© 2026 True Underground. All rights reserved.

Pan-Pot, the Berlin-based techno duo of Tassilo Ippenberger and Thomas Benedix, have detailed their production acoustics, sidechain mechanics, and label philosophy in an extensive exploration of modern club dynamics. The discussion accompanies their live recording for episode 111 of the True Techno mix series on SoundCloud and the dual-label release of Everytime.

In the humid intensity of a Munich night, the dancefloor at Greenfields pulsed with a raw, collective force that Pan-Pot know intimately. Tassilo Ippenberger, one half of the duo and a native of the surrounding area, describes it as something close to a home game. Their recent live set for the True Techno mix series captured that energy from the first track, the crowd’s enthusiasm translating into an unrelenting momentum that leaps off the recording.

“It was intense from the very beginning. The Munich crowd is always incredibly enthusiastic, and you can really hear that energy in the recording. It gave the set a strong momentum right from the opening track… That connection made the atmosphere even more special, and we think it translated very naturally into the recording.”

That same drive for physical connection and hypnotic immersion runs through their latest single, Everytime. Released jointly across SECOND STATE and HUMAN, the track is built around a hyperdriving vocal sample that functions less like a traditional arrangement anchor and more like a mechanical centrifuge, spinning the listener deeper into the groove with each repetition. The spark came from a shared love of loopy, hypnotic house records.

“We wanted to capture that same kind of energy, where a simple element repeats and gradually pulls you deeper into the groove. When we found this vocal phrase, it immediately did exactly that for us. It has this addictive quality and creates a relentless forward momentum without needing to say too much.”

Processing the sample demanded careful restraint. The vocal itself remains direct and unadorned, while the space around it shifts through subtle filtering, effects and placement. Other elements drift in and out, ensuring the loop never settles into stasis.

“The key was to keep the loop simple while constantly changing the space around it… That balance was important: it had to remain hypnotic and relentless, like the classic house loops that inspired us, without becoming static or exhausting.”

Beneath the vocal chaos sits a low end of precise weight and punch. Both the sub-bass and mid-bass layers were crafted entirely on a Minimoog Voyager, heavily sidechained to the kick, with frequencies below 30 Hz cut for control. The bass remains strictly mono, refined with EQ and iZotope Ozone’s Impact and Clarity modules, guided by a trusted co-producer whose critical ears proved essential. The result is a track that feels both heavy and agile, rooted in house yet unmistakably Pan-Pot.

While the release bridges both of their platforms, the duo are clear about its true home.

“Everytime is very clearly a HUMAN release. This track represents the direction in which we want to take HUMAN moving forward. It is direct and powerful, but also loopy, playful and strongly rooted in house music. That balance feels very true to where we are creatively right now.”

Fans can stream and download it now on Beatport.

HUMAN emerged as a deliberate response to the fragmentation of modern club culture. Sets have grown shorter, genres narrower, and attention often drifts from the collective experience on the floor.

“Clubbing has become faster and more fragmented. With HUMAN, we wanted to create a space that brings attention back to the essential experience: people connecting through sound, losing themselves physically and trusting the full journey of a set. It is our response to modern club culture, but also a reminder of what made us fall in love with it in the first place.”

Where SECOND STATE was forged as a focused, peak-time techno vehicle – powerful, direct and engineered for maximum impact – HUMAN opens the frame. It still delivers intensity, yet makes room for groove, repetition, house influences and playful detours. The difference is one of scope: SECOND STATE hits the peak; HUMAN maps the entire journey around it.

That philosophy took to the streets on 15 August 2026 when Pan-Pot rolled out a custom truck for Rave The Planet in Berlin. Hosting their own vehicle at the parade had long been an ambition. Deeply tied to the city and its electronic-music heritage, they saw the mobile stage as a natural extension of HUMAN’s ethos.

“A moving truck also reflects what the concept is about: bringing people together through music without the boundaries of a traditional club. It gave us the opportunity to celebrate the city and the culture that have shaped us while sharing the HUMAN vision in its most open and collective form.”

Engineering heavy techno for a moving, open-air system presented distinct challenges. Wind, shifting reflections, an audience in motion – all demanded careful system tuning to keep the low end tight and controlled without sacrificing the pressure crowds expect.

“It’s a bit of a balancing act: heavy, controlled and powerful, but still musical enough that it works as a moving sound system.”

Alongside them on the truck were Ali3n and ONYVAA, chosen for the strength of their individual identities. Neither chases trends; both bring a distinct energy and attitude that keeps the journey evolving.

“We wanted the truck to feel like a journey rather than just a lineup of DJs playing one after another. Their sound fits naturally into that darker, driving side of techno we love, but they still have enough individuality to keep the energy constantly evolving.”

For Pan-Pot, participation in Rave The Planet carried personal weight. The parade continues the legacy of the original Loveparade, keeping the culture’s values visible in public space.

“It feels very personal and, in many ways, like a full-circle moment. Berlin and its club culture have shaped us enormously… To participate with our own truck and contribute to that legacy was both emotional and a great responsibility.”

HUMAN has since expanded to Amsterdam, New York and beyond. Adaptation, they insist, is less about geography and more about reading the people in the room. Berlin remains a reference point of rawness and freedom, yet the core identity travels intact. Pacing and energy shift according to the crowd, but the goal is always the same HUMAN feeling rather than a carbon-copy event.

In the studio, the pair maintain a steady output (Futoreno, KALTSTROM, OPERA, Nightcode and more) by refusing to force a singular sound. Tracks begin from different sparks: a synth experiment, a groove, a vocal. Ideas that feel too familiar are set aside and revisited later.

“The important thing is that every track has its own personality and a reason to exist… They should each tell a slightly different story while still feeling like they come from the same universe.”

Balancing two active labels with a full global touring schedule relies on communication and a trusted team who understand both visions. Decisions are discussed regularly; trust keeps the machine running while the duo are on the road.

When demos arrive, identity is the primary filter. Technical polish can be refined, but a track without personality or an idea offers little foundation. They listen for an immediate reaction – a groove, an unexpected arrangement, a tension that lingers.

“If we listen to it and still think about it an hour later, that’s usually a very good sign.”

Long-form sets have become a signature of HUMAN showcases, including eight-hour sessions in Berlin. With that much time, there is no need to start at peak intensity and hold it. The approach is narrative: a rough direction, then responsiveness to the room. Deep, hypnotic passages give way to rising rhythm; tension builds, resets and redirects.

“After eight hours, you want people to feel like they’ve been on a journey, not like they’ve just listened to one very long techno set.”

In an era of rapid subgenre fragmentation and short-form digital media, Pan-Pot protect their sonic identity by ignoring the chase. Trends are noted, but the focus remains on groove, tension and the physical sensation of a big system.

“The goal isn’t to sound ‘current’. It’s to sound like us. And honestly, after so many years, you develop a kind of musical instinct.”

The physical experience of the club remains irreplaceable. Videos can show the lights and the crowd, but they cannot replicate the feeling of a sound system at 4 a.m., surrounded by thousands. Music and events are designed first for the room; digital platforms exist only to draw people toward that moment.

Creative disagreements in the studio are treated as signals rather than obstacles. After years of collaboration, differing perspectives usually mean a track has not yet fully revealed itself. Versions are tested, ears refreshed, and the dancefloor often provides the final verdict.

“It is never about one person winning… The final decision has to be what makes the track stronger, and the contrast between our perspectives is often what gets it there.”

Looking ahead, both platforms are entering a more open, dynamic phase. New music continues to arrive – the PLANET series and further HUMAN material among it – while the live experience expands through longer sets and varied environments. SECOND STATE remains the home for forward-thinking, system-ready techno; HUMAN pushes the journey itself. The two evolve side by side without predictability. As Pan-Pot put it, they prefer to let the music and the experiences speak for themselves.

Both the sub-bass and mid-bass layers for Everytime were crafted entirely on a Minimoog Voyager synthesizer.

The single Everytime was released jointly across the SECOND STATE and HUMAN record label platforms.

Frequencies below 30 Hz were cut for control, while bass layers remained strictly mono and heavily sidechained to the kick drum.

The custom mobile sound system truck was hosted at the Rave The Planet parade in Berlin on 15 August 2026.

Musical artists Ali3n and ONYVAA joined the performance lineup on the custom truck stage at Rave The Planet.

Episode 111 of the True Techno series is available for streaming on SoundCloud.

The post Pan-Pot Live From Greenfields | True Techno Podcast 111 appeared first on True Underground.

© 2026 True Underground. All rights reserved.

True Techno 110 arrives as both a mix and a map. Warsaw producer Jerzy Przeździecki, working across the names Praecox, Epi Centrum and his own, steps into the True Underground series with a recording that traces more than three decades of electronic music. Released in August 2026, the set gathers material from his principal projects and draws a clear line from the radical energy of 1990s Polish underground culture to the hardware-focused experimentation that defines his work today.

Picture Warsaw in the 1990s: the National Stadium market thick with residual tension, heroin a visible presence on the streets, organised crime simply part of the city’s fabric. At the same time, strobe lights cut through LSD fog in clubs, illegal parties flared in surrounding forests, and the Academy of Fine Arts operated as a permanent engine of rebellious ideas. Cassette players ran constantly in the studios. Students staged events that regularly escaped official oversight. From that charged atmosphere stepped Jerzy Przeździecki, a producer who has spent his career refusing simple labels, moving between the identities of Praecox, Epi Centrum and his given name.

True Techno 110 captures that restless movement. The mix is not a standard selection of tracks but a carefully plotted route across thirty years of changing sound.

I have to admit I spent quite a bit of time thinking about its concept, especially in the context of my work as a producer. In the end, I decided to create a musical journey through my three artistic identities, different periods of my career, and the styles that have shaped my sound over the years. In the mix you’ll hear tracks by Epi Centrum, Praecox, and Jurek Przeździecki. I hope this journey through more than 30 years of my musical evolution will be enjoyable both for you and for the listeners, while also giving them a chance to discover the different dimensions of my work.

Post-communist Warsaw still carried the weight of the previous decades. Forest raves, specialist record shops and the Academy of Fine Arts together created an environment where radical thinking was everyday practice. Music filled every studio space. Inside that setting Przeździecki’s own direction took shape. Early listening had centred on punk and hardcore; those influences slowly opened onto Throbbing Gristle, Psychic TV, Nitzer Ebb and Cabaret Voltaire. The shift proved decisive. For the first time he felt compelled to produce original work and establish a personal voice. An Atari computer and a modest collection of machines became the tools for his first experiments.

The Academy also housed Blue Velvet, a network of basement rooms that absorbed him for days at a stretch. Events ran throughout the week and drew overlapping communities. There he encountered Tromesa, already respected on the international psy-trance circuit. The partnership that followed produced Bigwigs and launched years of worldwide travel. Viewed from the present, the progression feels continuous rather than accidental. Punk, industrial, psy-trance and today’s experimental techno each added another stratum to a single ongoing narrative. He has never sought membership of any one scene. The search has always been for an individual vocabulary.

The reason was very simple. Through Praecox, I had become strongly associated with psy-trance and psy-techno. That project was deeply rooted in the fluorescent aesthetics and culture of the psychedelic scene, which made it difficult for people to approach my newer music on its own terms. The music I was creating had very little to do with psy-trance anymore. So I decided to release my minimal techno work under my own name, Jerzy Przeździecki, while reserving Epi Centrum for the darker, heavier, and more experimental material. It was a way of bringing clarity to my artistic portfolio rather than separating my work into rigid genres. For me, these projects have always been different facets of the same artistic identity, not boxes defined by stylistic boundaries.

Industrial music supplied a foundational attitude rather than a set of surface sounds. Its refusal to compromise, its roughness and its readiness to confront the listener shaped his entire method. Early Praecox pieces such as Mechanikum and Minigram drew on machine rhythms, excerpts from horror and science-fiction cinema, and prepared violins. Acoustic feedback has remained a constant technique. Reverbs, delays, analogue filters or distortion units can all be pushed into self-oscillation by returning output to input under controlled conditions, generating organised disorder. One ongoing collaborative project is constructed entirely around the generation and sculpting of feedback. The inheritance from industrial culture was philosophical: energy, a doctrine of creation, and the conviction that sound itself can function as experiment and confrontation.

As the underground of the 1990s gave way to a more formal club network in the early 2000s, hearing his own productions played on club systems beside records by admired artists supplied both satisfaction and unforgiving feedback. Each night out became a lesson. He returned to the machines, adjusted, refined and advanced.

Initial wider distribution came through Damon Wild’s Synewave and Jacek Sienkiewicz’s Recognition. Both figures had lived in Warsaw; contact was almost inevitable. The 2009 EP Loop Pool appeared on Recognition. Damon Wild later reached out after hearing the record, beginning a connection that continues. Support from labels known for rigorous selection confirmed the value of his personal approach and encouraged further development.

Running several projects at once in the mid-2000s required no complex technical separation. Entering the studio was closer to choosing a destination. Once the direction (Epi Centrum or Praecox) was set, listening habits and the hunt for particular textures, rhythms and emotional registers shifted accordingly. More frequently the choice arose from improvisation itself: a sound or unexpected event would declare its own affiliation. Emotion was allowed to lead, because the strongest results tended to appear when rigid control was relaxed.

Live performance methods have changed markedly. During the Bigwigs period, shows in Japan, Australia and South Africa relied on a 24-channel desk, samplers, synthesizers and a MIDI-linked computer, standard equipment for the era. Roughly fifteen years ago sets were almost wholly improvised; listeners rarely recognised material from the records and often requested more familiar pieces. Current practice uses two complementary systems. One pairs a compact modular setup with an Octatrack, the modular supplying unpredictability while the Octatrack holds loops and fragments that are continually reordered in real time. The other combines Octatrack and Digitakt II, presenting released tracks as stems while generating fresh sequences and arrangements on the fly. Both methods keep composition and spontaneity in productive tension. A concert should never simply replay the studio versions.

Buchla instruments formed the central architecture for work released on Trapez and Affin. Even amid the expansion of Eurorack, Buchla retains a distinctive sonic identity and working method. The instrument often resists simple, conventionally tonal results more stubbornly than complex, abstract ones, a quality Przeździecki actively welcomes, allowing the system to suggest directions he would not have chosen deliberately. Epi Centrum material for Trapez leaned on the Triple Morphing Filter’s capacity for dissonance; pieces such as Exponential Density and Crepuscular carry that unstable character. Affin releases centred on the Buchla Music Easel, a more immediately navigable instrument that nevertheless preserves the essential Buchla voice.

Material that reached Sven Väth’s Cocoon Recordings was never designed as straightforward club weaponry. By Epoxy in Burnout is restless and syncopated, content to wait for the precise moment in a set. Qwerty Poema moves in the opposite direction, more lyrical, reflecting a period of immersion in classical harmony. Both tracks had already been tested extensively in clubs and festivals. The sense of space and emotional weight found in Qwerty Poema continues to resonate in later work.

Nina Kraviz’s трип label reopened the Praecox chapter for both new listeners and the producer himself. What had felt like a closed phase found fresh life. The music emphasises hypnosis, unpredictability and extended phrases that dissolve before full resolution. Bass construction differs from other projects: multiple independent layers typically supply weight, motion and harmonic or textural colour simultaneously. Precise attention to phase and frequency placement produces physical depth on large systems that a single bass line cannot match.

Work with pianist and composer Andrzej Karalow rests on shared commitment to improvisation. Albums Wir and Pedestal’s Complement emerged from extended free sessions that were later shaped through editing, treated as evolving blocks rather than layered constructions. Live performances remain entirely improvised. Przeździecki’s contribution frequently introduces contrast, the piano’s fragile expressiveness set against the unstable, distorted character of the Buchla Music Easel, so that the two voices challenge and complete one another.

Routine is deliberately disrupted. Several ideas are kept in motion at once; when progress stalls on one, attention shifts elsewhere. Starting points are never predetermined. A rhythm, a sequence or hours of open Buchla improvisation can each launch a piece in an entirely different direction. Even the sequence of decisions alters the final character. Self-imposed limits sharpen invention. Current experiments restrict the palette to a single instrument, the Roland SH-101, testing how much depth can be extracted from one voice.

Mixing begins with the room. Accurate monitoring in a treated space outweighs any individual piece of equipment. The conceptual priority leans closer to high-fidelity listening than to functional club sound, though dancefloor effectiveness remains important. Each element is treated as a participant in a conversation that must remain clear and purposeful. Microscopic details, faint movements, quiet textures, are retained as invitations to repeated listening.

On stages from South America through Europe to Asia, especially at large outdoor festivals, the performance system must be dependable above all. Soundcheck permits fine adjustments to the room and PA, yet the underlying requirement never changes: equipment must be robust enough that attention can remain on the music and the audience rather than on technical survival.

Across more than twenty years the core impulse has stayed constant: the wish to surprise himself and the simple curiosity about what happens when a particular control is touched. Originality remains non-negotiable. Intuition is trusted over calculation. The studio functions as a place of exploration rather than production quotas. Tools evolve; the underlying aim does not, to remain honest to personal direction and to produce work that brings genuine satisfaction.

Large Kimono, released as Praecox on Ellen Allien’s BPitch Control, was shaped as an unrestricted statement of artistic feeling and a direct challenge to algorithmic systems and homogenised club culture.

In my creative process, I deliberately avoid tools that make artistic decisions for me. Artificial intelligence can be incredibly useful, and I value it as a technology, but in the studio I remain the creator and the final arbiter of every decision. Despite AI’s extraordinary rate of development, I believe that emotional judgment is still uniquely human. The ability to shape, recognize, and communicate emotion is what gives art its meaning—and what continues to define our value as creators. From the very beginning, Large Kimono was conceived as an uninhibited expression of artistic emotion. In many ways, it’s also a provocation aimed at contemporary technology—a question addressed to the mythical “system”: Can you do this? This album is built from everything that has shaped my artistic sensitivity over decades: intuition, lived experience, accidents, contradictions, and emotions accumulated over a lifetime. These are things that no language model or generative system truly possesses. The tension between accident and order, unpredictability and intention, softness and rawness—this is where my music lives. That’s the system I build. Not an algorithm, but a human one.

The record was complete before contact with Allien. Ten finished tracks simply required a suitable home. A concise Instagram message produced a rapid reply and, in time, the BPitch release. Allien’s input focused mainly on choosing four pieces for the vinyl edition, the same four that held the strongest personal significance for the producer.

Authentic creation, in his view, demands a form of productive friction: the willingness to interrogate every decision and discard work that falls short. The principal difficulty with Large Kimono lay in resisting shortcuts and sustaining the patience required to reject the merely adequate until something lasting appeared.

In autumn 2026 a full-length album on IDO Records will gather material recorded under the name Jerzy Przeździecki. Several tracks date from three to five years earlier and have been revisited, remixed and remastered. Tempos sit around 134 BPM. The collection draws on classic Detroit techno qualities (rawness, openness, spatial depth) while remaining stylistically varied. It functions less as a pre-planned concept and more as an archive of accumulated feelings and observations.

I think the strongest connection this album can make across generations is authenticity. Not its tempo, not how closely it follows current trends, but the simple fact that it reflects who I am. There’s no performance, no pretending to be someone else. Age is never a barrier if the person on the other side is willing to listen with an open mind. Emotions don’t belong to a particular generation – they don’t have an expiration date or an age limit. Creating music that is driven by emotion requires faith: faith that those emotions will eventually find someone and provoke a genuine response. For me, making music has never been an end in itself. It’s a tool that can lead to something more meaningful – a change in the way someone feels, thinks, or experiences the world. Everyone experiences that change differently, but that’s exactly what gives music its purpose for me. The possibility of moving people, awakening emotions, and giving meaning to an experience is what continues to make creating music worthwhile after all these years.

True Techno 110 presents that continuity in audible form. Across one continuous sequence, Praecox, Epi Centrum and Jurek Przeździecki speak together, three decades of evolution compressed into a single, living document.

Check out all editions of True Techno podcast here.

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© 2026 True Underground. All rights reserved.

Corsican electronic music producer PETRU KSS delivers an expertly curated 33-track set for True Techno Podcast 109, released on 24 June 2026. The broadcast integrates his performance philosophy with material from his debut album, Kolibri Live LP, recorded during a continuous live take at sunrise on a remote Corsican hilltop. His long play anchors his hardware-centric framework developed under the mentorship of Richie Hawtin at the University of Huddersfield.

PETRU KSS anchors True Techno Podcast 109 with a performance that highlights his hardware-focused sonic philosophy. This broadcast represents his deep technical expertise into standard club environments. By prioritizing narrative flow over standard club trends, his curated selection creates a direct link between his live energy and club dynamics.

The performance directly expands upon his debut long-player, Kolibri Live LP, which was recorded under extreme environmental constraints. For the album, PETRU KSS carried his production setup up a remote Corsican hillside in total darkness to capture a continuous sunrise take. Managing heavy equipment in shifting temperatures and high humidity introduced random variables that actively shaped the recorded material.

“The whole set is alive because I felt alive. Past the preparation, physical effort, low error margin related to time and setup, when the set starts, it would just be ‘finally, it’s time to enjoy!'”

The structural backbone of this project relies entirely on THRiPPS. This structural methodology stands for Techno Hardware-centric, Real-time, Improvisation, Production and Performance Study. PETRU KSS refines this practical framework at the University of Huddersfield as the inaugural recipient of the Richie Hawtin PhD Scholarship.

The academic endorsement provides a structured platform to examine how professional touring acts interact with hardware instrumentation. His workflow prioritizes real-time decision-making, which intentionally opens the performance to technical risk. Rather than correcting unstable analogue oscillators or unexpected resonance spikes, these elements remain embedded within the arrangements.

This rejection of digital optimization defines his primary performance motto, WYHWYT. The acronym translates directly to What You Hear Is What You Touch, establishing a firm boundary against screen-heavy workflows. His physical configuration relies on machines like the Analog Rytm, Moog Minitaur, and Dreadbox Typhon to construct a comprehensive club environment without a computer mouse.

“Those perfectly imperfect moments, slightly drifting oscillators and unexpected resonances, these are part of a live performance DNA, and represent a human risk that AI-driven music simply cannot replicate.”

Following the initial live tracking phase, PETRU KSS delivered the multi-track files directly to Hannes Bieger for mixing. The tracking stems then went to Calyx for final audio mastering to guarantee competitive club translation. The finished material stands as a clear alternative to the polished studio outputs and automated arrangements defining the 2026 techno landscape.

His neurodivergent traits serve as a critical functional asset during high-stakes hardware improvisation. The physical layout of separate control surfaces triggers a state of deep hyperfocus during complex sequences. Removing deep software submenus limits external distraction, satisfying the neurological requirement for physical motion and direct acoustic feedback.

“Adrenaline triggers a state of hyperfocus for me and my neurodivergence allows me to forget everything else when I have a specific goal in mind, translating into laser-sharp focus and resilience. The physicality of a hardware setup reduces the friction and distraction I’d get from a mouse and a screen.”

PETRU KSS balances these raw hardware improvisations with standard club curation, drawing on over two decades of traditional DJ experience. His contribution to True Techno Podcast 109 condenses an extended electronic narrative into a precise sixty-minute club window. The podcast documents an authentic human take, preserving real performance tension within a structured digital format.

The continuous evolution of his imprint, Kolibri Space Shuttle Records, guides the broader narrative of the project. The label operates on thematic pillars of space aesthetics, cinematic sound design, and raw live tracking. This platform enables PETRU KSS to expand his academic findings into collaborative remix packages and community-led production contests.

By inviting outside artists to reinterpret his raw stems, the label establishes a system of shared authorship within underground techno. High-profile support from long-standing industry figures provides crucial validation for his physical production theories. This ongoing industry exposure builds a foundation for his upcoming tour dates and future studio album concepts.

The THRiPPS architecture will continue to guide his academic commitments and university lectures over the next eighteen months. This balanced combination of educational theory and direct club application establishes a functional blueprint for future hardware performers. As his tracking setups adapt, the central objective remains focused on human intuition over mechanical perfection.

01. US and SPARKLES – It Was Already In Me

Petru KSS continues to develop his comprehensive performance framework through global club appearances and ongoing label showcases.

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© 2026 True Underground. All rights reserved.

Swiss techno producer and Solid Dark label co-owner Cédric Mokus, performing under his Kadric moniker, has delivered the latest edition of the Kadric True Techno podcast directly from the underground circuit of Bern, Switzerland. This hard-hitting audio presentation showcases his evolution from early minimal rhythms into a heavy, peak-time sonic blueprint. By positioning raw hypnotic power at the centre of the mix, the execution addresses a growing regional demand for immersive, compromise-free dancefloor movements.

Music became a core element of the producer’s identity during his school years, spent composing original works and performing in traditional bands. A pivotal club night in Bern redirected that creative focus entirely toward electronic frequencies. His initial venture into production arrived via the minimal tech project Krafteck, capturing international attention with releases on prominent labels including Reload Records, Hungry Koala, DC10, and Doubsquare Records. The early track Madness climbed to number 98 in the Beatport Minimal Techno chart, establishing a technical foundation that would later undergo a radical transformation.

In 2019, Mokus closed the minimal chapter to launch his current identity. The transition reflected a calculated shift toward a weightier, more menacing sonic territory, mirroring the hardening preferences of the broader European club scene.

“The transition was less about leaving something behind and more about a natural evolution of my artistic vision,” Kadric explains. “Over time, my taste shifted more and more towards darker, hypnotic and high-energy sounds. At the same time, the Swiss underground scene evolved, creating a growing demand for intense, emotional and immersive dancefloor experiences. Kadric gave me the opportunity to fully embrace that direction and express my creativity without limitations.”

This pursuit of creative freedom is evident in his role within Solid Dark, an autonomous imprint co-founded by Kevin Stäger (Kevqube) and David Kawka, with further input from Juan Vasquez (Dee Jota). The label has rapidly expanded its footprint, issuing the comprehensive 13-track Hypnosis 1 compilation. Kadric contributed the heavy composition Parallax to the release, a production designed explicitly to push club monitoring systems to their structural absolute limits.

“With ‘Parallax’, the dancefloor impact was the main focus from day one,” Kadric says, breaking down his studio architecture. “The foundation of the track is the relationship between the kick and the bassline. The goal was to create a deep, powerful yet controlled low-end that works on any sound system. Every percussion layer, texture and sound was carefully placed to support the hypnotic flow of the track.”

Managing such dense frequencies requires strict discipline during the mixdown process, ensuring that sharp synth stabs cut through highly compressed sub-bass lines without causing acoustic fatigue.

“The most important aspect is balance,” Kadric notes. “It is not about making elements louder, but about giving each sound its own space within the frequency spectrum. At the same time, it is very important to me that my productions remain recognisable and that listeners immediately know there is a Kadric track behind the sound.”

The success of this approach is validated by his chart history and industry backing. His single Pressure reached number 82 on the global Beatport Techno charts, and his studio output routinely receives performance support from high-tier industry mainstays including Adam Beyer, Chris Liebing, Charlotte de Witte, Amelie Lens, Pan-Pot, Spartaque, T78, and The YellowHeads.

The curation on the new podcast functions as an extension of the programming principles utilized by the Solid Dark collective. The crew balance intimate basement club showcases, such as their recent residency at Sous Soul Bern, alongside massive public spectacles including an upcoming 36-hour non-stop warehouse rave at the Berner Stadtfest on June 19th. This wide spectrum requires an advanced understanding of energy pacing and crowd communication.

“The biggest difference is energy management,” Kadric observes. “In an intimate venue like Sous Soul, you can take more time, build tension slowly and guide the crowd deeper into a musical journey. At a festival, the communication with the audience needs to be more direct.”

While maintaining a demanding schedule that includes balancing family life with running an online marketing agency and an e-commerce business, Kadric approaches music through a lens of strict purity. The selection across this podcast avoids passing internet trends, focusing instead on long-term narrative depth, soul, and structural pressure. It serves as a direct reflection of a career built on Swiss stages like X-TRA Zürich, Wankdorf Eventhalle, Gaskessel Bern, Hive Zürich, Elysia, and the Zurich Street Parade.

“The DJ’s role is to embrace the atmosphere and guide the crowd through a journey,” Kadric states. “It is no longer about individual tracks, but about moments, emotions and shared memories.”

Listen to all latest True Techno Podcast editions here.

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© 2026 True Underground. All rights reserved.

In an exclusive interview for Change Underground Polish techno producer DEAS (Karol Mozgawa) addressed the commercialisation of modern club culture and discusses his hardware production methodology. In this exclusive feature for true techno podcast 107, broadcasting from his studio base in Krakow, Poland to the global underground community. Greek-born and Poland-based, DEAS has carved an uncompromising path from local residencies at Smolna and Tama to international stages including Awakenings, Extrema, and E1 London. With a sonic footprint spanning CLR, ARTS, and Planet Rhythm, his output remains fiercely rooted in hypnotic grooves, live hardware interaction, and an uncompromised artistic vision. We sat down with DEAS to talk analogue obsession, the evolution of his sound, the expansion and occasional dilution of the global techno scene, and why authenticity still matters more than follower counts.

DEAS has long held a reputation as a dedicated hardware specialist, though his relationship with machinery is more collaborative than dogmatic. While software plays a functional role in his workflow, the driving energy of his music stems from the tactile, unpredictable feedback loops of physical gear. He approaches music production not as a rigid programming exercise, but as an unfolding journey where the final track acts essentially as a natural side effect of the physical process.

This hands-on methodology yields tracks and DJ sets with a distinct, lived-in texture; hypnotic, precise, yet continually inventive. It is groove-focused techno built for long-form dancefloor immersion rather than instantaneous algorithmic satisfaction. His recent Drifted Off EP on ARTS showcases this ongoing structural evolution, weaving spoken-word elements and subtle melodic layers into his signature driving atmospheres without altering his core artistic trajectory. Rather than attempting to reinvent the wheel, his studio work focuses entirely on introducing sharp internal surprises while staying true to an idiosyncratic musical vision.

The global expansion of techno has undoubtedly broadened the audience for underground sounds, a reality DEAS acknowledges as a major benefit for emerging artists and independent labels. However, this mainstream saturation brings an inevitable compromise: the transformation of club culture into visual spectacle. Across international circuits, events increasingly prioritise sensory distraction over sonic depth, shifting the focus away from the music itself.

This commercial transition forces electronic music figures into a compromise between performance and digital marketing optimization. DEAS rejects the contemporary pressure to treat music as an optimized commodity, drawing a clear line between the responsibilities of a creator and those of a digital marketer.

“My approach to art in general is not focused on constantly trying to make it ‘sellable’,” he notes. “I am not a content creator; I see myself as an artist. An artist creates what they feel… they don’t ask the audience what they expect from them.”

This strict boundary dictates how he reads crowd energy across different territories. While some international hubs lean heavily into the curated show, others preserve the raw musical connection that initially defined the subculture.

This tension forms the thematic core of his Vibrations EP on Planet Rhythm, highlighted by the pointedly titled track “Fake Things.” Released in early 2026, the project lands amidst ongoing industry debates regarding inflated social metrics, bought followers, and the rise of the manufactured profile. While DEAS leaves the track open to individual interpretation, the critique of a scene dominated by artificial engagement remains apparent.

Despite the distortion of booking ecosystems by digital algorithms, he notes that experienced promoters are increasingly looking past superficial data. Metrics do not guarantee real-world ticket sales or dancefloor command, a reality that offers a baseline of hope for authentic talent. For emerging producers looking to establish themselves within this dense landscape, his perspective remains resolutely anti-formulaic.

“It’s not a matter of giving anyone advice,” he states. “I do what I do because I can’t live any other way. So if you feel that kind of inner need, then go for it.”

This intrinsic drive remains critical, particularly as studio craftsmanship and stage command demand fundamentally different technical strengths.

The future of the genre relies heavily on localized resistance to corporate curation. DEAS finds inspiration not in major festival trends, but in independent collectives establishing intimate events in unconventional spaces, alongside the specialized developers building new production tools. For those seeking an entry point into his catalog, his work on Chris Liebing’s CLR or the hypnotic structures of “Geeks On Hubbard” serve as ideal foundations; best experienced with minimal external distractions, letting the machines dictate the narrative.

In an era dominated by superficial noise, his focus remains entirely on the preservation of a grounded, analogue path. It is this refusal to compromise that ensures his grooves continue to cut through the industry layout.

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Rather than attempting to reinvent the wheel, his studio work focuses entirely on introducing sharp internal surprises while staying true to an idiosyncratic musical vision.

“I do what I do because I can’t live any other way. So if you feel that kind of inner need, then go for it.”

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Juheun’s trajectory is a study in creative survival. After over a decade performing as DJ Tranzit in the American house scene, he faced a choice: continue playing tracks he didn’t like to satisfy a commercial bottle-service culture, or return to the “faceless” roots that originally defined his love for electronic music. His return to techno was a reclamation of mental health and artistic clarity, a move away from the “noise” of social media influencers and toward the raw, mechanical soul of the machine.

“With so much noise these days coming at us from social media, influencers, and AI… it’s very easy to get lost and forget why we are here in the first place. It’s always been very important to stay grounded and focus on the music. Sometimes the easy way out is to follow trends, but that doesn’t do anything for you in the long run.”

This grounding is maintained through a rigid discipline system. In an industry that demands constant output, Juheun relies on a “dialled-in schedule” to prevent the burnout that comes from constant comparison. He views the studio as a laboratory where he controls electricity—converting vibrations into futuristic frequencies. Yet, he is quick to identify the trap of repetition; for Juheun, innovation isn’t just about adding new sounds, but knowing when to strip everything back to its fundamentals.

“Learning to become a good producer is knowing when to stop, and knowing when its time to shift gears or even give up on an idea. One of the best studio tips I’ve gotten is to start deleting parts and pieces when you hit a dead end. Even just muting channels and stripping it all back down to its fundamentals have done wonders.”

Juheun’s perspective on the “business layer” of the industry is equally uncompromising. He views the current ecosystem as one that has devalued the art form through over-accessibility. From over-produced events with “a million lasers” to the “AI-generated slop” infiltrating playlists, he sees a desperate need to return value to the music itself. His solution is a structural reset: raising the cost of music to force a more curated, appreciative relationship between the listener and the artist.

“We need to bring value back to music. I think its time to raise the prices on music a little. Even doubling the cost of a single song from $0.99 to $2.00 can make a huge difference… if we are not taking care of the musicians and producers who create the music, then we would be left with nothing but generic AI generated slop.”

His mix for True Techno 106 is an extension of this mindset—a pursuit of “timeless techno” that stands apart from the peak-time trends. By weaving his own unreleased live IDs, like ‘Lets Dance’, with the deep, hypnotic selections of Phil Berg and Modeselektor, Juheun provides a glimpse into a future where the music—not the brand—is the catalyst for connection. It is a reminder that once the current bubble bursts, the underground will remain, sustained by those who were there for the right reasons all along.

“Techno has always been a bit mysterious to me. Back in the day, it was a song title and an obscure name… it was really just about how hot the record was instead of the reverse. This is what makes it so special. Listen to the music first.”

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Juheun’s mix features a blend of high-precision techno including his own remix of Civil Servant’s ‘Into The Unknown’, his unreleased live track ‘Lets Dance’, and his remix of Frank Biazzi’s ‘Open Your Eyes’. The set also incorporates tracks from Modeselektor, Phil Berg, and Oscar Sanchez.

Juheun advocates for a return to the “faceless” roots of techno, where the music carries more weight than the brand or social media presence. He believes in bringing value back to music by potentially increasing prices for digital singles to support independent artists and curb the influence of generic, AI-generated content.

Juheun employs a rhythm-centric, tactile approach using hardware like the Moog Sub 37. He treats synthesizers as tools to control electricity and convert it into frequencies, often stripping tracks back to their fundamentals when a creative wall is hit to maintain a raw, hypnotic sound.

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Ilona Maras anchors this edition of True Techno, showcasing the clinical technicality and raw emotional weight that have fuelled her trajectory through the underground. Based in Zürich and maintaining a residency at the influential Hive club, Maras provides an exclusive look into her creative process following her recent EP on MJA the Vision. Her sound – a sophisticated blend of Eastern melodies and raw acid textures – has earned her the backing of industry heavyweights like Richie Hawtin and positions her as a definitive voice in contemporary techno.

For Maras, the evolution from a hobbyist to a central figure in the scene was a gradual realisation of purpose. The transition occurred as she noticed her focus shifting towards the minutiae of performance and the psychological impact of the booth. “It wasn’t one big moment, more a quiet realisation that kept getting louder over time,” she reflects. “I noticed how deeply I cared about every detail, every transition, every reaction from the crowd. At some point, it became clear this wasn’t something I did for fun after work; it was how I experience the world.”

The Hive in Zürich serves as both a creative anchor and a testing ground for Maras’ output. Her residency has required her to navigate diverse time slots and floors, a process that demands an acute level of crowd empathy and technical adaptability. This experience has shaped her ability to work a room without relying on cheap tropes or forced energy.

“You can’t force energy in that space; you have to read the room and build it slowly, earn trust step by step. It taught me that sometimes less is more, and that people will go with you if you’re honest, not if you’re trying to impress them.” – Ilona Maras

This grounded approach extends to her high-pressure performances, including playing a set at Street Parade while seven months pregnant – a moment she describes as a powerful convergence of her personal life and professional commitment.

Her latest work on MJA the Vision, released on 06.03.2026, leans into the contrast between tension and release. Inspired by the industrial geometry of the Prague train station, the EP captures a specific 90s techno aesthetic while maintaining the modern clarity required for big-room impact. Maras describes the production as an exercise in intuition over calculation.

“The EP is very much about contrast, tension and release, control and letting go. I got inspired while visiting Prague; I was in a room overlooking their beautiful train station, and something about that view gave me a strong 90s feeling. It made me want to recreate a bit of that 90s techno vibe in my own way.” – Ilona Maras

Since her debut on Get Physical with Existe, Maras has prioritised instinct over perfectionism. This philosophy has seen her tracks championed by Richie Hawtin and released on labels including Volta, We Are The Brave, and Filth On Acid. By refusing to “customise” music for specific labels, she has maintained a cohesive identity that bridges the gap between underground depth and peak-time function.

Her focus now shifts towards her own imprint and a commitment to innovation that ignores the saturation of the modern trend cycle. “I’d love to push even more into innovation… and to ignore the noise around me as much as possible,” she says. “Every time I manage to do that, those tracks usually work the best.”

As Ilona Maras continues her tour cycle, True Techno 105 serves as a testament to an artist who values real connection over fleeting metrics. Her sound is built for high-intensity immersion, striking the balance between visceral, dancefloor-focused energy and complex melodic progression.

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1. Ben Sims – Snapshot 99 (ANNE Remix V1) [Hardgroove]

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Milanese producer Simone Zino is cementing his status as a heavyweight in the contemporary techno circuit this March 2026, dropping his highly anticipated Back To The Old School EP on Kevin Saunderson’s legendary KMS Records. Fresh off a Beatport #1 chart-topper with “Signals” and a massive 2025 that saw him tear through Joseph Capriati’s Metamorfosi at ADE and join the prestigious Tempo Management roster, Simone Zino is bridging the gap between his classical roots and peak-time dancefloor artillery.

For an artist with nearly two decades in the trenches – Simone Zino is cutting his teeth with a 2008 residency at Bolgia and sharing stages with titans like Len Faki, Nina Kraviz, and Chris Liebing – cracking the code to a Detroit legacy label required looking inward. Rather than adopting an artificial persona, Zino leaned heavily into the stripped-down, hypnotic tension that defines his native scene.

“Growing up in the Milan underground shaped my approach to techno a lot,” Zino explains. “Over the years I developed a language focused on groove, raw drums and a balance between energy and soul. That connection between machine-driven rhythms and human feeling is something that always fascinated me in Detroit techno. When I started refining that approach in my productions, the connection with KMS felt very natural.”

Following up a massive #1 hit can paralyze a producer, especially when the next release is stamped with the KMS logo. Yet Zino bypassed the anxiety of the sophomore slump by isolating himself from industry noise.

“Honestly I didn’t want to think too much about the pressure of following a #1 record,” he says flatly. “For me the focus was simply staying true to my sound and respecting the identity of KMS. So instead of chasing another hit, I concentrated on groove, raw energy and that classic Detroit feeling that inspired the EP.”

Zino’s background in piano and composition acts as a hidden skeletal structure within his current 142 BPM, floor-oriented output. He recently collaborated with fashion designer Chiara Amico, seeking to visually represent his sound through a lens of “industrial elegance” – metallic textures paired with sharp tailoring. This visual ethos mirrors his studio process perfectly.

“I like the idea of combining something raw and industrial with something elegant and precise. In the EP I tried to translate that concept into sound: metallic textures, strong drum grooves, but also clean structures and attention to detail. It’s that balance between rough energy and refined sound design.”

While the aesthetic leans industrial, the classical training still demands an outlet. Simone Zino achieves this through micro-arrangements rather than sweeping lead lines. “Even in percussive, floor-focused tracks I try to bring subtle harmonic layers in the background,” he details. “It can be small chord stabs, atmospheric pads, or tension in the arrangement – just enough to satisfy that musical side without taking away from the groove.”

Despite the “Old School” moniker of the EP, Simone Zino isn’t relying on banks of dusty analog hardware to emulate the past. He embraces a modern digital workflow to achieve his gritty textures.

“For this EP I mostly worked digitally,” he reveals. “I like taking a single sound and reworking it through sampling techniques—manipulating it, layering it, reshaping it. That’s a method I’ve been using a lot lately, and it lets me honor the old-school spirit in a fully modern workflow.”

As the co-founder and curator of ROOM360, Simone Zino strictly defines the parameters of his environment. There is a distinct division in his mindset when crafting a deep, hypnotic journey for his residency versus engineering a peak-time weapon. “When I produce for peak-time, I focus on energy and impact – strong drums, driving basslines, and immediate tension,” he notes. “For ROOM360, since I curate it myself, I go for a more groove-driven journey, but in general I produce mostly what I actually play – around 90% of the time.”

This commitment to authenticity insulates him from the highly curated, social-media-driven “Business Techno” circuit. His focus remains entirely on subcultural rebellion. “I always focus on the music first, not trends or clicks,” he asserts. “My sets and residency are about creating a journey, exploring underground sounds, and keeping that raw, rebellious energy alive – away from the usual social media formulas.”

That raw energy translates globally. With a return tour to India scheduled for March 2026, Simone Zino points out the stark differences in global dancefloor dynamics. “I found a very genuine approach to clubbing in India—people there are open, curious, and fully present on the dancefloor.”

As Back To The Old School prepares to hit the digital shelves, it serves as more than just another notch on a booming discography. For Zino, the project operates on two distinct levels.

“I see it as a bit of both,” Simone Zino concludes, reflecting on his dual intentions. “It’s an homage to the roots that shaped me, but also a personal statement on the energy, groove, and rawness I think techno needs to keep alive today.”

The post Simone Zino – Raw Industrial Techno Mix | True Techno 104 appeared first on True Underground.

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While other kids handed out sweets at birthday parties, she burned mixtapes, complete with intros, sketches, and hand-painted covers. Even then, the instinct was clear. Control the journey. Shape the mood. Tell a story.

“I learned very early on that I love curating music and building tension,” she says. “Most of my mixtapes had an intro, then they really moved through genres. Ending with something completely wild.”

Growing up near Mannheim placed DJ Cringey close to one of Europe’s most influential club ecosystems. Time Warp culture, serious dancefloors, and access to global selectors formed her education. She wasn’t there to be seen. She was there to listen. Three nights a week, sober, absorbing everything from house and gabber to drum and bass and techno. The city also offered something else. An experimental fringe where sound, design, and humor collided.

“That openness and sense of playful experimentation is also where the idea for my artist name DJ Cringey comes from,” she explains.

Berlin didn’t change her instincts. It sharpened them. Deep immersion in experimental parties around 2017 and 2018 expanded her sense of what electronic music could be. Spaces where seriousness and absurdity coexisted. Where sound functioned as ritual rather than performance. Where the floor mattered more than the persona.

Her early DJ sets reflected that freedom. House parties where genres collapsed into each other. Donk into techno. Hip-hop into rock. A mixing style that felt deliberately wrong, but worked. The nickname DJ Cringey stuck long before she ever touched professional equipment.

“That chaos can be beautiful if it’s done right,” she says. “But context matters.”

As her career professionalised, so did her approach. Today, the rule-breaking is more deliberate. Less shock, more control.

“My style is actually less cringe and more straightforward now,” she says. “Fewer drops, and if there are drops, they’re more epic and intentional.”

The philosophy remains intact. Respect the room. Read the floor. Randomness only works when it makes sense.

“You can’t be arrogant and just play crazy things for yourself,” she says. “At the end of the day, part of the job is making people feel good and connected.”

Parallel to music, DJ Cringey built a serious career in graphic design, working with electronic artists like Alignment and major German rap names including BHZ, Yung Hurn, and Ski Aggu. When she moved to Berlin in 2019, those two worlds finally collided. A challenge at a party to “prove it” behind the decks became her first booking. Borrowed gear. No safety net. Immediate clarity.

From there, momentum came fast. Festivals. A signing with Hyperdreams. In 2025, a move onto Teletech’s roster. Her sets, whether in clubs or on massive stages, maintain a clear through-line. Narrative first. Energy second. Ego last.

“Storytelling is extremely important to me,” she says. “I usually start slow, build towards a peak, and at the end there’s often something cute, funny, or unexpected.”

That balance becomes even more visible in Hard Candy, her duo with best friend TOXIMAMI. Where solo sets are focused and serious, Hard Candy is playful and chaotic.

“It’s pure joy on stage,” she says. “Funny, wild, bouncy.”

Her debut mixtape Cringey Core, released last year, captured another side entirely. Produced during an emotionally intense period, the nine tracks functioned as self-interrogation as much as club material. Collaborations with Fanny, DJ Kirby, Sky Leon, and Polizei anchored a sound that was raw rather than polished, honest rather than performative.

Her latest release under Hard Candy with Odymel, featuring her own vocals on ‘Fitness’, hinted at where things are heading next. In 2026, that direction becomes explicit. Don’t Date Rappers is a long-gestating project designed to bridge electronic music and rap, using real collaboration rather than surface-level crossover.

“Instead of using Splice vocals, I want to work with people who can really write, sing, and rap,” she says. “Electronic producers and rappers who are masters of their craft.”

It is less about genre fusion and more about infrastructure. Connecting worlds that exist side by side but rarely speak. Curated with the same instinct that once shaped childhood mixtapes.

On massive stages, that underground spine remains intact. Adaptation is practical, not ideological. The goal is still to lead people somewhere unfamiliar without forcing it.

“I love it when I can sneak in tracks people don’t expect and guide them there emotionally,” she says. “When people say it felt like a journey, then I know it worked.”

Once shy, hiding behind pitched vocals, DJ Cringey now stands firmly inside her own voice. Fearless, genre-fluid, and deliberately unconcerned with rules for their own sake. The same kid who painted mixtape covers is still present. Only now the canvas is global, the system louder, and the story sharper.

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Growing up in Minsk, Belarus, Lola Kay‘s childhood unfolded inside theatres rather than classrooms, shaped by the backstage corridors where her mother worked and where atmosphere, tension, and emotion were constructed night after night. Drama, sound, and silence all had purpose. At the same time, she was already dancing, learning intuitively how rhythm moves the body and how music alters mood. That early immersion taught her something foundational: music is not decoration, it is architecture

As a child, Lola Kay was introspective and self-directed, spending long stretches alone with records and artwork. Electronic music arrived early, not through trends but through curiosity. Digging became instinctive. The raw energy and strange aggression of The Prodigy left a lasting imprint, a first encounter with electronic music that felt unruly, physical, and alive. It was less about genre and more about sensation, something she would later return to again and again.

Dance became her first profession, and with it came a deep study of musical cultures. Classical, jazz, swing, and the lineage of artists like Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong were not abstract references but living histories she felt through movement. Each dance style demanded immersion into its cultural context, its era, its emotional code. Music was never separated from place, time, or identity. That obsession with understanding where sound comes from still underpins her approach today, whether she is producing or layering four decks into a single evolving narrative.

Her DJ sets are built with the body in mind. Groove dictates structure. Energy dictates pacing. Tracks are not standalone moments but emotional blocks that create tension, release, and continuity. Theatre remains present in her work, not as spectacle, but as cohesion. One atmosphere runs through the entire set, a full-circle arc where nothing is accidental and nothing is wasted.

Leaving Belarus was never romantic. Growing up in a post-Soviet environment as a free-spirited, open-minded young woman came with friction and constraint. Escape was not a desire but a necessity. Barcelona became her exit point almost by chance, following visits that revealed a city driven by openness and rhythm, and an unexpected opportunity to open a dance school. The city gave her space to exist, to experiment, and to begin carving out an artistic identity on her own terms

Community became central to her rise. Collectives were not branding exercises but survival structures. House of (S)PUNK, founded by Perrine aka La Fraîcheur, was pivotal. It was the first time someone truly believed in her as a producer and pushed her to release music. That belief translated directly into action, resulting in her debut EP and a clearer sense of artistic direction. Alongside this, her involvement with YO-YO allowed her to exist unapologetically as a queer artist, prioritising FLINTA lineups, safety, and genuine community over industry optics.

Stylistically, Lola Kay resists rigid definitions. Mental techno, hardgroove, Detroit, and 90s and 2000s references appear not because they are fashionable but because they carry the emotional weight she is searching for. Her mixing is architectural, using multiple decks to layer texture, rhythm, and atmosphere into something hypnotic and primal. Berlin looms large in this evolution. It was the first place where techno fully made sense to her, where intuition aligned with sound. The city did not teach her what to like, it confirmed what she already felt

Her influences extend beyond records to the people who sustain the culture. Artists like DVS1, Luke Slater, and Efdemin matter not only for their sound but for their commitment to the scene. DJs such as Steffi, Lady Machine, Paula Koski, Bashkka, Philippa Pacho, and Isabel Soto continue to shape her understanding of what it means to give back while pushing forward.

Visualisation is central to her process. Before a set, before a recording, she imagines the space, the crowd, the emotional temperature of the room. A single mood is chosen and followed with discipline. This is why her mixes feel transportive rather than scattered. They are designed to take the listener somewhere specific, even if that destination remains undefined. The venue matters. So does the city, the weather, the time slot, and her own internal state that day. Final playlists often come together hours before she plays, once the environment has been fully absorbed.

Production remains deliberately minimal. A laptop, mobility, freedom. While she dreams of one day building a professional studio, she values the ability to create anywhere, guided more by emotion than equipment. That emotional clarity became especially pronounced on Run Lola Run, a turning point EP inspired by the iconic German film but rooted in self-encouragement. It marked the moment she stopped searching and started moving decisively toward the sound she wanted to represent. Once the direction was clear, momentum followed

Inclusivity is not a slogan in her work, it is lived experience. As a queer woman navigating a male-dominated industry, she encountered enough resistance to harden her resolve. Those experiences forced independence and confidence, but they also reinforced the importance of support systems. She is acutely aware that belief from others made her career possible, and she sees giving back as a responsibility, particularly to voices that are still marginalised within electronic music.

Her advice to emerging artists is uncompromising. Learn the roots. Know the history. Techno and house were born in queer spaces, and their raw energy still carries that lineage. To ignore that context is to hollow out the music itself. Preservation and education are part of the work, not distractions from it.

At its core, Lola Kay’s vision of the dancefloor is almost spiritual. She wants people to meet themselves there, stripped of self-consciousness, free, seen, and connected. In her ideal room, the crowd breathes as one organism, phones down, conversation gone, replaced by ritual and shared emotion. It is not spectacle. It is communion.

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