If you’ve been following the electronic music scene in Europe over the past decade, Nicola Kazimir is likely a familiar name. He is best known as a cofounder of Les Points, a Swiss collective and label that has been further solidifying Zurich’s standing as a key electronic music hub since the early 2010s. Their first releases pushed the boundaries of minimal house by infusing it with a playful quirkiness, contributing to the rise of the emerging “digger” scene represented by figures like Nicolas Lutz and Binh. But rather than stopping there, Nicola and his accomplices Audino, Louh, and Barbir chose to reinvent themselves with each new record, incorporating elements from their wide range of influences—from black metal to video game music—even at the risk of unsettling some of their early fans.
“Music is the bouncer.” This quote, borrowed from Underground Resistance, is one of Kazimir’s favorites, which he embraces as a true ethos for his entire career. Beyond its artistic dimension, music and everything surrounding it (album covers, track titles, distribution mechanics) also serve as a true political medium for Nicola. This approach led him to open Mikro in 2015, a hybrid space between art gallery and club located in the former premises of the Zurich University of the Arts. This off-space, open 24/7, is a response to the sectarian and elitist nature of clubs and art galleries that claim to be “open to all” while enforcing strict exclusionary policies, either directly or indirectly. Over the years, Mikro has become an essential part of Zurich’s cultural scene, combining exhibitions of emerging contemporary artists, rave parties with icons such as Mad Mike, and exclusive showcases devoted to electronic music acts like Drexciya and SP23.
Nicola Kazimir is mainly driven by an enduring love for electronic music, both for its sound and its cultural significance. Always searching for new ways to express this passion, his latest project is a manga titled Freq, created in collaboration with Italian illustrator Good News For Bad Guys and legendary Japanese scriptwriter Dai Sato. The first volume, which directly references the history of electronic music in its lore, is finally out after two years of intensive work.
In the following interview, we dive deep into Nicola’s mind and life, from his childhood memories playing on his brother’s Super Nintendo to his teenage excursions in Zurich’s after-parties and his career as an international DJ. We explore a variety of themes along the way, including the parallels between DJing and art curation, the dynamics of music production, and the creative potential of artificial intelligence. The written conversation is soundtracked by recorded voice notes from Nicola himself, along with a selection of tracks he selected to musically illustrate the topics and periods discussed.
Can you tell us about your early days and some of your first musical influences as a kid?
My upbringing wasn’t particularly musical. I come from a working-class migrant family from Slovakia (formerly Czechoslovakia), who moved to Switzerland during the Cold War. They actually ended up living above a strip club on Langstrasse in the 80’s. My siblings always tell me how hard those initial years were—before I was born.
I grew up at a time when my family had become more middle class: one part integrated (my mother), one part exiled (my father). But even that classification doesn’t really do justice to our family history. I can say I had everything I wanted, as long as I brought home good grades. Honestly, my parents deserve a biopic. I keep the details for myself and those closest to me. Maybe one day I’ll write the story down—it’s both fascinating and sad. Migrant stories are always complex, layered with discrimination. People often forget how Eastern Europeans were treated by Westerners, or how far migrants would go to provide for their families.
I’m actually the only one in my family born in Switzerland, and I’ve spent my entire life in Zurich. Growing up in a very post-Soviet environment, I didn’t even speak German until I started kindergarten. Since music wasn’t a big part of our family life, my earliest musical influences came from gaming.
My older brother, who is 15 years older than me, was really into video games. Some of my earliest memories are of playing games with him. I remember the electronic sounds from the Nintendo/Super Nintendo games we played, and I believe those sounds subconsciously influenced me.
What is your favorite video game soundtrack?
It wasn’t until later that I realized how these electronic beats had shaped my musical tastes as a young adult. Another defining moment was getting a computer at a young age, where I spent countless hours exploring music on the Internet.
Around the age of 9, my older siblings would take me to the Street Parade in Zurich, which is similar to the Love Parade. It started as a demonstration, now it’s a commercial event but I still appreciate that we have this sort of event in Zurich.
2-step and garage were thriving in Zurich at the time, which was surprising since broken beats have always struggled in German-speaking Europe. My older brother was totally into that scene, and I’d listen to his Fashion House and 2-step CDs all the time.
What is your favorite tune from your brother’s 2-step CDs?
By the time I was 13, I had already started DJing. Before I was 13, I was exploring a lot of different music genres—I went through a hip-hop skater phase, dressed in baggy pants and listening to Wu-Tang Clan, and the next year, I wore a punk belt and got into Cradle of Filth and Rob Zombie.
So, I’d say my biggest influences were my older siblings and the computer. Apart from them (and sometimes even them), my family had terrible taste in music, my parents included. I hear stories about people with cool, DJ parents and amazing record collections, but for me, it was always the same awful CDs during our 8-hour drives to Slovakia. My father would always play this Slovakian mainstream-pop-stadium-rock band called Elán, and he was really into AC/DC—his deepest musical discovery.
What is the Elán track your dad would play the most in the car to Slovakia?
When I was in secondary school, a good friend introduced me to DJing through his older sister’s boyfriend, who had turntables at his place. We started messing around with them, and I was instantly hooked. At 13, I began buying records on sites like deejay.de and Decks, which were around even back then. I bought 5 or 10 records, started practicing, and a few months later, I found a great deal on eBay for two Technics turntables and a Pioneer mixer. After that, my friend never saw me again.
What was the first record you bought when you started DJing?
What was the electronic music scene like in Zurich when you started going out and DJing?
Back then, mix CDs from DJs were incredibly popular, but they eventually died out with the rise of downloads and streaming. Even local Swiss DJs would release their own mixes, ranging from Fashion House compilations to Electroclash and Electro House. I wasn’t old enough to go to clubs yet, but I got a sense of what was playing in them by listening to those CDs. My siblings started taking me out when I was around 15 or 16. I had a fake ID, which was really helpful. It was a time when I was just beginning to scratch the surface of underground music. I was drawn to whatever was popular within the European electronic music scene, which moved in waves—one moment it was Electro House / Electroclash, the next it was Minimal, and so on.
What was the anthem of the Private Fiction parties?
One Zurich party that everyone was talking about was Private Fiction. The music was a mix of harsh electro sounds from artists like Anthony Rother, Miss Kittin and German electro house tracks from people like Lützenkirchen. It was a fusion of electroclash and electro house, with very harsh beats – later it developed into fidget house. They had this Mad Max aesthetic, and people would dress in a specific way that was somewhat similar to the Tecktonik style, though this was before Tecktonik really took off. It’s funny that Zurich had a taste of it at Private Fiction before it became a thing; the dances were a bit different though, the style was pretty similar but a little rougher and closer to cosplay. We would go out and walk around at school dressed like this…
And then the Minimal wave hit. Funnily enough, the first track I ever bought on Beatport was “Berlin Has No Cows” by Serafin from The Mountain People (2006), and I had no clue he was Swiss. I clicked on this track randomly on the front page of the old Beatport interface, and it became a real gateway to more hypnotic sounds when I was 16. That’s when my first switch as a DJ occurred.
What does “Berlin Has No Cows” by Serafin mean to you?
What do you mean by “switch”?
By “switch,” I mean my transition from electroclash and electro house sounds to minimal, house, and later, disco. Around the age of 17, I looked old enough to start going to Zukunft, where The Mountain People had their residency. Minimal House was really big in Switzerland in the 00’s, with Dachkantine emerging as one of the big international venues for the minimal scene—even Villalobos called it one of his favorite clubs. But I was too young to experience Dachkantine, as it was a very niche club and my taste at that time would have been seen as “commercial” for Dachkantine clubgoers.
Then, a year later in 2008, I turned 18, and we started organizing our first underground parties. We were doing clandestine raves under a bridge in Zurich.
Was that already with Audino, Louh, and Walid from Les Points?
No, it was just with Audino and a few other guys I grew up with in the suburbs. After our first raves, we transitioned to hosting a couple of parties at some shabby clubs. Then, the owner (Serafin) of one of Zurich’s most hyped underground clubs thought we would be a perfect fit for his venue, which was called Cabaret Club, so he invited us to organize parties there. A heartfelt gratitude to Serafin for his obsession with club culture, which really made an everlasting impression on me. You had to be over 25 to enter this club, so we were clearly underage, but he still gave us our chance. The club was on Geroldstrasse, in the same spot where Spidergalaxy used to be.
Spidergalaxy was notorious for its after-hours scene, with a darkroom and a main club area upstairs where they hosted some highly druggy and sex positive parties. Places like that don’t exist in Zurich anymore; it was like experiencing a version of Berghain in the mid-2000s. It was through venues like Spidergalaxy that the underground scene thrived. Partygoers would flock to after-hours and find themselves in this darkroom, accessible only by passing through a giant vagina. That place was eventually shut down by the police due to a drug scandal—it was all over local television at the time. I remember witnessing this as a 15 year old teenager, and back then I was too young to understand the ins-and-outs of an after-hours scene… I was like, “Ok, this is weird!”
So, we secured this residency at Cabaret Club Zürich, and we were by far the youngest DJs to ever play there. I learned a lot about promoting, but it was hard to build a community because we were so young and so different from the rest musically. We were so connected to the Internet that we would always know the trends much faster than anybody else in our city, and we were very committed to developing our own unique sound. At some point we began experimenting by blending minimal with disco and house, often playing at slower tempos around 105-110 bpm. We would mix A Tribe Called Quest with contemporary Minimal/House records in a set, trying to be eclectic but still coherent in our curation by playing styles you wouldn’t think fit together. This approach became a trademark of mine when DJing, exploring various genres in a nuanced and differentiated way.
Which track would best define the Cabaret Club era?
Around 2011, the disco edit hype took off with artists like Tornado Wallace, Wolf & Lamb, Nicolas Jaar, and many others. We loved this music, so we started incorporating it into our sets. This was the most experimental you could get in Zurich at the time. We couldn’t go up in tempo, we couldn’t play breakbeats, but we had found our niche with that combination of Perlon and Wolf & Lamb influences. The dub techno wave followed soon after with guys like STL, which introduced us to Basic Channel and other Techno greats. Needless to say, we all became crazy about it.
How did you eventually develop the trademark sound of Les Points?
I think it was around 2014, when I had my first label release, that our sound really began to evolve. We had booked Isherwood for a gig at Longstreet, and he was way ahead of the curve. His productions were still rooted in minimal house, but as a DJ, he was heavily into obscure ’90s records, digging deep on Discogs. This was a revelation for us because we didn’t have anyone with a similar approach in Zurich. Our local DJs were mostly stuck in the minimal loop or only played house/disco. There weren’t any standout DJs pushing things forward in our scene. At 21, I had been DJing for eight years and felt like one of the most hyped DJs in Zurich. I was doing two or three gigs a week and was a resident at nearly every bar and club. It got to the point where waiters would recognize me in restaurants and give me a 50% discount on fries or whatever. Zurich may be a small city, but it’s incredibly cosmopolitan with a rich cultural scene, and the nightlife is wild here. It easily beats bigger cities, mostly thanks to progressive laws and people eager to have fun and go out.
Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed the recognition and the privileges that came with it. But at that age, it can get to your head, and it definitely got to mine. I knew I was technically better, spent an obsessive amount of time searching for music and had superior curation skills compared to some older DJs, so when they tried to teach me something, I’d tell them things like, “Do you know where you belong? In a museum!” I was quite loud at that age.
Did you get in trouble for that sometimes?
A lot. I even lost residencies for being outspoken. I also complained when local artists would all get the same fee no matter the experience – be it the guy that just supplies drugs while DJing for 2 months or the one that put years into his craft. Well, it didn’t sit well with some club owners. I lost some gigs for speaking out against what I perceived as wrong or unfair; people really didn’t like that attitude.
But going back to Eddie (Isherwood) at Longstreet, that gig was a pivotal moment for us. I remember we all looked at each other and thought, “WE’RE NOWHERE, WE DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ELECTRONIC MUSIC HISTORY, WE’RE WHACK DJs.” I realized that what I had been doing wasn’t enough, as there were deeper layers to explore in DJing and music discovery. That’s when my obsession with Discogs really kicked in—my digging went into overdrive, becoming more node-based and almost archaeological, as I explored all those past genres and connected them to the present through curation.
What is a track played by Isherwood at Longstreet that stayed with you?
At a certain point, I felt like the apprentices had surpassed the master, as our scope of DJing and digging became much broader than Eddie’s. This coincided with the rise of the “DJ’s DJs” wave, with people like Nicolas Lutz, Binh, and Onur Özer. Watching Nicolas Lutz perform for the first time was eye-opening because, besides his crazy mixing skills, I admired his stoic attitude. He didn’t need to put his hands in the air; he simply let the music speak for itself. It showed me that there’s a certain aura in focusing solely on your craft because, at the end of the day, it’s work.
What year was that?
I think it was around 2015 when everything really started to pick up for me internationally. Thanks to the releases on Les Points, I began playing gigs across Europe, and by 2016 I was playing worldwide. The label was also gaining traction during this time. Our early releases had a minimal composition but stood out because they had a unique twist that set them apart. I guess that’s partly why the label succeeded.
What is your favorite track from the early days of Les Points?
One of the cool things about our label is that our releases truly reflect our musical tastes and obsessions at a certain moment. That’s why our style can vary significantly from one release to the next, which sometimes made it difficult to build a consistent fanbase. We’d gain fans with one release, only to surprise or disappoint them with the next. But that was part of our nature; we easily got bored, which is why we constantly shifted from one style to another.
What record best represents the evolution of your sound as Les Points?
What we ended up releasing was just a tiny fraction of what we produced. Walid and I were constantly in the studio, producing every single day and filling hard drives with new music. As producers, we didn’t want to repeat ourselves—we wanted to explore and keep learning, and digging became an endless source of inspiration for our productions. We had a few trademark sounds, but the one that stands out most to me is our EBM/Wave phase, where we drew on Techno and Electro references and wove them into an EBM/Wave context. Less vocals, repetitive vocals, horror samples—I started to associate elements of EBM with Detroit Techno and realized how seemingly disparate sounds could be combined to evoke entirely new emotions.
What record best represents the signature sound of Les Points?
I’m quite detached from my own music. I rarely play it during gigs, and I’m not really concerned about what happens to it. I’m not a fan of Pop Art, but I have a somewhat Warholian view of my music production—I see it as a serial process, something that can be reproduced again and again in an almost industrial way. That’s why we’ve chosen not to copyright our music; we have a punk ethos in the sense that we reject the idea of the artist as a creator of something truly original. As an artist, I’m just a product of countless references that I can’t fully grasp, so I can’t claim ownership over anything I create because it’s just the result of many influences combined in that specific moment.
If someone were to sample our music, I’d see it as an honor rather than theft, even if that sample made them famous. But with our quirky sounds, I doubt it would ever hit the mainstream anyway.
How does this approach translate to DJing? As a DJ and art curator, you often draw parallels between both activities…
I began making this comparison when I started curating art exhibitions. During our early Mikro exhibitions, I realized how similar art curation was to DJing—both involve taking someone else’s work and placing it within a specific context. The main difference is that DJs do this live, while art curators have the chance to work behind closed doors over several days. A skilled curator can position two artworks in the same space to enhance their impact on the viewer, much like transitioning between tracks in a DJ set. For a DJ, beyond just good mixing, the real skill lies in adding an extra layer of depth to the music through selection. Each track placement can evoke a specific emotion in the listener, be it nostalgia, sadness, or even anger. I don’t look to merely play bangers to make people dance and smile; sometimes I want to make them angry, melancholic, or sad, depending on my mood and the feeling I want to convey in the room. While there’s certainly an artistic dimension to DJing, I’ve always viewed DJs more as curators than artists. Turntablists, on the other hand, might be considered more akin to artists, as they manipulate the turntable as a real instrument.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve become increasingly disenchanted with DJs who focus more on projecting their personality than allowing the music to speak for itself. When I listen to other DJs’ sets, I’m always curious about their distinct style, the narrative they’re trying to convey, and where they’re taking the audience.
Nicola briefly interrupts himself to tell his little brother to be quiet, as he’s making fun of him in the background.
Sorry for the interruption—my brother, really… He has no right to do that in my own studio! Anyway, I’d describe my own DJing style as very cinematic. Sometimes, I’ll play tracks that I know might lose the crowd, but I still play them just to convey the story I’m trying to tell.
Who are some of your favorite DJs?
In my early days, Serafin and Alex Dallas were significant influences on me. They played pivotal roles in the local Zurich scene, particularly Alex, who ran Drumpoet, a renowned niche label for deep house at the time. Later, Isherwood became a crucial figure for me, followed by Nicolas Lutz, whom I admired for his technical skills, although our sounds eventually diverged. While he cultivated his own dedicated fanbase, we chose different paths in defining what is now the sound of Zurich.
I often listen to certain DJs as references tied to different phases in the evolution of my sound. For example, DJ Stingray is someone I turn to because his expertise in electro surpasses mine. But I also listen to a lot of internet DJs, which I really enjoy as well—like YouTube VGM/Nerdcore DJ Dedeco.
I have immense respect for the local DJs who’ve emerged over the last seven years and are trying to make their mark—each in their own way. My standout there is probably Nando. Then there are other Swiss DJs who’ve followed their own paths, like NVST, who recently had an international breakout. I really enjoy collaborating with her.
I almost forgot to mention the other three members of Les Points and the other members of Mikro—each an incredible DJ in their own right.
There’s also a local legend named Cut A Kaos, who was renowned in the late ’90s and early ’00s for his gabber sets. Although he wasn’t active in the Zurich scene when I started out, I discovered him through a Facebook Marketplace ad selling second-hand records. I was moved to tears when I visited his basement—it was packed with tens of thousands of records he had collected from all over the world, spanning genres from hardcore and gabber to house and death metal, all in mint condition. We became friends, and I realized he was the first techno DJ in Switzerland, revered as the “Swiss Jeff Mills.” We booked him for a gabber set, and his flawless technique with three decks was another “I’m nowhere near that level” moment for me. In Switzerland, he’s undoubtedly an S-tier DJ and record collector.
What is the most incredible record you discovered in Cut A Kaos’s basement?
What’s fascinating is that he had extensive collections of UK hardcore and breakbeat—genres that never reached Switzerland in the ’90s due to the lack of internet and local licensing. I remember returning from gigs abroad without sleep and heading straight to his basement to dig for more records. It’s a pity that scenes sometimes overshadow great figures of influence by booking cliques instead of the most skilled curators, that’s what happened to Cut A Kaos in the 2000s and early 2010s when we came along.
Today, it’s rare for me to be truly blown away by a DJ, but perhaps there will be someone who gives me the same feeling that Isherwood or Nicolas Lutz once did. Back then, all those sounds and genres were new to us since we didn’t party in the ’90s. At one point, we explored all the genres and their influences on each other, so it’s hard to capture that element of surprise again. I believe that innovation in curation, such as blending Drexciyan electro with ’80s wave and other subgenres, is an example of how to achieve it—something that was previously unheard of in DJ sets.
I also believe AI could bring new creative possibilities to DJing. Initially, I focused on dubplates and vinyl-only sets, but when AI technology emerged, I was impressed by its potential to elevate my DJing. It’s something I’ve been integrating since a year into my setup – my setup looks like this Steamdeck with two AI decks for real time stems and two turntables.
I still DJ with two turntables, but instead of using CDJs for every digital track, I now use a Steam Deck running Windows off an SD card. I use Virtual DJ because it currently offers the best real-time stem separation, which is a big topic in the production world right now. Everyone’s asking for software with stem separation because it opens up sampling possibilities like never before. Some VSTs offer real-time separation, others do it after analysis, but VDJ’s real-time capability is the best among DJ software right now.
I use it to mix and remix in ways that weren’t possible with just EQs, but I also use it for sampling when I produce. I control 2-4 digital decks with two MIDI controllers, which I can wire through the CDJs or the mixer. I’ve never really cared about the CDJs vs. turntables debate because, for me, it wasn’t about format. I just didn’t like CDJs as a product, especially considering their price. The fact that, even in 2025, they can’t emergency buffer at least one full track is ridiculous. Apart from looping, they don’t offer anything that changes how you DJ compared to using vinyl.
AI stem separation, on the other hand, feels like a genuine evolution in DJing. That’s why I use it—not for ease or convenience, but because it fundamentally changes how you can DJ. The ability to isolate a vocal and layer it over another track, or even over a record, is really satisfying.
So, you’re not one of those DJs who fear that AI will take over their jobs?
Definitely not. Take the controversy surrounding Palworld, a game where developers allegedly used Generative AI to design game assets. In a way, we’re not so different from these AI models. What we create is always a culmination of various references, much like AI. I fully embrace this technology and have already begun incorporating it into my work. For example, for the Goblin Synth EP that we released with Walid in 2023, I used AI to design the cover. We thought, “Imagine if we had this technology in 2015; we wouldn’t have had to Photoshop covers from other artists to create our own.” We used to layer different covers or images to create something new, similar to a visual sampling process. It’s the same with music—the melodies we compose are influenced by melodies we’ve heard, even if subconsciously.
What is your favorite track from the Goblin Synth EP?
I believe we need to adapt to the world we live in, and AI can be an incredible tool for creating art and generating new ideas—frameworks to continue building on. At the same time, AI companies must adapt to ethical standards for AI usage, especially when it comes to copyright, attribution to original artists, environmental impact, and so on. I get that a lot of AI-generated content is boring (AI SLOP) and adds to a zombie-like internet, but having a completely binary opinion about AI is ridiculous.
You have to search for the good stuff (same goes for music or anime), but there are genuinely great artists who predominantly use AI. One of my favorites is kingcon2k11. The Aphex Twin music video he did—the imagery is so eerie, it’s really up my alley. I’ve watched it a hundred times by now.
You previously mentioned the “sounds of Zurich.” How would you define those sounds?
The sounds of Zurich are characterized by their eclectic nature and lack of strict boundaries. It’s about embracing various genres—contemporary, from past decades—and curating them in a coherent way to create a story. It involves drawing references from different eras and integrating them into the present moment. That, for me, defines the sounds or mix styles of Zurich. I like that the scene is so splintered right now—everyone’s doing their own thing, and there isn’t one dominant sound overshadowing everything.
Another defining aspect is their flexibility with tempo. Unlike other scenes, we’ve shattered the stigma surrounding tempo limitations. Today, I’m comfortable playing up to any high or absurdly high BPM during peak times. When I played internationally, some fellow DJs would tell me that a certain song was too fast, which felt odd to me since I thought the fast tempo was suited to the context. Perhaps in another setting, the song should have been pitched down. For me, these decisions are intrinsically linked to the moment.
Do you apply the same philosophy of combining many references to create something new in the way you curate Mikro?
The philosophy behind Mikro is different; it’s more rooted in a political stance on door policies in contemporary clubs. While many in the scene may be open-minded, there’s still a preference for exclusive clubs and restrictive door policies, where people often party with those they know. I personally view door policies in techno clubs as one of the most discriminatory practices. It’s even more unsettling when considering the history of this music and its pioneers.
Which track best represents what Mikro is all about?
Learning about Underground Resistance was eye-opening for me. I realized how misplaced the privileges associated within a modern Techno-ecosystem are. It made me understand that music should be accessible to everyone—”Let the music be the bouncer,” a quote from UR that deeply resonated with us and was referenced in one of our tracks. We strongly believe that music should have the power to connect people (or not) without judgment at the door. This principle has always been central to Mikro and continues to guide our approach.
The political aspect behind Mikro is also evident through the artists you present, especially the Drexciya and SP23 exhibitions…
Both exhibitions occurred in similar contexts, largely by chance on social media. Prior to them, I had mostly organized local artist exhibitions and invited well-known young international artists in contemporary art. For a long time, I wanted to curate a Drexciya exhibition that combined artworks while also highlighting Drexciya’s historical, political, and musical significance. One day, I discovered a Facebook group called The Drexciyan Empire created by Abu Qadim Haqq, a well-known visual artist within Detroit Techno. I reached out to him with the idea of a Drexciya exhibition, and he accepted immediately.
Which tracks best illustrate the Drexciya and SP23 exhibitions at Mikro?
The SP23 exhibition came about in a similar way. Ixindamix had an old-school artist page with a shop selling Spiral Tribe music she produced under various monikers. When I had trouble downloading the tracks I bought, I reached out to her for assistance, and she kindly sent them. I took the opportunity to propose an exhibition, and we ended up collaborating on an SP23 show at Mikro. They were so pleased with the result that they asked me to help curate SP23 exhibitions in other locations as well. Last year in May, I was in Barcelona to assist with a show they set up there.
What have you learned from running Mikro, and how do you see it evolving in the future?
The project has evolved over time, with old members leaving and new ones arriving. Initially, there were three collectives running Mikro together, then only us, and later half of Les Points left while younger members joined, including my little brother. This generational shift has been important for keeping the project dynamic.
Looking ahead, I see Mikro evolving into something closer to an external collective or even a label – but foremost we are friends rather than a collective. Its brand strength is undeniable. While the concept of an inclusive and open space is appealing in theory, it’s challenging to replicate elsewhere. We’ve tried, such as when we were invited to an art fair in Vienna and kept our space open 24/7 like in Zurich. Unfortunately, some people broke into other rooms through our space and stole artworks. I realized that while this model works well for Mikro, exporting it is difficult due to its dependency on local context and community dynamics.
I was obsessed with the idea of exporting Mikro abroad when we started, but not anymore. I think it could even “die” there, and that would be enough for me—as an experiment. There’s something compelling about Mikro existing as a snapshot of what nightlife could be and how electronic music was experienced. In Geneva, someone once told me how Mikro had changed his life and led him to develop an interest in techno history and even visit Detroit. This kind of feedback shows me that Mikro has made an impact, whether for better or worse.
You were also behind another important cultural space in Zurich, which is Zentralwäscherei…
Zentralwäscherei is a highly institutionalized space in Zurich where we’ve secured temporary use and a 1.6 million CHF grant from the state, along with several other collectives. One main idea is to demonstrate the efficacy of a non-hierarchical structure within a club setting. The space operates under a flat organization managed by an open association. Anyone can attend program meetings, propose artists to book, and discuss it with fellow members. Another interesting aspect is the absence of a guest list—everyone, including artists, has to queue at the door and is treated the same way.
However, this project consumed a lot of my time and energy, which, unfortunately, stalled my music career during the Coronavirus period as I became deeply involved in it. I was fully committed to building it from the ground up—pitching to the State Parliament, planning the space layout, curating events, managing organizational aspects, and so on.
One of your main projects at the moment is the first release of FREQ, an original sci-fi manga with a lore heavily inspired by electronic music history. How did it all start?
Originally, it was meant to be a community-based, lore-voting comic—powered by NFT technology. But we realized that the technology was too inaccessible and not convenient enough. It became clear to me that the comic/manga had to be set in a society run on sound frequencies, rooted in electronic music history and framed within a sci-fi narrative. We needed a scriptwriter, and through Abu Qadim Haqq, I met Dai Sato, who wrote for Cowboy Bebop, Ergo Proxy, Ghost in the Shell, and others. He was initially skeptical but eventually loved the idea, given his background with Japan’s first techno label, Frogman Records. When we couldn’t continue with Abu, I reached out to Italian illustrator Fabio aka Good News For Bad Guys. He turned out to be a great fit, and we share many similar interests. So now, with a new illustrator—one of the most talented people I’ve ever met—we finally had the perfect visuals to match the lore and story. It truly deserved the Japanese traditional tag as a seinen manga. We ran a successful Kickstarter campaign and had great resonance with our first release featuring Machine Girl. What followed were two releases by legends Ken Ishii and Eddie Fowlkes, with whom I also recorded a podcast. I loved talking to one of the architects of techno—such a full-circle moment for me.
Which track would be the best opening title for Freq if it was an anime?
We released the manga, things are going well, and we’re currently searching for publishers. We believe in the quality of the illustrations, the depth of the lore, and our marketing isn’t bad either… sky’s the limit, right?
I’m also considering recording a new album at some point. We’ll see how my DJ career evolves. The passion is still there, and I’m always trying to step up my game, particularly with the idea of integrating AI into my sets. The market is evolving rapidly, and I’m grateful for the chance to have pursued this passion for nearly a decade. It’s a long time for a music career, and many don’t get this opportunity. I try to stay aware of that and appreciate the great life I’ve had.
Don’t you think it could happen again?
I don’t have as many gigs lined up as before; I’m not at Zurich airport every weekend anymore. It’s a different life, and I loved it. But I also don’t obsess over the idea that this is the only way for me. I’m open to exploring various paths that life presents in my 30s. Perhaps this is where I’m a bit cocky, believing I’m still very skilled and far from being washed out. I recently joined Roof Booking, a Berlin-based booking agency, with help from my friend and fellow addict Christian AB. Now, I’m ready to exponentially increase my output and see if I can re-enter an international niche scene. I’m still here, waiting like a cheetah, for whatever opportunities may come my way.