Gillielove: "Repetition, Immersion, Release"

Not everything needs to be louder to be felt. Sometimes it’s about slowing down enough to notice what’s already moving underneath.

With Rituals, Gillielove shapes a space that doesn’t demand immediate attention, but presence. A body of work that moves through dub, bass, and broken rhythms, yet speaks to something more elemental: the need to turn sound into experience, and experience into process. Here, repetition is never static - it becomes a passage. The club is no longer just a place, but a possibility. And technology, rather than creating distance, is bent toward reconnection.

In this conversation, Gillielove reflects on what remains human within increasingly automated systems, on the role of community in a fragmented world, and on that fragile balance between movement and introspection that defines their sound.

This is not a conversation searching for clear answers. It’s closer to a suspended moment - where sound, body, and thought begin to align.

The title Rituals suggests repetition, but also transformation. Do you think repetition in music can become a form of meditation, a way for listeners to slowly shift their state of mind?

Absolutely. With Rituals, my intention was to create deeply meditative soundscapes that evolve through repetition, immersion, and release. The bass is something you feel physically, almost like a healing surge, while the loops slowly transform and transcend their initial state. I often think of life in similar terms - fluid, cyclical, and constantly evolving.

Do you experience bass and rhythm primarily as physical forces that move the body, or as something that connects listeners on a more collective, almost shared level?

I would say both. Whether I’m producing or listening I’m seeking (sometimes subconsciously) some kind of cathartic release. This could be in the physical act of dancing or some emotional state, a flutter even that is accessed through an unusual frequency or rhythm. 

Clubs have historically been spaces of refuge for communities and subcultures. Do you still feel that electronic music culture holds that collective power today, or has it changed as the scene has become more global and digitised?

I think the name in itself is interesting. When you hear the word club it refers to a collective interest or hobby and this can occur in a mass-scale pedestrian level or on a DIY level. In my experience anything operating on a DIY level is driven primarily for mutuality. My engagement in Australia and now in Paris have led me to meet and connect with the most beautiful communities. I think France specifically has an abundance of micro-festivals, with artists and collectives who are driven to create new spaces and sounds and support each other. I think the only way we can continue successfully is as a collective. 

As artificial intelligence and algorithmic systems increasingly shape how music is produced and discovered, do you think the role of the artist will change? What will remain uniquely human in sound?

I think taste can’t be manufactured. AI and algorithms can streamline the production and search processes but a human mind is required to tell the story and curate emotion and energy. Only human minds can provide lived experience and context. 

Moving between Australia and Europe means navigating different rhythms of life and culture. Do you feel that displacement can sharpen an artist’s perception, almost like seeing the world from slightly outside of it?

To be honest it is jarring moving constantly between cities, I think there is a great privilege in being able to move so freely between spaces and communities and yes in some ways being privy to such a broad range of sounds and communities can really broaden an artist's perception but to be productive, I personally require solitude and solace so it is hard to produce on the move. I would be curious how other artists feel about this. 

Dub has always been about space: echoes, absences, fragments that drift in and out of perception. In your work, do these spaces represent memory, imagination, or perhaps a kind of sonic architecture for emotions that cannot easily be spoken?

I have always loved space in sound and often feel more drawn into a world created by the notes that aren't played - it’s like a secret or mystery being shared. A kind of invitation to choose your own adventure. 

Finally, looking toward the future: as technology accelerates and attention becomes increasingly fragmented, do you think electronic music will move further toward hyper-digital environments, or could it return to something more primal?

I have always loved experiencing music in physical spaces so I really hope people continue to go out, listen and connect with one another. There has also been a resurgence of analog gear, hardware synths and live experimentation which certainly can not be replaced by the digital.