SINA

What techniques did you use on this album?

On this album, I’ve solidified the styles and techniques I’ve been developing for years. Sampling, for example, lets me include hip-hop references—it’s like a scavenger hunt I leave behind. I also incorporate sounds from the Swana region—Turkish and Arabic vocals—which adds a cultural dimension to my techno. These samples from my region are especially important today. They help shine a light on a culture that’s often criticized or undermined because of current conflicts. It’s hard to feel proud of your roots right now, so it’s more important than ever to show their beauty.

Let’s talk about the electronic music scene. How do you see its media evolution and, for some, its loss of value?

The scene had already started to lose value in the early 2000s with the end of raves and the return of clubs—spaces that are hedonistic by nature and rarely political. I’m not here to criticize other people’s music; I believe it’s up to each artist to choose their medium and how they speak out. The scene is so diverse that criticizing it as a whole would be like criticizing everyone who listens to it.

Is activism and speaking out important to you?

These days, having a political opinion or being outspoken is risky—you’re immediately categorized, you step out of the commercial artist mold, and you’re no longer “marketable.” But I fully accept that risk. I hope more artists speak out—most of them do have opinions but are afraid to voice them. This is urgent—how much time do we have left before we reach a point of no return? Another issue today is that social media is replacing traditional media. I see journalists as the historians of the present; they connect and spotlight cultural movements that might not even be aware of themselves. People are consuming too much content that’s essentially disguised advertising, instead of real journalism. This weakens both our culture and our media—like the recent disappearance of TRAX magazine for electronic music.This crisis in information is alarming and leads to a culture of misinformation. In this chaotic transitional period, I’m staying focused on my values and convictions, which have always been clear. That’s what led me to create SUBTYL with two friends 12 years ago. It’s a collective that stands for an inclusive scene, young talent, minorities, and equality. We’re probably answering the same questions I asked myself while creating the album.

How did your passion for electronic music begin?

I started going to clubs pretty young—around 14—because in Spain they’re not that strict about age. I discovered electronic music at the end of my hip-hop phase when it became too commercial for me. I never thought I’d become a DJ. My family wasn’t from that world—it wasn’t well regarded. They still saw artists as belonging to a social and cultural elite, and I had that same view until I was 25. Still, I was involved—I had a blog called Mickey Club that was quite well known at the time, I helped with events and did communications for some collectives, and I had a few gigs a month. Then I started organizing parties with two friends because I felt the scene lacked authenticity, equality, and queer representation. We launched SUBTYL in 2012. For seven years, we organized small, intimate events with only Paris-based artists, which helped build a loyal audience. We collaborated with several artists, mixing performances and parties. The collective grew organically until 2018, when we decided to open our own space—in a former halal butcher shop. After a few months, we realized having a physical venue wasn’t compatible with our lives. Meanwhile, my career was evolving. So, we decided to close it, and to this day we still organize several events a year—up to our 12-year anniversary this December!