Imperfection remains the most human form of truth
There’s something reassuring about artists who still get their hands dirty with sound. While algorithms chase patterns and playlists, Mathmatrix chases meaning. Known offstage as Victor Popescu, he’s been a quiet force in Romania’s electronic underground since the mid-2010s, throwing DIY parties, releasing intricate IDM records, and performing under his former alias BLN alongside icons like SeeFeel, Ulrich Schnauss, and Roel Funcken. His latest album, ‘Brazda lui Novac’, feels less like nostalgia and more like rebellion—a reminder that in an era obsessed with artificial perfection, imperfection remains the most human form of truth.
In your latest drop, “Brazda lui Novac”, you’re hitting us with those OG vibes that kicked off your career. What sparked this throwback, and how have all your adventures since then switched up or deepened this comeback?
The throwback was mainly prompted by the confusion I created when changing the project’s name. I’d been contemplating the switch since 2011 and finally did it in 2022, but not without consequences. Some followers were confused, and I wanted to clarify that. I also realised that in my constant search for new sounds, I had almost forgotten why I love making music in the first place. So, I tried to transport myself back to when I was a young guy discovering simple sounds and working with very few tools. In those early days, I was prolific—I still have hundreds of unfinished tracks on a hard drive. I didn’t care much about gear or sound quality; I was just making music for the joy of it. That’s another reason I wanted to bring back Brazda lui Novac.
Your tracks are like a playlist of your personal journey and cultural influences. Can you break down how your own unique vibe has shaped the styles and themes in your music?
That’s true. No matter what I do, my past influences are always there. I don’t see myself as a groundbreaking artist who constantly reinvents sound design. I’ve always admired those who do, but what makes my music special is how I blend older styles with new ideas that excite me. It’s not calculated; it’s just how I work. Even so, people often tell me they can recognise my style instantly, which feels like an achievement considering how much music is released these days.
Your latest album features collaborations with French IDM artist Syl Kougaï and vocalist Raluca Staicu. How did they shape the vision of the album, and what was it like working together?
Both artists brought different colours to the album. I’m old school—I like albums that tell stories, the kind you listen to from start to finish because skipping tracks on vinyl or cassette was too much hassle. I’ve been a fan of Syl Kougaï for a long time, so I asked him earlier this year if he wanted to collaborate. He was excited, though we didn’t know at first where the track would end up. Eventually, he agreed to include it on my album, which filled the experimental gap I felt was missing. The track “Silent Call” started out with an AI-generated voice. I was initially amazed by what AI could do, but soon realised it was essentially a sophisticated theft algorithm. So I asked my friend Raluca Staicu, the lead singer of the local band Tiptil, to re-record it. She has a beautiful, authentic voice, and it brought real emotion back into the piece.
You’ve said the album is about keeping it real, with no AI help, just pure music-making. In a time when AI is everywhere in music, why is it important to you to stick with this organic way of creating?
Since working on “Silent Call”, I’ve become aware of how AI can silence creativity and enable intellectual property theft. Misused, it does more harm than good. I understand the benefits—it can be a powerful tool—but only when used by people who know how to shape it. I haven’t yet heard truly creative music made with AI. It can follow learned patterns and produce generic results, but that isn’t creativity. Its algorithms are designed to skirt legal issues while sounding almost identical to originals. If that’s what someone wants, fine—but who really wants that? Creative musicians will always be safe from AI because it needs input to generate output. As long as you keep creating, you’re protected.
You’ve been a major player in the IDM scene since ’97. How have you seen the genre evolve, and where do you see it going next?
IDM has had its ups and downs. I’ll always miss the 1990s because I’m a huge Autechre fan, and being ahead of your time can sometimes be a burden. Within the 20Hz to 20kHz range of human hearing, almost everything has been explored. Once you accept that, you can still find things that move you emotionally, unlike the random sampling I heard at the last AE show—sorry, AE, I say that with love. IDM has always evolved alongside technology, adapting to the latest software and hardware. You can hear its influence in today’s pop music, even if it’s hidden beneath other styles. It’s never been a strictly defined genre—just forward-thinking electronic music made with synthesizers. I believe IDM will return stronger than ever. Trends always come back in waves, and I hope to be part of that next one.