Okay, let’s dive in. You’ve got a pretty busy day, so why don’t we start by talking about these two releases, and we can use them to explore your work with the label and your own artistry?

Sure, it’s two albums—our summer releases. One is by Lol k from London, and the other is from Nudo, a duo based on the Texas-Mexico border. A bit of background: we released Low K’s first album. They’re part of the Curl collective, which is tied to the London scene, with artists like Mica Levi. What makes Lol K interesting is that they’re instrumentalists—they usually play in bands, and this project is a duo, kind of straddling the line between electronic and band music. Our approach is to support whatever they want to create without trying to push them in any particular direction. And that’s the general ethos of the label. We’re not trying to guide anyone into being a Taylor Swift, or over-curate anyone. We’re open to producing if an artist comes to us with questions, but overall, we see the music side of Halcyon Veil more like a publishing house—almost like a book or zine publishing. When we find someone or a group doing their thing, we just want to support it. We’re also open to helping artists build their creative world, connecting them with other visual artists, fashion designers, and people in our network, but beyond that, we’re just here to facilitate the release. Whatever they want to make of it, we’re just happy to be part of that process, like enablers or supporters in a sense.

Sort of like a platform?

Exactly. We’re open to producing or offering advice if artists come to us with specific questions, but we really just want to be part of the process—more like a mechanism that helps facilitate their release. We’re not interested in tying anyone down or forcing them to stay with the label. My co-founder, Lane Stewart, and I both agree this works best for us. The Nudo album is particularly interesting. My first experience seeing them live was when they performed a live score for an art film here in Houston. A friend of ours curated both the film and the performance. They use a variety of old instruments and sounds, often sourcing items from flea markets. Their approach is all about utilizing the tools available in their native environment, which really drew me to the project. Their sound sources reflect both their geographical roots and their mental landscapes, creating a fascinating world that we felt compelled to support, especially since it originates from Texas. To be honest, we’re one of the few labels in the area that has been doing this for almost a decade.

Really?

While there are indie labels and a significant DIY scene in Texas, much of it tends to stay local, focusing on genres like dark wave and punk. However, when it comes to identifying music that ventures into the electronic realm, we don’t really know of anyone else releasing it here. I felt a responsibility to help support Nudo, as I kept seeing them on flyers and thought they were doing something unique. So, I told Lane, ‘We should help these guys get their music out there.’.

Scrolling through the Halcyon Veil catalog I thought you guys have a very open “editorial” line. I’m curious about the process behind how you and Lane curate it. From the way you speak, it’s evident that both of you are artists and musicians first, and then label heads. Could you elaborate on how that background influences your approach to curation?

I can for sure tell you that the way we do things doesn’t always make sense for us from a business perspective; it’s not necessarily profitable and might even be losing money. The way we curate Halcyon Veil runs parallel to our creative process as artists. For me, it’s just a different expression of my creativity. I’ve been making zines since I was 16—cutting things out, xeroxing them, all without a specific scene to belong to, just following my instincts, you know? This feels like a more organized version of that. We’re happy to be doing it, and at the same time, we’re transitioning into other areas, like events and objects. We’re currently working on the second issue of our magazine. So, we take things organically, and it really feels more like a lifestyle and an ethos for us, than a label.

When and how did you guys start Halcyon Veil?

I’d say the idea came about around 2013-2014. Lane and I actually met on Twitter because he was doing creative direction and music videos for a group called BC Kingdom, which was releasing music on Solange’s label. I saw one of their videos, followed him, and we started chatting. He mentioned that his mom is from Houston while he was living in LA at the time. I thought it was crazy because there wasn’t really anyone else in our area doing similar work.From there, we became friends. Our mutual friends began sending me music, including Mistress from New Orleans, a producer named Myth from London, and Angel Ho from Cape Town. It felt like a no-brainer to start something, especially since we had support from Boomcat based in Manchester. They were essentially fronting us everything we needed to produce vinyl—just sending them the music with no upfront costs. We were quite new to the scene, learning as we went along, and we continued to evolve from that initial spark. We noticed other labels making waves, like Hyperdub, we recognized there wasn’t anything similar here, in Houston, so we decided to create it ourselves.

Labels like Hyperdub over the years have come to signify more than just music—they almost are a whole aesthetic of their own, which I guess it’s also what you’re doing with Halcyon Veil. This brings up an interesting point I’d love to discuss with you: the changing nature of labels and their roles today. With the increasing number of media platforms, the way we circulate and experience music is evolving. More artists are self-publishing and distributing their work through platforms like SoundCloud or MySpace, similar to how seminal bands like Salem emerged. Maybe we don’t need, as much as we used to, traditional labels anymore? Labels like yours seem to function more as collaborative curatorial platforms. You collaborate closely with artists to help shape and amplify their vision.

That’s why we lean toward being a label and a collective. A good example of how we operate is House of Kenzo from San Antonio, Texas. Their work, which is ballroom-inspired, is very DIY and self-driven. They don’t necessarily seek popularity, and that’s what makes them interesting. When they release something—a mix or a track—we post it on the label, but being part of the collective doesn’t mean everything they create has to be released through us. There are no corporate rules to follow. For me, personally, it’s important to adopt a lifestyle where you don’t always expect something in return. We’ve identified that many other labels operate differently, often driven by a desire to appear cool or to attract attention, which is unfortunately prevalent in this scene. We’re not trying to manipulate people for personal gain—no shade, but it’s a reality we’ve seen. We recognize that some people run legitimate businesses, and it makes sense for them to have artists sign contracts for future releases to ensure their investment pays off. But for us, we’re not looking to profit from random artists or lock anyone into a deal. It’s about being selfless and allowing for genuine expression. As you mentioned, many artists today are independent and don’t need a label to succeed, and we see plenty of examples of that. Our collaborations with musicians tend to work well because they might be new and have a small following, but they want to elevate their visibility. If they have their visuals, album, and artwork ready, we’re happy to announce the release and help them move forward. Whatever they choose to do with it after that is up to them, and we support it.

It’s interesting how you’ve built this multimedia approach, which is very “contemporary” as music today feels increasingly multidisciplinary, where visuals and sound are more intertwined than ever. You and Lane also have different backgrounds, how do you run things?

The way it works, and to revisit your previous question about our end game or goals, is that for us, this is really a vehicle. For example, Lane has been focused on producing magazines that are more fashion-oriented. We’ve come to realize that we are influencers in the truest sense, though we’re not necessarily being approached to create content for specific brands. We see our network as reminiscent of what Been Trill represented—think Virgil and Matthew. Yet, for various reasons, including political and geographic factors, we aren’t landing those types of gigs. There’s a long history of erasure in the South; genres like rock and roll, country, and many others were deeply influenced by Southern Black culture. However, if you ask a random person in Europe, they might not recognize where these genres originated. We acknowledge that certain sections may ignore us no matter what we do. If we want to experiment in this space, we need to invest our own resources and do it ourselves. Lane’s main commercial work is with Fear of God, the fashion label, but he also freelances for various fashion and internet companies. He’s eager to explore ideas that others might be too hesitant to pursue, and that’s where the magazine comes in. We aim to express the things we believe fashion should be doing, reflecting the excitement we see in that world. Fashion and music are both forms of self-expression, and we want to highlight that. For instance, Lane lived in London for two years and discovered Rat Section. He texted me right away, saying, ‘We have to release these artists; this is something new.’ Similarly, when I saw what Nudo was doing in Texas, I approached him and said we had to release their work. Our collaboration is quite organic; when we see something exciting, we inform each other, and then we just go from there.

What’s the differential you use to “select” people you collaborate with?

We’re very much online. I’m not sure how old you are, but when we first started networking, I’d say it was about 10 years ago or more. It’s interesting how everything comes back around, and you end up knowing the same people or crossing paths later on. I just noticed on Twitter today that two people I’ve interacted with before—one who interviewed me for a previous magazine and another who worked with Boiler Room—are now the new editor of a magazine. It’s fascinating to see the same faces reappear over time. There’s definitely an online network, and, for better or worse, we approach things with a sense of realism. While we have hopes and dreams for the label, we won’t work with people who don’t vibe with us. You know how it is; friendships aren’t usually made by saying, “Hey, you’re going to be my friend.” It’s more of an intuitive connection based on shared tastes and experiences. Many of these online networks have developed over the years. For example, Vipra was part of our original compilation years ago, which included various artists—Yves Tumor even contributed under a different name. We recognize these existing networks and aim to be conscious of them as we move forward.

Is there a particular conceptual framework Halcyon Veil operates within? I’m thinking of the statement on your website’s landing page, where you reference André Breton and the idea of forming a “doorway to a voice.”

I think one of the main connections between Lane and me, especially coming from the South, is the strong narrative element in electronic music. For instance, and there is absolutely no shade here, quite the contrary, if PC Music had simply launched as an internet label releasing tracks without a compelling concept, it probably wouldn’t have garnered much attention. The overarching idea is what initially drew people in, and then, ten years later, mainstream pop started to adopt what they had accumulated as their aesthetic. We recognize how crucial narrative is, and we like to play with that idea—both its significance and its lack of significance, as well as the capitalism inherent in it. What we are sick of is the identitarian game. There’s a..Pokémon, if you’d like, phenomenon going on in electronic music, and perhaps not only there; Let’s make a parallelism: You know, when suddenly institutions in Europe become interested in an artist discovered in a so-called “third-world” country. If that artist were from a different background, they might not even get booked. This happens also in the electronic world, and it’s even more pronounced in the fine art world. I’ve heard stories of collectors who are drawn to artists because of their backstories—like someone from a poor village in Colombia who goes barefoot. We’re aware that these systems exist, and we’ve become frustrated with how identity has dominated conversations in recent years; it often feels like it has overshadowed the art itself. That’s why we operate at the speed we do. For us, it’s about whether the music resonates. You can have any identity or backstory, but if we believe in what you’re doing and see your passion, we want to support and work with you.

I completely agree with this. The over-fixation of identity as the sole indicator of quality must stop.

I’ve been having some interesting conversations on this topic, and more generally on the concept of “quality.” The past few years have sparked worthwhile discussions, especially in matters of social advancements and inequality, and we have to consider that many in the general population remain unaware of these issues, still. On the other side of the coin, there’s a correction that needs to occur, otherwise identity will be just marketing lingo. For example, there’s a museum in Houston showcasing an artist who has worked in New York for a while, focusing on identity and its perception. This exhibition is valuable because it exposes visitors to alternative perspectives, which is the true purpose of art. There are positives and negatives to every social evolution, and we’re simply observing it all while doing what feels right to us.

Yeah, I think we’re all navigating new predicaments, both in artistic expression and in the ways we interact with various systems.

It makes you question your own biases because, literally, every human on Earth has them. What interests me is that we’re trying to push the conversation forward without being constrained by any rules. We aim to show people what else exists and share our perspective.

One thing I’ve been reflecting on, in relation also to the discussion we are having, is how the internet has changed our understanding of geography. In a way, traditional scenes as we knew them—think of the golden era of subcultures—no longer exist. We went through a phase of intense globalisation that also coincided with the paradoxical binome of identity fixation and boundary dissolution, where scenes seemed to disappear, but maybe we’re starting to move beyond that. It feels like new ways of forming dislocated scenes that transcend geography are surfacing, based on artistic, not identitarian premises.

It’s interesting that you mentioned that because it’s so true. When I first started releasing music, everything was categorized—like you were either a grime artist or a dubstep DJ, or maybe a DJ in the style of Diplo who was blending different genres. One of the main inspirations for us came from the Fade to Mind and Ghetto Goth eras, where artists were merging everything together. That really inspired us, as we see ourselves as part of that legacy of breaking down boundaries. Now, it’s fascinating to see how that approach has become established. When you watch a new DJ on Boiler Room, for example, they might play drill, club music, amapiano, or a mix of styles.

Damn, I loved Fade to Mind.. Bok Bok, Kelela’s first album, NGUZUNGUZU. Makes me think also of projects like Future Brown, they were so ahead of their time. I remember when Vernaculo came out: A blend of reggaeton and experimental sounds, and it was released on Warp, a notoriously avant-garde, often considered niche, label, at least at the time. Intellectual electronic music’s premiere label. “Reggaeton” and “Niche” in the same sentence was not considered possible back then. The Youtube comments.. It was 2014, ten years ago. Remarkably forward-thinking, almost predictive of how genres would evolve and intersect. Nowadays, we see genres and scenes coexisting almost instantaneously, to the point where everything is blended together. As listeners, I think we are moving beyond the traditional trend cycles in music. Instead of clear distinctions—like dubstep, grime, Berlin techno, IDM and all that—there’s a fascinating moment where diverse genres intermingle, even in mainstream-mainstream music.

To me, that’s part of the joy of music. I’m grateful to have come up in the era I did, even if my tracks weren’t that great. I immersed myself in and studied every genre, embracing total freedom in my approach. Hessel Audio and Pearson Sound were among the first DJs I supported, and I appreciated the wide array of electronic music. As a producer, it always felt intuitive to blend all these different influences together.

It makes perfect sense, especially considering you’re from Houston. Chopped n Screwed. 

Yeah, if you listen to an original DJ Screw mix, you might come across tracks like Phil Collins in the lineup.

It’s also interesting to consider Ghetto House. While it’s more closely associated with Detroit, both genres emphasize the art of taking something out of context and making it new. Taking the art of sampling to the extreme.

I’m really getting back into that now. I’ve noticed that I love when club producers express their appreciation for music in general. For example, Byrell the Great has a track on one of their projects that incorporates samples from funk or soul. They chop them up in a way reminiscent of DJ Premier, and I really admire when artists highlight their influences instead of sticking to a standard electronic palette. Soul music, in particular, has played a crucial role in the development of electronic music—you can trace the influences back to pioneers like Kraftwerk. As I get older, I’m developing a deeper appreciation for what initially drew me to music. DJing breaks were a significant part of that, as the original breaks laid the foundation for so many artists today. Even though it might seem distant from something like Surgeon’s work, none of this music would exist without those drum breaks. What fascinates me now is the interconnectedness of all these sounds.

Yes! Back in 2014 I was around 13 or 14 years old, just starting my career as a music nerd. I was fortunate to have a father who instilled in me an almost obsessive passion for it. He is deeply into Northern Soul, even though he has a quite impressive range, and back then I was all about techno. So he was trying to make me see the connection between the Mod club scene in England, particularly the Hacienda in Manchester, the Wigan Club, and what I was listening to. I couldn’t quite get it right away, but now I see all the connections and that is what makes things truly exciting. We already spoke about PC Music’s adoption, for example. Looking back to 2015 and 2016, the Houston underground played a crucial role in the rise of major rap successes like A$AP Rocky and Travis Scott. I still think it makes sense to discuss mainstream versus underground, even though the lines are increasingly blurred.

It’s all about the shifts that online life brought with itself. There’s this Kelly Rowland edit I did –It’s kind of a funny story– it was one of the first edits I made during that culture’s peak online and in the club scene. Someone told me they were in a limousine with Kelly Rowland and played her my edit. I thought that was hilarious! Apparently, she loved it. I’ve had a few people mention that they played my edit for various artists, and some think it’s better than the original track. I’ve also noticed that almost all my mixtapes feature this edit of Lana Del Rey, specifically a remix of “Venice Bitch.” That was one of the more popular tracks I remixed. Interestingly, they kind of remade my edit on her latest album, which annoyed me a bit. I know someone who’s friends with her, and I think they showed it to her or her producer. But it’s one of those things that comes with the territory; after all, making these edits is technically illegal. It’s wild to see how the internet connects everything, especially regarding the underground versus mainstream conversation. Now, all the pop and rap artists want to build their visual worlds to be very edgy, pulling from a lot of our friends. Ideas that start with small groups can quickly blow up; for instance, someone from that group might become a stylist and get hired by a pop artist, and suddenly everything merges. There’s always going to be a capitalist debate around this. For years, I’ve had friends who get excited about selling beats, but they’d sell one for $10,000 or $20,000, and it wouldn’t even be used. However, I feel like the issue of pop stars coming in and taking credit for an entire scene isn’t as problematic as it once was. Maybe I’m just viewing things more positively now, or I’m more mature about it. When you’re younger, you think, “Oh my god, they stole our idea.” But as you grow older, you realize that no one owns ideas and that you’re not the only one doing something. I appreciate the pop artists who approach it creatively. I don’t listen to her much, but I think Rosalia’s MOTOMAMI album is a very poignant example of what I’m trying to say. I genuinely believe that whenever someone comes from a sincere place, you can really hear it in their work. I think it’s cool when artists demonstrate a wide appreciation for music, using beats that go beyond the usual. It’s a positive thing because it helps the music expand and connect with more people.

When Rosalía started blowing up, she initially faced backlash from her OG fan base because they felt kind of betrayed. They felt she was turning her back on her background as a flamenco singer. It was interesting to observe this reaction. As you mentioned, those of us in niche fields—whether as artists, writers, or consultants—are becoming more accustomed to operating within the capitalist machine. We’re also becoming more business savvy in the process.

I think what I’m learning in life and in these creative industries is that while there are many people who toil away in the background—often low-key geniuses who don’t get the credit they deserve—you ultimately hold the responsibility for what happens in your career. For example, if you’re an electronic producer complaining about opportunities, you have the power to create something if you really want to. With some investment, you could turn a track into a pop song, and you never know what might come of it. To me, it’s more of a challenge than anything. While I’m not particularly interested in going that route, I believe anything is possible. I hope this perspective opens up a world of possibilities for others as well.

I think it’s a great reflection of how things are right now. It’s an optimistic view, and I can share that to a certain extent, although the question of class mobility and “Making It” in creative industries is a complex and problematic one inherently. You can exist in niche markets and still move into mainstream pop; you can consult, collaborate, and explore various avenues. This freedom allows you to operate as an artist, a label head, or part of a collective, which can be incredibly liberating. However, it can also complicate things since the landscape is quite murky at times.

If you have an idea, you need to act on it right away. I believe there’s a collective consciousness and a collective unconscious. When you get an idea, chances are others are receiving it too, so you might as well execute it now. If you hold onto it, you may see someone else bring it to life in a couple of months.

Yeah, it’s almost crazy how two people can release the same thing almost simultaneously nowadays. It really comes down to acting quickly and trusting your instincts. I think having the right environment is essential. With your label, you create a space where artists can trust their gut feelings. You mentioned that you don’t curate, but perhaps your role is more about providing that type of “service.” That could be a valuable definition of what a label’s role is today, at least in a niche sense. Speaking of consulting, could you tell me a bit about the curation process for Matthew Williams and Alyx’s Mark Flood show music?

I think the collaboration with Matthew came about because he was working with some people who showed him my mixtapes, and they connected us. Like anything in fashion, it was super last minute—pretty much the day before the event. We jumped on a phone call and decided that I would create a new mix file based on the top songs from all my mixtapes that he liked, tailored to how I envisioned the runway experience. It was an easy process since Matthew comes from a music background, and he had specific songs in mind. I think it’s a cool way to bridge different worlds. While everything exists within a capitalist system, this project felt more like a passion endeavor than many realize. People often assume that someone well-known is just getting rich from these collaborations, but they don’t understand that it can take years for something to become truly profitable. Of course, working with a brand like Dior or Chanel would be different since they could easily drop $5,000 for a 30-second track. This collaboration felt more grassroots because I had some familiarity with Matthew’s history, especially his work in New York. I was willing to jump in because I believed in what he was doing. If it had been a complete stranger, I might not have been as inclined to participate.

Where are you looking to take your audience next? What projects do you have lined up or ready to go?

I do have some projects in the works! Personally, I’m preparing for a release this fall. I always aim to focus on what I want to express while creating music. It may not be as directly apparent as some of my older projects, which were more politically charged. For example, I released “The Great Game” with Chino Amobi in 2015, which was a clear socio-political statement. Now, my approach is more nuanced. Currently, I’m honing in on what’s sonically interesting to me, while also considering what might resonate with someone who hears it and thinks, “Wow, I thought I was the only one who noticed that.” With more experience, I’ve come to appreciate the reactions I get when I play overseas. In the past, I’d often feel uncomfortable or just want to go home, even if people were praising my music. Now, when someone tells me that a particular piece meant a lot to them, it hits differently. As adults, we can reflect on those moments more meaningfully. When I create music, I ask myself what I need to say right now. If I’m genuine about it, I believe the person who needs to hear it will find it. This is especially relevant during Pride Month, which has become quite commodified. Yet, there are positive aspects to it. For instance, with the alarming rates of suicide among trans youth who face negativity, creating art can be life-saving. These realizations have shaped my perspective as an artist, especially at this mid-career stage. Making music now feels different than it did when I released my first album. As I refine what I want to communicate with my upcoming release, it’s much more fine-tuned than before. That’s where I’m at right now.

I can really feel that growth in a record like What Dreams May Come. It’s fascinating to see how your work reflects that. And also how different worlds can coexist. A record like that almost clashes with what one can find in your Mixtapes. Two sides of a coin, two very different ones, but perhaps just as complementary.

Yeah, part of that comes from my involvement in different club scenes. Everyone wants the ballroom dancers to show up for their set because the more people react, the safer the crowd feels. That’s what I learned. From doing so many live collaborations, I realized that when people see others expressing themselves, it gives them the freedom to do the same. So, the album itself delves deeper into that idea. It’s not just about referencing RuPaul’s Drag Race or whatever is currently trending; it’s about recognizing that everyone is human. I wanted to explore that and uncover the stories people have to share.

Yeah, I think what makes certain experiences so particular is how you can generalize them without losing their meaning. By doing this, people from totally different paths, life courses, and identities can find something relatable. When done right, this is what draws me to explore cultures and subcultures, like the ballroom scene, which is very different from who I am: An heterosexual white male from Italy. That connection is what fosters sympathy and unity among people, allowing them to come together and perhaps transcend identity-based fixations, for better or worse.

That’s the power of music. Music can be like spells, you know what I mean?

It’s very similar to what Andre Breton described in his notion of music as a spell. Surrealists intended music precisely as a spell—a systematization of the unconscious through notes and melody, creating a unique language. I think this could be a great point to close on.