by Jeremy B | Jun 16, 2026
WRITTEN BY THEO SCHEAR / FOR·MA·TIVE CONTRIBUTING MEDIA PRODUCER
Detroit is not just a city. It is the spiritual and literal birthplace of techno, a place where industrial resilience and Black creativity fused into a global musical language. Every Memorial Day weekend, that legacy converges at the Movement Music Festival in Hart Plaza, a three-day pilgrimage connecting foundational pioneers with the next generation of innovators.
At the center of that continuum is Craig Gonzalez, one of Detroit’s understated but deeply respected selectors, known for prioritizing depth, pacing, and emotional continuity over spectacle. In this interview, we hear from Craig about his influences, techniques, and philosophy playing sets from the underground to the main stage at Movement.
Unabridged: When preparing for a Saturday afternoon set on the Movement Stage, how do you balance underground sensibilities with the scale and visibility of a festival crowd?
Craig Gonzalez: To be honest, I don’t focus much on the labels of underground versus festival. I view a stage like Movement as an opportunity to showcase the results of my sonic travels. It’s a platform for me to present the unique and interesting music I truly believe in and to put my own distinct stamp on the afternoon. My goal is to curate those tracks in a way that’s engaging for the crowd, but ultimately, staying true to my personal curation as to what DJing has always been about for me.
You’ve spoken before about treating a DJ set like a compositional space. How has your background in visual pacing influenced the way you shape the arc of a 90-minute set?
Regardless of the medium, pacing is everything. A 90-minute festival set is definitely a compositional space, but at the end of the day I’m playing for a dance floor. It’s a constant, delicate balance between executing an artistic vision and keeping people moving. How far I lean into either side changes with every gig and you have to read the environment. But there are absolutely times when I prefer to take the reins and strictly dictate a composition, challenging the room to follow a specific narrative rather than just keeping things comfortable for the party.
You’re also known for extended sets that can stretch far beyond the usual one to two hours. What changes psychologically when you’re building one of those longer DJ sets?
You become responsible for the whole life cycle of the party. You’re handling the warm-up, the peak hours, and the final closing. I love the space it provides; it lets me feel things out and lean into different genres or moods. Those stylistic tangents are what keep it interesting for me, and usually, that’s when the most memorable moments happen for the crowd too.
In an era of fragmented attention spans, how do you keep people locked into a deeper listening experience over the course of a long set?
The key is trust. If you win the crowd over early, you can push and pull the energy in ways that keep them engaged for the long haul. I try to avoid the trap of playing constant bangers with no breathing room, that lacks nuance and becomes exhausting for the listener (and myself). To keep people locked in, you need a real arc and the willingness to explore the valleys between the peaks
How did the Ann Arbor scene during your formative years shape your style?
Although I only lived in Ann Arbor for a short time, my residency at the Blind Pig lasted a bit longer and laid the foundation for the versatility that defines my style today. The venue booked a highly diverse lineup and I took it upon myself to actively adapt my sound to complement whoever was headlining each week. That mindset taught me how to read a lineup and adjust accordingly. I still operate that way today, focusing on being the DJ needed for that specific slot, which keeps things fresh and unpredictable.
When layering techno, house, and hip-hop together, how do you make those transitions feel seamless?
Honestly, you’d have to catch me playing an extended set to hear hip-hop, house and techno all in the same night!
But jokes aside, that question touches on a core philosophy of mine, which is aiming to be completely genre-agnostic. When you’re traversing different musical styles throughout a night, rhythm and context are the key parameters that hold everything together. On a technical level, it requires foresight. I’m always thinking two or three tracks ahead. If I decide to shift directions, I map out a sequence in my head through my track selection to ensure the transition feels seamless and intentional, rather than jarring for the floor.
U: You’ve never seemed tied to one style, but more responsive to the room and the energy unfolding in real time. How do you organize your catalog so you can access the right direction instinctively in the moment?
My master organization could probably use some work but my approach is all about staying adaptable. I build specific folders for each gig and pull all the potential tracks into a main playlist within that folder. Then if I’m really feeling saucy, I’ll create more specific playlists based on the timeline of the set, like the beginning, middle, or end, or by using my own labels for tracks.
Once the gig is done, I export the set history right back into that folder. It turns into a great reference library. If a track suddenly flashes into my mind during a completely different set down the road, I know I can jump into my past histories and find it instantly, even if it didn’t make it into that night’s primary playlist.
How have Interdimensional Transmissions parties shaped your evolution as a selector?
We are all from the same generation and I think we still hold onto the same core principles. There is a constant curiosity and a shared love for exploring music, whether that means digging through an artist’s deep back catalog or uncovering modern gems. Their parties are a direct reflection of that ethos.
Seeing those events thrive is incredibly validating because it shows there is no shortage of people who genuinely value that level of depth. It is especially meaningful in an era where the music and the craft itself can often feel secondary. Which is perfect for me because it gives me a space to be my genuine self behind the decks.
What lessons from hip-hop storytelling still influence the way you structure a techno set today?
I was never actually a hip-hop DJ, so to speak. I was just really into music at a young age and I didn’t get into DJing until after I discovered techno. But I never stopped loving the genre and I’ve built my own personal collection over the years simply because I appreciate the music. Playing hip-hop for fun or for a special mix has taught me a lot about the craft as a whole. Different styles require different technical approaches and those skills always translate across genres.
While techno lends itself to deep layering and long transitions, hip-hop is all about precise timing because you don’t want to have lyrics clashing on top of each other. House music requires a bit of both, where you can execute long blends but still have to be incredibly careful not to let vocals or chords clash. Because of that, I see storytelling as a fundamental part of the art of DJing overall rather than something specific to hip-hop. Even when I do play hip-hop, I don’t play it like a traditional hip-hop DJ. I don’t do the quick “one verse and out” style. I let the tracks play and mix them more like house music, using instrumentals to give myself a transitional bridge because I’m more of a beat guy anyway.
Last year you played the 4:00 PM to 5:30 PM slot on the Movement Stage — a set bridging the daytime atmosphere into the festival’s larger evening momentum. What was your intention going into that transition? Did you arrive with a clear plan, or respond instinctively to the energy in the moment?
I went into that set with a very clear plan. It was actually a progression of an idea I started back in 2023 on the Detroit stage. That year, I took a gamble and played a very specific style of drum & bass/half-time/grey area music, which lives at a fascinating intersection of techno and DnB. Before that festival, mostly close friends had heard me play that style but I wanted to bring something completely distinct to Movement that year. By 2025, I had recorded several mixes in that realm, played it out more at gigs and my Third Thursday monthly with Paxahau and felt much more dialed into executing it on the main stage.
However, one of the more compelling aspects of that music is its use of polyrhythms. Through those complex structures, you can actually beatmatch a track at two entirely different tempos depending on which rhythmic layer you choose to key onto. So for the 2025 set, I started at 85/170 BPM, then at about two-thirds of the way through, I used one of those polyrhythmic tracks to shift the tempo to 113.3 BPM. I then slowly built the tempo back up from there. I really wanted to use that main stage platform to put the actual artistry and technical craft of DJing on full display.
What does 2026 look like for you? Will we see you back on the Movement Stage, or involved in other events surrounding the weekend?
I won’t be playing the festival itself this year but I am playing the opening party on Friday night and opening No Way Back on Sunday night. I can’t even begin to explain how much it means to me to open No Way Back, especially alongside a lineup full of friends I’ve known for over 30 years. That connection and history is really what this community is all about.
As for the rest of 2026, I will be playing in Columbus the weekend after Movement and then I am heading to The Great Beyond in July. That festival is incredibly meaningful to me because it taps so deeply into our raw Midwest roots.
I have a few more exciting projects in the works that I am really looking forward to but those announcements will have to come a bit later!
by Jeremy B | Mar 22, 2026
INTERVIEW BY SEAN OCEAN – FOR·MA·TIVE CONTRIBUTING EDITOR.
Building the Detroit scene can be described as a brick-by-brick process. You can think of the Detroit underground as a historic cathedral; while the city’s pioneers laid the grand foundation, it is the custodial artists who have spent the last two decades meticulously restoring the stained glass and maintaining the structure so that the music can continue to resonate with integrity through its halls. In this interview, we trace Dan Bain and Mister Joshooa‘s influence and their evolution from the late 90s underground to their roles as modern caretakers of the Detroit scene.
Ground Level: Dan, you entered the scene in 1999 during the visceral era of late 90s techno parties. Josh, you arrived in 2000 when downtown was largely boarded up but full of artistic potential. How did that specific era of urban decay and DIY energy foster your brick by brick philosophy toward building a career and a community?
Dan Bain: I was introduced to the late 90’s rave scene attending parties that were integrating hip-hop acts (now legends) like the GZA, ODB, the RZA with techno and house DJs. I was introduced to Eminem by watching him throw down at a rave, before I ever listened to his music. Booked around these acts was a host of solid regional techno and house DJs. This blend of distinctly different styles and cultures imprinted on me deeply at the time, no doubt influences the range I like to integrate in my sets whenever possible. The added magic of the anarchic and improvisational nature of these shows was another critical influence. Transforming a basically abandoned warehouse into a place where this connective magic could happen was incredible. The secret was always the sound system. By this time these parties had become highly competitive already and whoever had the biggest rig or the wildest lineup could win the day. My first DJ gig was landed by randomly calling an info-line and leaving a pitch to play. I was stunned to get a call back and an offer to warm up the rig when the doors opened. The biggest takeaway for me was the concept of turning an unconventional space into something incredible.
Mister Joshooa: So the city being in decay with very few club options left only one choice for an outsider like me, and that is to build something of my own. I have to admit I was taken aback with my first experiences of warehouse parties back then. To me it seemed like massaged anarchy. I couldn’t discern what in the fuck was actually going on. But I loved it no doubt so I kept going back for more, paying attention and taking notes . I was starting from zero. But as my knowledge of the scene grew and my DJ skills matured I knew I had to create something for myself and others like me; the misfits and newbies. It wasn’t exactly easy to be accepted back then, you sort of had to prove that your intentions were pure and you were not just some transient looking to capitalize on this thing everyone held so dearly in their hearts . I know this because I do the same thing now, protect the scene I helped build and maintain. But yeah, DIY was the only option back then and I think it needs to come back to that now more than ever. But shit in one hand and wish in the other you know? I can’t help but feel that those days are lost forever, unless we can figure out a way to completely destroy social media.
GL: You both operate under the simple maxim that there is only “good music and bad music”. When you two perform together for your Pulse Width series, how do you bridge the gap between Dan’s soulful and ethereal house and Josh’s raw, acid tinged techno sounds? Where do you take the set when it could go anywhere?
MJ:That’s a very good question, and I don’t know if I have an easy answer. Me and Dan have put enough hours in together to know each other pretty well. We don’t talk about what we are gonna do, there is no plan. It comes down to being able to read each other and the room. You have to be able to pick up on all the energy nuances and respond accordingly . Also if there is one thing that bores me it’s hearing a set that doesn’t diverge from a single genre. A safe set if you will. There is a lot of magic that goes down when you are taking chances with mixes. It doesn’t always work out but when it does i tell you what, its fucking awesome. So I guess we just have patience and understanding for ourselves and one another. Respect goes a long way in this game we play together .
DB: ^^^ excellent response from Josh here.
I think the first time we did a proper B2B was a spontaneous sunrise jam at EFUNK, completely off the schedule and unplanned. We had been hanging together enough over the years at TV Lounge to fully trust each other at that moment and the result was a set people still talk about. Josh’s steady groove and countless hours on TV over the years made me feel supremely comfortable to experiment a bit, knowing he has the capacity to reel things back to life dance-floor energy with little effort. Since then we have been together a lot and every time feels like another exploration in the unknown with unwavering confidence that it will be incredible.
GL: Josh, you are known for a minimalist, vinyl only approach using just two turntables and a mixer. Dan, you have curated a library of over 1,500 pieces of vinyl. In an age of digital convenience, why is the physical risk of playing wax still the most vital tool for true improvisation?
MJ: I won’t get into which format is better, digital or vinyl, however after 20+ years spinning wax I have learned a thing or 2. What makes vinyl special to me is that it is risky. The higher the risk, the higher the reward right? When you put on a record you are committing to it, there is no loop or cue button, no pitch correction. So you’re stuck with it , which forces you to be creative in the mix. This is where the “magic” lives. Forcing yourself to be creative while doing something difficult can really sharpen your artistic imagination. And at this point, my imagination knife is really fucking sharpe. Some say I could circumcise a gnat.
DB: I had a formative moment playing an AYLI show more than a decade ago at 222 Hyde. My digital setup failed, but I had brought 50 pieces of wax with me. The result was an incredible pivot from everything I thought I would do and came straight from the heart. It was a special night for me. Since then, regardless of digital advances I always bring a stack of records for a show out of town. There is something so effortless about playing the timeless records I know inside and out in a fresh context for a new audience.
GL: You have both been described as the institutional backbone of Detroit. Josh, you spent 20 years developing TV Lounge amp by amp, and Dan, you’ve been a Paxahau resident and inner circle member since 2006. How has the transition from volunteer to stage leader changed your perspective on the hustle?
DB: When Paxahau took control of Movement in 2006, I saw an opportunity to pour the passion I have for this music and community into a project where I could make maximum impact. I went as hard as I could year one as a volunteer and earned a rare referral to Paxahau management at the end of the weekend to bring me on in a long term capacity. After spending close to two years on street promo hitting every party, every weekend I had met a lot of really cool people and began to fully understand how the scene was functioning at that time. Ironically, the hallmark minimal techno sound of that time started to feel a bit uninspiring for me. This was around the time I met Eli & Charlie from Soul Clap and suddenly felt empowered to play what I wanted to play again. The way these guys blended so many genres and influences resonated with me on a cellular level. I started leaning into this style of performance as often as I could. Music aside, seeing the way Paxahau managed production was such an incredible life lesson. The core team was all focused on their niche specialty and did it extremely well. I brought this concept to Houston with me 2013 to help me build and develop a crew and a venue to bring the Detroit energy to a new market.
MJ: Well it has changed my perspective in a way that I couldn’t have anticipated but am very grateful for. I went from being a player to a coach . And although I still play the game, I will always have those custodial eyes. When I walk into a party I size up everything, looking for slack in the line. I can’t help it, my mind goes right there. If I feel like I can assist in any way, I’m gonna try. I have to stop myself sometimes because it’s not my place but hey, i yam what i yam.
GL: Dan, you are a specialist in marathon sets that can last up to seven hours. Josh, you prefer a largely improvised style where you never pre-select a set. How do these different ways of managing time and energy on the dance floor allow you to reach that dancer who needs the music most? Is there any specific philosophy behind that?
DB: When I got the call to play an 8 hour set to warm up a room at Lincoln Factory for a VISIONQUEST Movement Party last year – I was ecstatic. This is a dream gig for me. I love having the space to explore an empty room and get dialed in as people start to show up to party. In Texas I got a lot of experience running long patio sets on Tuesdays for several years at my party, The Release. These experiences were so inspiring that The Release became my identity. The way I most prefer to express music, in long-form – to tell a story of my emotional state and create a feedback loop with the people who join me to dance.
MJ: I think my improvised style completely lends itself to the dance floor . If i decided what I was gonna do before I got there then the set would be for me, which is kind of narcissistic . Leaving it open ended means I can tailor my set to the situation in real time. That is if I’ve packed my bag correctly, which doesn’t always happen . But these are the chances you take whilst playing social olympics .
GL: Josh, you co-founded the My Baby label and studio with Eric Ricker (of Ataxia) in 2016. Some sources note your focus on hardware based jams using consoles and drum machines. How does your persistence and studio driven mentality help you maintain an international presence while staying rooted in Detroit?
MJ: To tell you the truth I don’t get out and travel internationally all that often. I’ve gone out on tour a handful of times but it turns out I’m more of a homebody . I like my studio and playing local gigs. I like being home with my girlfriend and our many cats. Plus I work a regular boots on the ground job here and free time is getting more scarce in my middle age . But hey if anybody reading this wants to book me to play somewhere tight I’m all for it.
GL: Josh, you officially retired from your management and music director roles at TV Lounge in early 2024 to focus on your own artistry. After two decades of programming for others, what has been the most liberating aspect of stepping behind the turntables solely as an artist?
MJ: At first I didn’t really notice the difference, it crept in slowly without telling me. However, I can see it pretty clearly now. Now that i don’t have the club standing behind me; steering the course, affecting my judgement, making me feel all cozy inside, comfortable, i can finally be me. No safety nets, don’t have the club to fall back on, it’s all me up there now. It feels pretty great to be honest. Nothing against the club at all, I wouldn’t be who I am without it but it was definitely time to move on, on my own two feet.
GL: The OK Cool party has become something of a Movement weekend mainstay. How do you ensure that these larger scale events remain a close knit affair and ego free, even as you host major international headliners? How do you ensure the vibe stays feeling like a family party when it’s such an internationally acclaimed event?
MJ: Ill tell you how, you don’t book DJs with inflated egos, and if you happen to without knowing, you deflate them real fast. When an agent makes ridiculous demands and sends insane riders you wipe your ass with it and send it back. On top of all that you make sure there is no such thing as VIP, you treat every patron with respect and dignity and you don’t price gouge at the door. If someone walks into your event pissed off because they waited too long or were mistreated at the door and then paid a super high ticket price they are gonna spread that negative energy around the party. You gotta show em what you are about every step of the way. You gotta stay on top of everything at all times. I’ve seen heaps of promoters over the years just disappear as soon as the doors open, not caring about anyone but themselves and the money. Its fuckin’ wack yo
DB: for myself – trying to curate parties in Houston at WAYS, the warehouse venue I established with Ross Kelly – we had an extremely limited budget as we were developing the space. So every booking had to be highly thoughtful and ultimately a close friend or referral who was willing to accept a modest fee for the experience of working in a fresh room built on the most underground / DIY aesthetics. This made for a really special night :)
GL: You’ve both expressed concern about the scene becoming saturated with DJs in every hotel lobby and restaurant. As residents of the city’s most respected venues like the Marble Bar and TV Lounge, how do you keep the independent and proud culture of Detroit from losing its integrity?
MJ: Not sure I have an answer for that right now. I kinda feel like Yoda living out his last days on the swamp planet waiting to die. But maybe , just maybe, Luke will show up one day and reignite the force again. That being said, there is a ton of potential in the new school, they just need a little encouragement and some guidance, which I’m happy to provide to anyone that needs or asks.
DB: I think mentorship is really important. The kids only know what they know – and a lot of it is influenced by the internet / social media. Younger people often tend to think they have it all figured out and don’t need mentorship (I certainly did in my days). So building relationships with the younger generation is incredibly important to pass the torch in a meaningful way.
GL: Looking forward, Josh, you recently released your Settle Down EP on Planet E. If you could define the blueprint for the future for the Detroit underground in just three words, what would they be?
MJ: Un Fuck Withable
DS: it’s the shit
by Jeremy B | Feb 16, 2026
INTERVIEW BY SEAN OCEAN – FOR·MA·TIVE CONTRIBUTING EDITOR.
In the dense ecosystem of Detroit’s underground, few figures command as much quiet respect as Bill Spencer, a man frequently characterized as one of the city’s most essential best-kept secrets. A multivalent presence whose work spans from the gritty, vinyl-only house sets of the Marble Bar to the lush, Spencer operates as a vital bridge between Michigan’s deep musical heritage and its electronic future.
**Ground Level:** Some people have described you as one of Detroit’s “best-kept secrets.” Do you find that this designation gives you more freedom to operate within the underground electronic and rare-groove scenes without the pressures of mainstream expectations?
**Bill Spencer:** I think that anytime someone calls you a “best-kept secret,” it’s flattering but also a little funny. It’s definitely not something I set out to be. But yeah, I do think there is freedom in operating without a lot of eyes on you or positioning yourself where that is not the ultimate goal. I’ve never really gotten any enjoyment out of self-promotion or the attention Olympics and would rather just indulge in whatever is inspiring me at the moment.
**GL:** It seems Carlos Souffront, Tadd Mullinix, and Todd Osborn have been pivotal in shaping your musical trajectory. What was it about this specific regional connection that taught you to value eclectic, high-skill selection over adhering to a single genre?
**BS:** Those three were definitely the first DJs who shaped my style and approach. When I first started DJing, they weren’t just the local guys I looked up to; they were also literally the people I was buying records from when first starting out. What struck me about all of them was this total lack of boundaries in their selections, but always extremely high quality. With all of them, you’d hear such a range of styles and sounds, but it all made sense because the thread was always feel and musicality, never genre. I think this was also regionally experienced as another big influence of mine, which was Detroit radio with DJs like Wax Tax’n Dre and DJ Fingers. You’d hear house, boogie, electro, ghettotech, and techno all in the same hour block. Both of those were greatly influential and inspiring as I started out and continue to be.
**GL:** With the label Just Us Records, you and Izaak Schlossman focus on independently produced R&B, soul, and jazz. This at surface level seems kind of eclectic. How do you decide which musical themes are worth following for years? Is it more or less based on the concept of keeping Midwest soul alive?
**BS:** It’s less about a geographic mission statement and more about following what genuinely moves us. Izaak and I have been sending music back and forth daily for years, and we kept arriving at the same conclusion: there’s this enormous well of independently produced music from the 80s, 90s, and early 00s that remains mostly unacknowledged despite the quality of the work. I’m always drawn to music that can have a second life, especially in a different context than it was created.
**GL:** In your residency, A Month of Sundays, you guide listeners through everything from prog rock to psychedelic dub. In your mind, is the residency a chance to say something personal or about educating a global audience toward these sounds?
**BS:** It’s definitely coming from a personal place, but honestly it’s starting from a selfish one, which is just a desire to share the things I’m excited about. Recording mixes and sharing them online has always been my main source of output. It’s this format to explore whatever I’ve been into lately or a way to dig deeper into a sound, vibe, or era and present it in a contained, complete way. NTS (Radio) as a platform is perfect for that because the audience is global and already curious and pretty open-minded, so I feel lucky to have it as a regular thing in my life.
**GL:** In the collaboration with Saginaw, Real Talk included explicit political statements. How important is it for Detroit electronic music to remain socially conscious and engaged with its environment today?
**BS:** I think it’s impossible to make or play music in Detroit and not be in conversation with the social and political realities of the city. The history of the music from here is inseparable from the Black experience in this city, in everything that shaped this place, from the labor movement to deindustrialization. I think Detroit electronic music has always been socially conscious at its core, even when it’s not explicit. So yeah, I do think it’s important for artists here to remain engaged with their environment—the city gives and has given us so much, and the music should reflect that.
**GL:** Describe your involvement with the party “Suck It.” It sort of functions as both a queer underground disco and an electronic cabaret—is that correct?
**BS:** Yes, that was a party I did with Geoffrey LaRue, who was the real driving force and visionary for that monthly, though we have not done it in many years since Geoffrey moved to Berlin. The theatrical element of the night was definitely genuine, though Geoffrey and I certainly leaned into a “schtick.” At its heart, it was a community-focused party that was dedicated to creating a fully inclusive place.
**GL:** Also, you’re affiliated with Suck It while working with Geoffrey LaRue. There’s something of a dramatic and indulgent push-and-pull dynamic going on there, yeah?
**BS:** Yeah, we definitely had this very yin-yang thing going on behind the decks. We have very different instincts at the moment, but they complement each other in this really dramatic way. There is definitely very real tension and release in how we play together that I think is part natural and part orchestrated.
by Jeremy B | Jan 25, 2026
INTERVIEW BY SEAN OCEAN – FOR·MA·TIVE CONTRIBUTING EDITOR.
Detroit techno is often characterized by its structural resilience and its ability to continually reinvent itself culturally. Rebecca Goldberg has emerged as a figure of the contemporary era, operating not merely as a DJ but as a sophisticated multidisciplinary artist whose work encompasses music production, live performance, graphic design, and acoustic ecology. Her professional trajectory is deeply rooted in the unique environmental and cultural landscapes of Michigan. A relationship that informs a diverse creative output ranging from high-energy acid techno to experimental, site-specific soundscapes. By synthesizing the industrial textures of machine music with the naturalistic elements of the Great Lakes region, Goldberg represents a significant maturation of the Detroit sound, prioritizing historical archival, technical improvisation, and interdisciplinary collaboration.
Ground Level: Your background is unique for a DJ and techno producer, having earned a degree in American Culture from the University of Michigan. How did your studies in areas like feminist studies and the history of American popular music provide the “launchpad” for the empathy and curiosity you bring to your art today?
Rebecca Goldberg: Studying American Culture gave me a foundation for understanding music as something deeply social and political, not just aesthetic. I am aware of whose voices are amplified and how power operates in creative spaces. This naturally translates into my empathy not only toward people, but toward sound itself and the contexts it comes from.
GL: You’ve described yourself as a “multi-medium hustler,” integrating graphic design directly into your musical releases. When you are conceptualizing a project like the playing card-inspired artwork for the 313 Acid Queen EP, does the visual aesthetic typically precede the music, or do the two evolve simultaneously?
RG: Most of the time, they evolve simultaneously. I don’t really experience sound and visual as separate processes and they’re in conversation from the beginning. A rough sonic idea will spark an image or symbol, and that visual language will then feed back into how the music develops.
The face card artwork for the 313 Acid Queen EP came from thinking about the way techno has historically defined itself through logos and symbols rather than literal imagery. Some of the most influential artists in the genre built entire worlds from simple, instantly recognizable logos. I was drawn to the idea of a big, bold, minimal design that carried as much weight as the music itself. The visual elements helped me lock in the mood and structure to become a part of a larger concept. Letting the music and visuals grow together keeps my projects cohesive and it allows them to feel like a complete package rather than just a collection of tracks.
GL: In your project, The Arb, you used a 15-minute unit of time for both your audio recordings and the development of your cyanotype prints. Why is that specific timeframe significant to your meditative practice? Further, do you see 15 minutes as a sort of both literal and conceptual blueprint to base an idea on?
RG: That fixed duration removes decision-making from the process. I’m not wondering “when should I stop?” It creates discipline. A proper cyanotype exposure takes about 15 minutes to process as well, so it wasn’t super deep how that part of it came about. Literally, it does structure the work as each piece is the result of the same process and time duration, whether it’s the recording or cyanotype print. Conceptually, it becomes an idea you can repeat, stack, or recontextualize. When working on any projects I like to create loose guidelines for myself.
GL: For the BBC Radiophonic Workshop’s “Travel Agency Project,” you submitted “completely raw, unedited” recordings of Michigan landmarks. When you are on an “auditory hunting expedition,” how do you decide which environmental “imperfections”—like passing traffic or wind—should be kept to preserve the authenticity of the soundscape? Or is the irony of including traffic in the Motor City not lost on you?
RG: When I’m recording I try to make decisions based on recognizing what belongs to a place in that moment, not so much about eliminating “imperfections”. For the BBC Radiophonic Travel Agency, the instruction to submit raw recordings aligned perfectly with how I already think about field recording as documentation. Passing traffic, wind, distant machinery or human presence are part of the acoustic landscape, not intrusions to be scrubbed out.
For most projects I’ll make intentional choices that I can control like: waiting for a specific kind of weather, visiting a site at a certain time of day, or deciding whether to avoid or deliberately seek out locations with heavy man-made noise. Sometimes I’ll skip a place because the sound is overwhelming, and other times that very condition is the point. Once I’m recording, though, I tend to include everything. There are always variables you can’t control, and I’m comfortable letting those in for the most part.Detroit’s identity is inseparable from industry, movement, and machines. It is most authentic to embrace those sounds and I don’t believe imperfection exists. What some might label as flaws are often the most honest markers of place, time and reality.
GL: Through your Detroit Frequency workshops, you lead field recording tours to teach others how to observe the world through sound. What is the most surprising thing you’ve learned about Detroit’s shifting sonic character by listening to it alongside people of all different ages and experience levels?
RG: One of the most surprising things I learned is just how much range Detroit holds within its borders. We had the opportunity to explore older and newer locations in the city and experienced urban density, near-rural quiet, industrial, bustling markets, and moments of near silence, all within Detroit. Listening together highlights how layered the city really is, and how Detroit isn’t defined by one sound or one narrative.
GL: In the collaborative EP Buildings, you worked with SickBoy, somebody you had never met in person. How did you use photography and video of Detroit’s Art Deco skyscrapers to communicate a “sonic map” to a collaborator 4,600 miles away?
RG: Because SickBoy was in Italy having never been to the States at all, and we had also never met in person, I needed a way to communicate Detroit without just words. Photography and video of the city and skyscrapers became a kind of shared visual language. Detroit techno has always traveled farther than the city itself. He was familiar with and influenced by the ideas of futurism, repetition and resistance before the project was conceptualized. The communication and visuals were the remaining key components in creating the final EP.
GL: You’re noted to have a great and warm friendship with Stacey “Hotwaxx” Hale, some would say is the Godmother of House, who gifted you your first MPC. What is the most important lesson she taught you about maintaining innovation and the integrity of the Detroit techno tradition?
RG: Stacey Hotwaxx Hale was my teacher long before I got to know her. She was spinning on the radio while I was obsessing over mixes and starting to dig deep into music. Of course I didn’t realize how uniquely special it was to have this sort of programming on FM airwaves while coming up! After finally meeting her and developing a connection over the years, Hotwaxx solidified my deep respect for her hard work. Putting in the time, learning the tools, and showing up consistently are her keys to longevity. Equally important was her emphasis on community building and mentorship. Detroit Techno survives because knowledge is shared. By giving guidance, creating opportunities, and lifting others up, as she does, you’re not just preserving a tradition you’re actively pushing it forward.
GL: While your moniker, 313 Acid Queen, has been a pillar of your identity, you’ve mentioned you don’t want to be “bound to genre”. How do you balance honoring the legacy and love of Midwest Acid Techno while exploring your interests in more John Cage-influenced, experimental, ambient, or “mineral” sounds?
RG: 313 Acid Queen started as a way to claim where I’m from and what shaped me. That foundation will always be there. Acid techno taught me how to listen to repetition, tension, and subtle change. It’s boundless and experimental in its own right. My interest in John Cage, ambient, and more avant garde leaning work comes from the same place. I am curious about texture, space, and the possibilities of manipulating sound. Sometimes that energy wants to be loud and physical, sometimes it wants to be quiet and strictly environmental. Whether I’m working with a squelching acid bassline or field recordings, I’m still thinking about place, time, and the embodiment of sound.
It’s also a fun alias to use for releasing projects or special performances.
GL: To touch upon that “mineral” sound a bit further. We’re not talking about “rock music” here, are we? Or is it a euphemism for crystalline synergies?
RG: We’re referring to organic, environmental sounds. In my work I use field recordings that I capture in varying spaces where the landscape itself becomes the instrument
GL: Dive into your live sets. You’re on hardware, is that correct? How do you prep for your sets? Do you have a mix-and-match approach with loops on hand, or do you focus on good sound design and tracking sequences on the fly?
RG: Yes, my live sets are hardware-based. I’m drawn to hardware because it keeps the process physical and responsive and feels closer to performance than playback. My setup and process give me just enough structure and leaves room for risk and improvisation. To prepare a live set I focus more on sound design and building strong, flexible sequences rather than locking myself into a fixed arrangement. I’ll have a collection of patterns, textures, and rhythms from my machines that I know well, but they’re intentionally open-ended. Loops can be extended or reworked in the moment depending on the room and the energy. I’m focused on creating something that only exists in that moment. I use my own handwritten annotations as a self-invented sheet music. Writing them by hand is necessary and part of the muscle memory of my prep. The balance between preparation and spontaneity is what keeps live sets going for me.
GL: How do you focus on making an entirely improvised live set happen while feeling the energy of the crowd? Do you pay attention to just one person who is completely vibing, or is your peripheral vision picking up on cues that you are particularly clued into?
RG: Like I said there is always some level of preparedness when I’m playing live. While I’m in the moment I am confident with my arrangements, tools and cues and I’m not overthinking it. I’m focused on the sounds and manipulating them in real time. I’m not locking in on any single person, but I do notice clusters of energy. I notice how bodies are moving, where attention is rising or drifting and when the room collectively leans in.
