Q&A with |-...-.|: Letting the Music Speak

No name, no face, no ego — just pure, genre-warping sound. Emerging from 25 years of global DJing, |-...-.| is the anonymous producer making serious waves with a defiant, shape-shifting vision. Lauded by Bandcamp Daily (twice), backed by tastemakers like Luke Una and Trevor Jackson, and racking up thousands of plays and dozens of radio spins, this project proves that letting the music speak louder than the persona can be a radical act.

Their latest album Deliveroo Studio Séances is a 21-track odyssey of acid, dubstep, ambient, and club detritus — described as “part rave, part séance, part cinematic spiral.” With roots in the underground and eyes on emotional truth, |-...-.| is building a new kind of electronic mythology — one glitch, groove, and ghostly sample at a time.

We caught up with the mysterious force behind the moniker to talk anonymity, inspiration, and why weirdness is a virtue.

You’ve spoken about letting music speak louder than ego or identity — what does anonymity unlock for you creatively?

|-...-.|: It opens a whole new world. I’d been accused of ego before — both as a DJ and a producer — and felt like people weren’t really hearing the music, just reacting to me. Some even got annoyed when I sent them tracks. I don’t mean to bother people — I just want to share. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.So I took myself out of the equation. No face, no name. Just sound. And that’s when people started listening properly. It’s honestly been freeing — I feel more content and focused than ever.

Deliveroo Studio Séances is 21 tracks deep and wildly eclectic. Was there one moment or sample that sparked the whole project?

|-...-.|: Yeah — the opening track, Deliveroo Blue. I was waiting for food in the studio and dropped in this old spoken-word sample I’d found: “There’s too much personality in music these days... I want the audience not to know who I am...”It felt like fate. A manifesto. I didn’t even know who the voice was, but it became the foundation. From there it grew — acid, dubstep, glitchy beats, neo-trap. I was chasing something immersive and unfiltered.

The album evolved from 12 tracks into 21 — partly because Bandcamp Daily had already selected the shorter version, and I saw the chance to get more ideas out. There’s a loose arc too — it starts clubby and ends in dreamlike slow-motion. Think Mulholland Drive but in sound.

One standout track is "Purple Sapphire (UK Acid-Step Mix)" — even got a Jamal Moss comparison. How do you feel about that?

|-...-.|: That was wild. Joe Muggs made that comparison and sent it to Trevor Jackson — who apparently loved it. That meant a lot. I’m not sure I’d go that far with the Moss comparison, but it gave me confidence to keep pushing this acid-dubstep hybrid idea. I even searched Instagram for “#aciddubstep” and found nothing. Maybe it’s a new thing?

You’ve worked with some interesting collaborators too — any personal highlights?

|-...-.|: Loads. Cherry Red nods to David Lynch, SOPHIE, Weatherall, and Moby — all in one go. Siréne co-produced This Grrrl, which tells a true story of a Canadian moving to Manchester in ’99. Ad-Liv, a poet, appears on three tracks — Petty Passions is Rimbaud meets neo-trap. It’s raw, different. And Skittles brings grit to Make a Man Dance — which was mastered by a close friend of SOPHIE’s.

Oh — and there’s a surprise remix of Princess Superstar’s Goddess. She heard it, loved it, posted it. We even made her a gift box with Palo Santo, Guayasa tea, healing crystals. Totally unexpected connection — but felt like magic.

You’ve been DJing worldwide for over two decades. What made you start from scratch with |-...-.|?

|-...-.|: I needed to break free. I’d released music under my real name for years but nothing ever stuck. This project took off in seven months. It’s not just better production — it’s the absence of baggage. Same person, different energy. Even got featured twice in the same Bandcamp Daily under both aliases. That was a strange but proud moment.

You nod to giants like Burial, Weatherall, Aphex Twin — how do you balance influence and originality?

|-...-.|: Burial’s influence is more conceptual — the mystery, the mood — rather than sound. I’d never claim to match that polish. Weatherall taught me to keep things simple and real, while Aphex showed me how to be brave. I bought Richard D. James Album in ‘97 when I was 14. It rewired my brain. But again — no mimicry, just mindset.

From Luke Una to Trevor Jackson, the praise is real. How do you stay grounded amid the buzz?

|-...-.|: I stay grateful. Luke used to come to my nights back in the day. When he supports me now, I know it’s honest. Ivan Smagghe told me, “Be yourself and you’ll never get lost.” That stuck. But the moments that hit hardest? A guy in Ireland bought the album four times. Said he’d been playing it non-stop, gifting it to his DJ mates. Then there was someone in Australia who bought my whole back catalogue, saying “Never stop making music.”

That’s the stuff. Real human connection — someone vibing with music I thought might be too weird. That’s what drives me to keep creating.