Balancing underground roots with mainstream appeal
In a time when algorithms dictate taste and genre boundaries have become porous, Rodrigo Passannanti reminds us that electronic music can still be both disciplined and deeply human. From his London studio, he speaks not as a nostalgic purist but as someone who treats technology as an extension of thought. His reflections orbit around a simple but radical idea: curiosity as resistance. For Passannanti, the underground is not a scene but a mindset — one that refuses to stop experimenting, even when the mainstream catches up.
Could you talk about how changes in electronic music since the 1990s have shaped your work? How has your style evolved over the years?
Like many producers of my generation, I began with hardware: analog synthesizers, drum machines, effects units, and mixing desks. Samplers became central soon after, and by the mid-to-late 1990s, I started moving towards digital production. Andy Hughes of The Orb was a major influence during that time. His approach to producing entirely within a DAW felt revolutionary, even though the technology was still evolving. He also introduced me to Waves plug-ins, which expanded my understanding of processing and dynamics. Over time, my production methods have gone through many phases, each influenced by what I was listening to — from progressive rock and psychedelia to dark wave, electro, and techno.
How have your collaborations with different artists and producers influenced your music and direction?
Collaboration has always been essential to me. It challenges assumptions and invites unexpected results. Working with others brings in new energies, new ways of listening. I’m fascinated by how different musical backgrounds can collide and reveal textures or ideas I might never have found alone. In the early years, many tracks were born from improvisation, with each person adding their own layer of intuition to the process. Those moments of collective experimentation often led to the most original outcomes.
How do you choose which of your aliases to use for a new piece or project?
Each alias has its own world. Hypercube leans toward abstraction and experimentation, Alpha Romeo towards melody and rhythm, and releasing under my own name tends to focus on ambient and conceptual works. When I start a new idea, I listen for its nature — the atmosphere, rhythm, and emotional tone. The alias follows from that. It’s not a marketing device but a framework for coherence. Each identity allows me to explore different aspects of sound without diluting intent.
Who or what is inspiring you right now, and how are these influences shaping your work?
I’ve been revisiting early Berlin-School electronics and the work of contemporary modular artists who treat sound almost like sculpture. I also draw from visual art, science fiction, and architecture. These media suggest structure and space — how form can create emotion without narrative. That’s something I try to translate into sound. I’m currently working on longer, immersive compositions that focus on spatial experience rather than conventional structure. It’s about guiding the listener through an evolving sonic landscape, rather than a linear set of tracks.
You’ve been remarkably prolific over the years. How do you sustain that output without creative fatigue?
Routine is crucial. I spend time in the studio almost every day, even if it’s just exploring a new sound. It keeps ideas flowing and prevents stagnation. Curiosity is my main motivation — the desire to merge technologies, discover new textures, or capture moods that words can’t describe. I’m also quite methodical: I archive sketches, keep libraries of sounds, and document processes. That structure means I never feel lost, even when switching between projects. It’s a rhythm that balances freedom with discipline.
How do you ensure that each project maintains a consistent level of quality?
It always begins with a concept. I define the emotional and sonic goals early so that every decision serves the same vision. I keep detailed session notes, version everything, and listen on multiple systems to maintain perspective. After an initial mix, I take breaks before returning to hear things fresh. I work to high-resolution standards to ensure the sound translates effectively across various environments. Quality, for me, isn’t just about clarity — it’s about how every detail contributes to the feeling.
What role does attention to detail play in your music production?
It’s fundamental. Every layer, timing shift, or modulation adds to the emotional depth of a piece. The listener might not notice every nuance consciously, but they’ll feel the difference. I spend a lot of time shaping the relationship between elements — how one texture dissolves into another, how reverb tails interact. It’s not about technical perfection but about building an atmosphere that feels alive and complete.
How long does it usually take to create a track or album, from concept to completion?
It depends on the project. A single track can take anywhere from a few weeks to a few months. An album can easily stretch across a year, especially if it’s conceptual or narrative-based. I allow time to step back, re-evaluate, and let ideas mature. Some pieces appear fully formed; others demand patience. The important thing is to let the music dictate its own pace.
You’ve maintained strong roots in underground culture while engaging with broader audiences. How do you balance those two worlds?
The underground has always shaped how I think about music. It values experimentation, integrity, and community — all things that resist commercialisation. That attitude still guides me. Balancing it with broader appeal isn’t about compromise; it’s about clarity. If the sound is honest and well-produced, it can connect with anyone without losing its essence. I see no contradiction between accessibility and authenticity. The key is intent: staying curious, staying grounded, and trusting the process.