Producer, performer and sound designer Nadia Struiwigh approaches creation as an act of fluid intuition, viewing the artist as a conduit for sound—an organic synthesiser. This philosophy is embodied in her CHOREOGRAPHS artist preset collection, offering a sound world that is experimental, fantastical, and alive with kinetic, electronic energy.
Origin Points — What were your first experiences with music? Do you remember your first introduction to electronic textures?
I love this question because there are always different pointers in life that trigger you into a certain sound. With me, there are two sides: the tech-oriented side and the musical side. My dad always had gadgets at home because he worked at companies that made chips for electronic devices, so we were very spoiled with that.
Musically, I remember one big moment as a young kid: I went to a friend’s place and there was a massive keyboard. She was playing it, and I thought, “I want to do this.”
Later, I became a massive raver. One day someone said, “Nadia, don’t you want to play music instead of always being here raving?” And I thought, “Wait… I could do that?” So I went backstage a lot and absorbed everything. Now we have YouTube and online communities, but back then it wasn’t like that—you learned by being there, at every club night.
Eventually I realised: this isn’t just music. Music moves us. I got into sound healing. I travelled to Nepal and studied to be a music therapist. Looking back, there are so many chapters that sparked something within me. Now I feel that everything I learned has a purpose. It’s just music flowing through me.
Musically, I remember one big moment as a young kid: I went to a friend’s place and there was a massive keyboard. She was playing it, and I thought, “I want to do this.”
Later, I became a massive raver. One day someone said, “Nadia, don’t you want to play music instead of always being here raving?” And I thought, “Wait… I could do that?” So I went backstage a lot and absorbed everything. Now we have YouTube and online communities, but back then it wasn’t like that—you learned by being there, at every club night.
Eventually I realised: this isn’t just music. Music moves us. I got into sound healing. I travelled to Nepal and studied to be a music therapist. Looking back, there are so many chapters that sparked something within me. Now I feel that everything I learned has a purpose. It’s just music flowing through me.
What were you hearing at those club nights?
Oh, it was epic. Every weekend. I started going when I was fourteen and I still enjoy it—I probably always will. Mostly it was techno.
But in the early days in the Netherlands we also went to gabber and hardcore or hardstyle. That’s how I rolled. At home, because of my dad, we listened to Genesis, Enya, Pink Floyd, Dire Straits—so I had this mix of airy new-age vibes and then the heavy club music. There was also that period of more Italo-disco-influenced stuff like Crookers, and bass music.
All those influences created my sound, which feels like literally every genre.
But in the early days in the Netherlands we also went to gabber and hardcore or hardstyle. That’s how I rolled. At home, because of my dad, we listened to Genesis, Enya, Pink Floyd, Dire Straits—so I had this mix of airy new-age vibes and then the heavy club music. There was also that period of more Italo-disco-influenced stuff like Crookers, and bass music.
All those influences created my sound, which feels like literally every genre.
What do you consider when you’re performing live?
You can morph people’s feelings. You can create an atmosphere in a room. You can emulate a vibe from the past or bring in something joyful. I try first to just be me and play whatever comes to me.
But because I’m so sensitive, I feel the crowd instantly—I can read rooms really well. That’s a big task as a DJ or artist. These days, I feel that skill has become a bit lost. It’s more about ego: “Look at me on stage.” But it’s not about that. It’s about the collective experience. We are like vessels.
In Bristol, for example, I knew I could finally be fully me because my sound relates to the scene here. But if I go somewhere else, I adapt. It’s not only about me. I research beforehand, but in the moment I also want to flow with what’s happening in the room.
But because I’m so sensitive, I feel the crowd instantly—I can read rooms really well. That’s a big task as a DJ or artist. These days, I feel that skill has become a bit lost. It’s more about ego: “Look at me on stage.” But it’s not about that. It’s about the collective experience. We are like vessels.
In Bristol, for example, I knew I could finally be fully me because my sound relates to the scene here. But if I go somewhere else, I adapt. It’s not only about me. I research beforehand, but in the moment I also want to flow with what’s happening in the room.
Your background in sound healing and music therapy—does it come into play when you’re in front of a crowd? Does it feel like a therapy session?
Oh God, yes. It is a therapy session—a hundred percent. People cry, people have laughing attacks, I’ve seen everything. Even rage, when someone’s night just isn’t going right.
For me, because I’m getting older, I realised it’s not about me—it’s about the experience you give others. You’re a kind of leader on stage. People pay to trust you with their night.
That’s why it’s strange when people come up afterwards and thank me so intensely. I think, “Yeah, but that wasn’t just me. That was something else—a spirit, or whatever it is.”
For me, because I’m getting older, I realised it’s not about me—it’s about the experience you give others. You’re a kind of leader on stage. People pay to trust you with their night.
That’s why it’s strange when people come up afterwards and thank me so intensely. I think, “Yeah, but that wasn’t just me. That was something else—a spirit, or whatever it is.”
"MUSIC IS MADE IN THE NOW; IT’S A TRANSLATION OF HOW YOU ARE FEELING."
In contrast, your studio work feels more internal. What brings you into the studio when producing new work?
Emotions. If I feel flat or have a strict deadline, it doesn’t work. Emotions don’t appear under pressure—you push them away to focus on the goal. Music is a translation of how you feel in the now. Later, you can fine-tune and mix with your practical mind.
I don’t have much structure in my life besides my morning coffee. My other habit is self-development. I’m very into psychology—how it translates our energy into music.
When I enter the studio, nothing is plugged in. I tap into my feelings—I meditate a lot—and then figure out what the workflow will be that day. Sometimes I get hooked on one device for a month. Other times I’m deep in Ableton. Every plugin or instrument has a character. It’s about connecting the dots and asking: am I intuitive today, or am I nerding out? If I want pure sound-design nerding, I go into modular.
There are so many pathways. I just follow the one that feels right that day.
I don’t have much structure in my life besides my morning coffee. My other habit is self-development. I’m very into psychology—how it translates our energy into music.
When I enter the studio, nothing is plugged in. I tap into my feelings—I meditate a lot—and then figure out what the workflow will be that day. Sometimes I get hooked on one device for a month. Other times I’m deep in Ableton. Every plugin or instrument has a character. It’s about connecting the dots and asking: am I intuitive today, or am I nerding out? If I want pure sound-design nerding, I go into modular.
There are so many pathways. I just follow the one that feels right that day.
Do you feel like you’re designing a space for a listener, or building one for yourself? Or is it different each time?
There are intentions. I’m grateful I can work in every genre and people accept it now. I had to fight hard against being boxed into “only techno,” because I’m not one emotion—I’m all of this.
I know a track is good when I’m fully feeling it. I can play it again and again and it still puts me in a different mindset. Some music is technically fine but it doesn’t vibe.
On stage, you’ll see me smiling before a part I know is going to be epic. It’s like knowing a joke and laughing early—that’s how I feel with my music.
I know a track is good when I’m fully feeling it. I can play it again and again and it still puts me in a different mindset. Some music is technically fine but it doesn’t vibe.
On stage, you’ll see me smiling before a part I know is going to be epic. It’s like knowing a joke and laughing early—that’s how I feel with my music.
What instruments or technologies have resonated with you throughout your career?
I’m heavily into synthesis. I’m always morphing sounds. If I start with a pad, it usually ends up as an arpeggio. It rarely stays a pad. You can hear me playing with synthesis and envelopes a lot.
The Korg Electribe will never leave my side. I feel naked without it on stage. I love the crunchy sound of drum computers. And plugins—SLATE + ASH’s work is amazing. It’s a whole universe.
Working on the CHOREOGRAPHS presets let me dive deeper into layering. I love morphing a pad into a sequence, or shifting from no rhythm—zero bpm—to something like eighty bpm with an arpeggiator. You can do that in CHOREOGRAPHS if you map everything to a MIDI controller; it becomes your own hardware synth.
The Korg Electribe will never leave my side. I feel naked without it on stage. I love the crunchy sound of drum computers. And plugins—SLATE + ASH’s work is amazing. It’s a whole universe.
Working on the CHOREOGRAPHS presets let me dive deeper into layering. I love morphing a pad into a sequence, or shifting from no rhythm—zero bpm—to something like eighty bpm with an arpeggiator. You can do that in CHOREOGRAPHS if you map everything to a MIDI controller; it becomes your own hardware synth.
Fluidity seems central to both your work and life. Does that sound right?
One hundred percent. I’m happiest when a synth has possibilities. That’s why I was excited in the studio this week with CHOREOGRAPHS. If I feel a piece of gear can only do a mono bass, I get bored. I’m always trying to find the edges. If I can’t, then I have to combine it with something else, which doesn’t work well in my head.
I need a synth that can do everything in a box: great effects, sequencing, maybe digital and analog combined. That’s also how I live. I think like a free bird.
I need a synth that can do everything in a box: great effects, sequencing, maybe digital and analog combined. That’s also how I live. I think like a free bird.
When designing CHOREOGRAPHS presets, what sound-design elements did you prioritise—especially regarding layering?
It’s related to sound therapy: frequencies affect us differently. High-pitched frequencies hit us more sharply; lower ones ground us.
Lately I’ve been layering more in stereo width. It lets me work with the spectrum, panning individual layers that make up one sound. One part might travel or have random panning while the bass stays centred.
I see sound as an experience, like daily life. When a car drives by, we hear the wheel texture, the engine, the wind—three or four sounds from one moving object. How cool that we can emulate that? You can even do this in CHOREOGRAPHS.
For me, it’s about layering and those crispy details. That moment when you think, “Ah, cool. Now we’re here.”
Lately I’ve been layering more in stereo width. It lets me work with the spectrum, panning individual layers that make up one sound. One part might travel or have random panning while the bass stays centred.
I see sound as an experience, like daily life. When a car drives by, we hear the wheel texture, the engine, the wind—three or four sounds from one moving object. How cool that we can emulate that? You can even do this in CHOREOGRAPHS.
For me, it’s about layering and those crispy details. That moment when you think, “Ah, cool. Now we’re here.”
"I’M MAINLY IN MY OWN PASTEL COLOUR ANIMATION IN MY BRAIN... IT’S A HOBBIT LAND."
Your preset folder is titled “Fairy Tales,” which is fascinating. Tell us more about that concept.
I have a very UK mind. There are a lot of myths and stories in this country—Stonehenge and all that—which I vibe with heavily. I made these presets while I was here because I wanted the full embodiment of that world, not split between Berlin and here.
People often ask after my set, “Where’s your head at?” Honestly, I’m in my own pastel-colour animation. You can hear it. It’s literally hobbit land.
People often ask after my set, “Where’s your head at?” Honestly, I’m in my own pastel-colour animation. You can hear it. It’s literally hobbit land.
Sound’s immediacy is powerful—you instantly feel when it’s right. When creating, do you find yourself lost in that other place?
Yeah, I’m literally not here. Even when performing—if someone mentions cameras, I didn’t even notice. I feel vibes, people and my music, but I let the feelings guide me, not definitions.
Sometimes I listen to my tracks and think, “Where the fuck was I? How did I make this?” That’s why I believe it’s not our human self generating these frequencies. It’s something else. We’re just vessels. We’re synthesisers.
Sometimes I listen to my tracks and think, “Where the fuck was I? How did I make this?” That’s why I believe it’s not our human self generating these frequencies. It’s something else. We’re just vessels. We’re synthesisers.
What does it feel like giving these sounds away, knowing others will use them in totally different ways?
With samples, people can still morph them, so sometimes I don’t even recognise my own sounds in others’ tracks. But presets are different. You’re giving someone an entire instrument. They can shape it, but often they leave it as it is because they like it.
They can create a longer story. A sample might be one or two bars, but a preset is a whole world. It’s like they step into the fairy-tale world of Nadia. It’s weird—cool, but weird.
They can create a longer story. A sample might be one or two bars, but a preset is a whole world. It’s like they step into the fairy-tale world of Nadia. It’s weird—cool, but weird.
When building a track—even using your own presets—it’s like conducting a choir of diverse voices. Is it interesting to lend part of your voice for someone else to find theirs?
It’s basically a language. I always stuck to my own, no matter what others said. Later I started relating my music to artists like Boards of Canada—it’s the same frequency spectrum, not the same music. Or Kruder & Dorfmeister—there are rhythms we share.
There are inventors of certain sounds, like Aphex Twin, but then there are people like me who are focused on their own craft and relate to those inventors because they speak the same language. You can hear when people are emulating others versus when they’re just locked into themselves.
There are inventors of certain sounds, like Aphex Twin, but then there are people like me who are focused on their own craft and relate to those inventors because they speak the same language. You can hear when people are emulating others versus when they’re just locked into themselves.
The new CHOREOGRAPHS update includes deep randomisation. Do you incorporate chance into your process?
You still get happy accidents, especially in modular. But on a standalone synth, not so much—I know what I’m doing. I enjoy working with effects and chaining things; that’s where I find joy now.
I also play with probability so it doesn’t sound loopy. Sometimes I challenge myself: one sample, or four elements, and the whole track must come from that. It’s like a child’s game.
I’m pretty calculated, but I change genres a lot. I might start ambient and think, “No, this should be drum and bass,” and shift. So randomisation could be fun for me.
I also play with probability so it doesn’t sound loopy. Sometimes I challenge myself: one sample, or four elements, and the whole track must come from that. It’s like a child’s game.
I’m pretty calculated, but I change genres a lot. I might start ambient and think, “No, this should be drum and bass,” and shift. So randomisation could be fun for me.
"THIRTY MINUTES IN, I’M LIKE, ‘FUCK, LET’S DO SOME WEIRD SHIT. I NEED TO GET OUT OF THIS STRUCTURE.’"
You start with an emotion, make a song, and it changes your emotion. Does this dialogue guide the genre?
All the time. That’s why you hear so many genres in one track. I don’t like repetition. Sometimes I make techno and love it, but it’s too easy—it’s what I know. Thirty minutes in, I’m like, “Fuck, let’s do some weird shit. I need to get out of this structure.” That’s also how I am in life. I change my mind a lot.
With so many creative outlets, what are you most excited about for the future?
You see artists go deep into techno, build that audience, and ten years later it’s hard for them to change. I always told myself not to lock in because I know I change. Now it’s accepted that I do everything.
I feel like I fully accepted myself this past year—“Yeah, I am what I am, and it’s fine.” I’m looking less at other people. That freedom is priceless.
During the pandemic, with no shows, I tapped back into my tech side, which I’d neglected. It boomed. I realised I could combine it with performances and new hardware. Now it’s coming together because music tech has become commercial through social media. I feel I’m at the forefront of that space, experiencing new products and using them in my sets. That’s exciting.
I feel like I fully accepted myself this past year—“Yeah, I am what I am, and it’s fine.” I’m looking less at other people. That freedom is priceless.
During the pandemic, with no shows, I tapped back into my tech side, which I’d neglected. It boomed. I realised I could combine it with performances and new hardware. Now it’s coming together because music tech has become commercial through social media. I feel I’m at the forefront of that space, experiencing new products and using them in my sets. That’s exciting.
Do you think of creative progress in goals, or something more intangible?
Funny question—I just talked about this with True Cuckoo, a dear friend. I don’t live by goals. I don’t think that’s right for me. I don’t know what the future brings. I just know I love what I do, and I want to keep that feeling.
I’m happy. I make a living from music, which I never imagined. You can’t be happier than happy. If you’re always striving for the next thing, there’s always another next thing. It doesn’t end.
It’s not about achievements; it’s about a feeling.
I’m happy. I make a living from music, which I never imagined. You can’t be happier than happy. If you’re always striving for the next thing, there’s always another next thing. It doesn’t end.
It’s not about achievements; it’s about a feeling.
"IT’S REALLY ABOUT A SIGNAL FLOW WITH YOURSELF."
You coach and teach as well. How do these ideas play into that work? What fulfilment does it give you?
I love that work—it’s my heart. Maybe that’s my one big goal: to help people, and I'm already doing it. It’s more about intuition and feeling sounds than “Turn this up 30%” or whatever. That’s not it.
It’s: “How does it feel for you? How do you evolve from this point?” It’s really about a signal flow with yourself.
It’s: “How does it feel for you? How do you evolve from this point?” It’s really about a signal flow with yourself.
Can music and creativity be a byproduct of self-discovery?
Creativity is a skill we need to be open to others; otherwise we’d operate on formulas. As children, it’s more about who we are than what we want to become. Education enables something within us so we can discover ourselves.
Some people find their path immediately—like pro tennis players who just know. They call it talent; it’s just who they are.
For me, I took detours before I found myself. Even saying “I am a musician” to an Uber driver took years.
Education in music isn’t just for communicating with others; it’s for guiding ourselves to the right place.
Some people find their path immediately—like pro tennis players who just know. They call it talent; it’s just who they are.
For me, I took detours before I found myself. Even saying “I am a musician” to an Uber driver took years.
Education in music isn’t just for communicating with others; it’s for guiding ourselves to the right place.
Can synthesisers be teachers?
To be abstract: the synth isn’t teaching us—we are teaching the synth. It enables us to get in touch with parts of ourselves that guide our music creation. Sometimes you sit in front of a synth and think, “No, this doesn’t work,” because you don’t resonate with it.
Which sounds or genres truly don’t work for you?
Banjos. The triangle. And—I’m sorry—the trumpet or saxophone, unless it’s in jazz. And tech house… it’s between techno and house and I don’t understand what we’re doing there. I can’t get into that happy groove because my own music is very melancholic.
Other than that, I’m very open.
Other than that, I’m very open.
Interview by Kai Whiston
November 2025
November 2025