It's hard to imagine dance music and festivals without Kaskade. The beloved GRAMMY-nominated DJ/producer has been putting out melodic dancefloor bangers since 2001 and seems to have headlined almost every major music festival across the globe. Yet, somehow, none of it has gone to his head as he remains at the top 20 years into the game.

"The fact that other people wanted to hear my music, outside of that little, tiny world that I was in, just blew me away," he recently told GRAMMY.com over Zoom, from his studio in Santa Monica, California. "To this day, I am still so grateful for everything that transpired."

GRAMMY.com caught up with Kaskade in celebration of his latest project, the Reset EP, featuring four tracks that soundtrack the Rocket League video game, dropped on Monstercat on March 5. He also dived deep into the EP, the epic production that went into creating his March 26 Fortnite concert, and planning his foray into NFTs (non-fungible tokens). The "Atmosphere" producer also reflected on his journey to super stardom and said he looks forward to returning to the dancefloor.

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Let's start with the new music. Your latest project, Reset, recently dropped on Monstercat. I'm curious what your vision for this EP was.

Vision. Wow, that's a big word. [Laughs.] I've known the Monstercat guys for—it seems like a really long time—probably three or four years. I was really intrigued with how, I don't know, progressive-minded the label was. So, I reached out and became friends with them. And then, maybe two years ago, they came to me and were like, "We want to do something [with you] in the gaming space. Are you interested in that?" And I'm like, "Absolutely." Oh, hey. [Motions behind at arcade games.] My studio's named Arkade and I have video games here. I'm like, "I love video games! Yeah, that would be super fun, and different." A different software company hired me about 20 years ago to remix some game stuff, but that was so long ago.

And so, the EP was a pretty collaborative effort in the fact that they were like, "Hey, we want it to fit in the game, and these are some of the different vibes." And so, I sat down and played Rocket League for the first time about eight months ago. I'll paint it as one of those silver linings of the pandemic. Typically, I'm doing 120, 150 shows a year, flipping out, and completely over-scheduled, and trying to find some kind of balance.

With more free time and more studio time, I've just been open to do things like this. Which I would have been, prior to this—I just think it would have been a lot harder to have that collaborative "What are you looking for?" element. And it would be harder to sit down and really sink my teeth into it and wrap my head around the game and give my take on what I think would work when you're playing the game.

It was like, "Okay, what's cool and energetic, fun and light? How can that fit with my sound? How can I cater my style to that?" Really, I just approached it that way. But certainly, the Monstercat people were all, "We love your classic sounding stuff." And "Miles To Go," to me, is quintessential me. This is about as me as I can sound, but with a fresh take on it, a 2021 vibe to it.

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I want to talk a bit more about "Miles To Go," which I love. I feel like Ella Vos' voice sounds euphoric but also urgent. What was it like working with her?

Working with Ella was a dream. She's equally as cool and amazing as her voice sounds. I didn't know her before this project. And honestly, we met on the back side of it. It all kind of happened in the cloud, out in space.

True to the current state of affairs, it was a song that was sent to my manager. "Hey, this is something that Kaskade might be interested in. He likes this style of vocal." And when I heard it, I was like, "Holy cow! She killed the performance! I wish I wrote this song." It was just kind of a piano demo. And instantly, when I heard it, I had some ideas on how I wanted to produce it. But yeah, her voice was already recorded—beautiful, pristine.

I'd only heard her one time before that, on a song ["Exhale"] with R3HAB. And I loved her voice then, I was like, "Wow! Who is this?" So, it was a cool moment [when I got the demo]. And actually, I sat on the track for quite a bit, because I was like, "There's a message here." I was holding it for maybe a future album, or something that was part of a bigger picture.

And one of the life lessons I've taken away from this whole thing is, maybe I don't need to be holding on to those things. I produced it up, sent it over to Monstercat. I was like, "Is this right [for Rocket League]?" If we look at the tracks together, this is on one side and "Flip Reset" is on the other side. "Flip Reset" is more like banging, peak, kind of like you scored a goal in the game! "Miles To Go" is the most emotive out of the bunch. But that works. They didn't want one flavor.

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And what are some of the sonic elements that you brought in to "Miles To Go" to give it that classic Kaskade sound?

Early on in my career, somewhere along the line, I decided that to set myself apart I wanted the electronic music I was making to be more about lyrics and melody. Even on my first album It's You, It's Me, it's almost 20 years old now, it's all about the songwriting. And that was my deal. I sat down and got in the studio with people who I thought were great songwriters and said, "I've been really testing my writing skills. I want to continue to push this boundary."

I feel like dance music shouldn't be only just sound design. I've always felt that something that resonates and goes beyond, and something you can leave a mark with, is where you take a cool message, these lyrics, and a strong melody, and marry that with something sonically interesting. It can be a global impact moment.

Dance music is always just where my head's at. Dance music's always been about sonics. That's where we came from. Drum machines, synthesis, "I'm going to put this in a box, and stretch it, tweak it and freak it out, and make it sound like nothing you've ever heard before." And you hear it, and you're like, "What is this? I want more."

A lot has changed over the years, because 20, 25 years ago when I got into it, nobody was really writing songs and pitching them to dance music producers, because we were such a tiny little niche. I think the biggest thing for me that's changed in the last five to seven years, with guys like David Guetta and Calvin Harris that were able to really crossover and conquer the pop charts, people were like, "Oh, that guy, Kaskade's called me before, maybe I should call him back?" Even though we were filling nightclubs and large venues, and playing massive festivals before that, I think it took a few guys from our world to clip through to let other songwriters and artists know our world was credible.

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I grew up listening to disco because of my dad—he loves Diana Ross and all the iconic female vocalists. And you were the first dance music I got into, back in college. Now, I definitely see the connection in your music to disco, especially as disco is the root of dance music.

100 percent. Let me take that one step further. When I really got into this initially, I grew up in suburban Chicago and most of those early house records were so—I mean, disco [had] just ended. In Chicago they're like, "No, we're still doing it. We're going to call it something different though, because people are burning disco records at Comiskey Park. Okay cool, we're doing this in a warehouse, let's call it house music." A lot of people argue how that happened, but I'm not here to be that guy. Those guys were so influenced by disco.

And when I came up, all of those first wave of producers, they were borrowing [disco] as inspiration, and sampling, all of that stuff. Now, we don't do that so much because it's illegal. But back then, there was a lot of stuff that wasn't figured out yet. There's so many of those early records that I look back to, I was a huge DJ Sneak fan growing up, and I am still. [Points to huge vinyl.] I've got probably 150 DJ Sneak records. He was cutting a lot of those old disco records up and making them sonically new.

When I first got into it, I was imitating that. When I moved to San Francisco is kind of when I had that mindset of, "Oh, I can write my own songs." By then, the power of the computer had got so great—first we had 10 seconds, then 12 seconds, then you could record lyrics inside your computer. That led to a creative boom in electronic music.

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What else did I want to talk about? Let's keep talking about disco.

Disco's good. You're lucky you grew up in a house with it. I got a little bit of disco. I got some Bee Gees, of course, but I got a lot of ABBA in my house, man. They're amazing. The first time I went to Stockholm, all I could think was like, "ABBA. Where did they live? Can I go to a bar where ABBA hung out?" My tour manager was like, "Just leave it already." And I'm like, "No, no, I'm not trying to be funny. I grew up listening to this stuff, it's a big deal for me."

I want to talk more about how you approached sound-tracking Rocket League. How was it different than when you're creating a song that will sound great at a festival or on the dancefloor?

Well, when I go into the studio—it's a pretty selfish thing—I write songs for me, mainly. I like writing, and creating, and sitting down and messing around with sounds. With the first remix I got hired to do ages ago, the A&R person was very particular like, "Hey, I really like this one song that you did, and I think it could fit stylistically with something like that because I want this to be played in nightclubs at one in the morning. How can you approach this?" I was like, "Oh, yeah. I can totally see that working."

It's that same mentality when I sat down to [work on Rocket League.] "What would I want to hear? What's going to work? How can I put my spin on this?" "Flip Reset," the song I did with WILL K, was the most obvious thing to me. It's something that's super energetic, fun, light, banging. So now, when you're in the lobby of the game and you're waiting to choose your car, it's banging and kind of hypes you up. "Closer" was more about just the vibe. It's the music in the background while you're playing, you want it vibey, cool, but still energetic. Honestly, I think that's why the gamers in general listen to so much dance music. I get messages all the time on Twitter and Instagram, usually people who ask me to post more sets because they've listened to them at least 20 times each and have them totally memorized. 

[For Rocket League,] I wanted it to range from banging, super energetic stuff, to vibey, and then some of my kind of classic, emotive stuff that will be memorable. The hope for me was, and it's cool it's working this way, is that people turn off the game and they're like, "Man, I love that one track. What was the name of it? Oh, 'Miles To Go,' let me put that on."Discovery now, it's happening through TikTok, these games and all these different platforms. The industry can barely keep up. It's cool to see the young upstarts and the real savvy people out there figuring out that they can connect to people in different ways and different platforms.

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What's your relationship to video games? Obviously, I see the old-school arcade games behind you, but did you grow up playing them? Do you still play them?

I'm usually too busy, I don't get much gaming stuff in. But yes, I've got a PS4 and an Xbox at my house and every once in a while, I jump on there. But really, I still love the classics. I have some pinball machines in the other room. So, I love it all, I love gaming. But people are always like, "Dude, let me play you on Fortnite." I'm like, "You don't understand. I suck. I'm like 20 hours into that."

And speaking of Fortnite, your Fortnite concert happened on March 26. How did you prepare for that? And what do you see as a positive of being able to do a show in a virtual space?

That's a good question. I think the challenge for me [is doing shorter sets]. Even festivals are hard for me. You have 67 minutes of performance time. I came from the club world, and I'm used to playing two, three, four or five hours, and I feel really comfortable in that space.

What's cool about the whole virtual thing, especially when it's such a whole production like this, is that it can be quite planned. I'm totally winging it a lot of my concerts. That's one of the things that's cool about electronic music, because you can go one night and listen to me and feel, "My gosh! We were on the same wavelength." I mean, obviously, I strive for that every single night. But some nights go better than others. But the virtual space was cool because it was so thought out. It's like, "Here's your time allotment. This is what we need to deliver."

For the production of my shows, I'm very much a part of that process. And not that we get it right every time, we try to. For this, we're doing something much more rehearsed. We filmed the set, my goodness, over four days ... I'm going to say, conservatively, I did the set at least 30 times. And that is no exaggeration. I was so sore at the end of it because I was jumping around. On the second day, they were like, "Bro, are you all right on energy? You need a Red Bull or something?" I was so sore, because they kept being, "You got to bring the energy man, we're doing some close-up shots now." I can only spaz out so much. It's like I did two months' worth of touring in four days.

That's crazy. Did you work with a VR team? Or how did you collaborate on the visuals and all that stuff?

It's insane. Listen, we sent all my visuals in advance, and then I sent them a wish list of songs I wanted to play. We paired it down, got the visuals to sync up. And they started programming, a team of 50 people, when I showed up to film. This is massive undertaking. Honestly, I felt like I was preparing to go on the road for a year-and-a-half on a global tour. It was huge. And they had prepped for six or eight weeks before I showed up to perform.

The guys that  produced it and put it together are incredibly talented. It's wild. It was way beyond the scope of what I understood until I showed up there. During the streams that I've been doing during quarantine, I'm in my kitchen like, "Hey, I'm baking banana bread and playing some records. Tune in." That was the extent of my streaming. I did one at the Grand Canyon, that was awesome, and obviously, that took a small staff of people to execute that. But we were using the beauty of the surroundings to drop people's jaw.

This thing is very much a tech miracle. It feels like a festival. They had the camera on a boom, going over my shoulder, and then out into this virtual audience. Everything else [was] animated, except for me. It's like I [was] actually inside the game. 

Speaking of crazy things slightly beyond my imagination, you've Tweeted about working on putting out some NFTs [non-fungible tokens]. I'm curious what you see as the future for artists putting out NFTs and using that as a way to connect with their fans, and also as another revenue source.

I think it's exciting. [I'm always excited about] any kind of new platform or technology. Honestly, over the last 12 weeks, me and pretty much, I don't know, the rest of the art world, is reading, having discussions, watching YouTube videos, just trying to understand the space more.

For me, it's an opportunity for people to get my art in a different format, or see it in a different way, and potentially bring it to a new audience. I see it as a new opportunity to connect with my fans that have been around for so long, or even people that are just meeting me for the first time. I think on the music side, it's so new, we're kind of discovering the problems as we go along. I'm collaborating with a [visual] artist—and I'm not going to give any more than that away in this interview—because, to me, to be really effective, there needs to be a visual element to the music.

As far as the revenue, I mean, I am super fortunate to be in a position where, I'm in this part of my career, and I didn't spend all of my money. Although the pandemic sucked for many reasons, and I'm sure we all have our list of reasons why it sucked, for me, the short list of reasons why it was kind of cool is I got to slow down. I'm not looking to NFTs as part of some new gold rush. I think a lot of people are just head-over-heels like, "Oh, my gosh, money! I've got to get some of this money." 

It is kind of crazy how, a few weeks ago, all of a sudden the news was Kings of Leon has an NFT album and Grimes is doing an NFT, and then everybody's jumping on board.

I'm buddies with deadmau5, I follow him on his platforms, and chat from time to time, and he's up to his chin in this stuff. He put something [about NFTs] up, I think it was November of last year, and that was really when I was like, "Oh, wow!" Joel [Zimmerman, a.k.a deadmau5] is really ahead of the curve, and I really like what he does in the tech space. That's when I started getting into it. And I was already starting my run into this space, when boom, it happened.

It will be interesting to see how it evolves. I've been curious to see how blockchain can serve people and gets outside of its sort of techie, privileged bubble. NFTs are definitely a cool opportunity. And you know, people love merch, and I sort of see it as a new age of that even.

Yeah, for sure. I think it's going to get there. Right now, NFTs seem super high-end—and that's one of the things I'm trying to achieve with my drop, is make sure I have a number of items that are actually entry level. People that might be curious of NFT, and have a little bit of Bitcoin, or want to dip their toe into it, that there'll be something accessible for them.

I'm thinking more like, what's this next wave? Looking at it like merch, or something. Somebody can own my piece of art that's authenticated. I have fans I've met that are like, "I've been to 100 shows," so for somebody like that. And in my merch store, occasionally I would do prints from the photographer that's followed me around for a long time, Mark Owens, and offer something like that. It's interesting to stretch out that space. And I see this as a similar way, just in a digital medium.

<blockquote class="twitter-tweet"><p lang="en" dir="ltr">That’s the spirit...until then we will have to start training for this - can you imagine how epic it’s going to feel to finally get these shows?!? <a href="https://t.co/6FgEtfPY7s">https://t.co/6FgEtfPY7s</a></p>&mdash; Kaskade (@kaskade) <a href="https://twitter.com/kaskade/status/1369756802976522243?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">March 10, 2021</a></blockquote> <script async src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>

You recently scheduled your Redux shows to 2022, which is crazy. What are you most looking forward to, about returning to shows IRL?

Oh man. Human connection. I miss it. It's been a challenge to make music in this black hole. I've been very spoiled in my career, even at the very beginning.  I'd make something and then I could go test it out at the club that night or the next night. To have that instant feedback is very inspiring creatively. It helped shape a lot of my early records.

Independent artists, and people in my space, we're not testing our music out out by pitching it to radio. I'm not writing radio records. Our space is in the nightclubs and at the festivals. And to just take that completely out of the equation, it's like, "Hold up. Does this even work anymore?" Fortunately, I get messages from fans like, "Oh, my gosh! I love this mix." And there's still some of that there, but nothing beats the real deal, in person, at a show.

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Going back to the beginning, back in 2003, when you put out It's You It's Me, did you have any idea that you'd be where you are now?

[I had] Absolutely no inclination at all, no plan. I never had a clue. I was completely naïve, kind of dumb, young. If I would have tried to have planned any of this, I'm sure I would have screwed it up. There's no method to the madness.

I speak to youth groups from time to time, and they're always like, "Well, how'd you blow up?" And I'm like, "I have no idea. I can sit here and give you my two cents, but it's pointless because whatever I did is going to be completely different for you, if you're trying to go into this space." What I always tell them is I had zero expectations. I mean really, for me, it was like, if I could pay my rent in San Francisco, or even come really close and I'm buying Top Ramen, honestly, the world is my oyster. I am living.

To this day, I am still so grateful for everything that transpired. And not to say that I didn't work for it, I toured endlessly for the last 20 years, and just about killed myself out there on the road. Because I believed in the music and believed that somebody might be out there that likes it. I was always making an effort to connect with and build an audience. My endgame was just to be able to live, pay my rent, and take care of my family. 

And here you are now.

Now I'm sitting in this freaking ridiculous studio in Santa Monica, California. I went surfing this morning, and I have a pretty incredible life, all off of doing what I love. Honestly, as crappy as COVID-19 is, I'm not a guy that should be complaining. I don't have a complaint in the world. If you hear me complaining one day, just come up and whack me across the head or something.

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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

— Sofia Ilyas (@sofiailyas) January 5, 2024

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.

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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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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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A post shared by nia archives (@archives.nia)

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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The album cover photo for Mount Kimbie’s fourth LP, The Sunset Violent, captures a mundane yet curious slice of life: A car nearly tipped over and abandoned on the side of a road lined with towering cornfields. According to members Kai Campos and Dom Maker, it was taken by photographer T-Bone Fletcher as part of a project documenting his travels across the U.S. 

"There was something so peculiar about the whole scene," Maker tells GRAMMY.com, "and just kind of oddly unsettling whilst being quite peaceful at the same time." Adds Campos, "It's just such a great start to a story as well."

The making of The Sunset Violent could be its own arthouse film. In 2021, the two Brits drove to the California desert at the height of summer. Their AirBnB, with its cornhole board and ping-pong table, possessed the energy of an old frat house. The horizons were endless; entertainment options were less so, which provided the focus they needed to create. Six weeks of melting heat, arid landscapes, and wandering imaginations became sun-baked into the album’s nine tracks  — a collection of surrealist short stories, hazy guitars, and indie-rock textures that feel vast, almost exposing, and deeply rooted in its space.

"I think when you see the horizon just go on forever, it does something to your brain that creates space for ideas," Campos says. "It's definitely the most American record we've made."

Those Yucca Valley creations seem a world away from the London dubstep scene in which Maker and Campos launched Mount Kimbie. Their 2010 debut LP Crooks & Lovers pushed genre boundaries through delicate and intricate electronic compositions more suited for headphones than subwoofer-rattling. Their next two albums incorporated live instruments, original vocals, and more traditional song structure, and with live shows a bigger focus, they recruited drummer Marc Pell and keyboardist Andrea Balency-Béarn for their touring band. 

Maker and Campos' paths even diverged for a time. Maker relocated to Los Angeles in 2016 and produced for James Blake, Jay-Z, Travis Scott, and others, while Campos turned to DJing. On their 2022 double album MK 3.5: Die Cuts | City Planning, each worked on his half independently of the other, building two worlds inhabited by separate sonic ecosystems.

Their desert reunion showed them the way forward, together, to a sound and style they "want to keep doing more of, which we haven't really had before," Maker says. That included Pell and Balency-Béarn officially joining Mount Kimbie, and Maker returning to London.

Ahead of the album’s April 5 release, Maker and Campos sat down with GRAMMY.com to chronicle their "inevitable" journey to The Sunset Violent.

This Q&A has been edited for length and clarity.

Dom, it’s funny that you made this album, one so rooted in California, right before moving back to London. Is it me or are California albums a rite of passage for bands these days?

Dom Maker: It’s quite strange because we didn't really attach that much to the trip to California when we were out there. But in retrospect, and in actually speaking about this record in interviews and with friends, we started to realize how much that experience really bled into it; sort of the end of an era there for me. So it felt good to come away with a document of that period of time in my life.

Kai Campos: Like Dom said, we hadn't really considered how American in aesthetic it was. I think when you grow up in the UK and other parts of the world, you kind of inherit a lot of American culture at the same time, so you're always having this slightly removed relationship with it. The guitar music that I listened to when I was thinking about this album was mostly American, and it was just an interesting place to think about writing from. Over the last 10 years or longer, [we have] been so associated with London, so it was interesting to remove ourselves from that familiar situation in some ways.

That area of California in particular, so close to L.A., is very accessible and you can be there in a couple of hours in the car. At the same time, it feels really remote and unique and special, the landscapes and stuff like that. 

Can you tell me more about the guitar music you were listening to while making this album?

Campos: Sometimes there's songs or bands that I’ll hear one time, years and years before, and it'll always be in my head that I'm going to try and take whatever experience I had from listening to that and try and make some work. So there's all these little bits and pieces that collect over the years until there's enough of a space where I feel like, okay, I feel like I have a voice in this. Sometimes it's just one song from a band. There’s a track called "Rena" by Sonic Youth that I heard more than a decade ago that’s always been in the back of my head: One day, I'm going to try and rip that off.

Then there's other things to do with the sound of the guitars. There's a band called Land of Talk that has this super flat, compressed guitar sound that just sparked something in my head. And then more jam band, almost comical American guitar music, like NRBQ. All of these things just sit around in the soup in your brain until you find a way to articulate them yourself. I think the record in general is the friction between being British and how you interact with American culture in general.

Can you expand on that?

Campos: When you're a kid in the UK — I'm thinking early to mid-'90s — America is a bit of a fairytale, and it seems so shiny and exciting. Obviously, because it's a real place, it's way more complicated than that. And so there's a little bit of the fairytale kind of crumbling. At the same time [there's] Dom's perspective as somebody who had been living there for a long time. So it wasn't a conscious thing, but when we reflected on the record, we realized that there may be a theme here.

Maker: For me it was skating. All the skate stuff that I watched was from the States and it was like, oh my god, it's sunny all the time there. And that alone was amazing. 

I thought that America would be way more similar to where I'm from, the way things worked and the people I would be around. And that's completely not the case. That kind of friction, I found, was quite juicy as inspiration — not necessarily friction in a negative sense, but just that abrasiveness between my understanding of the world and the world around me. Even more so when you go to the desert  — the deepest, darkest like Yucca Valley in California  — that really made a lot of this record flourish.

The Sunset Violent is a lyric from your song "Dumb Guitar." It’s a visceral phrase that stirs me even if I can't quite grasp what it means. How do you interpret it, and how does that inform the record?

Maker: Honestly, that's kind of exactly how I feel, the way you feel about it. We picked out a few lyrics that we liked; it’s really not really a well-thought-out sort of title or anything. It just felt fitting for the sound and for that slight friction: The peacefulness of a sunset, and then the violence doesn't seem to fit, but it kind of does in a weird way. 

A big part of the record in general for us, especially for me with the lyric writing, was trying to set a scene that was a little bit unorthodox and maybe even slightly comical. So yeah, "the sunset violent" just felt like the one line that really stuck out. I love it more and more every time I think about it.

Is there a lyrical thread throughout the album, or is each song its own chapter?

Maker: I think each song is definitely its own short story. Some of my favorite writing that I've ever read is by Roald Dahl. A lot of his adult writing is brilliant because each story just casts a spell on you and takes you to a completely different place. With this album, I wanted to really tap into my love of short stories and writing that's very much fiction. It has some grounding in reality, but there's that fictional feel to it. 

I suppose it’s a new thing for me because I've really never written lyrics for this project. There's never been any sort of lead vocal from the band internally. So it was quite difficult for me initially to try and figure out what I wanted to say. Then I was like, well, actually I don't really want to say anything, and that was quite freeing in itself. 

I read about how the Pixies wrote "Where is My Mind?" — I was like, where are these f—ing insane lyrics from? — and he's like, "Oh, I was snorkeling in the Bahamas and I was just writing about a fish that I saw." The idea of just letting go of trying to write about something was really, really good for me. Absorbing surroundings and trying to feed some of the visuals that I was seeing into the writing was the main thing I wanted to do.

What specific visuals stand out?

Maker: I think the world of "Dumb Guitar": The idea of this slowly degrading, failing relationship and it all kind of coming to a head in this weird resort in China on a beach. I've never been to a beach in China, but I imagine everything's a bit artificial. 

What song would you say became the core of the album? The track where you realized, yes, this is the direction that we should go?

Campos: Yeah, there's a few different moments. You need that initial thing to happen where you get really excited and have enough of a vision to move in a certain direction, and that probably was "Dumb Guitar." 

There were maybe a couple of false starts before that. But ["Dumb Guitar"] was the first one that in terms of the songwriting made me a bit uncomfortable. You try to take that as a good sign [that] you're doing something new to you. To me that was more conventional songwriting, which I would never have done in the past. Even something as simple as a chord that leads into the chorus: It makes the human monkey brain feel good.

That was one of the first ones that Dom had written, and that was such an exciting moment to hear the lyrics and song really come to life. Writing [instrumentation] with vocals in mind is so much more freeing. The vocals are doing so much that you don't have to; you can work in a more subtle way and not try and demand everyone's attention all the time with the music. 

I think "Fish Brain" was another one that really came together. That was probably the one that we worked with Andrea very closely in finishing the song and it really helped us push it to another level. 

How would you say The Sunset Violent evolves Mount Kimbie’s sound from your 2017 album Love What Survives?

Campos: [Our goal was to] write in a way that was more direct. Obviously that can mean lots of different things, but whatever the shortest route for an idea to get executed was what I thought would be interesting to do. I guess that really means [being] more accessible. 

But obviously it wasn't a shot at commercial success. It just so happened that the idea of writing songs that were catchy— just really as simple as they could be, while still being interesting and having quality. That was the major difference from the work that we've done in the past… You can kind of see the evolution of the band through the records. To me, this one feels quite fundamentally different in the way that the songs are written.

In what way?

Campos: I think just the simplicity, or the feeling of simplicity. What I realized over the years was that the pop music that I really enjoyed, or the songwriting that I really enjoyed, sounded simple. And then when you dig into it and try to deconstruct it, you realize there's actually these very important nuances to it that make it work, but from the listener's perspective, it just feels right. 

So it was just trying to do that: have these songs that make you feel something in your gut, but you don't necessarily need to understand why. 

Your music has evolved so much since Crooks & Lovers. Looking back, are you surprised where you've ended up? Or do you feel it was inevitable?

Maker: Oddly, I was thinking about this today. I think it was actually inevitable because we were just really interested in and excited by a certain style and scene in music when we first moved to London when we were younger; 2009, 2010, that era. It was a fascination that really is in just a place and time. 

A lot of that reminds me of growing up, us figuring out London, moving from small towns to the big city, and everything about it being exciting. But I think the fact that we immediately were like, we need to play this live said a lot. Through the years that's been a huge thing, the live show, and trying to approach these songs live has always been something we've really enjoyed doing, and we've got so many amazing memories doing it.It sort of naturally has landed us in this scenario where the sound that we have at the moment feels like something that we want to keep doing more of, which we haven't really had before. We've made records and it's been a long process making them, then when you get to the end, it's sort of like, we should find something new. But, this time, we finished the record and immediately there's still this burning energy to keep going with this sound and writing style. It feels really good and exciting, and I'm glad that the road led us to where we're at now. 

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