Vegyn's Frame of Mind

The restrained lyrics are indiscernible, allowing multiverse commuters to create their own projection for a secure emotional release.

Below, office sits down with Vegyn to discuss imposter syndrome, producing for other artists, and hallucinogens. 

I know your father was a musician and your mother did graphic design. What type of music did you grow up around and how did that affect the music you make?

I mean, I was predominantly raised on the hits of the sixties and a lot of prog rock from the seventies. These were the things that my dad would really listen to. And obviously, from a young age I would be put on to the — not necessarily the production techniques, but I was perhaps made aware of like, "Oh, you got the bass player on this record," do you know what I mean? Like, " Just listen to how the drums are recorded on this one." So I listened to music from such a young age and I guess BBC Radio 2, that was always what was on the radio as a kid growing up. So, it was a lot of things. A lot of things like that.

So do you remember the first beat or mix you made where you were like, "Oh, I can do this as a profession."

Yes, I do. It was called I Loe Music. I L-O-E music. But I have that, I'm actually going to release that at some point with a bunch of other things, but yeah, that was the one because it was suddenly like, "Oh, I don't know." It was still that period of experimentation, but it was the first thing that I made that I really liked. It felt like it had gone beyond just an experiment and had become something that I was enamored by. I find great joy in making things or just having an idea and making it tangible. It's really rewarding.

And then you make the second one and you start getting really good and you're like...

Then you make the second one and it's terrible.

Really?

I just think to me, it's like you kind of have to just make lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of stuff. And then what happens is — I really liked David Lynch's kind of approach to ideas in that you are sat on the edge of a bank of a river and you cast your line out into the water, you put your bait on it and then you just wait. Sometimes you catch a little thing. Sometimes you catch a piece of trash, but the only way that you catch the big one is by sitting there and waiting, and I very much equate that to making things. It's like, for me, let's say one in a hundred beats are transcendental or whatever. They kind of lift-off into this other thing or they feel different.

So I literally just try to make as much music as possible and then kind of figure out later on, and be like, "Oh, okay. This one feels really special."  It's like you know when you hit. At least I find, when you hear something that you've not heard before, you can tell in the first second. You're like, "Oh, this is hot."

What was the last song you listened to that was like that? Where you were like, "Oh, this is hot."

Genevieve Artadi. She's this amazing vocalist, multi-instrumentalist. It's this song she's got called "Oo Ya," just O-O-Y-A. And it encompasses so much of what I liked, kind of texturally and sonically and the vocal performance is so crazy. I was just like, "Oh my God." It was like the first time you hear footwork music or whatever.

Stop. I love footwork music!

Me too. When you first hear it, you're so... You can't comprehend it. Like RP Boo, I think he's amazing. I've watched so many interviews with him. He was talking about how when they first started doing it because obviously, they heard about these dance crews, and they basically had it where everyone would be playing house music and people would be speeding it up, and then your crew could dance to music. So he was like, "Hmm. Okay, I'm going to start... What if I just start..." So he started producing and he was making house records. And he was like, "Well, what happens if I just take the kick out?"

If you have all this crazy syncopation that's going on, but you kind of remove the grounding element of it. 

I love how passionate you are about music, because sometimes I get like that, and then I'm like, "Who do I have to talk to this about?" I have no one to talk to this about.

Yeah, yeah. Music just, it just brings me so much joy and it's a real source of therapy for me. I am in therapy as well, but just it's a really good outlet for certain emotions or feelings or whatever. It's a really useful tool. I'm very lucky to get to make music for my living, so I just love it so, so, so much, and it really just brings me so much joy. Just when you feel like there's nothing new, there's always going to be new stuff, you know? People are always doing new things. I just love that. I love that feeling of surprise or euphoria or deep sadness or understanding or anger or all these things you can become. I love electronic music for that because it becomes this conduit, not just for dancing. In all music, you can feel it when somebody is letting a part of themselves into the music itself, and that just is just immediately relatable and feels just pretty special. Special stuff.

But because of that, there's a psychology behind music listening. And I'm sure you know, if you studied music, there's different reactions that people have to music based on circumstances. I'm sure you can get that live reaction when you're DJing. So with years of DJing and producing music, how have you seen the psychological aspect of seeing people listen to the music you play, and what reaction do you usually get off the bat?

I've really missed DJing. There's a lot of power in curating a dance floor and there's so many reactions to that. It's technically one of the easiest jobs in the world. There's no graph to it. It's extremely overpaid. It's a very stupid job, but being able to play something to someone that really means something or when you get that reaction of people — extreme communal elation is so gratifying. It kind of, sometimes it helps me to remember, "Oh, okay, this is what it's about." It's people having a good time together. DJing is just such a funny one because yeah, it is super simple, whatever. By all means, I have done some terrible DJ gigs in my life as well. I always found it entertaining. It was like, okay, ‘even if there is only five people here, how do I make them dance?’ It's not a hedonistic experience for me. I get really nervous. And I want to play certain things that I just want to listen to super-loud, but I'm very much trying to get in tune with the other people that are there in the space too. So it's just like matching the mood of how everyone else is feeling.

What song do you play that has an insane reaction without fail? 

I play this Joy Orbison edit. It's called "Donell." It's a cover. 

Does that ever inspire the music you make, because you want that reaction, or do you even aspire to have that type of reaction to your own music? 

It's a good question. This EP was very much like, I had a live show in mind, so the music was somewhat informed by that. And I felt like I hadn't really taken a much more direct approach with dance music. These compositions eventually get mangled or slowed down or distorted, or fucked up, if you will. I think that this stuff was definitely a lot more in line with wanting to have some things to play out. I still don't know my music, it toes the line between, it's very euphoric and very sad to me as well. I've said happy melancholia before, but there's a feeling of a certain loss to something. To me, a lot of it is like maybe something reminds you of someone that's not there anymore. It's sad that they're not there with you, but you're happy that you've remembered a fond memory of them. That's kind of where I'm trying to position my music, I suppose. And feels like there's elements of nostalgia, but without really paying again, too much lip service to the past. It's like nostalgia for something that maybe hasn't even happened yet.

I described it as, "My best daydream and worst nightmare." Because, like you said, it sounded very euphoric, but in a sense it felt like I was lost... 

Yeah. It's kind of like a hallucinogenic trip or something. There's the scary moments too, but most of the time it's pretty nice. But every once in a while you have a little scare. I like hallucinogens a lot.

You're talking about a bad trip you've had? I've never tried hallucinogenics because I just feel like I'm not there mentally.

Well, if you have any doubt in your mind, then don't do it. That's the rule. That's the number one rule. And I haven't done it in ages because of that. I can't go into it. I can't do it for the same reasons. In fact, I was actually thinking about doing some tomorrow. But I've not done them for months. I like experimenting with them, it's really fun to make music with.

Did you make this EP in the pandemic or was it more of a gradual experience?

No, everything is probably finished about a year before it comes out. So yeah, some of the songs on there are probably like two or three years old. God, yeah. One of them is coming up to almost four years. Crazy. Yeah. 

Can you paint the sonic landscape of what this album sounds like visually? If you were to create a world and this EP was a visual, in a sense, how would you paint it?

It's sort of a somewhat over-warped reality. It's very dreamlike and how you described it. But still very much escapist, you know? Or just wanting to sort of break away from things, in the same way, there's fetishized club space or driving music or whatever. It's kind of like, yeah, a darker world. Some of the tracks have a habit of — before the computer crash kind of literally implodes in on itself.

You have all this coursing electricity running through. Sort of tried to make it really feel like a kind of organic being. It's kind of a tectonic or its own living thing where there's other people in this space too. You're not just there alone. You're kind of interacting with all these other voices and sounds and yeah, some things recognizable and some things not. But yeah, I guess I pick a lot of the samples and things that I use just to try and evoke those feelings as much as possible.

And with making music that is more of a sonic landscape of like different genres and is more ambient, there's limited lyrics. Why was there limited messages and did you make it that way so all the messaging you did want to convey was super important?

Hmm. I'd say that it doesn't have a lot of vocals just because that's typically a lot of other music that I listen to. I'm quite a shy person as well. My vocals are on the last album and my vocals are on this album as well, or this EP, rather. It's like John Glacier is on one of the tracks and Jeshi's on one of the tracks. And I really just like the kind of tone that they brought to it, both of them also being pretty escapist, too. I guess it's still about fetishized club space or whatever. It's just this sort of place where you can go and release all these feelings or whatever. But as to why it doesn't have any vocals? I don't know. Maybe it should have more vocals. Sometimes things just feel like they don't need it.

And then the person that's listening can create their own story too.

Yeah. Yeah. Definitely. Sometimes a certain aspect of it is—if there are no lyrics or if the lyrics are somewhat indiscernible, that allows you to project onto it. And I do like my music being like a conduit for some sort of emotional release for people. I feel like I’m rambling.

No, I love that you’re passionate about what you’re doing. 

I'll answer this next one with one word, then.

On the last song on the EP, "Sometimes I feel like I'm ruining songs," it’s assumed that that has to do with some insecurity you faced as an artist within your own path. Is that true? 

Yeah.

Can you speak on the insecurity you face?

It's hard to decide when something is done. It's really tricky. Sometimes you can work into things and you make them worse. And you have to go back and be like "Okay, this doesn't work now, but it was working at some point. Why was that the case?" And it's something that a lot of people feel. As a producer, especially, with somebody else who's asked me to work with their music, I'm like, "Are you really sure?" "Okay, I'll do my thing, but ..." I guess I'm starting to just trust myself a bit more. If someone asks me to remix something or work on the music, it's really nice. I really feel valued, especially because they're coming to me as fans of what I do. So in that context, it's like, "Well, I'm just going to be myself. I'll do my version of this as best as I can. And then they can use as much or as little as they want of it." Once you start trying to adapt things to be more popular or you try to shoehorn it into something else, it starts to lose a lot of its potency.

And do you ever have imposter syndrome?

Yes.