helena lauwaert
It’s fitting that she chose Ghent as her launchpad. The city is close to her heart, but not without its gaps. While a few events cater to the LGBTQ+ community, Helena found little space
for the genres she’s most drawn to.
“There just isn’t much focus on the kind of music I want to champion. So I created it myself, it’s about building a crowd who gets it, who wants to let go to a sound that isn’t mainstream, but is still completely
infectious.”
She sees Loose Legs as a response to both sonic and social absence: a place where rhythms hit hard, but the ethos runs deeper.
“I want people to show up and know: I can fully be myself here. I don’t have to filter how I dress, dance, or express.”
The night is also deeply collaborative.
Helena’s partner, a visual artist, is part of the core team that builds each edition of Loose Legs. From custom lighting setups to sensory-friendly rest spaces, every detail serves a purpose.
“Art and music are hard spaces to survive in, if we collaborate, we lift each other. We grow together.”
That intention extends to the front door. Loose Legs doesn’t just claim to be inclusive; it sets the tone from the moment you arrive.
“We’re super
venue, the staff, and the welcome. Not every club is ready to host a queer party. You need people who get it, who’ll take responsibility alongside you. We say it upfront: this is a queer event, made for FLINTA, queer, and POC communities. That means not everyone is the target audience. And that’s okay.”
Creating a safe space isn’t about policing. It’s about resonance.
“Inclusion isn’t something you cross off a checklist,” she says. “It’s something you build,
experience, not just the lineup.” in every layer of the
Of course, the lineup matters too. Helena is a self-described selector, someone who curates rather
performs. Her sets are a masterclass in energy control and emotional arc.
than intentional about the
“Every weekend, I build a playlist tailo- red to the gig. I know what tracks open things up, what raises the energy, what brings people back into their bodies.”
Digging is an obsessive practice. She blends new finds from SoundCloud with long-lost favorites saved in Rekordbox, forming blends and moments that feel fresh but familiar.
“I’m not someone who keeps the energy at 100 the whole time,” she explains.
“I want people to experience peaks, but also dips, surprises, and emotional shifts. It’s not just about banging it out. It’s about storytelling.”
That sensitivity was hard-won. Helena has spoken openly about anxiety and panic attacks in her early years behind the decks.
“Confidence changed everything,” she reflects. “Once I’d played a few big festivals, I could remind myself: you’ve done this before. You can do it again.”
With experience came a desire to take the next step: production. But perfectionism held her back.
“I felt like I had to come out with a fully original, fully formed sound, that pressure just blocked me.”
and
What finally helped was collaboration. Her debut remix, a rework of “Girl” by The Internet, alongside Dr. G, became a way to bridge emotion and execution.
“That song was the soundtrack to one of the first times I felt normal in a queer space, remixing it was like closing a circle.”
Dr. G brought technical expertise and a fearless mindset.
“He’s all about getting it done. No over- thinking. That mindset helped me leap.”
As a producer, Helena is shaping a voice that draws from her
incorporating Latin percussion, tech house grooves, and chunky basslines, but moves at a different tempo.
“I love vocals you can sing to, or that hit you somewhere deeper, I like to take those elements and twist them, speed them up, cut them, make them weird.”
past,
Loose Legs is still new, but its vision is already resonating far beyond Ghent. Helena hopes to bring the concept to other cities and evolve it into a label or collective.
“This is how it can be, a party where the music hits, the visuals are magic, and the people in the room feel like they belong. That’s what I want Loose Legs to be, no compromises.”
Helena Lauwaert stands out as a deeply intentional artist, not just about what she plays, but also about how and why she creates space.
What’s striking is how she moves across different roles: DJ, producer, curator, and organizer, but maintains a coherent ethos in all of them: community care, sound clarity, and visibility for
sidelined. She’s not chasing a scene; she’s shaping one.
Her project, Loose Legs, isn’t just cool or culturally relevant; it’s structurally essential. She’s addressing problems in nightlife that many
acknowledge but few solve: tokenism in lineups, unsafe club environments, and a disconnect between queer identity and musical programming. Helena doesn’t just name those issues; she designs around them.
Artistically, her combination of UKG, speed house, hard house, and vo- cal-driven edits is bold and euphoric. It’s a sound that demands physical movement
presence, just like her spaces. and emotional both
And then there’s the vulnerability. Being open about mental health and production anxiety, while still pushing forward with big ideas, shows a kind of courage and leadership that’s rare, especially in a scene that often rewards surface-level coolness over depth.
In short, Helena isn’t just one to watch; she’s one to learn from.
people those who are often
45
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48
