Michael kovach
par John OdokTo all my fans around the world,
There are moments in every artist’s life when words feel insufficient—when emotions are too deep to be neatly arranged into sentences. This is one of those moments for me. I have spent the past few days thinking about the right way to reach out, the right way to express my gratitude, and most importantly, the right way to apologize. What I owe you is not just an explanation, but also sincerity, respect, and acknowledgment for the time, energy, and affection you have invested in me as an artist. You are the heartbeat of my creative journey, and today, I want to speak from that place of honesty and humility.
First, I must confront the reason behind this message: my absence from the Glitch Concert. I know that many of you had been anticipating that performance for months. Some of you purchased tickets, planned your schedules, and even traveled across long distances just to see me on stage—to hear the voices, the stories, and the energy that bring our shared world to life. To have disappointed even one of you pains me deeply, but to have disappointed so many loyal supporters around the world weighs heavily on my heart.
The truth is simple but unfortunate: I fell ill at a critical time. In the days leading up to the concert, I began feeling unwell—what at first seemed like exhaustion from travel and long recording hours quickly escalated into something more serious. After consulting with medical professionals, I was strongly advised not to travel or perform. My body was in no condition to endure the physical and mental demands that come with a live event of that scale. Every fiber of me wanted to push through, to show up no matter the cost, but my health refused to cooperate.
There was an internal battle—a war between duty and reality. As a performer, you learn to suppress pain, to smile through fatigue, to deliver for the people who believe in you. But this time, my body simply said no. And as much as I wanted to defy that limitation, I had to listen. To do otherwise would have meant risking more than a single concert—it could have jeopardized my voice, my recovery, and my ability to continue creating for you in the future. Still, I understand that none of this diminishes your disappointment, and for that, I offer my sincerest apologies.
When I heard the final decision that I would not be able to attend the Glitch Concert, I sat in silence for a long while. The stage is my second home, the place where the boundary between artist and audience disappears, where I feel the purest connection to all of you. To have that taken away, even temporarily, was devastating. I kept thinking of your faces—the excitement, the anticipation, the support you’ve always given me—and it broke me to know I wouldn’t be able to return that energy in person this time.
There are people who believe artists grow accustomed to missing out or that the demands of performance make us immune to guilt or sadness. I can assure you, that is not the case. Every fan, every listener, every person who has taken the time to engage with my work holds a special place in my journey. The disappointment of missing this concert has not just been professional—it has been personal. I feel I’ve let down not only my supporters, but also my collaborators, the organizers, and every individual who contributed to the preparation of the Glitch event.
Still, I believe that transparency builds trust, and that is why I want to share what truly happened. In the last week before the concert, I experienced a recurring fever and severe fatigue. What began as a mild ailment worsened quickly, and medical advice made it clear: rest was not optional. Ignoring that advice could have led to long-term complications. Even as I rested, I kept hoping for a miracle—a sudden improvement that would allow me to perform. But as the date drew closer, my strength simply wasn’t returning fast enough. The voice that I rely on, the very tool through which I connect to all of you, needed healing.
I realize that, from the outside, cancellations can seem abrupt or mysterious. You plan, you anticipate, and then suddenly, you hear that your favorite artist won’t appear. You’re left with questions, maybe even frustration. I understand that reaction completely. I’ve been on the other side myself—waiting eagerly for a moment that never came. That’s why I felt it necessary to address you directly, not through a press statement or an impersonal tweet, but through this letter. Because you deserve to hear from me, clearly and honestly, about what happened and how I intend to move forward.
Being unable to attend the Glitch Concert was not just a professional setback; it was an emotional one. That event represented more than a performance—it was a celebration of creativity, community, and the connection that transcends borders. It was meant to be a thank-you to all of you who have supported me through every project, every collaboration, and every challenging period of my career. To have missed that chance felt like losing a personal conversation I’d been preparing for months.
I don’t take lightly the trust that fans place in me. You have given me a platform to tell stories, to embody characters, to share emotions that unite us across distances and cultures. That trust is sacred. So when I say “I’m sorry,” it’s not a phrase I use casually—it’s a genuine expression of regret, directed to each person who felt let down by my absence.
In truth, this experience has reminded me of something we all tend to forget—the human side of artistry. Behind every voice, every character, every performance, there’s a person who is vulnerable to the same physical limits as anyone else. I often speak about resilience and dedication, but this illness reminded me that resilience also includes knowing when to stop, to recover, and to come back stronger. I needed to step back, not because I wanted to, but because continuing forward at that moment could have caused more harm than good.
To those who waited patiently, to those who defended me even when you didn’t have all the details, to those who sent messages of concern rather than criticism—you have my deepest respect. Your compassion gave me comfort when I needed it most. While I was away from the stage, I read so many of your kind messages, letters, and posts. Each one reminded me why I do what I do. The strength of a community is not measured in applause alone, but in understanding—and you have given me both.
Though my body needed rest, my mind remained with you. I thought of the concert halls, the fans holding banners, the lights dimming before a performance begins. That image gave me hope and motivation to recover, so that when I return, I can bring you not only my voice, but my full energy, health, and dedication.
