In a landscape of fast hits and instant gratification, The Lost Boy by Wolfgang Webb unfolds like a cinematic whisper—intimate, reflective, and hauntingly human. Following 2023’s The Insomniacs’ Lullaby, this sophomore release deepens Webb’s introspective sound and lyricism. With themes of grief, unresolved emotion, inner child work, and healing woven throughout, The Lost Boy is a slow-burning opus that pairs ambient arrangements with soul-baring honesty. We spoke with Wolfgang about the emotional layers behind the album, his collaborators, and why he believes decay can be just as beautiful as growth.
The Lost Boy feels like a deeply personal continuation from The Insomniacs’ Lullaby. How would you describe the evolution of your sound and storytelling between the two albums?
I started working on The Lost Boy a few months before The Insomniacs’ Lullaby even came out. The first track I wrote for it was “March,” which ended up being the lead single. It really set the musical tone, and interestingly, the whole album ended up having this steady, mid-tempo feel throughout. I didn’t plan it that way—it just kind of happened. After recording everything, I realized The Lost Boy naturally found its groove, which is different from The Insomniacs’ Lullaby, where I was experimenting more with different genres and tempos.
Lyrically, I mostly picked up where I left off, but this time I was diving into inner child work. After finishing three or four songs, I decided to name the album The Lost Boy.
You mention that most of the album was created between midnight and 5 a.m. What is it about the late-night hours that fuels your creativity?
I’m definitely a night owl. There’s something about the quiet at night that helps me really sink into the music. After midnight, there are no distractions—just me, the music, and my voice.
Mortality, lost connections, and emotional healing are central themes on The Lost Boy. Were there specific life events or realizations that pushed you to explore these topics more deeply?
Over the past few years, I’ve lost three friends to suicide. In each case, there was no explanation, no note—just silence and absence. Around the same time, I was also coming to terms with some painful realizations about narcissistic abuse and the kind of manipulation that makes closure feel impossible. That sense of unresolved emotion really shaped the process of writing this album.
Toward the end of recording, I also lost my oldest friend, Ingrid, to cancer. Rest in peace, Ingrid. In her honor, I created a reprise version of the song “Clap.” My brilliant cellist, Yann Marc, performed my vocal melody on cello. The cello takes on the role of a voice—not just mine, but something beyond me—floating through grief, resilience, and release.
How did collaborating with Bruno Ellingham, Mark Gemini Thwaite, and Derek Downham shape the final sound of The Lost Boy?
Bruno stepped in on “The Ride” after six previous mixes didn’t feel right. He added ambient synths and new drums, which helped me re-record vocals with more hope. He also mixed “March” beautifully.
Mark Gemini Thwaite saved “Is It ok to Fall?” from being scrapped. I had this lead guitar melody in my head and sent him a demo singing it. He nailed it on the first pass—it became the third video-single.
Derek Downham and Andrew Lauzon brought a calm, generous energy to the record. They’re virtuosos and kind souls, which matters so much in the studio. Same with Yann Marc.
“March” features Esthero’s stunning vocals. How did that collaboration come about, and what was the experience like working together?
Esthero and I have been friends for a while. During a visit to L.A., I played her a finished mix of “March” and she instantly connected with it. She took her verse to a whole new level—angelic yet earthy, filled with wisdom. Her dissonant harmonies in the ad-libs are breathtaking. It was the perfect match.
“The Ride” blends trumpets and atmospheric synths in a really striking way. Can you talk about how that song came together both lyrically and sonically?
The vocal line and arpeggiated synth came to me immediately. I improvised most of the lyrics in three takes. The trumpet lines were inspired by Jane Siberry—I had the player improvise, then layered and edited everything. One accidental unmuted track ended up creating a magical trumpet collision. Sometimes, mistakes make the music.
Visually, the video for “The Ride” is human-less. My silhouette haunts decayed amusement parks and abandoned cinemas—nature slowly reclaiming human spaces. It’s a quiet homage to the resilience of the natural world.
You describe “March” and “The Ride” videos as filled with decayed beauty and symbolism. What drew you to those visual themes of abandonment and nature reclaiming human spaces?
I see a quiet beauty in decay. Abandoned places—cracked concrete, overgrown ruins—are reminders that no matter what we build, life finds a way. Nature pushes through, fills voids, and reclaims its space.
You’ve said that many of your songs are written very quickly. Can you share a memory from one of these spontaneous writing sessions?
With “March,” it started as an instrumental. Then one line hit me: “march to the death and you march to a baby’s breath.” I began improvising, and eight lines later, the lyrics were done. Carmen Elle added harmonies. Later, I realized it needed something more, so Esthero’s angelic voice became the final layer.
Creating four full music videos is ambitious. How important are visuals in expressing your music’s deeper layers?
Extremely. I’m a visual thinker. I see colors, scenes, and textures when I write music. If I had unlimited time and resources, I’d create a visual world for every track. The music is the canvas; visuals are the brushstrokes.
How involved were you in developing and shooting the videos for “March” and “The Ride”?
Very involved. I sketched concepts, gathered footage, and collaborated closely with Shauna MacDonald and Kristjan Viger. Shauna understood the emotional tone intuitively, and Kristjan’s silhouette concept added another layer of depth. For “The Ride,” we leaned into nature reclaiming human spaces, and for “March,” we made a lifeline of visuals—reminders that connection always exists, even in solitude.
Was there a particular piece of symbolism you feel listeners should pay close attention to when experiencing The Lost Boy?
I prefer listeners to interpret things freely. The Lost Boy is a slow burn—an open-ended experience. The symbolism is there, but it’s yours to define.
How has creating The Lost Boy impacted your personal healing journey?
Music is my therapy. I often don’t grasp what I’m really processing until the mix is done. It’s where I find resolution. Writing broken songs is my way of stitching things back together.
How does it feel now, looking back on the completed album?
Honestly, I haven’t looked back yet. I’m still finishing the fourth video and having these conversations. Maybe in a few months, I’ll breathe and reflect.
Did recording across France, LA, the UK, and Toronto influence specific tracks?
Absolutely. Music carries energy. Yann Marc’s French atmosphere shaped “Roads.” Bruno in the UK, Esthero in LA—each brought their own frequency. That collective energy flows through the record.
The blood orange vinyl is a beautiful touch. Why that color?
Blatta, who designed the cover, used blood orange flowers. Leanne Paura matched the vinyl to them. It ties the artwork and physical record into one cohesive narrative.
What’s next for Wolfgang Webb?
Sleep. And then… more healing, more music. But first, I’m going to take care of the lost boy.
For more information, visuals, and tour updates, follow Wolfgang Webb via his official channels and stream The Lost Boy on all platforms now.
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