Producer, composer and recording artist Clark has spent three decades building one of electronic music's most singular catalogues — across releases on Warp, Deutsche Grammophon and Throttle Records, and scores for film and television. TORYSH collects the private studio practice beneath all of it: off-grid melodies, Virus synthesiser jams and 17-EDO piano fragments, home-recorded through a signal chain accumulated over decades and built for collision inside CYCLES.
You went to university in Bristol, which is where we're based. Is that where you first connected with Warp?
No, it was actually before that. When I was still living at home, just sending them demo tapes and going to those parties — they had this party called Nesh. In Angel, can't remember the venue. But that was where I first connected. I started doing a few shows there, live MiniDisc sets. And then I went to university afterwards. My connection to Warp was kind of from probably the age of fifteen, sixteen — listening to their music and then sending them demos shortly after that, on tape.
What was their impression of this fifteen, sixteen-year-old sending demos? And what were you studying at Bristol — music?
I think I used to be much more of a dickhead about my music. Because I hadn't proved anything. I was really intent on — I'd be at parties and just put tapes of my music on to force people to listen to it. And some of it was just ridiculously stupid music. You need a bit of that naivety, I think, especially early on. That naive overconfidence. And then years of the valleys of despair, of realising you've got a lot of work to do.
I was studying English. And I wasn't really plugged into the Bristol music scene, to be honest. It was always quite private. I went to drum and bass nights — can't remember the names of them now — but I wasn't trying to get in on the scene. I think electronic music gravitates to that kind of personality because it can be such a private thing. Just you in the studio and a bit of kit. For a certain kind of person. Very introverted. Pessimist. A little bit.
My first album was out when I was in my first year of university, so I was a bit unsure about where to go next. It took about two years for the next one to be finished because there were loads of different directions I could have gone. It took a while to settle on Empty the Bones of You. I don't think it was influenced by Bristol directly.
I was studying English. And I wasn't really plugged into the Bristol music scene, to be honest. It was always quite private. I went to drum and bass nights — can't remember the names of them now — but I wasn't trying to get in on the scene. I think electronic music gravitates to that kind of personality because it can be such a private thing. Just you in the studio and a bit of kit. For a certain kind of person. Very introverted. Pessimist. A little bit.
My first album was out when I was in my first year of university, so I was a bit unsure about where to go next. It took about two years for the next one to be finished because there were loads of different directions I could have gone. It took a while to settle on Empty the Bones of You. I don't think it was influenced by Bristol directly.
You were putting out albums very young. You're very much an album artist — that's the format you love most. Where does that come from?
It's just a good length of time to encapsulate a particular vision, or palette, or set of feelings. Forty-five minutes to an hour — it's just a really good length of time. I don't know if there's anything objective in that, but it seems to suit my ears and attention span. Two albums on a C90 is a classic thing, isn't it?
The first record I heard of yours was the 2014 self-titled album. What memories do you have from that period?
Probably playing quite a lot of clubs and working out what I liked hearing really, really loud, quite late at night, in a sweaty room full of people with loads of haze and strobe lights. Getting to grips with what I found exciting about that. I remember at the time of that album, I was speaking about loads of field recordings — layering them into quite a concrète, hard, granite-y electronic music. But actually listening back to the record, there's hardly anything of that on there. In my head, it felt like that was the defining thing, but it's not at all.
It's so weird that all of your thoughts around finishing a record in a particular time are almost like complete fabrications or delusions — just wrong in some way, or so subjective. Because all the press around the time was like, "Yeah, there's loads of field recordings, it's the sound of the weather." And there's hardly anything there. There's some birdsong, the sound of icicles being smashed together, and maybe some wind noise. But it's not the central thing. And I wasn't bullshitting — I wasn't lying to sound extravagant in a press release. I genuinely felt that. But it feels much more synth-led, and just about melody and structure, really.
It's so weird that all of your thoughts around finishing a record in a particular time are almost like complete fabrications or delusions — just wrong in some way, or so subjective. Because all the press around the time was like, "Yeah, there's loads of field recordings, it's the sound of the weather." And there's hardly anything there. There's some birdsong, the sound of icicles being smashed together, and maybe some wind noise. But it's not the central thing. And I wasn't bullshitting — I wasn't lying to sound extravagant in a press release. I genuinely felt that. But it feels much more synth-led, and just about melody and structure, really.
The self-titled nature of it always felt like a definitive statement — a line drawn under everything before. Do you subscribe to the idea of having a signature sound, or do you prefer to drift?
At the time, maybe. I think also, I just couldn't really think of a title, is the truth of it. I honestly don't really listen to my old music much, unless I'm playing stuff live and I'll rework songs.
But yeah — the idea of a signature sound is a bit overstated. I've heard so much marketing guff over the years about identity and signature and "this is our brand." It's just nauseating. If you do it, it should be unconscious. I know that sounds fanciful. I'm aware there are certain things I do that feel like me — they feel like a thumbprint — but I'm never consciously in the studio trying to manufacture that thumbprint. It just happens. And it should be that way.
But yeah — the idea of a signature sound is a bit overstated. I've heard so much marketing guff over the years about identity and signature and "this is our brand." It's just nauseating. If you do it, it should be unconscious. I know that sounds fanciful. I'm aware there are certain things I do that feel like me — they feel like a thumbprint — but I'm never consciously in the studio trying to manufacture that thumbprint. It just happens. And it should be that way.
Have you ever been tempted by aliases?
This is going to sound really pretentious. When I signed to Warp, I couldn't really think of a decent name and was a bit ambivalent about it. Then I thought, if I use my own name, it's a bit more like being a sort of author — like a writer. That's just your name. And then I wouldn't see the point in diluting it by having aliases.
"IF YOU DO IT, IT SHOULD BE UNCONSCIOUS."
Steep Stims came largely from synth and drum machine jams. Was that a deliberate decision, or just the way it happened?
It hasn't changed. Most of it came from a week spent at MESS in Australia — the Melbourne Electronic Sound Studio — just playing the Virus, literally as basic as playing some MIDI that I got really excited about and then putting a beat over it.
A lot of people would hear "one or two synths, one or two drum machines" and frame that as working with limitations. Where does all of that come from?
It did feel like limitations a little bit. But then I worked on loads of different versions and ended up just going with earlier mixes. That's just a little itch I have to scratch — trying different combinations and structures. But it ended up being pretty stripped back, I guess.
In terms of recurring motifs — quite often I can sit on some chords I love with a lead line. Like Negation Loop — I had that for about seven or eight months. I was loving it, but it just needed something else. It wasn't like I tried seventeen different endings and none of them worked. I just knew an ending was brewing and it would happen. And then it did, and it tacked onto the end but still felt like part of the song.
In terms of recurring motifs — quite often I can sit on some chords I love with a lead line. Like Negation Loop — I had that for about seven or eight months. I was loving it, but it just needed something else. It wasn't like I tried seventeen different endings and none of them worked. I just knew an ending was brewing and it would happen. And then it did, and it tacked onto the end but still felt like part of the song.
How do you know when a record is actually finished? Do you set yourself deadlines?
It's probably just — you know when whatever you're doing to it is making it worse. When you get to that point, it's done, I guess. No checklist, nothing concrete.
What have been some of your favourite projects working to picture?
In Camera — that was two years ago now, but that was great and very inspiring. With Naqqash Khalid — I just got on really well with him. Because he's a young director, he had this energy to try new things, to be bold — bold gestures. And it was the least scary score I've been asked to make, because we had similar taste in music and there's kind of a song in there. I just like it when I get a sense that you can go anywhere with the director.
What kind of scoring work are you actively trying to avoid?
I'm just not into boring Netflix-type underscore film music. I really don't want to do it. And it's funny, having worked in film — when I see something I'm not into, I don't blame the composer or the director, quite often. It's just like, how did this happen? Quite often I just think, "Poor bastard composer." They probably were just hamstrung from the start.
You seem to genuinely balance both worlds — in-the-box and outboard — without flying the flag for either. Where does that sit for you right now?
There's no tension, really. That looper I was showing you earlier — I literally just started using that because I forgot I had it. I opened the cupboard and it was hanging out and didn't fit properly, so I put it on my desk, wired it up, and started using it. Got really into it. It's literally whatever is in front of me — I can get absorbed in it. And then suddenly I'm thinking "looper album." But it's important to follow those threads, as fantastical as they can be. That's where learning still happens.
Is there any gear you're enjoying right now that gives you something the laptop can't?
I'm going to say that looper, the Boss RC-505. Just loads of fun. And the Virus — I've had that for ages, couldn't get rid of that. And the 17-EDO piano. Mainly I've just been working on my laptop because I've been away so much recently.
There's a lot of gear discourse in electronic music — usually two camps: "don't need any of it" or "this gives you something you can't get elsewhere." What do you think gets missed between those extremes?
People get lost in gear more than music. Especially with electronic music. Whenever I'm going through a period of "I should learn more Max/MSP," I know that I'm about to write some really shit, dry music. I just don't have any problem writing melody. It's kind of on tap, and I play the piano a lot. So the idea of building a really convoluted sequencer to come up with a melody — I don't really need it.
"PEOPLE GET LOST IN GEAR MORE THAN MUSIC."
What's your relationship to live performance at the moment? What does the live setup look like?
I don't go to as many gigs as I should, but I really value it more than ever — just because of the whole Spotify thing. The streaming model is just not in a healthy place.
In terms of my own sets, I sometimes sequence stuff on the Prophet live. But mainly it's just actual playing of synths over extended versions of album tracks that have got more space for live playing. And then drum machines and loops, all on a PC. Lots of haze and loads of strobes. The simple stuff. Bread and butter.
In terms of my own sets, I sometimes sequence stuff on the Prophet live. But mainly it's just actual playing of synths over extended versions of album tracks that have got more space for live playing. And then drum machines and loops, all on a PC. Lots of haze and loads of strobes. The simple stuff. Bread and butter.
You've made the pack for us now, and it's quite a cathartic listen. Did it feel that free making it?
After I sent a few sounds and knew I was on the right track, got some feedback, I felt like — I'm just going to try and make something so that when I get this all in the software, I can make some music out of it. Customising it with my own sounds. A lot of what I was playing with was the idea of contrast between the various sounds — having three or four loops going against each other, or maybe just two seconds of one loop looped against three seconds of another. There's quite a lot of off-grid stuff, which I always like. And I just really appreciated how open you were to weirdness. Some of it is pretty fucking weird music.
I've used some of your stuff while I was making it, actually — one of the sounds in there is something I made in CHOREOGRAPHS and then reprocessed.
I've used some of your stuff while I was making it, actually — one of the sounds in there is something I made in CHOREOGRAPHS and then reprocessed.
You don't typically use pre-packaged samples — everything's self-recorded. What does it feel like offering that material to other people?
It's all recorded, yeah. And it's obviously different offering it to people versus messing around with your own recordings. I was thinking about what it might mean. I don't know how it will be received — hopefully positively. But if I was young and had that sample pack as an opportunity to use, I would realise there's this world of recording and microphones and placement and feeling and tonality and texture that's maybe not quite as smooth as — what should we call it — the modern sample library phenomenon. The usual suspects and the push towards that slightly homogeneous, Soothe'd sound. So I guess it feels like I'm highlighting the intimacy of home recording with some decent mics.
I just don't want to hear a fully plushly recorded orchestra on my fingertip. There's something about it that doesn't feel inspiring. I much prefer recording stuff myself. But I think with the engine in CYCLES, people will feel encouraged to make really interesting juxtapositions out of all of it. The strange thing about these loop packs is that they're almost built to be destroyed a little bit.
I just don't want to hear a fully plushly recorded orchestra on my fingertip. There's something about it that doesn't feel inspiring. I much prefer recording stuff myself. But I think with the engine in CYCLES, people will feel encouraged to make really interesting juxtapositions out of all of it. The strange thing about these loop packs is that they're almost built to be destroyed a little bit.
The point about friction is interesting — music pre-2000 had loads of it.
I don't know how objective audiophile standards are — whether you can say a certain EQ is better than another. The example I always use is My Bloody Valentine's Loveless. It doesn't have a smile curve, and it has resonance in it. But it's timeless. Genius. So what are you saying, exactly?
When you talk about imbuing character into sounds — with synths, in-the-box, outboard — what's your signal chain?
Probably just through my desk and then the API and the Manley and the Avalon, just as a set. That's my go-to. I don't tend to tweak them because they're on the insert. Just that, again and again. And then maybe the Burl converter — I only got that quite recently. It just captures the desk as nicely as it can be captured, and you can clip on it as well. So whenever you see red in Ableton, it's fine because it's got a kind of tape compression on it.
"THESE LOOP PACKS ARE ALMOST BUILT TO BE DESTROYED A LITTLE BIT."
You're clearly at home at the piano and with melody, but you also love processing and pushing sounds. How do those two sides coexist?
I feel like piano and synths go really well together. I've always found guitar and synth much harder to nail. Although some people can. But pianos and synths — quite often I'll have a piano sound and I'll treat it so much that it ends up sounding like another synth. I use fake pianos all the time as well. I really like Pianoteq. Earlier I came up with something when you were recording — just Pianoteq and the 17-EDO piano together. Digital coming out, and then if I'm using a sample piano, I'll quite often just reamp it because it sounds way better.
Is there anything fundamentally different about being an album artist versus building a sample library and handing material over to other people?
I wanted to make a range of different sounds so that people would have options to explore different avenues. And not feel constricted — a sense of freedom that this could be anything, not tied to a genre. I was quite deliberate about that. The stuff that's off-grid, and more ambient — it feels a little bit anarchic. Especially with the 17-EDO piano things, I'd be really intrigued. I'd love to hear what people made from it.
What keeps you excited about music, broadly? With a catalogue as deep as yours — what sustains the energy?
All of it is constant interest, I guess. From the bottom up — from simple piano music to really techy plugins. It just gives you life continuity. It's like an anchor. My memory is quite good for when I made tracks, so it's a good way of reflecting — remembering where you were and who you were with at certain times.
But the albums aren't really like that — that's more the day-to-day practice. Albums are different. I feel like albums shouldn't be diary entries. They're for other people to enjoy, so I don't want to make some self-indulgent diary entry. They're very curated. Chapters, maybe — summing up what was important to you musically.
But this library felt like an opportunity — perhaps because it's not led by songwriting or the stress of that. It's more like targeting something you're really going in on. And I hope that maybe people who use it might experience that — they might get into recording their own stuff. That would be my favourite outcome: people used the library, used it really well, and then got really interested in recording weird shit off the back of it.
But the albums aren't really like that — that's more the day-to-day practice. Albums are different. I feel like albums shouldn't be diary entries. They're for other people to enjoy, so I don't want to make some self-indulgent diary entry. They're very curated. Chapters, maybe — summing up what was important to you musically.
But this library felt like an opportunity — perhaps because it's not led by songwriting or the stress of that. It's more like targeting something you're really going in on. And I hope that maybe people who use it might experience that — they might get into recording their own stuff. That would be my favourite outcome: people used the library, used it really well, and then got really interested in recording weird shit off the back of it.
Interview by Kai Whiston
March 2026
March 2026