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INNERVIEWS 04 — MICHAL WOLSKI
For the fourth edition of KHOROS INNERVIEWS, we enter the sonic world of Michal Wolski , a Warsaw-based musician, composer and producer, known for his deep, detailed approach to techno, ambient and experimental music. His work has appeared on labels including Nonplus, Semantica, Silent Season, Eerie, Technosoul and Southern Lights. In this conversation, we talk about hypnosis, repetition, silence, intuition, authenticity, the dancefloor and the endless search for something that cannot always be named.
K: Many people describe hypnotic techno as "minimal", yet those who truly listen hear constant movement. How do you create the illusion of stillness while everything is evolving underneath?
M: The music that interests me reminds me of sitting for hours on the shore of a mountain lake. You just want to stay there, you feel at home. Although the landscape doesn’t change, it’s alive on every level, on both the macro and micro scales. Birds, insects, the movement of the air - it’s all alive. It can be the same with music. Music can seem static, yet at the same time reveal life on many levels - from subtle tonal shifts to timbral nuances. Music that “behaves” in this way needs a stable foundation - such as bass, pulse - an anchor, as well as a series of elements that, like birds, plants, or the wind, create the experience of a moment that is constantly moving. This is the meditative nature of music that can be awakened in the world of sound, allowing one to settle there.
K: Have you ever removed an element from a track that you loved simply because it broke the hypnotic spell? What did that decision teach you about restraint?
M: Very often, I find myself removing an element that somehow distracts from the mood created by musical phrases and the timbres of instruments. Even though these sounds could sometimes be described as unique and, in a sense, interesting on their own, sometimes it’s simply nice to let them fade away.
K: If someone unfamiliar with the genre listened to one of your productions, what subtle detail would you hope they discover after the tenth listen rather than the first?
M: I believe that someone will find something of interest in what I create. If so, I’d like to hear what it is. I explore meditative, yet dynamic, realms of the musical world. So if someone is willing to step into this space, I’m curious to see what they’ll discover there. My intentions - even though, as the author, I feel very clearly what drives me - are of little significance when it comes to how the music is perceived.
K: Some dancefloors demand instant gratification, while hypnotic techno often rewards patience. Have you ever felt pressured to compromise that philosophy?
M: The dancefloor requires awareness. The tracks I share - whether I’m performing live or playing DJ sets - are always close to my heart, but I also choose the ones that, as I feel, respond to what’s happening right now in that specific place. I feel it’s worth nurturing that connection - that’s when the moment truly comes alive.
K: How do you recognize the exact moment when repetition stops being engaging and starts becoming predictable?
M: As soon as I get the feeling that something should change, I trust that feeling and that moment. Attentive, alert, and careful listening, along with a sense of the moment, are key here. However, this is a dynamic space that constantly redefines itself - something that once seemed not dynamic enough turns out to be spot on after some time. Still, I trust intuition and a sense of the moment.
K: When performing, do you shape the crowd's energy, or do you allow the crowd to reshape your artistic direction throughout the set?
M: It’s all about being fully present in this very moment. Openness toward others and staying true to what you cultivate on your musical journey always leads to the right solution. That doesn’t mean, however, that it will be met with approval. But if we give it 100 percent and put our whole heart into our musical work, there’s nothing more we can do, and even if we’re rejected, that’s okay.
K: Do you believe silence - or near silence - can be as powerful as the loudest moment in a techno set? Can you recall a moment when this happened?
M: Silence is a powerful force. Our musical mind loves cyclical patterns - which is why playing with silence is such a powerful tool. I can’t single out just one moment like the one you asked about - there have been countless moments when silence and tension created an absolutely unique experience. These two worlds are two sides of the same coin.
K: Many artists chase originality. Do you think originality in hypnotic techno comes from creating something completely new, or from expressing familiar ideas with greater honesty?
M: Uniqueness emerges, in my opinion, when we wholeheartedly commit to honing our craft, what enables us to freely experiment and bring stories written in our own dialect. That’s when there’s a chance we won’t overlook something that will amaze us, move us, and that we can share with others - and that, I feel, is when uniqueness is born. It comes from careful observation and total commitment, when nothing else matters and when we truly bring to life something that intrigues and captivates us.
K: If all visual production disappeared - no lights, no projections, no stage design - would today's hypnotic techno still captivate audiences purely through sound?
M: Some listeners would certainly go along with this, while others would not. We are multisensory beings - sometimes we seek darkness, sometimes light. However, the more demanding the art, the smaller its audience - that’s usually how it is. For me, encountering sound in complete darkness is the ideal situation. Sound - in my experience - thrives indarkness or dim light. There are plenty of people who feel the same way, but just as many - and probably even more - are drawn to the visual aspect as well. I hope there is enough space for all these ideas.
K: Looking back at your earliest productions, is there something they captured emotionally that your newer music, despite better technical skills, sometimes struggles to recreate?
M: What I hear in my early recordings is the wildness and sincerity of that creative exploration. I try to stay true to that all the time. Even though my technical skills weren’t as developed back then, those early works have something wild and deeply sincere about them. I try to cultivate that, despite all these years spent in the studio and on stage.
M: The music that interests me reminds me of sitting for hours on the shore of a mountain lake. You just want to stay there, you feel at home. Although the landscape doesn’t change, it’s alive on every level, on both the macro and micro scales. Birds, insects, the movement of the air - it’s all alive. It can be the same with music. Music can seem static, yet at the same time reveal life on many levels - from subtle tonal shifts to timbral nuances. Music that “behaves” in this way needs a stable foundation - such as bass, pulse - an anchor, as well as a series of elements that, like birds, plants, or the wind, create the experience of a moment that is constantly moving. This is the meditative nature of music that can be awakened in the world of sound, allowing one to settle there.
K: Have you ever removed an element from a track that you loved simply because it broke the hypnotic spell? What did that decision teach you about restraint?
M: Very often, I find myself removing an element that somehow distracts from the mood created by musical phrases and the timbres of instruments. Even though these sounds could sometimes be described as unique and, in a sense, interesting on their own, sometimes it’s simply nice to let them fade away.
K: If someone unfamiliar with the genre listened to one of your productions, what subtle detail would you hope they discover after the tenth listen rather than the first?
M: I believe that someone will find something of interest in what I create. If so, I’d like to hear what it is. I explore meditative, yet dynamic, realms of the musical world. So if someone is willing to step into this space, I’m curious to see what they’ll discover there. My intentions - even though, as the author, I feel very clearly what drives me - are of little significance when it comes to how the music is perceived.
K: Some dancefloors demand instant gratification, while hypnotic techno often rewards patience. Have you ever felt pressured to compromise that philosophy?
M: The dancefloor requires awareness. The tracks I share - whether I’m performing live or playing DJ sets - are always close to my heart, but I also choose the ones that, as I feel, respond to what’s happening right now in that specific place. I feel it’s worth nurturing that connection - that’s when the moment truly comes alive.
K: How do you recognize the exact moment when repetition stops being engaging and starts becoming predictable?
M: As soon as I get the feeling that something should change, I trust that feeling and that moment. Attentive, alert, and careful listening, along with a sense of the moment, are key here. However, this is a dynamic space that constantly redefines itself - something that once seemed not dynamic enough turns out to be spot on after some time. Still, I trust intuition and a sense of the moment.
K: When performing, do you shape the crowd's energy, or do you allow the crowd to reshape your artistic direction throughout the set?
M: It’s all about being fully present in this very moment. Openness toward others and staying true to what you cultivate on your musical journey always leads to the right solution. That doesn’t mean, however, that it will be met with approval. But if we give it 100 percent and put our whole heart into our musical work, there’s nothing more we can do, and even if we’re rejected, that’s okay.
K: Do you believe silence - or near silence - can be as powerful as the loudest moment in a techno set? Can you recall a moment when this happened?
M: Silence is a powerful force. Our musical mind loves cyclical patterns - which is why playing with silence is such a powerful tool. I can’t single out just one moment like the one you asked about - there have been countless moments when silence and tension created an absolutely unique experience. These two worlds are two sides of the same coin.
K: Many artists chase originality. Do you think originality in hypnotic techno comes from creating something completely new, or from expressing familiar ideas with greater honesty?
M: Uniqueness emerges, in my opinion, when we wholeheartedly commit to honing our craft, what enables us to freely experiment and bring stories written in our own dialect. That’s when there’s a chance we won’t overlook something that will amaze us, move us, and that we can share with others - and that, I feel, is when uniqueness is born. It comes from careful observation and total commitment, when nothing else matters and when we truly bring to life something that intrigues and captivates us.
K: If all visual production disappeared - no lights, no projections, no stage design - would today's hypnotic techno still captivate audiences purely through sound?
M: Some listeners would certainly go along with this, while others would not. We are multisensory beings - sometimes we seek darkness, sometimes light. However, the more demanding the art, the smaller its audience - that’s usually how it is. For me, encountering sound in complete darkness is the ideal situation. Sound - in my experience - thrives indarkness or dim light. There are plenty of people who feel the same way, but just as many - and probably even more - are drawn to the visual aspect as well. I hope there is enough space for all these ideas.
K: Looking back at your earliest productions, is there something they captured emotionally that your newer music, despite better technical skills, sometimes struggles to recreate?
M: What I hear in my early recordings is the wildness and sincerity of that creative exploration. I try to stay true to that all the time. Even though my technical skills weren’t as developed back then, those early works have something wild and deeply sincere about them. I try to cultivate that, despite all these years spent in the studio and on stage.
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K: Has there ever been a dancefloor moment where you realized the audience was listening rather than simply dancing? What changed in that atmosphere?
M: Yes! I’ve experienced exactly that many times! I love observing people and their reactions - it’s always a heartwarming moment when I see people standing still with their eyes closed. Sometimes, in situations like that, something very important is happening - if I can help bring people back to the moment they’re in, right here and now, through music, I couldn’t be happier. Deep silence has great power, but sometimes, in order to return to it and melt into it, to experience deep peace, sound can be helpful.
K: Some producers finish dozens of tracks each year, while others spend months refining one piece. Where do you personally draw the line between perfection and completion?
M: I follow my intuition. If I feel a piece needs refinement, I refine it. When I feel unable to refine it, I move on to something else. If I manage to refine it, I set it aside - sometimes for many months - and if it stands the test of time after another round of critical listening, I include it in the demo. Right now, I feel that this intuition arises at the intersection of listening and
observing how others work, understanding music as a phenomenon - including music theory - as well as long hours of practice, study, and refinement of the craft in the studio. Ultimately, I always ask myself the same question: “Is this all I can do right now?” If the answer is “Yes,” then the track is - at that specific moment - ready.
K: How has your relationship with tempo changed over the years? Has your perception of "slow" and "fast" evolved alongside your artistic identity?
M: It’s a fluid topic. Some time ago, I used to gravitate more toward the 127–130 BPM range, but these days I’m exploring slightly faster tempos, around 133–140 BPM. I also enjoy around 160 BPM when it comes to slightly more broken-up structures. It’s interesting because the perception of tempo changes - I can see that in myself. It all depends, however,
on the intention behind the musical idea - sometimes we look for a slower tempo, and sometimes a faster one. It’s a constant change.
K: Do you think hypnotic techno is becoming more of an aesthetic than a musical philosophy? If so, what distinguishes the two?
M: Hypnotic techno is - as I feel it - a seek for depth in the pulse, in the rhythm, which might be raw at times or subtle. From this perspective, it’s both a philosophy and an aesthetic. These worlds intertwine. Today, I see and hear such a vast amount of wonderful music created in this very style that I have absolutely no concerns about this genre.
K: What's one production habit you've intentionally abandoned because it was becoming part of your own formula?
M: There isn’t just one such example – I’ve left behind a whole bunch of different approaches. Every time I feel that a particular technique is becoming too predictable or that I’m overusing it, I go back to asking myself, “Why do I make music?” This always brings fresh answers and fresh solutions, and sets me back on the path to searching for “that something”, And what is it? I don’t know… And that’s what makes this search so wonderful and endless.
K: Have you ever listened back to one of your own DJ sets months later and discovered something about yourself that you hadn't noticed while performing?
M: In music, I don’t look for answers about myself. When the boundaries between “me” and “not-me” blur, when that distinction disappears, music simply flows and reveals something fresh, because that’s just how every situation is and can be. We always hear for the first and last time. The only time. This opens up enormous possibilities.
K: If your music were experienced in complete darkness, without any information about the artist behind it, what emotion or mental state would you hope remains with the listener?
M: Music is not only received but also created in our perception. We filter it through a multitude of factors. It’s interesting to see how others perceive what we create. This isn’t always in linewith our intentions - so our intentions really matter very little. Though they are crucial. A paradox. I hope that music I create can bring something to others what makes them happy, peaceful etc. That’s all.
K: Many artists speak about "finding their sound. " Do you think an artist should protect their signature style, or deliberately risk losing it in pursuit of evolution?
M: For some mysterious reason, we explore these aspects of the world of sound rather than others - both as creators and as listeners. I deeply believe in the value of exploring what fascinates us and following our own unique taste. When we truly explore, there’s no need to protect anything - we simply follow our intuition, without a specific goal. It’s easier said than done, which is why it’s so important - at least for me - to constantly return to the original intention that leads us to create.
K: The underground often celebrates authenticity, yet trends inevitably emerge. How do you personally recognize when you're following your intuition versus unconsciously following the scene?
M: In the world of art, pursuing what we love and what fascinates us is a source of energy I trust. I try to stay true to this. But this is just one path - there are an infinite number of them.
K: Imagine someone discovers your entire body of work twenty years from now. What conversation do you hope your music begins with them before they know anything about you?
M: If the music I create brings anyone even a moment of peace and joy, that’s enough. Then we
can talk about green tea, for example.
THANK YOU MICHAL
M: Yes! I’ve experienced exactly that many times! I love observing people and their reactions - it’s always a heartwarming moment when I see people standing still with their eyes closed. Sometimes, in situations like that, something very important is happening - if I can help bring people back to the moment they’re in, right here and now, through music, I couldn’t be happier. Deep silence has great power, but sometimes, in order to return to it and melt into it, to experience deep peace, sound can be helpful.
K: Some producers finish dozens of tracks each year, while others spend months refining one piece. Where do you personally draw the line between perfection and completion?
M: I follow my intuition. If I feel a piece needs refinement, I refine it. When I feel unable to refine it, I move on to something else. If I manage to refine it, I set it aside - sometimes for many months - and if it stands the test of time after another round of critical listening, I include it in the demo. Right now, I feel that this intuition arises at the intersection of listening and
observing how others work, understanding music as a phenomenon - including music theory - as well as long hours of practice, study, and refinement of the craft in the studio. Ultimately, I always ask myself the same question: “Is this all I can do right now?” If the answer is “Yes,” then the track is - at that specific moment - ready.
K: How has your relationship with tempo changed over the years? Has your perception of "slow" and "fast" evolved alongside your artistic identity?
M: It’s a fluid topic. Some time ago, I used to gravitate more toward the 127–130 BPM range, but these days I’m exploring slightly faster tempos, around 133–140 BPM. I also enjoy around 160 BPM when it comes to slightly more broken-up structures. It’s interesting because the perception of tempo changes - I can see that in myself. It all depends, however,
on the intention behind the musical idea - sometimes we look for a slower tempo, and sometimes a faster one. It’s a constant change.
K: Do you think hypnotic techno is becoming more of an aesthetic than a musical philosophy? If so, what distinguishes the two?
M: Hypnotic techno is - as I feel it - a seek for depth in the pulse, in the rhythm, which might be raw at times or subtle. From this perspective, it’s both a philosophy and an aesthetic. These worlds intertwine. Today, I see and hear such a vast amount of wonderful music created in this very style that I have absolutely no concerns about this genre.
K: What's one production habit you've intentionally abandoned because it was becoming part of your own formula?
M: There isn’t just one such example – I’ve left behind a whole bunch of different approaches. Every time I feel that a particular technique is becoming too predictable or that I’m overusing it, I go back to asking myself, “Why do I make music?” This always brings fresh answers and fresh solutions, and sets me back on the path to searching for “that something”, And what is it? I don’t know… And that’s what makes this search so wonderful and endless.
K: Have you ever listened back to one of your own DJ sets months later and discovered something about yourself that you hadn't noticed while performing?
M: In music, I don’t look for answers about myself. When the boundaries between “me” and “not-me” blur, when that distinction disappears, music simply flows and reveals something fresh, because that’s just how every situation is and can be. We always hear for the first and last time. The only time. This opens up enormous possibilities.
K: If your music were experienced in complete darkness, without any information about the artist behind it, what emotion or mental state would you hope remains with the listener?
M: Music is not only received but also created in our perception. We filter it through a multitude of factors. It’s interesting to see how others perceive what we create. This isn’t always in linewith our intentions - so our intentions really matter very little. Though they are crucial. A paradox. I hope that music I create can bring something to others what makes them happy, peaceful etc. That’s all.
K: Many artists speak about "finding their sound. " Do you think an artist should protect their signature style, or deliberately risk losing it in pursuit of evolution?
M: For some mysterious reason, we explore these aspects of the world of sound rather than others - both as creators and as listeners. I deeply believe in the value of exploring what fascinates us and following our own unique taste. When we truly explore, there’s no need to protect anything - we simply follow our intuition, without a specific goal. It’s easier said than done, which is why it’s so important - at least for me - to constantly return to the original intention that leads us to create.
K: The underground often celebrates authenticity, yet trends inevitably emerge. How do you personally recognize when you're following your intuition versus unconsciously following the scene?
M: In the world of art, pursuing what we love and what fascinates us is a source of energy I trust. I try to stay true to this. But this is just one path - there are an infinite number of them.
K: Imagine someone discovers your entire body of work twenty years from now. What conversation do you hope your music begins with them before they know anything about you?
M: If the music I create brings anyone even a moment of peace and joy, that’s enough. Then we
can talk about green tea, for example.
THANK YOU MICHAL
Find more about Michal Wolski:
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