Andrea Bratta Hi Helmut, where are you now? 

Helmut Geier Most of the time, I’m here in Bavaria, but today I’m on my way to Düsseldorf for an exhibition at a museum tonight. There’s a well-known German actor named Lars Indinger, and he’s about to release his second photo book. He takes photos using his mobile phone, and the collection is being showcased at one of the top museums in Düsseldorf. It’s fascinating how his photography has evolved into an art form that intrigues others. His photos capture everyday life, but in very unusual and striking moments, which makes his work stand out. Interestingly, he’s also ventured into the techno scene and even became a techno teacher. I’ve played alongside him quite a bit, so in a way, I’ve become something of a mentor or guide for him in this field, given my experience. He’s a highly regarded actor, known for his work in theater and cinema, with an international reputation. But now, he’s diving into photography and exploring the club world, making a genuine effort to connect and produce quality music. It’s all new territory for him, but we’ve been collaborating on a lot of shows together lately.

AB I guess this is not something new for you, the mentoring bit.

HG Well, no, it isn’t. With Gigolo, I’ve discovered many unknown artists who later became quite famous. There’s a long list of them—people who got their first release on Gigolo Records and were mentored by me. I tried to help them gain more recognition and exposure. This was all back in the ’90s, long before Instagram and social media existed.

AB The Internet has definitely made things a lot easier. But at the same time, I feel like it caused the concept of “scenes” to fade away. What you achieved with Gigolo Records started in a very specific place—Bavaria, Munich—and then grew to have a global impact in the electronic music world. How did you manage that transition, taking something so localized and expanding it worldwide? 

HG The way you framed it immediately brings Giorgio Moroder to mind. He was an Italian living in Munich, and he created the blueprint for house and techno music with Donna Summer. The track I Feel Love—especially the 15-minute Patrick Cowley remix from 1976 or 1977—completely changed the world. I was living in Munich at the time, and that track influenced me more than I realized at the time. What’s fascinating is how, at the same time disco was becoming a global phenomenon, punk music was emerging in England and also changing the world. I think that duality—the rise of disco and punk—laid the foundation for what eventually became the concept of Gigolo Records. I was deeply fascinated by punk, not just the music but the energy, the attitude, and the distinctive look of the punk community. I wouldn’t call it fashion because that wasn’t the point; it was more like a uniform or a symbol. You could immediately recognise someone’s musical taste or affiliations just by how they looked. Disco had a similar kind of identity and symbolism.

Back then, I was going to punk concerts while also frequenting disco clubs, listening to DJs who were already playing dance music. Without knowing it, I was absorbing all these influences—punk, disco, and their distinct aesthetics—and it shaped my perspective. Looking back, I think the seeds of Gigolo Records were already growing in me during those years, almost 20 years before I even started the label. It was this fusion of different genres and scenes that became the foundation for what I later created.

AB When did all the unknown-known seeds from your experiences—as a music listener, fashion enthusiast, and art lover—finally come together and blossom into your vision for Gigolo?

HG  My journey to starting a label wasn’t a straight path. In the early ’90s, I worked as an A&R manager for Logic Records in Frankfurt, whose main act was Snap!—you know, The Power and Rhythm Is a Dancer. It was a very successful and commercial operation, and while I learned a lot about the business—how to operate in the higher levels of the music industry, how to market and sell music—I didn’t enjoy it. I came from the underground, from the avant-garde, from the streets and clubs. I wasn’t interested in just selling music, or myself. Back then, I swore I’d never run my own record label because it felt like it would be all business—office work and endless details—which wasn’t my world. I saw myself as an artist, not a businessman.

But everything changed a few years later. I was on tour with Jeff Mills—we traveled the world together many times and became, and still are, very good friends. One day, on a flight to New York, we were playing at the Palladium, Jeff said to me, “Hell, it’s time for you to start your own label.” He joked that we were all like “DJ Gigolos,” traveling the world, staying in five-star hotels, flying business class, and getting attention everywhere we went. That “Gigolo” idea stuck with me. When I eventually decided to follow his advice, I thought about what to name the label, and the phrase “International DeeJay Gigolo Records” came to mind. That’s how it all started.

When I launched the label in 1996 or 1997, I already had a global network of people sending me incredible demos—unreleased, amazing music. I realized Jeff was right: it was time, and I knew how to do it. But I wanted to do it my way. I ignored the traditional rules of the music business and set out to create my own. And that was the beginning.

I was 100% a fashion lover—completely addicted to it, and I still am. Back in the day, I told my mother she could take a photo of me every single day for an entire year, and I’d have a different look each time. Fashion, music, and art were always my top priorities, and I was determined to connect these three worlds into one cohesive vision. In hindsight, I think I was pretty successful in tying it all together: music, visuals, graphic design, fashion, and art –Even in the way I approached promotion, distribution, and marketing.

AB I think that’s exactly what you managed to achieve. When I think of Gigolo Records, my mind doesn’t associate it with just a label, but more to a lifestyle, an ethos –An early aughts Electroclash living. Of course, music stands right at the core, but Gigolo brought together so many genres and forms of expression over the years. I’m thinking about the early days when it helped define electroclash, the New York City moments, and all the different musical evolutions the label went through. I see echoes of Gigolo’s attitude and legacy in some of the newer artists and scenes, a similar spirit, blending genres and embracing that bold, unapologetic energy. To me, they feel like they’re tapping into the electroclash ethos, borrowing from the influence Gigolo had on labels like Ed Banger or the broader musical progress that emerged in the early 2000s.

HG About 15 or 20 years ago, I was really happy to open doors for labels like Ed Banger in Paris or Kitsuné, and others that followed the path of Gigolo. They caught the vibe and ran with it. Ed Banger, for example, was the hot label in 2005 and 2006—they were on fire. They released hip-hop, funk-inspired tracks, and artists like Mr. Oizo, blending so many styles. It was a huge moment in music. With Gigolo, I always made it clear to my artists that there were no limits. You could create whatever you wanted, and if I believed in it, I would release it—even if nobody else liked it or if it wouldn’t sell. I didn’t care about profit. I cared about supporting the artist. I would push them, book them for shows, and even insist that they open for me at clubs, whether promoters wanted them or not. It was about giving them a platform and sharing their art. Electroclash is another thing I’m very proud of—it was a defining moment for Gigolo. In 2002, it was absolutely ruling the world. Artists from all over came together, and it was this incredible explosion of creativity, genre-bending, and breaking barriers. What excites me now is seeing the new generation rediscovering that energy. Young producers and DJs are embracing the same atmosphere, sound, and ethos of no limitations. Artists like Red Axes and many labels on the rise today are carrying forward that spirit. Their sets reflect the Gigolo philosophy—where everything is allowed. They even play old Gigolo tracks, and it’s amazing how timeless they still sound. Tracks by Bobby Konders, Dopplereffekt, Terence Fixmer, Vitalic, and so many others still feel as fresh as ever. With over 350 releases in the Gigolo catalog, I’m now focused on bringing that music back. We’re working on getting the back catalog fully uploaded to platforms like Beatport, and there are lots of vinyl reissues in the pipeline. It’s exciting to see this music reaching a new audience while still inspiring the old one.

AB Are you planning on bringing back the legendary Gigolo Nights ?

HG That’s the next step, exactly—bringing back Gigolo Nights. Back then, we had the Bavarian Gigolo Night and the Berlin Gigolo Night. Festivals would invite me to curate a Gigolo stage, and we always made it something special. We had unique lighting, visuals, and a mix of live acts and DJs—it was never the same thing. What made it stand out was the unpredictability. You’d never know what to expect. It wasn’t just a DJ playing tracks; there was always something dynamic happening on stage. Different musical styles blended together, and we aimed to create a real experience, not just a performance. People loved it because it felt alive and fresh every time.Of course, I’ll probably never reach those insane moments again—like when A List rappers showed up at a Gigolo event, or Brian Ferry, or even the time I had the chance to work with artists like the Pet Shop Boys. There was a time when I could bring almost any artist I wanted to Gigolo, and that’s something I’ll always be proud of. But who knows? Maybe with these reissues and the renewed energy around the catalog, it’s time to create something just as iconic for this generation.

AB I imagine the crazy stories..

HG Yeah, wins, and losses. But even the losses were iconic in their own rights. I remember  a specific release, Hooked on Radiation, produced by KLF’s Jimmy Cauty, by a band called Atomizer. It totally sounded like a new KLF track, I was so excited because it felt like a fresh KLF release after all those years of silence. I was so confident this was going to change the UK market, so I pre-ordered 10,000 vinyls, thinking people would go crazy when they realized KLF was behind it. But in the end, it didn’t take off the way I expected. Still, it was one of those unique moments where something unexpected happened—KLF suddenly popped up in the mix, and I was thrilled to release that music. Then there were bands like Fischerspooner… I mean, we could talk for hours about all of this. 

AB Even in terms of art direction, the visuals and the look of it, like the iconic Schwarzenegger logo that later evolved into the naked chick logo—it still feels incredibly contemporary today. I’m seeing a lot of graphic designers and labels now repurposing that vibe. It’s clear how much influence that had.

HG These days, no one wants to truly invest in graphic design or unique looks, but back in the day, I paid attention to every little detail. Even when we sent out a white label or promo, it had to look special. I put a lot of time into it, because first and foremost, I had to believe in it, and then people would believe in it too. Every single thing that went out—whether it was an email, a fax, or any promo—was always handled with care, with an artistic touch, and fully connected to the music and the artist. Every cover, every release, was carefully crafted, making sure it felt special. I took great care of everything.

AB Were you working with any particular studio back then? 

HG No, the process was much more spontaneous and immediate: Whenever I found an interesting artist or saw something unique, no matter where they were from, I would immediately reach out and propose collaborations. There was always exciting stuff happening around the world. I was doing as many as 200 shows a year, and there were always fascinating graphic designers in Japan, amazing covers in Australia, or unique analog releases from someone in Italy. It never stopped. There was so much attention, and I was always on the lookout for new things or ideas that weren’t out there yet. I was deeply involved in every cover, every release, every B-side, and the distribution and marketing strategies. I always had a strong vision for how to approach things. 

AB I’m picking up a kind of Warholian vibe here. I think I read somewhere on Resident Advisor that they, correctly, imho, pointed out that Gigolo was, in a way, for Berlin what the Factory was for New York. What were the scenes like in those two cities? Were they different, or were they starting to converge in some way? 

HG A lot of people try to compare Berlin and New York, but in reality, there’s no similarity. Everything was totally different. When Berlin became the mecca for a new generation of electronic music, everyone wanted to move there or copy its sound and look. Without Berghain, for instance, the techno revolution wouldn’t have unfolded the way it did. Back in the ’90s, Berlin was maybe the most futuristic city in terms of thinking and partying. There were no limits; you could go all weekend long. There was so much free space and no rules. Everyone did what they wanted, and it was all about freedom. Of course, it’s changed now, but it’s still the number one city for electronic music. I was there in the early ’90s, working at a record store called Hardwax, buying and selling vinyl. That gave me a direct connection with the earliest Berlin techno producers, DJs, and the emerging club scene. I was immersed in that world, helping to build this new electronic and club music culture. There are a lot of books and documentaries about that era, but I’m proud to have been part of it, shaping the nightlife. I played at places like Tresor, Electro, WMF, and others that don’t exist anymore. I was even a resident DJ at the iconic E-Werk, which, to me, was the blueprint for every other club that followed. It was a unique place, and the crowd wasn’t international at all—it was mostly local Berliners. In the ’90s, Berlin was considered a dangerous place by tourists. People said to avoid places like Kreuzberg or East Berlin at night. But to me, it was never dangerous; it was just an unpolished, gritty city. No one wanted to visit, but those who did found themselves part of something really special. I’m proud to have been there, building the scene. By the mid-’90s, I was traveling to other countries, becoming an ambassador for Berlin techno and its unique energy.

AB Those were the years someone from my generation still reveres as the years of real techno.

HG Exactly, When they started bringing in the Detroit and Chicago legends, it was a game changer. You had the pioneers of Detroit techno and house, like Derrick May and Juan Atkins, alongside Chicago’s house masters, plus legends from New York. It was like a whole new world opening up—an explosion of sound and culture that had never been heard before. It felt like the biggest revolution in electronic music, and I’m proud to have been part of it. The energy, the sound, and the sense of community during that time were truly groundbreaking.

AB Well, Underground Resistance said this best with their Afrogermanic track, no words needed. It was a pivotal period.

HG  But, I mean, we didn’t think it was crazy or revolutionary at the time. We didn’t know where it was headed. Nobody thought it was going to change the world or dominate the music scene. Seriously, no one thought that way. People were saying it was just a summer hype, a very limited community, and that this music wouldn’t last. They thought something else would come along. There was always talk about what the future might hold, but nobody imagined that techno would still be around in 2024 or 2025.

AB And here we are: Techno has never been this big, and mainstream. You lived in New York for different periods. What drove you there, and not in places like Detroit, who had a much more evident link with Berlin, at least music-wise?

HG I knew that in Detroit, there was no nightlife, no real club scene—nothing happening. The city itself was in a rough state in the ’90s; no restaurants, no cafes, just darkness with a lot of homelessness. It was really the last place to be. I went there to meet legends like Jeff, Matt Mike, Submerged, Carl Craig, and others who were my heroes. I also had the chance to play with Kevin Saunderson in Chicago and did some parties with Richie Hawtin in Windsor. I visited, but there was never a thought of living there or doing anything long-term in Detroit.I did have an idea in 2014, though—a German producer like me going to Detroit, living there, and working with underground resistance, Moodymann, Derrick May, and all those guys to produce a techno album. I went for two months and came back with just one track that’ll never see the light of day. I wanted to be the German outsider working with the originators of techno in Detroit, but it didn’t work out. New York, on the other hand, has always been my city. I wasn’t just a tourist; I was involved in the club scene in the early ’90s, and it felt like no other place. I remember playing at Palladium in front of 5,000 people. The Limelight, an old church turned into a techno hall, had this dark, exotic atmosphere with secret parties happening upstairs.New York had this magnetic power that drew me in, and I was lucky to be there, playing techno music. Jeff and I were residents at Limelight, and I even did some producing there. New York’s nightlife was heavily influenced by places like Studio 54, Tunnel, and Webster Hall, where thousands of people would party every weekend. I was highly respected in the scene as a German techno DJ because I brought something different to the table. I lived there for a year in 1993, then returned in 2004 to produce the album New York Muscle.

AB I guess with Gigolo’s evolution, and electroclash’s rise, you were also going for something that didn’t feel strictly “German” anymore, but rather this hybrid of global influences, like something that could exist anywhere.

HG You are in one of the most powerful, energetic cities in the world like New York: You’re bound to create different art and music. I remember during that time, there was a war going on in Afghanistan, and we were watching it on the news every day. It deeply influenced me, the atmosphere of it all—the aggression, the danger of the situation. It was an incredibly uncomfortable feeling, like never knowing what might happen next. There was always police at the train stations, and something was always happening. That tension, that constant energy, definitely seeped into the music I was creating during that time.

AB 2003 Was also immediately post-9/11 NYC, it must have been..complicated to say the least.

HG It was very present. People were still shocked by it, and it was everywhere. I was living near Ground Zero, in a hotel called the Trabeck, a grand hotel. It was within walking distance, and in 2004 or 2005, there was still a huge hole where the towers had fallen. People were still in shock. It was nothing like before—it changed everything. New York totally transformed after September 11, 2001.

AB On a lighter note, let’s go back to fashion because it’s been such a big part of your life. You’ve worked on so many shows—Versace, Yves Saint Laurent, Balenciaga. What’s it like working on music for a runway show? How is it different from selecting music for a club? 

HG That’s a totally different piece of art, for sure. When I do what’s called catwalk music for a 15 to 70-minute show, I really connect with the designer and their concept. It’s very important that the music doesn’t overpower the vision of the designer—it should fit seamlessly into their concept. There are a lot of meetings before the actual work begins. It’s not just about me putting together a mix for them to use. It’s a back-and-forth process, because the designers know exactly what they want, including the music. They’re very hands-on. For example, when Demna from Balenciaga asked me to get involved in one of their art projects, he told me that he loved my early 90s analog hardcore techno stuff. He asked me to create a 45-minute mix of hard techno, acid, and analog productions. I was a bit hesitant because, when I listen to that music now, I hear how raw it was. At the time, I was trying to get closer to the Detroit sound or do something unique. But I didn’t have the gear—the analog keyboards, drum machines—so I did the best I could with what I had. Some of the sounds are pretty digital, even though they were meant to be analog, and the production level was very middle class, I’d say. Back then, I didn’t have the knowledge to do it the best way; there was no computer or fancy gear. It was all live recording. Some of the sounds came out great, but others were rough. But at that time, we just released it. Compared to today’s digital sound and modern production techniques, it feels old-school.I understand Demna’s vision though, and I see why he liked it. Not a lot of people were into that style at the time. Then, a year later, he used Sunglasses at Night for one of his fashion shows—the cover by BFRND. I was shocked! Sunglasses at Night is such an iconic track, Tige released it on Gigolo back in the days, it was itself a great cover version of the original by Corey Hart. But, like a lot of music that’s been overplayed, you sort of reach a point where you’re not as excited to hear it anymore. It was fascinating that Balenciaga picked it for their show. 

AB What are your favourite designers?

HG One name, very easy: Martin Margiela. There were times when he released a new collection, and I felt like every piece, every shoe, every shirt, every coat, was made just for me. It totally fits my personality, my style, my DJing, and my travels. I was seriously obsessed with it. The interesting part was mixing those pieces with second-hand clothes and military uniforms—jackets, shoes, all of that. For many years, Margiela was the ultimate brand for me. And when he moved on, I started looking for something new, and of course, I jumped into Deman, his work with Vetements before and then Balenciaga. I also loved Boris Saberi, a lot, and I can’t forget Rick Owens.

AB You also collaborated with Kostas Murkudis, right?

HG He was so good! Sad he’s not doing his own brand anymore.

AB I also read that you’re working as the designated curator for the Museum of Modern Electronic Music, in Frankfurt. I imagine it’s not too different from what you’re used to doing, in a way, right?

HG I was involved in the concept and ideas many years ago when they first tried to open it. The idea started around eight to ten years ago, but they didn’t have the financial backing to rent the place and renovate it, so it took about five to eight years with many concepts and ideas. Finally, they opened, and I visited about two years ago. I was really surprised at how great it looked and how well they’re managing the museum. It’s really cool. I did an interview there and had a small exhibition. They’re doing a great job, but they should definitely get more attention because it’s an amazing museum that showcases a lot of electronic music culture. There should be more exhibitions about this culture—the machines, the cover arts, the visual art, the music itself. There’s so much you can display in a gallery or museum, and they’ve done it really well.

AB One last question— we talked about how the techno and electronic music world used to be very insular, with its own scenes and places. There was a sense of differentiation back then. But fast forward to today, and there’s essentially one big global scene. How do you feel about that? Do you think there’s been too much standardization in electronic music, especially in terms of festivals and parties? 

HG I don’t agree with the idea that it’s just one scene. It’s split into many different scenes, and right now, there’s a lot of discussion happening, with people expressing diverse opinions. Old-school figures are giving interviews or posting on social media, saying it doesn’t feel right or cool to be a DJ anymore. After the pandemic, everything changed, and suddenly so many artists or DJs with little artistic thinking are successful, mostly because of their social media presence. It’s not about the music anymore, and that’s the big conversation. But I wouldn’t say it’s just one scene. It’s interesting to see hard techno or hardcore techno becoming very successful and popular. I think it’s misnamed, though. To me, this isn’t techno. It’s just entertainment, dance music, or whatever you want to call it. One person referred to it as “the new EDM,” and I think that description fits perfectly. On the other hand, I get why young people are championing it, especially since many of them were locked out for two or three years during the pandemic. Now, they go to hard techno parties, and it’s getting more attention than ever. The downside is seeing all these DJs with zero talent becoming popular. It’s clear when you analyze it—there’s no real artistry. They’re in it just for success, for money, or maybe they don’t even know why they’re doing it. I’ve been in this scene for 40 years, so I watch it from a distance, more as an observer. I don’t take it too seriously, and I don’t have time to listen to bad music. I’m focused on preparing for my own shows, working on new music, and continuing to do my thing. I still aim to surprise people with my sets, mixing different genres and keeping it fresh. I don’t need to be part of this hard techno scene. I do play techno sets, but when I do, they’re in my own style—mixing analog techno with new digital sounds, deeply influenced by Detroit techno and great new producers. There’s so much good music out there that I don’t have time for all the noise. I just call it Kabuki techno or EDM techno—it’s like a circus to me, and I find it kind of funny. I don’t go to these hard techno parties; I only see them on social media, and I’ve never been there myself. I’m too deep into my work in the studio, producing, remixing, and working on new albums. I don’t have time to focus on that scene. But I do understand the frustration. A lot of legendary old-school DJs aren’t getting bookings anymore, and people don’t pay attention to their work. They’re still doing great stuff, but they’re being overlooked, and that’s a tough pill to swallow. I totally get that frustration.

AB Still, there’s an underground that’s alive and kicking, although maybe differently than it used to.

HG To me, electronic music has always been avant-garde. It’s always been about pushing boundaries. You never cared about how much you were going to sell or what the current trend was. The focus was always on experimentation. That’s how it was done, especially in Germany. It was about creating something new, something unique—whether it was with sounds, rhythms, or production techniques. As an artist, the drive was always about exploring new elements, constantly pushing the envelope. That was the secret force behind creating techno music.