The Playlist: to Joris Voorn, techno is a spatial experience

This summer, Architectenweb interviewed people from the architecture field about their musical side. In the seventeenth and final episode of our summer series De Playlist, we turn the tables and speak with world-renowned DJ Joris Voorn. Trained as an interior architect, he interned at OMA and worked for a time at the now-defunct B A R. We asked him about his experiences in architecture and whether his background in the field has left its mark on his current life. "I find it hard to say whether a great career in architecture would have been in store for me."

Joris Voorn has been a major name in techno for over twenty years. He has fans around the globe, has performed almost everywhere on the planet, and tops the line-ups of festivals like Mysteryland, Sónar, Tomorrowland, and Awakenings.

Last year he released the album Serotonin, considered his most personal record to date. Particularly impressive is the live video Voorn released for the opening track, Session One. It was recorded in the workspace of his father, Joop Voorn - a well-known classical composer who passed away five years ago. Beyond the palpable emotional weight, the space where he plays stands out: the heart of an anthroposophically designed home in Moergestel.

You recorded the session in your childhood home, right after selling it. What was it like to play there one last time?

"It felt like the end of an era. My father passed away the year before we shot that session, and my mother moved into an assisted living apartment. I considered keeping the house myself, but it’s too far from where I live in Amsterdam. When the house was almost completely empty, I set up a small studio inside, right where my father used to write his music. It’s a magical spot directly beneath the skylights, where the light falls in beautifully. I remember walking through it as a child and how the sun would strike a specific spot at certain times. I spent a few days making music there, and the first track I recorded was Session One—hence the title. It’s a tribute to my father, but definitely to the house as well.

It’s an old farmhouse, renovated on the inside by an anthroposophical architect who was a friend of my parents. They were followers of anthroposophy and realized their dream with the architect's help. It was a beautiful renovation. On the outside, nothing was allowed to change except for a few skylights in the sloped roof. But inside, the architect created a gorgeous organic whole, using a lot of wood, brickwork, and natural light that streams in wonderfully. The rooms are designed in the shape of a lemniscate; you walk in a figure-eight pattern that embodies the concept of infinity. The rest of the interior was quite quirky, full of sharp angles and nooks. It was a very beautiful, warm house."

While the house undoubtedly influenced your spatial awareness, choosing to study interior architecture wasn't an obvious step. You had a very musical upbringing - learning violin and guitar, and discovering a passion for electronic music. How did you arrive at that choice?

"It was pretty random. I didn’t really know what I wanted to do yet. I did enjoy the artistic side of education at my Waldorf school, particularly drawing and photography. At one point, I had a summer job in Tilburg and was cycling home with a neighbor boy. We were talking about what to do after high school, and he mentioned he was considering the Design Academy in Eindhoven to become a product designer. That sounded exciting to me, too. So when I finished high school, I put together a portfolio of drawings, illustrations, and photos. Unfortunately, it didn't align with what the Design Academy was looking for, and I was rejected. A friend of my brother was studying 3D design and architecture at the Academy of Art and Industry (AKI) in Enschede, which had a very lenient admissions process. I thought: Let me give that a shot. I was accepted right away.

After a general first year, I chose the interior architecture and design track. I was drawn to applied design rather than fine art, and spatial design interested me. Around that time, I also started DJing at the local club, Atak. Even though I did really well and successfully completed the degree, I spent just as much time on music. My professors noticed it, too. They thought my work was good, but said: You're spending a lot of time on other things. Music was truly my passion, though I remained deeply interested in architecture and design. I sketched, made furniture, and worked very hard for my degree. For me, studies and music were simply two things existing side by side."

Your knack for design is clear from the fact that right after graduating from AKI, you landed an internship at OMA—a firm that doesn't just hire anyone. How did that come about?

"After the AKI, I wanted to pursue further studies at the Academy of Architecture (AvB) in Rotterdam. I started with a preparatory year because the transition from art school to the AvB is quite large. During that year, I also had to do an internship, and I wanted it to be at one of the major architecture firms. I visited MVRDV, but ultimately landed at OMA. I found it a fascinating time and I’m glad I got that opportunity. I worked closely under interior architect Chris van Duijn in a very direct, one-on-one collaboration. They put me to work, but also gave me a lot of freedom to bring ideas to the table. I worked on several projects, most of which were never built, but for instance, I collaborated with a ceramics specialist on a custom poured floor for the Prada store in New York. I remember clearly that the Twin Towers were attacked during that period. It was a dark time that hit extra hard at OMA because they were deeply immersed in a project connected to that site.

I had a good time at OMA. I lived just a two-minute walk away on the Schiekade and made friends there. Still, the environment wasn't always cozy; it was very hierarchical. When Rem Koolhaas walked into the office, the music went off and everything went quiet. I also recall the second-in-command under Rem, an incredibly strict man. During that period, I began asking myself whether I should pursue music or a career in architecture. Alongside my internship, I worked at the academy in the evenings; if I kept that up, I wouldn't have any time left for music. Besides, if I chose architecture, I wanted to go far, but absorbing so much at OMA actually demotivated me. Do I want to work for a firm that creates such incredible things, but where the atmosphere is so ruthless?, I asked myself. Eventually, I concluded that I didn't want that, which felt quite liberating."

Yet after your time at OMA, you still worked at B A R for a while.
"That’s true, for about a year and a half to two years. I had already dropped out of the academy when I ran into my former AvB professor, Klaas van der Molen, at an exhibition. He mentioned that he and his partner, Joost Glissenaar, were working on a project and asked if I wanted to join them for three months. I was receiving artist support benefits at the time, which technically covered my living costs, but it sounded fun. And it turned out to be a great, friendly firm. Around then, things were also getting serious with my music. During lunch breaks, I’d check my email and see messages from record labels interested in my tracks, as well as famous DJs like Carl Cox—who was already one of my idols. I was blown away: Wow, Carl Cox is playing my tracks and wants them on his label."

Glissenaar mentioned you worked on the Junky Hotel in Utrecht and the Brughuis in Middelburg while at B A R. What do you recall about those projects?
"On the Junky Hotel - I don't know if you'd still call it that today - I think I had significant input. It was a shelter for the homeless and people struggling with addiction, set in a grand, historic building on one of Utrecht’s most expensive avenues, Maliebaan. We couldn't alter the exterior, but we could change the inside. We designed a sort of modular 'block' structure inside to house the support facilities, while the shelter rooms were placed within the existing building envelope.

For the Brughuis, I developed the print pattern for the facade. I remember Joost needed something for the glass facade and asked if I could create a print with a gradient from dark to light. Back then, I used Photoshop a lot for graphic work. The program had a filter that converted photos into a block pattern, and when you overlaid a gradient, you got an almost Escher-like transition from dark to light. That ended up on the Brughuis facade. I also worked on another project: a design for an animal shelter in Osdorp. It was never built, but I’ve driven past the building that stands there now, and it looks remarkably similar." (Voorn is referring to an animal shelter opened in 2007, designed by Arons en Gelauff Architecten after winning a tender in which B A R also participated, ed.)

Glissenaar called you a talented designer, but noted that music ultimately pulled harder. Do you feel a great career in architecture was within reach for you?
"That’s very hard to say. I do know you need to be a specific type of person to get things done in architecture. You need a certain toughness and have to stand your ground firmly. I doubt I have that personality type. The music world is much friendlier. Especially in the DIY culture of techno, it’s mostly about creating something other musicians aren't doing and building your own audience. You don't have to assert yourself in ways that might be unpleasant for others. In architecture, that’s sometimes necessary—especially at top-tier firms like OMA. (I don't mean that with any malice toward them, by the way.) Aside from that, during my time at B A R, I felt I really needed to finish the Academy of Architecture to make it as an architect. Without that credential, I don't think I would have succeeded."

Has your background in architecture left lasting marks on your life today?
"Absolutely. Photography has remained a constant hobby, and architecture is one of my core interests. When I started traveling extensively, I always took photos of landscapes, cities, buildings, and structural details. Everything was new to me, and I tried to capture it. You can see those photos on the covers of the albums and EPs released on my label, Green. For example, the cover of Coming From the Shower After a Late Night With a Failed Date from 2006 features a piece of Hong Kong architecture. I traveled there a lot at the time; it’s an intensely photogenic city. The photo shows a basketball court in the middle of the city with guys in white shirts playing. It’s full of lines and grids, almost Mondrian-esque. The graphic dimension of architecture has always appealed to me. Beyond that, album covers are always about atmosphere—something that is equally crucial in architecture. I often liked showcasing dystopian architecture on my covers. Why? I don't fully know. I felt it suited the music, though you could just as easily argue it doesn't."

You describe techno as a spatial experience. What do you mean by that?

"The blueprint for the techno I love was drawn in the mid-nineties. It’s typically very minimal music. It follows a structure of one or two bars—a frame or grid where sounds are programmed at fixed intervals. You hear the same pattern repeatedly, bringing you into a trance, and then something gradually shifts. To me, that is the essence of techno. Just like architecture, the music builts upon a foundation that you populate with other elements. Where an architectural foundation consists of floors, walls, and columns—with accents made of lines, planes, and patterns—techno's foundation is formed by the bass drum, hi-hat, and snare. Then, through sound design, you position sounds within that spatial landscape."

Is the impact of techno amplified when you perform in specific buildings?

"The venue where I play definitely shapes the set I deliver. Near my home in Amsterdam is the Gashouder, which used to host parts of Awakenings. That building was nicknamed the 'techno temple.' It features a massive circular hall that accommodates thousands of people, an environment that practically demands minimal techno. These days, the Awakenings shows have moved to the Sugar Factory in Halfweg—a fantastic old industrial plant that is, cliché as it sounds, tailor-made for techno. It’s industrial and mechanical, which pairs seamlessly with the music. A polished, modern music venue might actually be too perfect for techno; it lacks that essential raw edge."