Close-Knit Paradox.
A chat with Olan!.
he night was July 1, 2023. After playing records at Winterthur's Kraftfeld with Intersub—the Zurich-based platform run by ENVSRL and Vinyan—we weren't ready for the night to end. ENVSRL had left early, heading to Zurich to play with Mikro, another Zurcher collective known for raves driven by passion and authenticity. With a few hours until sunrise, we decided to follow her and meet her there.
Mikro's party felt like slipping into another dimension, a liminal space where reality blurred into a haze of memory. The park outside hummed with whispered secrets, soft laughter, and fleeting silhouettes weaving between shadows, a prelude to the threshold ahead. Beyond the curtain lay a vortex of heat and motion, the air thick with the essence of bodies, sweat, and the burning embers of shared elation.
Inside, ENVSRL commanded the room like a tempest, her set a cascading storm of sound. Random No prisoners, no mercy—just raw, untamed catharsis.
Amid this euphoria, as the music waned and conversations bubbled, we spotted & met Olan!, somebody we've been following since the genesis of DDP. What first drew us to Olan! and kept us captivated by their eclectic compositions. Their music, sung in Swiss German slang, spans from cartoonesque vocals to relentless cadences of melody atop the heartiest gabba kicks imaginable.
Now, about a year later, we're proud to present Olan!'s upcoming release on Dee Dee's Picks, containing their usual sonic creative contradictions—bold, playful, spontaneous & calculated.
From Zurich’s quiet streets, alive with stories begging to be told, emerges a creator of contrasts—a non-binary artist thriving in the delicate tension between opposites. Grounded yet boundless, their sound unfolds like a rhythm humming beneath the surface—a pulse you notice only when you lean in close. Or perhaps for others, from afar.
Embedded in its vibrant DIY scene, Olan! flourishes within a close-knit queer community, building safer spaces, promoting visibility, and championing the experimental spirit of queer club culture. Their artistry extends beyond music, reflecting a deep commitment to authenticity & connection. Bold yet playful, instinctive yet refined, their work is a living paradox, stitching precision & repetition with hypnotic fluidity.
Olan!’s musical evolution has been shaped by a lifetime of curiosity & exploration. Early years spent experimenting with their brother’s synthesizers and immersing themselves in video game soundtracks laid the foundation for their fascination with aural worlds. Later, formal jazz training sharpened their sense of timing and harmony, while the immersive energy of club culture revealed new creative possibilities: mesmerising loops and the raw, unfiltered force of repetition.
"Spikes & Bubbles" encapsulates these contrasts; a creative ethos—balancing precision with whimsy, focus with freedom. The tracks span rediscovered melodies and fresh ideas born from bursts of inspiration, each a study in contradiction. Together, they form a cohesive soundscape designed to forge connection—whether on the dancefloor or in solitude.
Listening to it feels like trespassing into a realm not meant to be seen, but always meant to be felt. This is music born of opposites, held together by Olan!’s singular vision of an auditory canvas as fleeting and vivid as a dream. It’s an invitation to embrace the unstable, the imperfect, and the playful, where contradictions collide to create something truly extraordinary.
This question gets asked all the time, but I still love it because the answer changes: who is Olan!?
I’m a non-binary musician from Zurich. I’ve been making music for over thirty years, with the past decade focusing mostly on electronic club music, but before that, I was a jazz musician. I think if you want the short version, it’s this: I like parties—going to them and playing at them. That’s my life! These days, my focus is on creating music that feels fun and genuine, for me and for anyone listening.
I was reading about that, your jazz background, and thinking: how did you go from jazz to electronic music? They sound so different but surely there’s areas of comparison to be observed.
It wasn’t planned. Jazz was my whole world for a long time. I studied it at university, and I loved it. I got super into the 60s—Miles Davis’ second quintet, Coltrane... all of that. But I’d forgotten something important: as a kid, I’d played around with my brother’s synthesizers. He was a big raver in the 90s and had one of the first Eurorack setups. I’d twist knobs for fun, but did not see at the time electronic music as a potential avenue for exploration and therefore creativity.
While studying jazz, I lost touch with that side of myself. Jazz became everything. But by the end of my studies, I wasn’t feeling it anymore. I went on some terrible tours with a jazz band, playing for small crowds where most people were over 65 and not really interested. It felt fake. Jazz is amazing, but I started feeling like some parts of the scene were being kept alive artificially.
That’s when I remembered the raves my brother used to go to and the synthesizers I’d played with as a kid. I started getting back into electronic music, and it clicked. Jazz gave me a lot—sound design, energy, rhythm—but what electronic music gave me was something new: repetition. Repetition in techno can be so hypnotic. I hadn’t experienced that in jazz, and it was a revelation.
I think your love for repetition really shows in your music. It feels very layered but also bold, like you’re not afraid to experiment. For me, I feel there’s definitely a sense of childlike wonder or naivety captured in it. Some sort of playfulness in your music’s structure and sound design choices. Does that come from any early influences, like video games? I mention this because, for me, video games were definitely the genesis of my love for electronic music, though I only realised this much later on.
Yes! Video games were massive for me. When I was younger, I played a lot of games like Final Fantasy VII. The soundtracks from those games were incredible. They were emotional, sometimes cheesy, but also very creative. I think I’ve always carried that with me. I don’t shy away from melodies or elements that some people might think are “too much.” If it feels right, I’ll go for it.
And then there’s the sound design. Early game composers had such limited tools—like square waves and noise—but they made these incredible rhythms and textures. It shows you don’t need a massive studio or fancy equipment to make something powerful. That’s stayed with me in how I approach music.
You also score for theatre, which feels like a different world. How does it compare to producing music for the club?
There are differences, but the process starts the same: I just try to have fun. For theatre, I usually bring a “backpack” of ideas—unfinished tracks, random loops, or even sounds I’ve recorded—and adapt them based on what’s happening during rehearsals. It’s very collaborative. The director and actors shape the final product as much as I do.
In the club, I’m more in control, but it’s still about creating a connection. The focus is on rhythm and energy, building tension and releasing it. The biggest difference is probably the narrative arc. Theatre might have one, but in the club, you’re creating more of a vibe that evolves naturally.
Club culture and queerness are deeply connected. How does your identity as a non-binary artist influence your work and your role in the Zurich LGBTQ+ scene?
I wouldn’t call myself a key figure, but I think visibility matters. I’m non-binary, but I’ve had it easier than many others in the LGBTQ+ community. I want to be someone people can look to, whether they need support or just want to see that it’s possible to exist authentically in these spaces.
Queerness and club culture have always gone hand in hand. The roots of house and techno are in queer (and black!) spaces in Chicago and Detroit, and that energy has never left. The best parties are driven by queer creativity and freedom. I see my role as contributing to that by being visible and by making music that embraces difference and experimentation.
Do you feel that as part of Zurich’s scene?
In Zurich, the queer scene is growing, and it’s great to see. For example, there are collectives that organise events specifically for trans, non-binary, and queer people. They’re not just throwing parties; they’re creating environments where everyone can feel safe and seen. That’s so important because, even now, there are still spaces where being visibly genderqueer doesn’t feel comfortable.
For me, being non-binary has influenced how I navigate these spaces. I try to be visible because I know it can make a difference for someone else who might be struggling. At the same time, I’ve had it easier than many others—I don’t deal with body dysphoria, for example, and I can blend in if I need to. That’s why I focus on being someone others can turn to if they need support or just a conversation.
One thing I love about Zurich is how the queer community is building safer spaces. It’s not perfect, but it’s getting better. There are more venues and events now that prioritise inclusivity and awareness.
Zurich is such a unique place. Do you think living there has influenced your sound?
For sure. Zurich is a melting pot of influences. You’ve got EBM and New Beat coming from Germany, dub and reggae from Geneva, and then the Italian singer-songwriter vibes in the south. It’s all here. But Zurich also has its challenges. There’s a legal decibel limit, which means you can’t even hear techno at the volume it’s supposed to be played. That frustrates me a lot.
The most exciting things are happening outside the established clubs. Younger organisers are creating safer spaces, hosting free parties, and bringing new energy to the scene. It’s really inspiring to see.
Do you think Zurich’s small size makes it harder to have a diverse scene?
It’s a double-edged sword. On one hand, the size means you don’t have a huge audience to pull from, which makes it tough to fill venues, especially if there are several events on the same night. But on the other hand, it also creates tight-knit communities.
The problem I see is that the established clubs can be quite closed off. They tend to book what they know, and it’s hard for new voices to get in. But that’s why the DIY scene is so exciting. Younger organisers are stepping up and creating spaces that feel fresh and inclusive. It’s not about competing with the big clubs—it’s about building something new.
Let’s talk about your upcoming release with Dee Dee’s Picks. How did it come together?
It’s a mix of old and new. Some tracks were ideas I’d been sitting on for years, and others I created specifically for this release. The title, Unstable Arrangement, came from the person who created the cover. They described the album title (Spikes & Bubbles) as this unstable mix of opposites — spikes and bubbles, tension and release. I thought that was perfect. That’s what the release is all about. Actually, that’s what music is all about. You create tension somewhere and at some point you release it.
My approach to composition is also a mix of polar opposites: I try to incorporate planned and calculated elements with a very instinctive approach. I might have a spontaneous idea that then takes me half a day to conceptualize, practice and record. Sometimes it takes me days to program a drum track, and sometimes I play all the drums in one take. It all depends on how it comes together in the end. And since I work almost completely in the box now, I can also go back and correct some of the mistakes I might have made or automate a synth parameter I didn’t think about in my initial performance.
And the name Olan!—what’s the story behind it?
It’s kind of random! I used to play in an 80s band as a keytarist. Someone covered the “R” and “D” on the Roland logo of my amp, so it just said “OLAN.” They just started to call me by that name, and it stuck
Before we wrap up, is there anything about Zurich—or the broader music scene—you’d like to change?
There’s some gatekeeping happening here, not solely because bookers want to exclude, but because the established clubs tend to book the same acts, which in turn makes it harder for young artists to break through. However, the scene beyond the clubs is where the real energy lies at the moment. DIY spaces are leading the way, with younger people stepping up to organise. That’s where the future lies. It’s not all bleak, though, as places like the Rote Fabrik have been institutions for years, providing new and fresh collectives with opportunities.
Stay up to date and get in touch with Olan!