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ALI3N BETWEEN SILENCE AND SOUND


There is something disarming about ALI3N. His energy is not loud; it is magnetic, the kind that draws you in before you even realize you have stopped thinking. Based in Berlin but carrying the weight of many worlds from Jamaica to Ethiopia to North Rhine-Westphalia, he does not just play techno; he channels it. His sets move like ceremonies, each beat a pulse of honesty, each silence a mirror.


Talking to him, you feel it immediately. Music is not an escape for him; it is survival. It is how he turned loss into light, how he learned to breathe through rhythm when words stopped working. Everything about ALI3N feels intentional, from his precision in the booth to his quiet devotion to care, community, and emotional truth.


In this interview, we talk about grief, purpose, and patience; about finding strength in stillness and beauty


brokenness. ALI3N does not perform emotions; he reveals them. What he is building is not just sound. It is healing.


THE LANGUAGE OF SURVIVAL


For ALI3N, music has never been about sound alone. It has always been about feeling, about translating emotion into vibration. His earliest memories are filled with rhythm, melody, and presence; not from a stage, but from home.


“I started playing piano as a kid and later switched to alto saxophone during school. My dad used to collect reggae tapes, and we listened to them everywhere, at home, in the car, on weekends. My mum was and still is a huge Michael Jackson fan. The love and energy we felt when we listened to music together were unforgettable. That is where I learned that sound can hold emotion in a way words never could.”


Those early encounters with sound laid the foundation for his later identity. Techno entered his world almost by accident, through late-night gaming sessions and online radio. What caught him was not the repetition, but the emotion hiding inside it.


“Techno came later, when I was around twel- ve or thirteen. I used to play online games and consistently had techno radio stations playing in the background. That was when I realized how emotional techno can be. It was not just rhythm or function. It carried mood, tension, and release, everything life does.”


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Then came the moment that reshaped everything. Loss changed the way he breathed, and sound became his only form of language.


“The moment it shifted from passion to lifeline was when I lost one of my parents. Suddenly, music wasn’t just something I did. It became the only space where I could breathe properly.


things that were too heavy for words. It be- came a way of surviving, of turning pain into movement, and silence into meaning.”


Grief, for ALI3N, was not an ending but a recalibration. It slowed time down and turned his perspective inward.


“Losing a parent changes your sense of time. Before that, I always felt like I had to get somewhere fast, to prove something. But grief slows you down. It humbles you. You realize that purpose isn’t about achieving more, it’s about being present in what’s real.”


That loss did not fade. It evolved, becoming a creative force rather than a wound.


“I don’t think grief ever leaves you; it just changes shape. For me, it turned into sound. When I create or play, I’m not trying to make people sad or emotional. I’m trying to show that beauty can come from broken places. It’s not performance. It’s release. It’s honesty.”


He describes healing as a rhythm of its own, one that refuses to be rushed.


“Patience came from accepting that healing doesn’t happen on your schedule. It occurs in layers, like music, with recurring themes that sound different each time they return.”


That sense of awareness has become the moral spine of his artistry. Every decision, from his gigs to his collaborations, stems from the same quiet ethics: honesty, care, and service.


“For me, honesty means playing or creating only when I actually feel something. I can’t fake energy, not on stage or in the studio. I’ve learned to say no to things that look good on paper but don’t align with what I stand for.”


“Care and service are significant parts of my process, too. Music is a way of giving, not just entertaining. When I play, I try to hold space for people. That might sound spiritual, but it’s really about being human, about connecting in a way that feels safe and real.”


It helped me process


He sees ALI3N not as an alter ego, but as a boundary, a bridge between what he shares and what he protects.


“Setting boundaries is still a learning process. ALI3N is me, but it’s also my protector. It allows me to share emotions openly, but also to step back when I need to. The person behind it requires silence, grounding, and real connections to stay healthy. The art can only stay honest if the person behind it is okay with it.”


REVELATION, NOT PERFOR- MANCE


For ALI3N, the name itself is not a disguise but an invitation. What sounds like distance is actually his way of coming closer. His art moves between the mystical and the human, exploring the edges of emotion without losing its truth.


“ALI3N is about exploring the unknown, but it is not a mask. It is a bridge between what I feel inside and what I put into sound. Not hiding but revealing means allowing people to see my emotions, my vulnerabilities, and my energy without filters. It is about creating honesty in a space that often thrives on spectacle.”


His approach to techno feels like an act of exposure rather than rebellion. Every track, every set, every shift in tone is a way of showing that fragility and force can coexist.


“Right now, through my music, I am revea- ling the tension between vulnerability and strength. I want people to feel that it is okay to be raw and honest. The tracks, the sets, the frequencies are all invitations to enter a space where emotion is not just performed, it is lived and shared.”


That emotional honesty extends beyond the club. Rooted in both Jamaica and Ethiopia, ALI3N’s sense of belonging is as global as it is personal. Through his family, he found not only rhythm but responsibility.


“Both Jamaica and Ethiopia are home to me. My dad is Jamaican, my mum is Ethiopian, and both cultures are a big part of who I am. My mum founded an NGO in Ethiopia that gives children a place to go after school, where they can eat and feel safe when their families cannot afford it.”


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