is to feel like you’re not “there” yet. I feel like I’m always writing the same song, in every project, trying to get to the center of something that still eludes me. Each new piece is an attempt to get me closer to that core. It’s like when you make a joke in a conversation: the idea comes to you an instant before you say it, and you laugh at it yourself because you didn’t know you would think it until a moment before. With music it’s the same: maybe I wake up and there’s nothing, then an hour later a melody appears. I don’t try to rationalize too much where ideas come from, it always surprises me. Furthermore, playing with others forces you to react: it’s a constant give and take. I feel lucky to still be making music that excites me at my age and to feel like my best work is yet to come. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had a huge “bulky” commercial success. I’m known for Cardiacs or Gong, but I’ve never had to forcefully recreate a sound from the past. I simply document where I am on this strange journey, in this body that will one day fall apart. Gong’s new album is the music of a middle-aged man. In the future I would like to make the art that an older person makes, without trying to imitate what I did in my twenties. I admire bands like Iron Maiden, but sometimes I wonder why we want to make the same album over and over instead of exploring what a group of mature men have to say.

In a world that seems to increasingly close in on itself, your music is stubbornly sunny and vital.

I like the use of the word stubbornly. Music is what has attracted me the most for as long as I can remember. At nine years old I realized that you could make it your life, sing in a band, dress in black and look cool. That’s the language I understand. There are many things about the world that I don’t understand — politics, economics — and when I talk to those who know more than me I feel naive. But art and music don’t need explanations, I understand the mechanisms. So I move forward, following this call. If I stopped feeling this creative urge, I would stop doing it. It has never been a struggle to generate ideas; the effort is the work to achieve them as best as possible, but the inspiration just appears.

What distinguishes “Bright Spirit” from previous albums?

What differentiates it from the previous ones is the method. The last few records were written together in a room and tested live on tour before being recorded. This time we didn’t have that luxury, so we decided to do the opposite: a deliberately “studio” album, which we didn’t necessarily have to know how to play live. This gave us the freedom to insert synthesizers or parts – like Fabio’s guitar glissando (Golfetti, ed.) in At the Wonderment – which we would not have considered if we had had to immediately think about the live performance. Paradoxically, now we are playing many of those pieces live anyway, but the initial mental approach gave us a new freedom.

You spoke firsthand about what is happening in Iran and the responsibility of artists to expose themselves when they have a megaphone in their hand.

I don’t usually feel qualified to comment on conflicts or complex political situations. But in the case of Iran, being Iranian myself and having family there, I feel like I know better. In Iran there is an ongoing massacre of citizens by an oppressive regime that has been going on for 47 years, but now the situation has worsened. They executed an 18 year old boy just because he allegedly threw stones during a protest. These stories are not amplified enough. I feel a responsibility to talk about it. I don’t like using labels like “as an Iranian” or “as a person of color” — the world is round for everyone — but there is too much silence and too much misunderstanding about the brutality of the Islamic regime. Putting my face on it was stressful for me, because I never do it, but I felt frustrated and helpless. Citizens have been suffering from a total internet blackout for over a month: their voices are not heard, we only hear Western commentators or the regime’s propaganda. It’s heartbreaking: people are bombed on one side and at war with their own government on the other. I was born there, but I haven’t been able to return since I left.

But there is no direct link between your origins and your music.

I often ask myself this. I definitely feel a pull towards Middle Eastern sounds, which is also what made me love Gong as a kid. But I’m reluctant to burden it with too much meaning: I don’t want to take advantage of my origins or attribute false merit to them. Maybe I just like those musical scales, that’s all. But those who know me well, and know Iranians, say that I am a “typical Iranian”. So maybe there is something underneath.

I quote you: “It’s an old and lonely world now, but every breath we take is a miracle, I say.” Do you still have hope?

Oh, absolutely yes. When I wrote that verse, I was talking to myself. I had a very hard time during and after Covid, and that text was a reminder: “Come on, wake up.” If you look through the filter of an old and lonely world, everything seems hopeless. But we must remember that we are on an extraordinary journey, in this reality, in this spiritual or physical dimension, call it what you will. Being alive is a miracle. It’s easy to get crushed by circumstances, but the world is beautiful, life is beautiful, and people are beautiful. I really believe it.