Sama' Abdulhadi Is Techno & Techno Is Freedom – The GRAMMYs

Sama’ Abdulhadi
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In a deep-dive conversation with GRAMMY.com, Palestinian techno powerhouse Sama' Abdulhadi details her meteoric rise, the artists she chose for her Beatport residency, being inspired by her activist grandmother and more
Techno was born in the bedrooms and warehouses of Detroit in the ’80s; it was the sound of the future and the sound of freedom. It was given form by young Black and brown innovators, whose communities were hit hardest by Reaganomics and the War on Drugs. It’s no wonder that, two decades later, Sama’ Abdulhadi would discover the freedom and expansiveness of techno as a teen and bring it back to fellow dreamers and creators in her conflict-impacted homeland of Ramallah, Palestine.
For the past decade, Abdulhadi has been building the electronic music scene in Palestine via her deeply inclusive creative collective, The Union. Her world opened up in 2018 when she became an overnight sensation with her Boiler Room debut, which currently has over 7.2 million views on YouTube and is the twelfth most viewed Boiler Room set (with the majority of the top sets posted 6 or more years ago).
As she tells GRAMMY.com, she went from getting around three bookings a month to 40 a day after Boiler Room. Then, in December 2020, while filming a set for her Beatport virtual residency highlighting DJs of the Middle East, she was arrested. The team had secured permits to film there, at Nabi Musa, a cultural site and tourist attraction that includes a mosque, yet has hosted many non-electronic music events. While the situation has yet to be resolved and has kept the rising star from being able to return home to Paris, it proved to her she’s part of the international techno community and they have her back.
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Read on for a wide-ranging conversation with the techno powerhouse, who details her meteoric rise, the artists—all dear to her heart—she chose for the Beatport residency, being inspired by her activist grandmother and more.
How did you approach curating the lineup for your Beatport residency celebrating the Middle Eastern scene?
Basically, in the beginning, I was trying to think of the artists that inspired me the most throughout my life, the people that I know and I’ve seen [perform] and, I really think, deserve a slot in the world and are not heard at all. That’s where the idea started.
The Middle East was an easy one—actually, not that easy because I had too many names and I had to remove some. I started with my teacher; he’s literally my teacher, the one that taught me in uni and the one that taught me everything about DJing and everything in my life that I know in audio in general. So, that was one of, obviously, the first names.
I was also thinking of my students and the ones that also have been doing some great things and deserve a slot. So this, that, my collective, and my favorite DJ in the world is a Lebanese DJ, so those were my picks. That was mainly it. Then we were thinking of ideas behind each episode. I really wanted to do one Middle East, one North Africa, but we couldn’t do that easily.
But we were thinking, “OK, we could do an episode from my collective, The Union.” Sadly, we have three really major DJs from The Union that are living abroad right now, so they are not here. So we included the four that are here, and I was the fifth. Two of them [that participated] are people I’ve been working with, my students. I literally was preparing their set with them and helping them. It’s like I’m watching my mini-me.
And the two others are DJs that I really, really look up to in Palestine. Bruno Cruz is one of my best friends from Haifa, one of the first people I met there. And SINAN, I discovered him in an expo that I hosted of DJs from Palestine to showcase for international bookers or festivals.
So this was The Union collective, the first one. The second one was the Middle East, which I talked about. The third one is friends of The Union. The Union always does parties in Palestine and invites other people to come and enjoy them. The last lineup is a mix of them; two of them are Union, but they live on the other side of the world, so it’s really hard for us to even meet. The rest are friends that we have met throughout randomness of life by luck, I guess. Which is good. We still have lucky moments here in Palestine.
When you mentioned your favorite DJ, I heard you say during the last show that it’s Jason Kaakoush?
Yeah, the Lebanese one. Brilliant. I’ve been watching him since I was 19. I’ve never seen him make a mistake and he plays CDJs, which is really hard not to make a mistake. He’s such a vibe on stage. His smile is just amazing and he, as a person, is just one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. I have a lot of favorite DJs. I love a lot of DJs in Lebanon, but every time I see him I get chills and I’ve been seeing him for 12 years. That’s a lot.
Who did you say was your teacher?
My teacher is LK, the first one that played for week two.
I’d love to hear a little bit more about the collective you formed, The Union. What was your vision for it and where are you hoping it’ll go?
In the beginning, I really wanted to do a festival here [in Palestine], and I’m not [usually] here. I’m in France most of the time. So, I asked my friends that I work with here, who said, “Let’s start building to make a festival one day.” So I’m like, “OK, we need to create a community that would want to do that.” So we started creating a safe space for everybody to come and party and be totally chill.
We do actually have collectives here in Palestine mostly in rap—some DJs, but a DJs collective that goes maybe from places is different than what we wanted to do. We wanted to create a collective that is not just DJs. We have people that were artists and wanted to do [some] painting in the location. They wanted to just help us fix the place. People that just wanted to party joined the collective.
So the collective becomes insane and the friends of the collective become bigger, and so we created this whole community and a safe space for people to literally do whatever they want, no police, no security, no nothing, but there’s always mutual respect and there’s always the thing of, “We are all one.” For example, nobody takes more than the other. Everybody works everything, so if I’m DJing for two hours, I also would have to stand at the door and sell tickets for an hour, guard the bathroom for an hour. We are constantly all on rotation. The people helping the DJs.
The sad thing is that we have two people that studied sound engineering in the collective, so me and her—two females, too [smiles]—are always in the audio engineering department. But we also teach audio engineering to people who are interested to know how we’re doing this. So now we have more audio engineers.
One of my kids, I’ve been teaching since he was 13. Now, he’s 20 and an electrical engineer and a crazy DJ—a really incredible guy. Now he lives in Berlin. I was so sad he couldn’t join us for the residency because he’s in university now. He is studying this electrical engineering because he really wants to build his own speakers himself. He made a full-on light and laser system, brought it with him from Berlin, put it up in that space that we created. Before he left, he started teaching each one of us how to take it apart, how to fix the wires, and how to do the coding.
It’s just sharing knowledge and being in one community. It’s not competitive. We’re not competing with any other community. We collaborate with all the collectives, and we’re just trying to build a base so then there might be can be a bit of competitiveness where there’s a little bit of money in the business. It’s really cool because we grew so many new DJs that didn’t think they wanted to be DJs. A lot of people made a lot of things and we created such a beautiful family that is incredible, honestly.
That’s so cool. I mean, I’ve honestly never heard of anything quite like that. It sounds very inclusive.
This is why I used to love to come to Palestine and play with The Union. I would fly from Europe to here, which would cost 2,000 euros and I would end up having $100 after all the work that we’ve done, but it’s so worth it. Seriously, it is my favorite thing in the world—the best party ever.
Everybody knows each other. It’s like how I imagine Detroit or Berlin was in the ’80s. It’s really heartwarming. It’s way more beautiful than going to a club with a bunch of security guards around you when you’re trying to talk to people, but you can’t talk to people when there’s the stage and the separation between the DJ and the people.
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What is the scene like in Palestine now? And what was it like back when you were a part of creating that scene?
It was a scene that is growing. Sometimes you do a gig and there are 400 people. Sometimes you do a gig and it’s 10 people, literally, two gigs after that. You never know. The opinion was it was growing and growing, but we didn’t know that we were living in a bubble and that people didn’t know we existed until all this thing happened over in December with me going to jail.
So, now I don’t know because for the past year there’s been Corona so there’s nothing happening. But I hope that now when we do a test run, we’ll see what happens. Maybe we actually gained more fans and we have more exposure around Palestine. So it might be going well without us knowing, we can’t test it.
It’s like, “What is going to happen when we can all get on the dancefloor again together?” I don’t think any of us can predict that.
I think everybody’s just going to be moving weirdly. I’m not going to know how to talk to this many people. I’m just going to get shocked when I see 1000 people in Berlin. You’re talking about 60,000, that sea of humans, but seeing 100 is just insane right now. I feel like I’m going to be weird. I’m so excited for it.

I wanted to talk a little bit more about your experience being jailed and, specifically, what the support from the larger dance community felt like for you. And what your biggest takeaway was from that difficult experience was
That was a really difficult experience. In the beginning, I didn’t know there was support happening because I didn’t have the chance to talk to my family, or lawyers or anything. I was in the dark completely for the first four days. On my first phone call with my brother, he’s telling me that Adam Beyer and Nicole Moudaber and Roger Waters are talking about it and I just started laughing. I’m like, “Yeah, right. You’re just trying to make me feel better. This is stupid. Don’t say things like that, bro.”
That’s the thing that made me proud to be part of the techno community. Because it is a community, actually, more than it is an industry. And I’ve always thought that about techno and they proved it because everybody just stood with each other. I never really expected that at all. It made me so proud to be part of it. Seriously, when something happens to one of them, everybody just goes up.
That was really important for me mentally, to be OK. Because I really was thinking, “Am I doing everything wrong? Am I wrong?” [Being jailed] was really making me doubt myself, but then I was like, “Okay, no. I’m not wrong. We can’t be all wrong. It can just be diversity and that is what it is. The world is diverse.”
There are all kinds of music that I don’t like to listen to, but other people do listen to. That doesn’t mean their ears are bad, no. It’s just taste. That’s the beauty of music, that it is just a language and you cannot control it, it’s vibrations and they’re going to hit you. They either resonate with you in a good way or a bad way, and that’s the cool thing about sound and frequencies, and even the sound of the wind in the trees and the birds.
It’s constantly on and they will always hit you and affect you with the vibrations. If you cannot hear, you will still feel vibrations and they will still affect you in a way. That’s the beauty of sound. That’s why I love it.
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That was poetic. I love that. It’s so true.
Thanks. [Laughs.] I used to always give workshops when I was back in Egypt. And whenever there was a film workshop, I’d give audio workshops. The film department would give me one day because the sound is always bad in Egyptian films.
I’m like, “The film has zero meaning without sound.” If you turn off the screen in a horror movie, you will still be afraid of the sounds. If you turn on the screen and turn off the sound, it will become a comedy show. It will be so stupid you won’t feel anything. You won’t be jumpy, you won’t be scared. Nothing. You might be disgusted by blood or something. Sound is very essential.
Have you thought about doing film composing or scoring?
I did do that for five years of my life. Before I became an international DJ, I was doing that. I was just DJing for fun. I was an audio engineer; a sound designer and music composer for films. That was my main job in Egypt. I used to do sound design and music scores a lot.
That was the main thing. I was DJing as a thing that I liked to do when I come back home in Palestine. I didn’t even DJ in Egypt. I DJed twice there in five years. DJing wasn’t my job, it was something I did for fun, and then I switched. It was a thing that I’ve always wanted to go into, but it was never going to happen, ever, so I just put it on the side. You can never become a big DJ. It’s impossible. I still don’t believe that I’m a big DJ. Whenever anybody says that I’m like, “Nah, that’s stupid.”
Well, you can go make music for more films. That’s a good plan B, I would say.
Always, definitely. I’m actually working on a composition project now for a film, actually. And I did one, actually, for a French documentary about a French techno scene. I have three tracks in that that I made for the film, but they’re techno tracks this time. Back in Egypt, I used to do orchestral compositions, jazz, alternative, Arabic, that kind of music. Now they ask me to compose techno for films.
How do you feel like that experience informs your DJing?
I add a lot of ambient sounds now in DJing, so there’s a lot of cars, birds, planes and things. I just hear them subconsciously. They just cross my mind [when DJing] and I press a button and it comes out. I’ve tried chainsaws in a couple of times.
Yesterday, I was recording a set and in the beginning, I have ambience of the street in Pakistan where a street seller—every time I hear that dude, it’s like he’s rapping. Well, I have no idea what he’s selling, but his voice is so good and then you hear a honk here and a motor there, and it’s beautiful. So, the intro is the track playing and there’s constantly this ambience of this Pakistani dude for three minutes
Do you do field recording or record random stuff when you’re out and about?
Yeah, actually. My [BBC Radio 1] Essential Mix, in the beginning, it’s a binaural recording, 5.1 surround sound, going from King’s Cross in London to Paris. So, you hear yourself going through the metal detectors, and then you hear the announcements in the train, and then the train is moving. Then the track continues. The beat in the track drops when the train moves.
Yeah, I do record a lot. Actually, I never knew that people were noticing the bird [sounds I put in live sets], but it’s a thing. Whenever somebody whistles in the crowd, I whistle back by sending the bird. I’m like, “Ta, for you, man! Thank you.” Also, when I get on a stage—especially if it’s a big stage and nobody can see you—the second I get on the stage I play the first track and then I just hit this screech from the bird and I drop something cool.
I thought I was doing it for me because I thought I was the only one hearing it, but I played a really underground crazy party that they do in France. It’s like the parties we’re having here [in Palestine], but the only one left in France is that one. They don’t tell who the DJs are, and you cannot see them. There are no lights in the place, just one tiny light next to the DJ, who’s on a rooftop there. Nobody even looks up because everybody’s just dancing, and they don’t care who’s playing as long as the music is good. It’s beautiful.
I go there and I’m playing and at the beginning, I play the bird. I hear from the crowd someone yelling, “Sama!” I started noticing that maybe people know the bird, so I make it more of a signature move now.
“When I see a Palestinian flag in the crowd, I feel the ultimate goosebumps. It’s really, really rewarding for me because I’ve always lived in war, I’ve always lived under occupation, and I felt I couldn’t speak. Now, I can say what I want to say, and some people are hearing it.”
I’m sure you’ve been asked this question a million times, but what does it mean to you to represent Palestine, as well as the larger Middle Eastern dance scene, on the global dance music stage?
It’s overwhelming and scary because I always have to answer really, really tough questions that always have a wrong answer. Most answers can be wrong, depending on who’s listening. It’s tough and it’s really not fun that I’m always in political talks. When Trump decided to give Israel Jerusalem as if it’s his, I had interviews that same day, seven of them, and I had a huge event that night. I go to the interviews, and all the bands are getting asked about the show. But all the interviewers asked what I think about Trump.
But, at the same time, it’s a huge honor to be representing Palestine because I love this country and it’s always something that I wanted to do. It makes me proud being Palestinian. When I see a Palestinian flag in the crowd, I feel the ultimate goosebumps. It’s really, really rewarding for me because I’ve always lived in war, I’ve always lived under occupation, and I felt I couldn’t speak. Now, I can say what I want to say, and some people are hearing it.
People are learning what the meaning of the word Palestine is. They don’t even know it’s a country. Some people are like, “You say Palestine. What does it mean?” I don’t know what to tell them. It’s a really random question, but I didn’t know that there is a human that doesn’t know what the word. I thought it was in the Bible. It’s like, “You know Bethlehem, you know Nazareth, but you don’t know the word Palestine. Wow.” It’s weird.
Some people also think that these are fictional places, they’re just in the Bible, so when I just say, “Bethlehem,” in a conversation, they’re like, “Wait, that’s a real place?” How, how?! I guess ignorance is bliss and they’re living the ultimate bliss, honestly.
To follow it with a slightly political question and, to your point, I think that there’s a lot of ignorance around what’s going on in Palestine. What do you feel foreigners need to know about the humanitarian crisis in Palestine? And what can we do to help or to learn more?
Well, especially for the U.S., it’s like, “Don’t pay taxes,” but you can’t [do that]. That is the sad part, is that everybody in the U.S. ends up paying Israel without even knowing it. It’s like here [in Palestine], it’s also not optional, we have to pay for Israel because they tax us for everything that we do.
But [you can] call your representatives and tell them, “We don’t want to pay for Israel’s military war. You can pay for Israel’s schools, but not bombs.” I always wear this [on a] necklace, it’s a bomb safe clip, they are literally all around Palestine. You can find them on the ground because of how many bombs [are detonated].
Israel takes three-quarters of the water that we get from rainfall, and they give us a quarter of the water that falls in the West Bank. It’s [water from] the West Bank, not Israel. That’s free for them. We’re not allowed to travel. We’re not allowed to import and export what we want. It’s chosen by them, everything that we can do. We’re not allowed to move between our own cities; between two Palestinian cities, there’s the Israeli Army in the middle stopping you.
It’s so much. They have so many political prisoners that shouldn’t be in prison. My friend’s mom has been a Minister since we were kids. She’s been in jail for three years now in Israel and it’s not the first time. I’ve seen that woman go to jail since I was 10 years old, she’s been going to jail every couple of years. My other friend hasn’t seen his dad since he was nine years old because his dad’s a political prisoner.
At the same time, you have children every day getting imprisoned, 12-year-olds, 10-year-olds. As a Palestinian, you’re not allowed to ride in certain buses, not allowed to drive or walk on certain streets. It’s proper apartheid.
The thing is, [the conflict] started so early on. Between 1948 and ’76, we’ve had many massacres around Palestine. Millions of people were pushed out, millions of people were killed and then [the land is] Israel’s. It’s life, I guess. It’s happened in other places, so we’re just hoping it doesn’t happen to us and they don’t manage to completely remove us.
I wanted to ask about your grandmother because I read in your New York Times interview that she was an activist and a feminist. How do you think she influenced who you are?
I think she influenced I think my whole family, not just me. My parents too, and that’s the way they raised me, that there is no difference between men and women. You can do whatever you want, you keep fighting for that thing, and you just keep saying what’s on your mind. She was so strong, so powerful, so wise. She was the spokeswoman of Palestine PLO and the women’s rights organization and she only finished high school. And she spoke fluent English.
Even later, she was just this incredibly strong woman, and she never just took no for an answer. She fought to the last minute in a crazy way. When she would protest against somebody, when Israel used to go and demolish things in Nablus, back in the war in Nablus in ’67, she would demonstrate and sit in front of the bulldozer. My grandpa would go and pick her up and be like, “Don’t be crazy. We have kids at kid.” She’s like, “But they can’t do this.”
And when they were holding people in Gaza and killing God knows how many thousands of people, she held a strike in Bethlehem where she created the Women’s Organization. She got all these young women that really wanted to fight and that were so strong and so courageous, and brought them in with her and kept going.
When she stopped agreeing with what the PLO was doing, she just left the PLO the next day. That really inspired me. Also, back when I was a kid, she always told me to go for whatever I wanted to do. “Don’t let anybody tell you you’re not allowed to, especially if they follow it with because you’re a girl. That’s when you know you can do that and they’re wrong.”
That first experience was the football [a.k.a. soccer] thing. I was seven years old when we moved to Palestine from Jordan when we were able to come back, and I used to play football in Jordan. When I came to Palestine I went to school and the principal told me, “You’re not allowed to play football because you’re a girl.” I was seven and that didn’t translate [for me].
So, I went to my grandma, and she took me by the hand and walked with me back to school. The principal’s a woman and my grandma graduated from that same school too, so her picture’s on the wall, it was cute. She walked in and she was like, “How would you tell a seven-year-old girl to not do something because she’s a girl? Do you know what that is for her to grow up learning that? That is the most wrong thing and you’re a woman and you shouldn’t do that.” And the principal was like, “But no girls want to play football. It’s just for her future,” and so my grandma went crazier on her.
So, the principal says, “Fine. Let her find girls that want to play football, put their names on a paper and then I’ll start a football team.” She thought there were no girls who wanted to play. I made a sign-up paper, 20 girls signed up, and she opened a football team. That’s why we had the best football team. It’s small things like that. Whenever somebody tells me, “But you’re a girl,” I’m like, “What? You’re a boy. Who cares?”
I don’t know if you’ve checked recently, but your Boiler Room has over 7 million views, which is crazy.
No way! It was at four million the last time I saw.
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So, yeah. You’re a big deal. The internet says so. That Boiler Room was obviously a massive point in your career, especially for exposing you to the global scene. What has your DJ career felt like for you since that moment?
It went insane. It just went, “Zoooo,” it just flew like a rocket. We were going together, working on each other, me and my DJ career. Then it just went like that and I’ve been just running after it trying to figure out what’s happening, keeping up with everything.
But yeah, it was really rewarding because after working [as a DJ] from 2008 to 2017, that’s nine years. In 2018, it was 10 years of me playing techno and nobody had heard it. Then, all of a sudden, I’m getting messages from every corner of the world, [from people in] countries I’ve never heard of are messaging me. I’m like, “What the hell is going on?”
And even that day [of the Boiler Room], after, we went to the after-party in a house and it was like, “Yay!” A friend was like, “Some of your numbers are going crazy,” and I’m like, “Ha, ha. Nice one. That’s a joke.” Everybody was telling me that, but I thought they were just joking with me or telling me that I did a good job.
When I got home, my cousin opens her phone and I look at the number [on the YouTube video] and it’s like, “What the hell is going on?” That weekend, my booker calls me and he’s like, “Sama, what happened? Why do I have 40 bookings for you in a day? I used to barely get you three bookings a month.” I’m like, “Boiler Room happened.” He’s like, “Oh, sh*t.” And now I have no idea what’s happening. The fastest jump in life, I think.
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That must be crazy. Do you feel like you’ve caught up with it now that things slowed down?
No. [Laughs.] Because also, the me-going-to-jail thing just gave it another boost that was even scarier. I think I’d just like to pace myself a bit, but it’s cool. It’s good that we had the year break. I’m sad there was corona, but I’m glad I got a break that made me become human again.
Do you think there are any lessons or practices from this last year that you’ll bring with you going forward to stay sane?
Hmm, stay sane. That’s important. Yes. Back then, I had 20 gigs a month, so I was barely able to sleep. But now, I think, everything will be more regulated. Even me and my team, we fixed all the days now, everything is clear, everything is calm.
I spent the first six months in Paris fixing my new house because I had moved, and I hadn’t even gotten my things out because I didn’t have time to. I built my [home] studio finally. Now I have a home that is nice. I visited my family. It was good. I’m hoping to be more stable later and not having this crazy roller coaster thing. It was fun though. I like roller coasters, the adrenaline rush.
That was really a great conversation and I appreciate everything you’re doing. Hopefully, sometime in the near future, I get to see you in real life on the dancefloor.
I’m coming to L.A. soon, I hope. I was supposed to do Coachella last year, so that is next year [now]. But I’m going to be at III Points in Miami in October and supposed to pass by L.A. It’s [going to be] my first time in the U.S. I’ve just been there once in my life, 14 years ago for a doctor’s appointment in Houston, Texas, where my uncle lives.
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Photo: Grace Phillips
interview
"What I love about the music industry is there are so many gaps, and so many observations you can make and sort of insert yourself in and create something quite special itself," Sofia Ilyas of carving out a career as a music professional.
Given that Beatport Chief Community Officer Sofia Ilyas has dedicated the last 15 years or so of her life supporting burgeoning artists, subgenres and underrepresented groups, it's somewhat surprising that she grew up in a household without music.
As a teen, a Sony Walkman with a radio and mixtapes featuring the likes of Radiohead were a lifeline to a world Ilyas' family didn't want her to participate in. She was even kept home during school field trips to the National Gallery museum in London, where she's since hosted her Piano Day music and art event, and will soon be curating a room for their 200th anniversary celebration.
Ilyas has had to sacrifice a lot — namely, a relationship with her strict Muslim family — to carve out a career in music, and hers is a story of patience and resilience. After leaving her home in Cardiff, Wales for London to pursue higher education (against her family's wishes), she found solace and connection in live music. She'd hang out around the sound booth and introduce herself and ask questions about how things worked. Slowly but surely, she befriended people that worked at labels and venues, and even artists — Four Tet grew to know her by name after she kept coming back to his shows.
After years of being a part of the London scene as a dedicated fan, at age 30, Ilyas became co-manager of indie record label Erased Tapes, where she helped popularize neoclassical music and one of its purveyors, experimental German pianist Nils Frahm. Alongside Frahm, Ilyas launched Piano Day, where a diverse range of artists help them celebrate the past, present and future of the instrument alongside contemporary dancers and painters.
Now, as the first Chief Community Officer at major dance music platform Beatport, Ilyas is building community within and across disparate global electronic communities. She aims to bring more women and people of color into the mix.
"We're living in a time where people are feeling incredibly lonely and disconnected from community," Ilyas tells GRAMMY.com. "I [want to] facilitate people to come in to hear from each other, especially women, in a room that feels safe to hold discussion."
GRAMMY.com recently caught up with Ilyas for an insightful, engaging conversation on her work to support women and people of color in electronic music, making piano cool, her hopes for a more equitable music industry, and much more.
This interview has been edited for clarity.
You recently hosted your Piano Day annual events in Melbourne and London — tell me your vision for Piano Day.
When we launched Piano Day in London with Nils [Frahm], it gave me an excuse to try my own events. I had the artists performing in different corners of the room and a painter in the middle, watching and being inspired. I've always looked at different arts and wondered why they can't also be present in the music world and why we can't support each other across various industries. I've had a contemporary dancer at almost every event I've done in London. Piano Day was my way of having my own event that I could own and really show off my curation. Even with the first event, people were saying the space was beautiful and the curation was so good. I felt really validated.
[For Piano Day,] I always ask artists what they can do that's a little bit different, beyond performing their album or recent EP. I had one artist who had never played piano before, and he made a few mistakes and everyone was applauding him like it's okay. It's really important to me that Piano Day offers something that maybe the audience will never see again and they feel they've experienced something very special. An even bigger extension of that is the lineup that I curate for the National Gallery; coupling a piano player with a dancer who had never met before, and multiple artists only ever played piano maybe three times. I love that the artists have felt safe to trust me and that it's the type of event where they can take a risk.
I'm always looking for acts that are open to trying something a bit different and to be challenged by the fact that it's solo piano predominantly. And to also be inspired by the space, the National Gallery is such a prestigious, iconic venue. It's quite an unusual event because you've got people who've come to see the artists and regular visitors who have just come to see the paintings and they happen to stumble across what's happening. What's even more special for me is the audience is full of children. [I've been wondering] how we can do more music events that kids can come to, because I saw how inspired they were.
You'll be returning to the National Gallery in May to help curate their 200th anniversary event. How are you thinking about everything it stands for while bringing it into the future with music and women and people of color?
I've always had an attachment to the Gallery because there were school trips to it and my parents would never let me go. So for them to email me, "Hey, we've been to a couple of your events, would you like to bring Piano Day to the National Gallery?" I was just overwhelmed and hugely complimented.
I went to each room, sat down and thought about the feelings [it brought up]. I ended up landing on the blue room, it's got a lot of English paintings in it. I liked the idea of English artists against old English paintings, sort of breaking that mold of stiffness and classical looks to be like, this is now the future of London coming into the gallery. We placed the piano right in front of this really famous huge horse painting to really make that statement.
I am very mindful of having a diverse and interesting lineup. I always have one artist that starts the event that is a nod to the traditional kind of way of playing [piano]. It usually evolves to some artists playing the neoclassical sounds and then it moves into more the dance element and vocalist and then it ends on "this is the future" type of thing. I always like having that momentum.
Let's talk about your new record label RISE. What's your vision is with it and who are the artists you're currently working with?
I started Rise last year for artists that want help to get to the next level and get the attention of the label they want. I wanted to do a label that was within my bandwidth because I have a full-time job. If there're artists that I can help get from point A to B, then they go on to C, that's a great thing. I have Frank Hopkins on the label, who's an electronic artist, and Kareem Kumar, who's a Black artist who is known for playing in the streets of London. [Kumar] has built an incredibly huge audience on socials that has been a real inspiration to so many youngsters during COVID. They played together for the first time at the National Gallery, where Frank added some really nice ambient sounds and Kareem played the piano.
Too often, labels are quite a stiff experience, they want to assign that artist forever. If there are any artists that want help on press releases, overall branding and PR, that's exactly what RISE is there for. We can help them release some records, sort their online profile and offer guidance to basically uplift the artist so they can get the attention of booking agents, a label etc.
I see the future of labels where they are this sort of incubator-type of model, where they help an artist and the artists can grow into their own team or go off into another label. I envisage more labels existing like mine, where they're helping the artists onto that next level.
What do you think needs to shift for the music industry to be more supportive — financially and otherwise — of artists, particularly young people of color?
One thing that could be great is the labels that are doing well commercially — I'm sure they do this to a certain extent — choose two artists every year for an incubator program and make it more visible. Right now, most labels' A&R is a very closed thing. I think [it would help] if the labels made a very clear way of sending them demos. I know it is difficult because these days, even [people at] labels are so overworked and they don't have time to think about things like this. Maybe a music organization or a body out there could pick this idea up and take it to some of the major labels.
On the live side, [we need] more community spaces where an artist can come by and play regularly to fans and bring their friends and family around. Most venues are so hard to get on the bill, [so there's a need for] smaller 100-capacity-or-so spaces that open the doors more to local artists. We rely on the same names over and over again, whether it's festivals or local clubs, etc.
With your work as Beatport's Chief Community Officer, what are you actively doing to bring in and celebrate more women and people of color in dance music?
I've always been aware of diversity and my color and who I am in the music industry. Especially when I was around all those white male composers who knew everything about production and I knew nothing, that was very daunting. Even things like drinking — I don't drink and the amount of times it feels uncomfortable to be in the music industry. Many people in South Asian communities, especially Pakistani, grew up in a non-drinking culture, and we should have awareness to make those people feel comfortable otherwise they're never going to join the music industry.
What's been incredible is that Robb [McDaniels, Beatport's CEO] and the team have been, "You own it, you do what you believe." In the first few months, I hired a DEI consultant named Vick Bain, who was an amazing mentor for me. I'm a real big believer in experts. I was able to really upskill myself very fast through having her around.
Putting aside diversity, we're living in a time where people are feeling incredibly lonely and disconnected from community. That's why I'm doing panel events with DJ sets with Beatport. I [want to] facilitate people to come in to hear from each other, especially women, in a room that feels safe to hold discussion.
First meeting of the year was at the National Gallery. Can’t wait to curate my piano event there this year 🥳 pic.twitter.com/RVNFNZWdTV
How have you taken it upon yourself to bring more women and artists of color with you along the way, and do you make space and advocate for people?
It's always something that's on the top of my mind because being a South Asian woman in music is already quite difficult at moments. You look around wondering Is there any support for me? And with my journey of having walked away from my family, part of me is already exhausted from that experience and existing in the music industry in an environment that often feels very alien to me.
Just being a woman in a C-Suite position isn't not easy. I've never been in a role where the focus is to champion women and that's why I'm so grateful for Beatport.
Throughout my career, I've always given out a lot of free PR and guidance, and quite often that's been for women. I've always wanted to be available and I'm always happy to give my time. If anyone reads this, and they want to email me and ask me any questions, I'm always really happy to help.
What's some advice you have for young women of color that want to work in the music industry but don't know where to start?
What I love about the music industry is there are so many gaps, and so many observations you can make and sort of insert yourself in and create something quite special itself. Once you start getting to know your local community, [you can get] so much support from others. I made a lot of my friends by going to vinyl markets and going up to my favorite labels and saying hi. When I was trying to work in the music industry and sending a ton of emails, I got nothing in return. But as soon as I started being a bit more active in the live [music] side, I met so many people.
Don't think you need to do it alone. For so many years, I kept what I was experiencing to myself and I would always present this polished person on Instagram. Lately, I've started really opening up more about how I feel. When I turned 43 recently, I posted on Instagram about how I sometimes overwork to avoid [loneliness]. I was surprised by how many people, especially men, messaged me and said I feel that way too. I'm learning to be more vulnerable.
Don't be afraid to ask questions. You just have to get over ego and fear. I can't sugarcoat it; unfortunately, there are [some] people who are going to make you feel really stupid for asking. Lean on your friends and know you're on the right path. Know that we need more women and more diversity in the industry. Look at people that inspire you. When I used to look at Four Tet, I'd be like, Oh my God, an Indian man on stage, that's so cool. So, look for your inspiration points and be vulnerable with your friends, because it is going to be difficult sometimes. And you can definitely email me anytime. [Chuckles.]
What does a more equitable music industry look like to you?
Well, that's a big question. I think [it would involve] everyone being more conscious. Whether it's a booking agent or a label looking to sign someone, if everyone is thinking around diversity and consciously looking and making their spaces more open to women. I always think about open doors. How can everyone open their doors more while considering the space people are entering into. It's one thing opening your door but it's another thing if that person enters a space and doesn't feel safe.
For me, a place where everyone's consciously thinking about this, and it isn't just on the organization or a few artists or someone like me in my role to try and figure it out. I think if everyone was conscious of it, things would just happen more seamlessly.
How LP Giobbi & Femme House Are Making Space For Women In Dance Music: "If You Really Want To Make A Change, It Can Be Done"
Photo: Omar Vega/Getty Images
list
Electronic sounds can be heard throughout Latin music and will be recognized in a new Field and Category at the 2024 Latin GRAMMYs. In honor of the new Best Latin Electronic Music Performance award, read on for eight Latin electronic music essentials.
Electronic music is embedded within the diverse world of Latin music and, for the first time, will be recognized in a new Field and Category at the 2024 Latin GRAMMYs. Within that field, the award for Best Latin Electronic Music Performance was created to shine a light on DJs, producers, and artists blending proudly blending electronic music with the sounds of their cultures.
Electronic music embodies various subgenres like house music, techno, trance, electronica, and many others rooted that have been popularized by DJs and producers. Latin artists have long enriched those subgenres: Mexico's Belanova globalized the electro-pop wave, while Bomba Estéreo blended cumbia with electronica in Colombia. 
The explosion of EDM in the 2010s also allowed the careers of Latinx DJs to flourish. Mexican American DJ Deorro has showcased both cultures during sets at music festivals like EDC, Coachella, Tomorrowland, and more. Arca's music pushes the boundaries of electronic music through a Venezuelan and Latin American lens. More recently, Colombian producer Víctor Cárdenas bridged the gap between EDM and reggaeton with the global hit "Pepas" by Farruko. Since then, electronic music has seeped through the work of Latin hit-makers like Tainy, Caleb Calloway, Bizarrap and Diego Raposo. "Pepas" and many of Bizarrap's music sessions crossed over onto Billboard's Hot Dance/Electronic Songs.
"That’s something that’s very big for us," Deorro tells GRAMMY.com about the new category. "How beautiful that this is happening, because it shows that what we’re doing is working, we’re breaking down doors, and we’re creating more opportunities for artists like us in the future." 
In honor of the Latin Recording Academy's new Field and Category, here are eight must-hear Latin electronic music essentials.
Belanova revolutionized the Latin music space with their 2003 debut album Cocktail, an atmospheric LP that seamlessly blends Latin pop with electronic music. In the dreamy deep house of "Tu Ojos," singer Denisse Guerrero sang about getting lost in her lover's eyes. The trippy techno of "Barco De Papel" was reminiscent of the music from Madonna's Ray of Light album. Electronic music on the ambient level wasn’t common in Latin music until Belenova changed the game in Mexico, which later reverberated into the rest of Latin America and the U.S. 
The trio — which includes guitarist Ricardo Arreol and keyboardist Edgar Huerta — later delved into electro-pop on 2007's Fantasía Pop, which won a Latin GRAMMY for Best Pop Album by a Group or Duo the following year. 
Venezuelan producer/artist Arca is a pioneer in the Latin electronic music space. Arca first began producing her experimental electronica in Spanish with her 2017 self-titled album.
Arca then masterfully mixed the diverse sounds of Latin America and beyond with EDM throughout her Kick album series. 
For Kick I, she combined Venezuelan gaita music and reggaeton with a cyberpunk edge in "KLK" featuring Spanish pop star Rosalía. Arca then blended electronica with neo-perreo on Kick II's "Prada" and "Rakata." Both albums garnered Arca GRAMMY and Latin GRAMMY nominations. 
As a trans and non-binary artist, she is also breaking boundaries for the LGBTQ+ community in the genre. Arca is just not creating more space for queer artists in Latin music, but also in EDM at large by embracing the totality of herself in song.  
Bomba Estéreo, which is comprised of core members Simón Mejía and Liliana "Li" Saumet, has masterfully melded the music of Colombia’s Caribbean coast with electronic music. Since breaking out in 2008 with their sophomore album, the group has often reimagined the African and Indigenous rhythms of their country like cumbia through dance music. Bomba Estéreo’s folkloric approach to EDM has led to collaborations with Bad Bunny, Tainy, and Sofi Tukker.    
In 2021, Bomba Estéreo released its most ambitious album Deja, which garnered a GRAMMY and Latin GRAMMY nominations. The title track put a funky spin on the band's signature electro-tropical sound. House music collided with the Afro-Colombian rhythms of champeta in "Conexión Total" featuring Nigerian singer Yemi Alade. Their album that was based on the four classical elements was a breath of fresh air in the Latin music scene. 
Argentine producer Bizarrap launched the BZRP Music Sessions on YouTube in 2018, first remaining behind the console for freestyle rapping sessions with local acts. The sessions quickly went viral, and have featured increasingly larger names in music.
Over the past five years, Bizarrap worked elements of electronic music into his hip-hop productions. In 2022, he fully delved into EDM with his global hit "BZRP Music Sessions #52" featuring Spanish singer Quevedo. The traptronica banger peaked at No. 4 on Billboard's Hot Dance/Electronic Songs and earned Bizarrap his first Latin GRAMMY Award. 
Since then, his music sessions have become a global event. Bizarrap later infused electro-pop with a trap breakdown in "BZRP Music Sessions #53" with Shakira, which garnered him two more Latin GRAMMY awards. 
Javiera Mena first debuted as an indie act in 2006 with Esquemas Juveniles. With that freedom as a producer and artist, the Chilean star pushed Latin music into the electronic space with her 2010 album Mena. 
She fully immersed herself into Latin electronica on her latest album, 2022's Nocturna — an album filled with nighttime club bangers that invite everyone to dance with her. Mena also proudly sings about being part of the LGBTQ+ community in the alluring "La Isla de Lesbos" and the fierce house music of "Diva" featuring Chico Blanco. Considering the influence of queer artists in the formation of electronic genres like house, it’s refreshing to see an artist like Mena remind people of those roots and bring that into Latin music.  
Mexican American producer Deorro has established himself as one of the world's top DJs, and is known for mixing both of his cultures into his music festival sets. Even before the música mexicana explosion last year, he was one of the first mainstream EDM acts to bring the genre to music festivals around the world through his songs and remixes.   
With his debut album, 2022's Orro, Deorro fully bridged música mexicana with house music. He collaborated with Latin acts like Mexico's Los Tucanes De Tijuana and Maffio in "Yo Las Pongo," which blended the band's norteño sound with EDM. Deorro also explored cumbia with deep house in the sweeping "Dime" featuring Los Ángeles Azules and Lauri Garcia. In his recent sets, he is spinning a fiery remix of "Ella Baila Sola" by Eslabon Armado and Peso Pluma
Sinego first broke through in 2019 thanks to his house bolero sound like in "Verte Triste," which put a refreshing spin on an age-old Cuban genre. With traditional genres within the Latin diaspora often falling to the wayside as the years go on, he is reintroducing them to new audiences through EDM reimaginings.   
For his debut album, 2023's Alterego, the Colombian producer pushed his electronic music to another level. Sinego traveled to different Latin American countries and Spain to record with local musicians, reimagining genres like cumbia, tango, and mambo through Sinego's EDM lens. With the sultry "Mala," he blended Venezuela's variation of calypso with house music. He also gave Brazilian samba a house music makeover in "Boa Noite" featuring Tonina. 
Dominican producer Diego Raposo has helped Latin acts like Danny Ocean, Blue Rojo, and Letón Pé embrace elements of electronic music. In 2018, Raposo released his debut album Caribe Express, which demonstrated his knack for mixing the sounds of the Caribbean with EDM. 
Raposo took that inventive mix into overdrive with last year's Yo No Era Así Pero De Ahora En Adelante Sí. The otherworldly "Si Supieras" featuring Okeiflou blended house music with reggaeton, while "Al Contrario" with Akrilla aggressively mixes drum 'n 'bass with dembow. Rapaso also channels Dance Dance Revolution-esque electronica in the spellbinding "Quédate" with Kablito. 
7 Latin DJs To Watch In 2023: Gordo, Arca, The Martinez Brothers & More
Photo: Matt Jelonek/WireImage
interview
As Green Velvet and Cajmere, DJ/producer Curtis Jones celebrates everything from Chicago to acid house. With a new party and revived record label, Jones says he wants to "shine a light on those who sacrificed so much to keep house music alive."
Curtis Jones is a dance music legend, whose multiple monikers only begin to demonstrate his deep and varied influence in the genre.
Jones has been active as a producer and DJ for decades, and is among a cadre of dance music acts forging a connection between the genre's origins and its modern iterations. Crucially, he  joined Chicago house legends Honey Dijon and Terry Hunter on Beyoncé's house-infused RENAISSANCE, providing a sample for "Cozy." He’s also produced tracks with house favorites Chris Lake and Oliver Heldens, and DJed with Dom Dolla and John Summit.
Jones contributed to the aforementioned collaborations, young and old, as Green Velvet. He’s been releasing dance hits like "Flash" and "Answering Machine" under that name since the mid- '90s. He is also currently a staple of the live circuit, his signature green mohawk vibing in clubs and festivals around the globe — including at his own La La Land parties in Los Angeles, Denver, Orlando, and elsewhere.
Green Velvet is appropriately braggadocious, even releasing the popular "Bigger Than Prince" in 2013. But by the time Jones had released the heavy-grooving tech house track, his artistry had been percolating for decades as Cajmere.
Where Green Velvet releases lean into acid house and Detroit techno, Cajmere is all about the traditional house sound of Jones’ hometown of Chicago. When Jones first debuted Cajmere in 1991, Chicago’s now-historic reputation for house music was still developing. Decades after the original release, Cajmere tracks like "Percolator,” have sustained the Windy City sound via remixes by prominent house artists like Will Clarke, Jamie Jones, and Claude VonStroke.
"I love doing music under both of my aliases, so it’s great when fans discover the truth,” Jones tells GRAMMY.com over email. Often, Jones performs as Cajmere to open his La La Land parties, and closes as Green Velvet. 
But beyond a few scattered performances and new tracks, Cajmere has remained dormant while Green Velvet became a worldwide headliner, topping bills in Mexico City, Toronto, Bogotá and other international dance destinations. He’s only shared two original releases as Cajmere since 2016: "Baby Talk,” and "Love Foundation,” a co-production with fellow veteran Chicago producer/DJ Gene Farris.
This year, Jones is reviving Cajmere to headliner status with his new live event series, Legends. First held in March in Miami, Jones' Legends aims to highlight other dance music legends, from Detroit techno pioneers Stacey Pullen and Carl Craig, to Chicago house maven Marshall Jefferson. 
"My intention is to shine a light on those who sacrificed so much to keep house music alive," Jones writes. "The sad reality is that most of the legendary artists aren’t celebrated or compensated as well as they should be."
Given that dance music came into the popular music zeitgeist relatively recently, the originators of the genre — like the artists Jones booked for his Legends party — are still in their prime. Giving them space to perform allows them to apply the same innovation they had in the early '90s in 2024.
Jones says the Miami Legends launch was an amazing success."Seeing the passion everyone, young and old, displayed was so inspiring."
Curtis Jones, center, DJs at the Miami Legends party ┃Courtesy of the artist
The first Legends party also served as a celebration of Cajual Records, the label Jones launched in 1992 as a home for his Cajmere music. Over the past three decades, Cajual has also released tracks from dance music veterans such as Riva Starr, as well as contemporary tastemakers like Sonny Fodera and DJ E-Clyps. 
Furthermore, Jones’ partnership with revered singers such as Russoul and Dajae (the latter of whom still performs with him to this day) on Cajual releases like "Say U Will” and "Waterfall” helped to define the vocal-house style.
Like the Cajmere project, Cajual Records has been moving slower in recent years. The label has only shared four releases since 2018. True to form, though, Jones started another label; Relief Records, the home of Green Velvet's music, shared 10 releases in 2023 alone.
Jones says he's been particularly prolific as Green Velvet because "the genres of tech house and techno have allowed me the creative freedom I require as an artist."
Now Jones is making "loads of music” as Cajmere again and recently signed a new distribution deal for Cajual Records. The true sound of Chicago is resonating with audiences in 2024, Jones says, adding "it's nice that house is making a comeback."
Jones remembers when house music was especially unpopular. He used to call radio stations in the '80s to play tracks like Jamie Principle's underground classic "Waiting On My Angel,” only to be told they didn’t play house music whatsoever. In 2024, house music records like FISHER’s "Losing It” were certified gold, and received nominations for Best Dance Recording at the 66th GRAMMY Awards. Jones is embracing this popularity with open arms.
Read more: The Rise Of Underground House: How Artists Like Fisher & Acraze Have Taken Tech House, Other Electronic Genres From Indie To EDC
"The new audience it’s attracting is excited to hear unique underground-style house records now. This is perfect for my Cajmere sets,” Jones says. "I never saw Green Velvet being more popular than Cajmere, and both sounds being as popular as they are even today.” 
While Jones is finding success in his own artistic endeavors, he points to a general lack of appreciation for Black dance artists in festival bookings. Looking at the run-of-show for ARC Festival, a festival in Chicago dedicated to house and techno music, legendary artists play some of the earliest slots. 
For the 2023 edition, Carl Craig played at 3 p.m on Saturday while the young, white John Summit, closed the festival the same night. In 2021, the acid house inventor, Chicago’s DJ Pierre, played the opening set at 2 p.m. on Saturday, while FISHER, another younger white artist, was the headliner.
In 2020, Marshall Jefferson penned an op-ed in Mixmag about the losing battle he is fighting as a Black DJ from the '90s. He mentions that younger white artists often receive upwards of $250,000 for one gig, whereas he receives around $2,000, despite the fact that he still DJs to packed crowds 30 years after he started.
Jones is doing his part to even the playing field with Legends, and according to him, things are going well after the first edition. "Seeing how much respect the fans have for the Legends was so special,” Jones says. "Hopefully they become trendy again.” 
The story of Curtis Jones is already one of legend, but it is far from over. "I feel it’s my duty to continue to make creative and innovative tracks as well as musical events. I love shining the light on new upcoming and emerging artists as well as giving the originators their proper dues,” Jones says. 
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Photo: Lola Banet
interview
On her debut record, British jungle artist Nia Archives plays with contrast. "Jungle is so chaotic and intense," she says, adding that her music is often emotional. "Bringing the two together always makes something quite interesting."
Since Nia Archives came on the scene in 2020, she has been making noise.
The 24-year-old native of Northern England produces jungle — the dance subgenre known for its loud, raucous breakbeats — and her achievements in her short career (figuratively) match the volume of her chosen style.
Over four years, Nia Archives has released tracks with tens of millions of Spotify streams like "Headz Gone West" and "Sober Feelz," started her own event series, Up Ya Archives, and become friends with the jungle originator Goldie. Nia also closed a stage at Coachella 2023, and opened for Beyoncé during the London RENAISSANCE tour show.
Nia’s also made significant strides for equality in dance music. In 2022, she wrote a letter to Britain’s MOBO (Music Of Black Origin) Awards imploring them to include a dance and electronic music category. In response, not only did they add the category that same year, but Nia won it.
For as much noise as she’s made in recent years, Nia always makes room in her life for contrast. Out April 12, Nia Archives' debut album, Silence Is Loud, the singer, producer, and DJ shows that there is just as much power in the quiet.
"Silence can be weakness for some people: You didn't say what you wanted to say; you were too weak to make noise," Nia tells GRAMMY.com. "But it can also be powerful. Keeping your silence. Holding your tongue and not saying what might not have been beneficial." 
This contrast is central to Nia’s music, and sees new heights on Silence. Her sweet, ringing voice counters the heaviness of jungle beats, while lighter genres are layered over fast-moving breaks. On tracks "Cards On The Table" and "Out of Options," the melodic foundation is built on Britpop-esque acoustic guitar chords. On the album's title track, Nia contrasts massive kick drums and high-pitched squeals, with softer, heartfelt lyrics detailing her dependence on her little brother.
GRAMMY.com spoke to Nia Archives about finding balance in contrast, her writing process, and making noise in the near-silent U.S. jungle scene.
This interview has been edited for clarity.
The hallmark of jungle music is busy breakbeats. How do you incorporate the concept of silence into the genre?
Jungle is so chaotic and intense. That's one of the things I've always loved about the music — the hectic drum patterns. But in my music, the songwriting is always quite emotional with a lot of meaning in it. Bringing the two together always makes something quite interesting. 
With this project, I really wanted to focus on songwriting. I took the time to research the great songwriters from the Beatles to Amy Winehouse, Radiohead, Blur. Kings of Leon were a huge inspiration to me throughout this project as well. 
In the past, a lot of music I was writing was quite surface-level. I wasn't going as inward as I could; maybe out of fear. The process of this project was different. 
I'd write the songs in bed in the morning, and then make the drum patterns on my laptop. I’d take my little demo [to my friend and producer Ethan P. Flynn] and we’d make the song in like three hours. That process really worked for me because it meant I could really get deep. 
I'd write loads of sh-t lyrics before I got to the good lyrics. In studios, it’s hard to get all the rubbish thoughts in your head and say them in front of people. So I quite enjoyed the privacy of writing in bed and taking it to Ethan. We’d just have fun and bang out all the tunes. 
How did the work of the Beatles and Radiohead manifest when you were making the album?
I've got really eclectic taste in music. I love jungle, that's my bread and butter, but I’ve always found fun in fusing genres together to make something new. 
I really enjoy deep-diving into the Beatles, Blur or Radiohead, [and] listening to the structures and the instrument choices. There are certain things that make them what they are, especially Blur with Britpop. I was listening to the Ronettes and a lot of Motown. I went to Detroit last year, and I got to go to the Motown Museum. I found that really inspiring; those productions, it's crazy what they did with what they had.
I'll never be able to make music how the people that I listen to make it — especially when you bring in jungle beats and 170 BPM. It's always gonna be a slightly off-kilter version of the original inspiration. But I think that makes something quite fun and unique.
Blur's Damon Albarn also leads Gorillaz, opening him up to all manner of collaborations. What would you think about being on a Gorillaz track at some point?
It'd be a dream come true! If there's anybody that I'm trying to get to listen to my album. It's definitely Damon Albarn. I'm actually gonna send him an unsolicited vinyl just because I really love his music. He's an incredible musician, artist, everything. He's a big inspiration to me.
You’ve said in previous interviews that jungle is "anything over a breakbeat." Why do you think contrasting sounds can fit so well over a breakbeat?
I think jungle, especially in the '90s, was so futuristic. The breaks themselves, depending on how you construct them, are so versatile. The breaks have so much room to go in whatever direction you want. You can go really heavy, or you can go really light and atmospheric. 
All of the original junglists have their own style. They weren't all trying to be the same. They were very strong in their identity, which is one of the other things I love about it.
What kind of modern music are you excited about integrating into jungle?
I quite like a lot of happy hardcore stuff, which is not new. I really enjoy those melodies [and you don't really hear that sound as much. I really love disco; I'd like to do something like that. 
You’re one of the only artists, if not the only jungle artist of this generation who has built an audience in the U.S. You’ve played Coachella and headlined U.S. tours. How does it feel to be a driving force in introducing jungle to America?
Older generations know about jungle. But I feel like a lot of the young kids in the U.S. are definitely discovering it, which is super exciting. It's really cool to build community in America as well. Every time I've played in America I get the proper ravers down. 
A big part of jungle is the culture and the community that comes with it. We have such a rich culture in the UK; we're kind of spoiled. Whereas in America it feels like people who like that music, they're still building [community].
I love playing in New York cause they've got a lot of new-gen junglists. There's a few new producers who are like 20-21 [years old] who I always hang out with when I go to New York. It's really cool to see their take on jungle, 'cause the American producers that I know have a different view of it.
In the UK we have so many jungle nights and so many raves constantly. In America, those jungle nights feel quite special and one-off. I feel really excited to keep coming back and keep building that community in America. I'm excited to see all the new producers that come up in the next couple of years, as well.
Have you supported any new American junglists by inviting them to perform at an Up Ya Archives party or playing out their tracks live?
There's a kid called Dazegxd. I got him on my Lot Radio takeover for Up Ya Archives. Then he actually played at the Knockdown Center [in Queens, NY] for me which was amazing.
I've booked him to play his first London show at an Up Ya Archives party. That's a really meaningful connection to me 'cause he's quite young and he's so excited about the music; he's proper geeking out about jungle. I love people like that because I'm also a geek of this music.
I'm looking forward to meeting more people like that. I love creating friendships and relationships with people and getting them to play my parties. 
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Where do you see your career, and jungle as a whole, going in the future?
I'd love to keep building on what I'm doing. My album, I'm hoping, is my flag in the sand moment for who I am as an album artist. There's a lot of fusions, and I'm hoping that people can hear it and understand where I'm trying to go.
I hope to make more albums and keep traveling the world. I've got a lot of exciting touring coming up this year. If I can do what I'm doing now, but a bit better in five years, I'll be a very happy person. 
My goal in life, similar to Goldie, is to do what I'm doing for the rest of my life. They've been doing it for 30 years. People come and go, but they've held it down for as long as they have, and they're still as relevant as they were 30 years ago.
That's what I want in my career. To still be able to play music and make music when I'm like 50. That is the real goal.
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