This Is Where It Began – One Knob, One Sound, One Direction

This Is Where It Began – One Knob, One Sound, One Direction. Sometimes I stop and wonder why I ended up exactly where I am now.

Since I was a kid, I’ve loved buttons and levers. Seriously. Anything that clicks, spins, or can be adjusted has always fascinated me like toys – or they were my toys. Back then, I didn’t know you could actually do something like that for a living.

But now I get to press and turn them every single day. And if that’s not love for your work, then what is?

Another defining moment came a little later.I had just started playing bass and I was excited about it. My dad told me not to bother – said I wasn’t cut out for it.

That stuck.I didn’t stop making music, but I did stop playing bass.

It took me years to find my own direction. First I was a bit on the outside of everything. Then slowly I got closer. And finally, I found myself behind the mixing desk. Surrounded by microphones. Pressing buttons. Listening to something that wasn’t quite there yet – but maybe could be.Imagining, thinking, hesitating, messing up, and finally getting it right.

This Is Where It Began – One Knob, One Sound, One Direction

Now I make electronic music. And honestly, I think I’m pretty damn good at it.And I don’t need anyone’s permission to say that anymore.

I want to talk about what I feel – and what music feels like. Where it might come from.And why buttons aren’t just buttons – maybe they’re a way toward something no one ever promised me back then.

Music is strange like that – it’s never truly finished.Not in your mind, not in your ears.

Sometimes I sit here in the studio and wonder why a certain track feels so good.Why a single sound or snare can feel like someone just told you something important – without words.Why a kick and a bass can lock together so perfectly that your heartbeat moves with them, and yet you can still clearly hear them apart.

Maybe music matters because it makes us stop. It gives us permission to just be with something. To sit in our thoughts and our feelings, without needing to explain them.

I don’t really chase perfect sound anymore.I chase the feeling – that “thing.”And when it hits, it hits. Goosebumps.That moment where nothing distracts you and everything sounds exactly as it should. It doesn’t happen often – but when it does, you know.And that’s when you remember why you do this.

There’s another side to music that doesn’t get talked about much.When you release something you’ve crafted and shaped for weeks, it’s no longer yours. It goes out into the world to be heard – and judged.

And almost every single time after releasing, I hear something that went wrong.Something that doesn’t sound the way it was supposed to.The bass is too loud. It rumbles in supermarket headphones.

Something clicks somewhere.And all of it drives me crazier than I’d like to admit.

You never quite get used to that.Usually, it’s just tired ears. Or being too close to your own work.

This probably happens to nine out of ten people.Maybe to everyone. But still – it’s worth doing. Worth releasing. Worth letting go.

Because even that is beautiful in its own way. And remember – every track is a track. Maybe not perfect, but it’s real.And you should always stand by it and be proud. People will point out what’s wrong with it. But so what? Be proud. Stand by what you make.

Every track also holds something to learn. Some decision. Some unexpected moment.

And if you know how to stop and actually listen – truly listen – there’s a spark in almost every piece of music. Some thought, some idea that you can take and make your own. Even if it’s just the memory of how a sound made you feel before you even knew what it was.

That’s why I write this blog. Not because I have answers. Not to teach you how to make music – everyone has their own way.

But because music holds something that lives between silence and feeling. And turning buttons. And tweaking knobs.And maybe someone else out there has wondered about these same things too.

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– Nicolas

Standing in front of the recording console that once captured Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody.