Beat-Making, Animal Crossing & More: Loop Sessions Celebrates One Year in Quarantine

Pitbull has competition for his title as Mr. Worldwide, and it's Loop Sessions. The beat-making project has 19 chapters, including Montreal, Toronto, Vancouver, Ottawa, Windsor, Edmonton, Londrina, Bauru, Diadema, Paris, Toulouse, Brussels, Brisbane, Detroit, Milan, and Istanbul, to name a few. 

Founded in 2016 by The Loop Pilots and Artbeat Montreal, the project ranges from pre-pandemic in-person events to their recent online expansion with their #StayHome events on Instagram Live and Twitch. IRL activities center around vinyl records, where participants have five minutes to sample their material, which they must use in the evening's production. 

March 24th 2021, marks one year of their online event series, and they're celebrating their #PannyAnni with a month-long Animal Crossing-themed visual collaboration with Mags (aka one of our favourite artists). They're also doing a giveaway with the record store Aux 33 Tours, which features one of our Also Cool tote bags! 

We got to chat with the Loop crew about their event series, community, and worldwide presence below. 

Malaika Astorga for Also Cool: How did Loop Sessions get started, and how has it expanded since?

Mags: It all started with a trip to Brazil. Montreal producer and DJ Dr. MaD and his mentor and former high school English teacher, Lou Piensa (of Nomadic Massive), form the duo The Loop Pilots. They were on a sort of tour, where they discovered a weekly event, Beats Brasilis, which would serve as the inspiration for Loop Sessions, powered by Artbeat Montreal.

Magnanimous: They contacted us (Artbeat Montreal) and asked if we would be down to start a recurring beat-making gathering, and the rest is history. It has expanded very organically since, either from people who participated in Montreal and brought it back to their hometowns or people from abroad who reached out to us. We now have almost 20 chapters.

shmings: After the first ten or so editions, Mad was busy with law school, Lou was in the middle of moving to Brazil, and ABMTL co-founder SevDee was getting ready to be a father. I stepped in on the administrative side so Mark wouldn't have to carry the operation on his own.

In the time we've been putting on the event, we've expanded to almost 20 cities. The growth has been exponential, and we have more chapters preparing to join the fold.

Also Cool Mag: The Animal Crossing graphics are emblematic of this past year in quarantine. How has Loop Sessions allowed you to stay connected? Tell us about one of your favourite memories from this past year.

shmings: The concept came about when I was brainstorming with Mags, who I credit with coining the term #PannyAnni. As a way to commemorate the trying year we've all had, to reinterpret our flyer mascots as Animal Crossing characters is peak zeitgeist. Don't be surprised to see them go up as NFTs in the near future.  

That we were able to continue gathering with our fellow creatives twice a month during confinement, albeit online, helped keep many people sane, myself included. I've only recently started submitting my own beats at Loop Sessions. I've been notoriously reluctant to share my amateur musical sketches, so to be able to do so among my extremely talented peers has contributed to pulling me out of my shell.

We have an amazing community, one that's supportive and celebrates people from all walks of life. It's beautiful.

Magnanimous: Our online editions have been an interesting way to get to know our community better. We get to have one-on-one conversations that were not as common in the IRL event format. One of my favourite Loop Sessions memories of the last year was when I decided to host with my hair down and sunglasses, which caused the participants to get really creative with their outfits.

Mags: Loop Sessions was very instrumental for me in staying connected to the beat-making scene, as well as the friends I made through it all those years ago (namely 2013). Because of my arduous immigration journey, I had only been back to Montreal from the US a handful of times, and only one of those times coincided with a Loop Session. I used to attend in person pretty regularly, having missed a few in the beginning. But then my LS contribution skipped from session 16 to session 31 in August 2019. When they announced they'd be going online, there was no way I was missing my chance.

I'd say my favourite memory has ironically been wiped from the web due to an aggy algorithm: it was at LS #48 for Halloween and I was the crate provider. This session saw the birth of a new alias for our then-host Magnanimous, who is now affectionately referred to as Spicy Mark. Now one of many new in-jokes, the spice emoji has become emblematic for the online Montreal sessions!

Spicy Mark

AC: Loop Sessions is seriously coming for Pitbull's place as Mr. Worldwide. How has the project grown to be so global?

Mags: Word of mouth typically. Most of the global chapters were founded before the pandemic, so lots of folks from other places had attended at least one session and asked to bring it back to their hometowns. Loop Sessions DMV is one of, if not the first chapters to be founded during the pandemic and debut online. 

shmings: Loop Sessions was international from the get-go. One participant took it to Brussels; another brought it to Vancouver, and so forth. Before we knew it, we had chapters across four continents. 

To me, the most important move we made internationally was having Beat Brasilis rebrand their event as Loop Sessions São Paulo. It was important for that association to be cemented because we've always credited the original source. By adopting the name, they acknowledged us. 

I'm still holding on to the hopes we'll be able to tour this global circuit we've assembled. Fingers crossed!

AC: Can you tell us about the newest chapter, Loop Sessions DMV. What are the differences between the two?

Mags: The main difference I've observed is that, because Montreal is already so small, many of the participants, even from the beginning, knew each other or had at least heard of each other. The online version allowed for a more one-on-one focus (over the IG sessions) with the chat serving as an amicable peanut gallery. It's allowed us to get to know one another on a more personal level, not just artistic. Whereas with the DMV chapter, it's almost all new to everyone! Many of the participants had not experimented in sample-based production before, which allowed them to step out of their comfort zone.

On top of that, many of the artists don't know each other at all! So this is allowing us to bridge a few gaps in the underground music community of the DMV, which is something of a tri-state metropolitan area, so it's a pretty wide net we've cast. Our host B. who is also new to Loop Sessions does a great job of encouraging folks and really enjoying all the different beats. It's been really wholesome so far, and you're all invited to the next session on April 2nd!

AC: What are some of the ways that Loop Sessions keeps the scene connected?

Magnanimous: Since 2020, we are doing two online events each month, which provides the space for the community to exchange and interact, both musically and personally. We also have a Discord where people can connect between events.

Mags: With the online editions proving to be somewhat more intimate, people have been less shy about striking up collaborative partnerships and even friendships through the web. A few recent examples of this are the new song and video released by MC Kayiri, produced by Sabrina Sabotage. The original beat was created at LS 50 and selected to be part of a cypher at the Hip Hop You Don't Stop festival in late November 2020, of which Kayiri was on the bill. More recently, a beat produced at LS 48 by Rekha made its way to Télé-Quebec just a few weeks ago on the new music competition La Fin des Faibles.

AC: Tell us about some of the artists you've worked with for the project.

shmings: The most crucial addition to the Loop Sessions team has to be Shogo. He's responsible for our wholesome visual style. I can give him a theme, a colourway and a silly reference, and he'll turn in this vibrant, playful artwork that's really a lot of fun. Working with him is a pleasure.

Magnanimous: The list is very long, about 40 to 60 beatmakers from here and abroad that submit beats each edition. Salute to every one of them!

Each second event of the month, we have a guest crate provider, and in the last year, we had the pleasure of having people like DJ Kemo from the Rascalz, Scott C and Urban Science.

Mags: As the founder of Loop Sessions DMV, I enlisted the help of my dear friend S. Sweet, bandleader and bassist of DC-based band Black Folks Don't Swim?, as well as Richmond-based collective Grimalkin Records (of which Backxwash is a former member). Sweet is the one who pointed me in the direction of Bliberation (B. for short), a producer, DJ, and craftsman. I went with my gut feeling: out of three or four names I was given, I chose B. simply because they had Hua Li as a mutual, the only one with a Montreal connection, however small. It was a sign I couldn't ignore, and I'm so glad I didn't because everyone loves him!

AC: How could someone get involved with the project?

Magnanimous: Check our Instagram and Facebook pages for the next event, sign up and get involved! Follow us on Twitch @loopsessions, where our events are now being broadcasted.

Mags: Follow your respective chapters on Instagram (the one platform each chapter is presently on), come participate or sit in on a session, and if you're so inclined, hit us up if you have a cool idea for a crate! If there isn't a chapter near you, everyone is welcome to attend any of the chapters; it's a global community after all, and the pandemic has only emphasized that by virtue of the online events.

shmings: Loop Sessions are open to the public. Whether you make experimental electronic music or '90s boom-bap, all styles are welcome. 

The aim is to have as many people experience the joy of making music and sharing their work in a communal, non-competitive atmosphere. We all have to start somewhere, and for many, Loop Sessions was the first time they manipulated vinyl records or sampled. Some even made their first-ever beats at a Loop Sessions event. The online iteration of the event makes it that much more accessible. No matter your skill level, our community will receive you with open arms. 

AC: What's the best way to support Loop right now?

Magnanimous: The best way to support is to participate and tune in to our broadcasts. Follow us on social media and spread the word!

Mags: Follow us in the DMV on all our socials at linktr.ee/loopsessionsdmv, we're also currently accepting donations to support our SoundCloud at streamlabs.com/loopsessionsdmv 

shmings: Check out our #StayHome playlists on SoundCloud (https://soundcloud.com/loop_sessions), where we've amassed over 1200 productions for the Montreal chapter alone. Share the music you love with the people you love, and when you're ready, come make a beat with us. 

---

Malaika Astorga is the co-founder of Also Cool. She is a Mexican-Canadian visual artist, writer, and social media specialist, currently based in Montreal.

---

Related Articles

Music Creating Its Own Universe: Dileta Cultivates Eclectic Energy in the Electronic Music World

View fullsize

Dileta by Moussa Fellahi

From screamo band member to popular Montreal techno DJ, Pascal Rivard, better known as Dileta, is nothing short of a unique and remarkable artist. Prior to meeting them in person for the first time in July, I had seen Rivard perform several times at parties and at raves; their eccentric energy enlivening the room still fresh in my memory. Last month, I had the opportunity to interview Rivard over Zoom, and we discussed music, COVID, and the Montreal electronic music scene.

Born and raised in Ahunstic, Rivard has always been close to Montreal and its dynamic artistic community. They began their musical career in heavy metal and screamo bands during high school, playing bass, guitar, and – you guessed it – as a screamer. During this time, the most popular form of electronic music in Montreal was psytrance, which Rivard would not come to enjoy until much later: “At the time I was too stuck up in my idea of what music was,” they explain. Their musical beginnings still linger as remnants in their electronic music many years later: “Looking back on it I was looking for the same characteristics in the music I was listening as what I enjoy in dance music now. I was always more into the textures and moods, and rhythm play and angularness of the music, more than technical prowess, which is a lot of metal.”

What first initiated their transition into electronic music was their encounter with the coldwave scene in Montreal, a genre they describe as “dark, 80s-inspired, minimal synth music.” Going to coldwave shows was their first “real experience with dance music,” and soon became a full-time passion. While they were living in Sherbrooke studying electrical engineering, they became friends with a Montrealer who showed them “everything about UK bass music, jungle, hardcore, garage, all of that;” genres still very much present in their newer music. “And that’s when it kind of exploded in my brain,” they explain.

The first parties they organized were small ones in the basement of their Hochelaga apartment, after finishing their degree and moving back to Montreal. “Me and a few friends of mine were all taking turns trying to learn.” Their first event, “Bad Timing,” was at La Sotterenea in the Plateau, and presented in collaboration with Lésions. “It was pretty full, and people were dancing… We didn’t know where we were going with all these styles of music, but it was really fun.”

View fullsize

Dileta by Moussa Fellahi

Rivard has since become a staple in the underground Montreal DIY techno scene. Before the pandemic put a halt to all cultural and musical public phenomena, Rivard was achieving what they describe as their “dream life, which was a bit crazy.” As a musical performer, they had never been so busy. They had their music and event platform, Coolground, busy with projects, and were also doing shows as a resident for Homegrown Harvest, a prominent rave-organizing collective in Montreal. “It was so fulfilling and so fun and I got to meet all these amazing new people in the scene all the time,” they said. “Until that all stopped… It was a bit demoralizing.” They now focus on guest and radio mixes, such as with Montreal-based radio n10.as. “I rent a studio and I can still go play loud music, that’s what’s been saving me I think.”

 Another online music-sharing platform they have been playing for is Music Is My Sanctuary, or MIMS. Rivard and one of the platform’s founders had been in touch, and “the two of us hit is off because we’re two ridiculous music dorks, like we enjoy finding music and digging in rabbit holes.” Shortly after the pandemic began, one of the founders asked Rivard to record a mix for MIMS. Now, Rivard makes a seasonal mix every three months for MIMS and is part of the new-release picks team, which chooses new records every week to promote. Alongside these projects and their full-time job as a software developer, they explain they are “still practicing multiple times a week, and trying to perfect vinyl mixing, which is really hard.”

At the time of the interview, their then-latest mix was their favorite they had ever recorded (since then they have released their newest mix dimlit). The mix, titled Skyway Uplink, is a rollercoaster - not only in terms of BPM changes, but in also  track genres, equalization, layering, fading, blending, and grooves. It has enough variation to satisfy any musical taste, literally. According to the Soundcloud description, there’s “IDM, tech house, broken beat, wonky techno, speed garage, club, nu-disco, hardgroove techno, grime/RnG, ghetto house, hardcore, some hard to classify stuff.”

Presented by coolground founder dileta, SKYWAY UPLINK wires you out of routine and into a new simulation every season. You'll find yourself whirling through winding lanes lit by all kinds of coloured gleams and glares. This first installment is deeply inspired by the works of composer Hideki Naganuma and the Japanese bass scene, with a focus on pitched vocal chops, processed funk elements, video game nods, and ultra-electronic speed - let's call it CYBERFUNK. Actual genres included: IDM, tech house, broken beat, wonky techno, speed garage, club, nu-disco, hardgroove techno, grime/RnG, ghetto house, hardcore, some hard to classify stuff.

It includes a lot of influence from cyberfunk, a genre “I’m kind of obsessed with right now,” says Dileta. “It’s really high speed, really synthetic, with really bright synth, really processed, and with video game music influences.” The mix perfectly captures what Rivard searches for in their music: spontaneity and unpredictability. Rivard did about twenty different takes for the first five minutes of the set, and the rest of the two hours in just one. “I felt like I had run a marathon,” they said, chuckling. “I was so concentrated while I was doing it… I was drenched in sweat by the end.”

There is no clear categorization Dileta identifies with in terms of a musical genre or style: “I go everywhere…. If you listen to my mixes it’s going to be all over the place.” BPM is one of the many techniques they like to play around with, but their intent is to stay unpredictable with it. “The instinctual way is to start at 120 and to go up to 170 or 180 or something, but I’ve been trying to do other stuff recently because it gets too predictable and my little teenage angst rebel spirit wants to be unpredictable,” they explain.

They have done sets before which stayed at a steady 115 BPM before suddenly going up to 175 at the end. “You need to feel it, but it can be a powerful too.” For those less familiar with this kind of terminology, imagine listening to Kelly Clarkson’s “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger” all the way through until the last 30 seconds, and suddenly switching to Iron Maiden’s “Run to the Hills.” Rivard is also keen on practicing cuts with the faders, “less common with the Berlin techno way of doing things, or the house way or the UK bass way, it’s really from Detroit, like from the old school electro-DJs from Detroit, they always have two tracks, [flipping] them with the faders.”

View fullsize

Dileta by Moussa Fellahi

One way to better understand Rivard’s music is through their description of the meaning behind the title of the mix Skyward Uplink: it means nothing. “I like to put words together that make you think of things, but don’t really mean the things they mean,” they explain. “If you read them together they don’t mean anything, but they make you feel things. It’s a bit how I approach DJing, too.”

The variation and diversity within Dileta’s sets are due in large part to the sheer amount of time and effort they regularly spend digging and searching for music. On average, for a 60-minute set, they will have 1,000 songs on their playlist to choose from and will have planned one or two tracks as the anchor of the rest of the set. On their Recordbox alone, they have around 30,000 tracks: “It’s getting out of proportion, but it’s well tagged so I can find what I want.” In terms of technique, Rivard focuses on different blending methods and layering: “It’s a lot of chemistry experiments, like layering things on top of each other and in front of each other in a temporal way.” They describe staying up until 5 am just to discover new music: “My hunger for musical discoveries is a bottomless pit.”

Rivard identifies with what they call the “Mile-End core, queer scene” of the larger Montreal electronic music community. “Montreal is divided into so many scenes, it’s a lot of microcosms of genres of dance music,” they explain. “There’s an industrial techno scene, there’s a minimal house scene, the psytrance scene.” The DIY scene they are a part of organizes underground (sometimes literally, for those who know) dance parties, but also tries to stay politically engaged and community oriented. “I think I love my scene honestly… There’s a lot of concern of safety, always touching upon subjects, [and] trying to do better,” they explain.

View fullsize

Dileta by Moussa Fellahi

Organizing these parties is easier said than done – and for rave collectives in Montreal, the process of finding and being able to pay for venues is not a simple task. “We don’t have many clubs in Montreal which are open to, let’s say, left-field dance music,” says Dileta “A lot of it is done in DIY venues… Sadly most owners don’t really align with our values, it’s always about having to make a compromise to get in some spaces that are [in] more of a capitalist mindset.” The best solution, they argue, would be for the organizers to own venues themselves. “We’re in our little queer political bubble where we think we’ve got our values, and it’s all set and all understood by the scene but you get out… It gets more tense.”

One of their favorite aspects of the scene is the interconnectedness and support found between the organizers, DJs, and participants during raves. “You always feel close to the performers,” they reminisce. “Rave is a feeling when you can lose your body and forget your bodily restraints… I love playing when people are ready to go wild like that.” The conversation with Dileta reminded me of just how much artists and people in DIY communities have always found alternatives to produce and share art in the face of barriers, and with this pandemic it has become clear.

View fullsize

Dileta by Moussa Fellahi

Dileta

Instagram | Soundcloud

Soline Van de Moortele is a Philosophy student at Concordia/insatiable feminist, raver, and writer. 

Instagram | Wordpress

A Liminal Conversation with Swaya

View fullsize

Photo credit: Ilana Jade Roth

A couple of weeks ago I had the chance to interview my friend Sophie, otherwise known as Swaya, on her way home from Seltzer Sounds in Brooklyn, where she’s currently working as an audio and mixing engineer. One of the most devoted and multi-talented humans I know, in the past few years Sophie has made waves DJing in Montreal, hosting CKUT’s Venus Radio, engineering and mixing staple Boston rapper Michael Christmas’s upcoming album, and producing an incredibly diverse catalogue of music.

Her output ranges from Baile Funk-influenced edits to ear-soothing ambient tracks, from crying-at-the-club dance mixes to experimental, genre-defying DIY pieces. Swaya released the EP “23” in 2019, a visceral, fast-paced 4-track project accompanied by one of the best merch drops in recent memory. This year she’s put out another collaborative EP with DJ Pacifier titled “Such Relaxation,” and a 2-track project with Valeda called “I looked for you in the water but saw myself.” Most recently, she produced NYC rapper Babyxsosa’s ethereal new single, “WYA/Difference Between.”

Listen to WYA / Difference Between on Spotify. Babyxsosa · Song · 2020.

Given all of these achievements, I am that much more grateful to Sophie for agreeing to a different type of interview. Although we touched on her process and mindset when she made, “23,” this interview is not guided by any completed work, nor is it in service of any type of project roll-out.

Beyond being an extremely talented and hard-working artist, Sophie is, and has been for all the years that I’ve known her, an exceptionally humble, reflective, and deep-thinking person. She is someone who’s been in a fascinating variety of creative and organizing spaces, and she’s someone who I personally am always learning from. Here, she’s been generous enough to publicize some of her insights, experiences, and struggles with creativity, artist identity, individualism, engineering, and life in the music industry; all from the candid and relatable space of pandemic uncertainty.

Interview below has been condensed and edited for clarity.

Tal from Also Cool: I know you’ve been doing a lot of engineering and mixing the past couple of years, and you’re personally between projects right now. How do you feel like engineering professionally has affected the way you hear your old music?

Swaya: Listening to my old music, I’ll have moments when I think ‘yea this is cool,’ but I feel like my parameters and my assessment of what’s good are always changing over time, so I’ll be inspired by something new, then my old shit might sound kind of weak. It’s also happened to me consistently since I started engineering and being around people in the studio that I’ll have moments where I think my music is too weird or too dissonant or too busy, which is not necessarily something that I actually believe; it’s just a feeling I’ll have for a sense of time. I don’t have any regrets about making that music though. I’m proud of it, I just don’t feel that attached to it at the current moment.

Tal: How distinct do you feel your mindset as an artist is versus your mindset as an engineer? 

Swaya: Well I think in engineering you’re obviously working for someone else. As an engineer, I show up and I’m trying to listen to the artist and see the track kind of unfold. I want to let things happen and be as little in the way as possible and also as anticipatory as possible, so I can get the right sound in the moment. 

When it’s just me, it depends on the context. Recently I’ve been feeling like my process isn’t always happening in the flow of the moment. It’s something I’m still figuring out. For a while I was trying to be disciplined and focused about it and make at least one beat every day, but I’ve stopped that. I’m trying to make music more often now, but not from such a disciplined mindset. 

Tal: What did you feel was holding you back when you were trying to make a beat a day? Why are you not into that now?

Swaya: I’m too exhausted right now. Like I literally can’t. I feel like I can’t force it. I made beats yesterday because I smoked some weed, that’s what helped me do it. I’ve been having conversations with people recently about consciously smoking weed to reduce anxiety around making music. Like doing it thoughtfully. It reminds me of when I used to be getting ready for bed and I would take a long time washing my face or painting my nails before bed. Doing these activities that are caring for yourself before you sleep, then, when it’s time to sleep, you feel able to relax. I’m trying to take a moment to hesitate and actually feel like I want to be creative before I make music. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about hesitation, not diving into things or pushing through. With the pandemic and being alone for so long, I’ve realized how negatively just diving into shit impacts me. When I was mixing that album for Michael [Christmas], I had to stop myself because I would just lose time doing shit that wasn’t doing anything.

Tal: Hesitation is a really interesting way to frame a process. When you talk about self-care before going to bed, it makes me think of ritual. The idea of practicing something that is taking you into a new state.

Swaya: Yea! I think because I’m “in the industry” in this specific way, it can be hard to have this ritualistic way of making music. When you’re so in it, as a job, as something you do, as part of your identity, like a career, it can really take the ritual out of it, you know. 

Tal: Yea there’s something that feels maybe paradoxical about working a career in art. On one hand, art is self-expression and it’s felt and personal, but then art also exists as a career path and an industry. What has your experience been like trying to navigate the tension of working in industry as an engineer and also trying to find a way to still make your art and still express yourself?

Swaya: Well, there were already aspects of my personality that made me feel like I would be a good engineer. I can be overly empathetic and I can prioritize other people’s needs, so I'm a good person to have working on your behalf, you know? So knowing that about myself made me think I’d be good as an engineer, but it also makes my identity as an artist feel a little shaky sometimes. I’m constantly questioning my work, and it can be easily shaken up by my surroundings. When I was in the studio last year, I felt like I wasn’t really that understood. It improved my abilities obviously, like how to mix stuff, sound design, having access to resources and knowledge, but it did make me question what ‘my thing’ was. 

Tal: It’s interesting to hear you say that. It sounds like your empathy and collaborative spirit, which are qualities that make you a good engineer, kind of got into tension with this idea of having ‘your thing’ as an artist. It makes me wonder, to what degree is being an artist individualistic? Does each artist need to have their own ‘thing’ in an individual, possessive kind of way?

Swaya: Exactly, and that’s my point. I’m a very community based person. When I was in Montreal, I had a community, and I had music that I understood as being part of me and also part of a broader scene. Going into a space without that shook my foundation in some ways. The impulse when you lose that community is to fall back on the individual, and wonder what’s my identity as an artist? I don’t know if that’s really necessary.

View fullsize

Tal: It’s so late capitalism to suffer from lack of collective care and then put that blame all on yourself, right? Isn’t that the capitalist condition? 

Swaya: Exactly!

Tal: Do you think differently about your solo releases than you do the collaborative work you’ve put out?

Swaya: It all feels part of the same thread. The 23 EP for me was different because it was a lot of dance music, as opposed to the more weird, experimental hybrid shit I was doing before. I really made that whole album alone in my basement in Boston. Being alone made me think of nightclub spaces because I was reflecting on my time in Montreal. I spent so much time there, and it was so formative for me. Then, because I was back at my parents’ house, which was such a drastic shift, I think I felt a profound absence on a lot of levels.

In terms of my life and friends, but also in terms of the identity and sense of self that I’d developed and grown into over time. I find that my sense of self is very bound up in my relationships with other people, so moving actually made it really hard to feel that self. That’s not so much what I was thinking about when I made 23, but that’s what I was going through while I was making it. 

Tal: So how has your relationship to creativity and making music changed during coronavirus and the social uprising we’re seeing around the US?

Swaya: I will say for me, honestly, the pandemic has been an important time to evaluate my ego, to evaluate what I think I deserve, and what I actually contribute. Then, when the George Floyd protests started, for me, making music was not a priority at all. I’m still navigating what it means to bring my abolitionist ideas and politics into my work as a musician, but my immediate idea was that that space was less important than what’s going on in the street. That’s where my attention went, that’s why I got into doing the mutual aid work.

Tal: Right, so where are you at with bringing your politics into your artistry? Or how are you thinking about that question?

Swaya: I’m thinking about it more on the community scene level. There are huge problems with the industry, which isn’t sustainable or profitable for anyone. The people who are able to work the way I do often get their start because they have class privilege, access to resources, that sort of stuff. I mean, there are lots of questions I have for myself about what it means to be working with rappers, what it means to be a white person in this space. And I think part of why I talk about abolition is that I’m not really looking for band-aid or charitable solutions, I’m looking for real shifts, you know? 

Tal: As someone who’s working as an engineer in these industry spaces and has experience as an artist too, what are some things you’ve learned or experienced about the music industry that you think people outside maybe don’t know about or don’t think about?

Swaya: Well, the industry is so unprofessional. I just didn’t know that you can be the biggest producer, the biggest engineer, whatever, and you still might not get paid. You know what I mean? It could be a project with a huge artist. There’s no protection built in. I think what we’re learning -- and why I appreciate bandcamp, the electronic scene, and the people around me -- is that a lot of the positions we have in the industry exist to put money that comes from your music into other people’s pockets.

Because I’m just an engineer and I mostly function in underground scenes, I’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg. But, in my experience working with other people and seeing other people I know work with labels and booking agents and that sort of stuff, honestly, DIY and community-based work can often be more transparent and actually help you make more money.

Back when I was still DJing, there were big events with big headliners that I did where I got paid less than I did DJing like an underground rave. It was pretty surprising to be paid less to perform at big events run by organizations with resources, opening for big headliners, than I was for playing my friends’ rave at an underground space like Cyberia. I think people don't realize that big corporations and nonprofits pay so little like that.

Tal: Something we’ve talked about in the past that I wanted to ask about here is social media use and social media brand for an artist. As someone who’s not aggressively marketing yourself through social media, have you felt like that’s affected your experience in the studio or other professional spaces outside of Montreal?

Swaya: Yea definitely. I find it frustrating that whenever I show any hesitance or disdain for using social media to brand myself, people take that as me not wanting to be a serious artist. 

Tal: Can you expand on that? Why do you make that choice for yourself, and how have people perceived it?

Swaya: With all the changes I’ve gone through, I haven’t felt the energy or desire to promote myself in that way. That may change, but in the context of the studio, my resounding feeling has been that people take it like being lowkey on social media or not aggressively promoting yourself means that you’re not serious about music, which is really frustrating. I’ve sometimes felt like I was less respected than other people in the room because I wasn’t doing quite the same thing. I don’t have anything against social media, I really think that it’s a great tool. I just wish sometimes that people would do more to interpret what’s actually going on in the room in the moment. My issue is really with the disrespect. 

When artists who I haven’t met yet hit me up, the way I originally meet them is through their social media, but what I’ve learned is that that doesn’t correlate to them as an artist, or how they treat you. It can be interesting: someone who seems like a random person who isn’t doing too much can be a super talented artist. Also, what goes on in the studio can be really removed from what goes on in social media; there are all kinds of moments and things that happen in the process of making the music that no one is ever going to see. All these people who are involved that no one else is gonna know were involved. There are all kinds of people who have worked with big artists, or are integral to the music scene that stay out of sight.

Tal: Like engineers and songwriters?

Swaya: Yea, but also homies. I feel like people can come up by being in the spaces and knowing people, or they can come up on social media. And there are differences.

Tal: Talking about all the people behind the scenes who go uncredited, the illusions of how an artist comes up alone, and hearing about all the people who are actually involved in that, it does seem to reinforce this idea that music-making is inevitably social and communal, even if that can be masked.

Swaya: Hell yea. Definitely, I agree. And there are lots of people who come up with each other and credit each other, and there are also lots of people who are intimately involved in the process who don’t necessarily want to be in the limelight. These things can exist at once.

Tal: What are some ideas or conversations you’ve been a part of that give you hope or optimism for life in the music industry?

Swaya: I’m still searching for answers on a lot of fronts. But, for example, we were in the studio the other day talking about different label deals; there was an artist in there who had some interest from people trying to sign her, and Tony [Seltzer] and I were talking about how when you have new artists who are starting to build a name for themselves, it’s so important to give them guidance, to give them a sense of what their options are. Because the industry won’t give them that. The ability to provide guidance and knowledge and resources is really important and useful.

On the other side of things, one thing that makes me feel hope is Bandcamp. It’s not anything radical at this point, but it’s nice seeing people I know deciding they don’t need a label, and they can put their shit out themselves and get some money directly. When I think about the radical possibilities of music, I think about music no longer being a commodity, but that gets a little heady and hard to think about at this time. When music isn’t a commodity, I mean, I don’t know if that’s possible. Those of us who are white or non-Black, isn’t our relationship to dance music or hip hop always commodifying? You know, I don’t know. 

But ultimately the strength that I’ve been finding is in community, always. Coming back to that, trying to build that here in a new space with new people. 

Tal: Are there any artists or other people in your life who you want to shout out or give thanks to while we’re here talking about community, and we have this platform?

Swaya: I’m shocked I haven’t mentioned this already, but earlier in the pandemic, me and a couple friends reached out to each other - it happened kind of simultaneously - and we decided to form a little group. We had all been thinking of forming a collective, not a front-facing one, like a brand, but an inward facing one, sort of an internal support network of people who work in music. So we’ve been meeting sporadically, talking through insecurities, talking through industry, talking through all sorts of issues that we face. That’s been really grounding for me and much needed, so huge shout out to them: D-Grade, Remote Access, DJ Pacifier, Mvcoko.

I want more people to listen to Valeda’s music since it’s so good. I’ve been enjoying keeping in touch with homies like Tati Au Miel and LUNÁTICA, who make amazing music. In terms of rappers I would say Harocaz, who’s in Boston and has great songs. My friend GIB DJ, he’s an amazing producer from Boston. We started having zoom hangouts and playing beats with each other, and we’d call out and invite other people to come. There were some great people involved in that, like my friend Magella who’s a great musician from Montreal and my friend Lucas, whose artist name is Jamesboy.

Also huge shout out to John Scott at Phoenix Down for giving me a chance to intern at your studio and learn essentially everything I now know about audio engineering. Shout out to the other Phoenix homies as well. Shout out to Tony Seltzer, for being really helpful and supportive and cool welcoming me into his space. Finally, shoutout to my friends and roommates who’ve supported me, Cecilia, Michelle, Marie, you.

ʚïɞ ® producer, engineer, dj jacuzzi co-organizer contact: swaya96@gmail.com

Montreal-based Molyness brings Berlin, and Moroccan fusion to the techno scene

Photo of Molyness by Moussa Fellahi

This interview was initially recorded in French, translated by the author.

Having moved to Montreal from Morocco three years ago to pursue her passion for electronic music, Ines Mouline – better known as Molyness – brings a fusion of Gnawa, Sub-Saharan, Berlinesque, and orchestral influences into the scene, and her art.

I first met Mouline last summer at a techno afternoon party in the Mile-End. My friend introduced me to her, and I got to see her mix a set for the first time at the Newhaus, a club downtown where she has often played. It was back in Winter, we took a taxi down to the club lit with blue lights, behind a hidden door in the Dirty Dogs on de Maisonneuve. From there on I got to see Mouline frequently play, either at house parties, outdoor raves or larger venues.

Nestled in the back room of Le Café Depanneur, Mouline and I discussed her upbringing, her influences, the beginnings of her musical path, and her positionality in the electronic scene of Montreal.

Photo of Molyness by Soline Van de Moortele

The style of her music is rooted in her attachment to her native Moroccan culture. She describes her style as “melodic-techno.” Mouline was born in Casablanca, but spent most of her childhood and teen years in the capital, Rabat. It was here that Mouline began her musical career. She grew up seeped in music, her mother pushing her to play piano, and gave her rock & roll influences – particularly, Pink Floyd, whose long intros and sound design have inspired Mouline in her musical production.

At a young age, her mother, a musician, had her playing piano, guitar, and later the bass. “My mother is one of the people who enriches me the most,” she said, “in what I do, in the sense that she encouraged me from the beginning. She let me leave so I could pursue something that I love and that impassions me.”

She began playing electronic music in highschool, as it became “la tendance,” the trend. New electronic music gear was hard to come by in Morocco – when she visited Medina with her mom, Mouline bought her first used production material, and eventually her dad would bring her back a Pioneer from France. Finally, her first year in Montreal, she purchased her first controller and her Traktor S4 which she continues to use for her live sets.

Photo of Molyness by Moussa Fellahi

Mouline arrived in Montreal three years ago first to complete a certificate at Musictechnic, and after discovering electronic music as an immutable passion during this time, she took the next year off from school to build networks and perform around the city. Last year she began a Bachelors degree at Concordia in electronic music.

Most of Mouline’s evolution as an artist has come from each of her live performances – learning to gauge the public and space is something which demands an interaction with the energy given to her from her audience. “When I compare my first live sets, my first playlists, even people’s reactions, I’m told more and more that in my live sets people are able to better recognize my signature [as an artist]… More and more I let myself go, I let myself experiment a lot more.”

“Each time I perform a live set, it’s an experience, and I learn so much from each one.”

Photo of Molyness by Soline Van de Moortele

The first set she played was in Morocco, at a hotel party with a beautiful view her friend from school invited her to perform at back-to-back. “It was the best way for me to throw myself in front of an audience,” she explained. “It gave me a sense of confidence and that’s what we want.”

Her professional performances in Montreal kick-started when she met Abdel – stage name DJ Adverb – who plugged her for gigs across the city. He connected with her through his cousin who knew Mouline back in Morocco, and invited her to play an opening set for a party he was organizing at the downtown Montreal club the Newhaus: “He told me ‘You’re going to play at the Newhaus, it’s now that I need you.’ He had never heard a set of mine, nothing. He just trusted me.”

Mouline did the opening set for the night, and she recalled the experience as being “totally sick, it was just do dope.” From there on, Abdel became a kind of manager for her, booking her frequent shows at the Newhaus and the Velvet club in Old Port. She’s also played underground parties, in hidden indoor spots with more industrial techno. “I like the underground side, I like the intense side of it, but I think I’m someone who always prefers playing in nature.” In general, Mouline isn’t one to go out a lot in clubs or in raves that she might play in. “I don’t really go out in those places, I’ve never been the clubbing type…It’s an intense lifestyle to go out all the time.”

Photo of Molyness by Moussa Fellahi

I asked Mouline about her biggest influences. “The first, the biggest, is David August.” David August’s Boiler Room set from 2014 was the first set she ever watched. “Honestly, there were no mistakes. His live set was perfect.”

“His album from beginning to end… that’s the kind of thing I want to do. The essence is very different from what I do, but in everything relating to [his] sound design, the way he interacts with the sound, how precise it is.” Him and Nicolas Jaar were the first DJs she followed.

“In music a bit more Arab there’s Shame who’s really good, and Monsieur ID. They play around a lot with Gnawian music.”

Mouline also described to me with passion one of her all-time favorite collaborative albums, “Marhab” by Maalem Mahmoud Guinia, Floating Points, and James Holden. A friend in Morocco showed her the album before she arrived in Canada. The album was done in a town near Marrakech, in Guinia’s home. They spent two-weeks in his home recording the album. “It was just recorded jamming…[I love] that alchemy, and that mixture.”

“[The album] is a good reference to what I want to create,” but with her own, less intense style.

Photo of Molyness by Soline Van de Moortele

As a full-time student whose courses went online, Mouline lost most of her routine structure when the pandemic began raging in Montreal. That said, she was able to be productive, in part in her musical production, and in part in the places she was able to play at. It was the first summer she spent away from Morocco.

“Honestly, it had a more positive than negative impact for me. I recognize we were really lucky to be in Montreal, we weren’t completely restrained, there was trust in the population... There are always phases, moments that are easier than others, moments of putting yourself in question, but I took time for myself.”

“What I loved was that it gave space for newer artists.” Mouline had a chance to play in and organize smaller events at a more local level, rather than going through large, established organizations and collectives.

Photo of Molyness by Moussa Fellahi

With the pandemic raging on and limited access to large events, Mouline believes more local artists will be brought forth. For the Montreal scene, Mouline said she’d “encourage…the push for outdoor parties.”

There are some, including Piknic Electronik and Igloofest. “But the prices keep going up…. I’d want to keep the spirit of Montreal…Everyone must feel good. We gotta stop increasing festival prices every year, [and] play more with the local scene. There’s tons of choices here for local talent, and diversity. No need to go far.”

UTOPIA · Utopia x Electroftours presents Molyness

Right as our interview was finishing up and Mouline was getting ready to leave, I wanted to ask her one last question that, as a techno-lover but not a techno-player, I wanted to know: how do you choose your songs?

“This is what I really learned through live performance… Between my first lives and the ones I do now there’s a huge difference. I now realize that the pieces I listen to alone, those that really get me vibing, aren’t necessarily the best for performing. It’s a different approach… I couldn’t give you the exact words to describe which songs I perform live.”

“It’s about the rhythms, and how you bring [the different songs] in. I play around, it takes time, it’s frustrating, you have to listen to a lot of bullshit… it always takes several steps. Some days I go check stuff on Beatport, Bandcamp, a bit of anything, and I transfer them onto my YouTube playlists.”

Molyness

Instagram

 Soline Van de Moortele is a Philosophy student at Concordia/insatiable feminist, raver, and writer.