If you’re German, you already know the panda. For more than a decade, he has been one of the country’s most recognisable cultural symbols – a strange thing to say about a face nobody has ever actually seen. CRO is one of Germany’s biggest music exports of the last 15 years, carving out a genre of his own that he calls “Raop” and building the career to prove it: sold-out arenas, a Platinum-certified album, the youngest artist to perform on MTV Unplugged Germany, and a fanbase that has followed him across five albums without ever seeing the man behind the mask. In an era that rewards relentless visibility, he became famous by withholding it, allowing a silhouette to become as recognisable as the songs themselves.
The mask, however, was never part of some elaborate strategy. It emerged almost by accident, just as social media began rewarding constant self-exposure with attention. While everyone else seemed intent on documenting their lives, he never saw the appeal. “People were suddenly sharing every detail of their lives online,” he says. “I never really felt the need to do that”. So he released music without ever really showing his face. His label quickly recognised that the anonymity and mystery were creating something no marketing campaign could manufacture, and encouraged him to preserve it. Although he wasn’t immediately convinced, he trusted the process. After experimenting with a series of disguises, the panda emerged. “It was simple: black and white, it matched every outfit, and everyone loves pandas,” he says. The first time he saw himself photographed in it, he knew. “That’s it”.
Before music, CRO trained as a media designer, working as a cartoonist, illustrator and clothing designer. The panda was never an alter ego, but another creative medium in its own right – one that grew naturally from the visual language he had already been developing long before music. What first appeared to be a carefully constructed persona has revealed itself over time as something more instinctive: another way of exploring, alongside music, design and everything else that continues to shape his work today.
“When you try new things, visit new places and stay curious, life feels richer because you create so many different memories and ideas,” he says. His process often shifts with each project, obeginning with a fresh skill to master or a different approach to making. For one album, he learned guitar to bring a more Woodstock-inspired quality to the sound; for another, he turned to analogue tape to reshape his production style and achieve a warmer, more vintage feel. “Every new skill opens another creative door. The more I learn, the more concepts and possibilities I have for what I can create next”.
It is the same curiosity for life and creativity that has now brought him to Ibiza. Beyond the clichés of nightlife and escapism, he sees an island animated by people making things, starting things and collaborating. He is building a studio, eager to learn Spanish and spending more time behind the decks – not as a reinvention, but as a continuation of a creative practice that has never stayed within a single territory. The ambition is deliberately uncomplicated. “I love the ocean, the food, the people and the atmosphere,” he says. “Right now, Ibiza just feels like the place I want to be”.
Ibiza is the latest chapter in a longer search for balance. Berlin no longer offered the anonymity it once had. As smartphones turned every stranger into a photographer, the mystery that had once protected him began to demand something in return. He stepped away, trading the pace of city life for surf, yoga and quieter mornings on the other side of the world. For a while, the slower rhythm was exactly what he needed. Eventually, though, stillness gave way to a desire for a different kind of environment. “I’m starting to feel ready for something new again,” he says. “Back into movement.” Ibiza, with its combination of calm, chaos and creative momentum, feels more like the natural setting for what comes next.
Despite his fame, his pace feels deliberate and intentional, shaped by instinct rather than urgency. He is not restless, nor is he stepping away from music; he is simply following the direction that feels right. “I’ll spend a few weeks making music, then I naturally want to paint. After painting for a while, I start missing music again. Then maybe I want to travel, go on tour or learn something completely new,” he says. This constant movement – this need for change and discovery – is less a strategy than an inherent part of who he is.
Now, also under the name Carlito, painting has reappeared in parallel, with exhibitions and abstract works developed independently of album cycles or promotion. During the shoot, between photographs and conversation, we experience this alternative side of him as he repeatedly returns to a garment laid out beside him. Brush in hand, he adds another layer of paint whenever there is a pause, working with the same concentration he brings to all of his creative pursuits. By the time the cameras are packed away, another one-off piece has taken shape – part painting, part object, part fashion, created entirely in the moment. It might even be up for grabs.
Whatever form it takes, the same logic extends. Music, painting, illustration, fashion, design and DJing (hopefully in Ibiza) exist within the same conversation, each informing the other rather than standing apart. The panda made him instantly recognisable through music, but it was never the full story. It was simply the first visible point of contact with an artist who moves between different forms without settling into one fixed identity. As the shoot ends, I ask if there is anything he wants to add. He pauses, then laughs, “First of all, hi Mom. And of course, shout-out to Bonnie Strange… I’ll see you in Ibiza.”
