At one point during our conversation at their home in Berlin, CCL went into their bedroom to retrieve a piece of paper listing all the different ways they tag their music, organised into four "axes." The artist, who cut their teeth in Bristol and Seattle before eventually relocating to Berlin, often uses fantastical or unusual terms to describe their tunes—themes like "Gilded Feathers" and "Silica Dew." These abstract, open-ended descriptions hint at how they build sonic worlds through their DJ sets, which focus more on texture and mood than genre or BPM. They're something of an amateur dance music historian, but when it comes to DJing, it's all about emotional response, blending feelings rather than genres.

CCL's sound is rooted in the pulse of dub and the thrum of UK dance music. But in their hands most music has a way of sounding like something else entirely. Their new mixtape for T4T LUV NRG, A Night in the Skull Discoteque, is a great example of their DJing style presented in miniature. The mix collects music from the '70s through to the early '00s that appears to reference dubstep in mood, tempo or rhythm. Of course, none of it is actually dubstep, but the way CCL layers the tracks pulls out new, previously unseen sonic threads, and their careful blending makes new rhythms out of old ones.

This intuitive style of DJing allows CCL to fully recontextualise the music they play. Recognisable tracks often sound totally different when they play them. This has made them a beloved DJ in certain corners of the dance music world, particularly in experimental-leaning circles and the queer scenes they call home. They're both a DJ's DJ and a music nerd's DJ, and their vast collection of online mixes is as important to their career as DJ sets. Mixes like 2019's "Ode to the Queer Steppas" have become staples in bedrooms and pre-drinks around the world.

In this long, passionate interview—"I've never spoken about DJing for so long," CCL said about halfway through—they talk about how they became a DJ, their unique musical philosophy and the sensual magic of the "sexy oven."

I wanted to start with a general question: how has your DJing style evolved since you started—and when did you start?

I started buying music with no intention of DJing it, when I was living in Bristol. Someone showed me how to beatmatch, and I tried it and I was like, "Yeah, I'm not going to be good at this." Then I moved to Seattle from the UK. I didn't plan to stay there, but I ended up missing my flight and stuck around to work up some savings to buy a new flight. I was lonely, bored and I wanted to see what playing some of the music I had gathered would feel like. I bought turntables for $300 that I still own now, and a cheap mixer. I had some records, but I didn't want to beatmatch them—I didn't know how to, and frankly I found the concept to be annoying. Why should I have to play things sequentially because they have a similar BPM?

So I would string together a bunch of different records and figure out how to make them make sense together, make little mixtapes for myself. Then I started to meet more DJs and I became more interested in trying to beatmatch, because these folks—the secondnature crew, Grounded, etc.—were playing techno and house doing long, beatmatched blends. So I started to gather more music that I could beatmatch. But I still wasn't very good at it. Chloe Harris [AKA Raica] was trying to help me learn, and she taught me a bunch of tricks, how to make it work and lock it in, ride the pitch, etc. But never during this period did I feel like I would be good enough at beatmatching to be a DJ.

I also wasn't exactly playing out on the local circuit a lot. While I was putting on a lot of events and some festivals at that time, I believed it was a conflict of interest to book myself. Occasionally I would play at bars, open for bands or at gigs for friends. I don't blame other people for not booking me—my style was all over the place and it would often change overnight, and I had a tenuous grasp of beatmatching at best. I would get super invested into one style or genre, go deep on that, then I'd kind of get bored and move on to something else.

I had a techno phase, for example, but I found having to maintain this seamless sound trajectory even within house and techno to be frustrating, and I wasn't good at it. So in addition to beatmatching I had to learn how to make all these different types of music that I liked work together. I scrapped my techno and house phase and became obsessed with drum & bass and jungle—160, 170, 180 BPM stuff. I also had a disco phase where I'd play disco and rare groove at the local roller rink, and obviously a dubstep phase. The list goes on. I've always believed there must be a good version of pretty much every type of music out there, and I would like to know about it. The more I dig, the more I realise I know nothing. The one thread between things I like seems to be elements of psychedelia, or things that strike me as difficult to pin down or slippery.

CCL is revered in certain corners of clubland, particularly in experimental-leaning circles and the queer scenes they call home.

What phase are you in now?

I'm in a phase of trying not to think too much about what it is, and just building interesting stories.

I've noticed that, in talking about DJing or naming your mixes, you use a lot of evocative phrases or textures that most people wouldn't use to describe music—like the Liquidtime Silica Dew mix. What do these descriptions mean to you, and how do you come up with a themed mix?

One of my favourite things about music is that it's completely intangible. It conjures images and feelings that are inexplicable. So I have to come up with fantastical terms to describe some of these experiences. I've gotten to a point where sometimes when I'm playing I get locked into a zone, it starts to conjure a specific feeling or narrative and there are phrases that come to mind to describe it. Usually they're nonsensical. They only make sense to me. I've always had a hard time describing music, and the terms you see on Discogs, for example, don't make much sense to me. So I've come up with my own vocabulary to think about it with.

Are there any genres, tempos or textures that correspond to these themes you've come up with?

Lately I'm interested in what I call the "sexy oven." Slower tempos are deeply sensual. They activate a certain type of dancing, which activates certain types of feelings. There's the raw, hard sexy oven, with a naughty and rambunctious feeling. It's driving and high-energy, but the tempo is still relatively slow. To me, that can also be peak time. And then there's the more sensual and cosmic end of this zone, which I haven't made a mix of yet.

"I started buying music with no intention of DJing it, when I was living in Bristol. Someone showed me how to beatmatch, and I tried it and I was like, 'Yeah, I'm not going to be good at this.'"

Do you sort your tracks with terms like this?

When you have 30,000 songs—which is how many I have in rekordbox now—it can get messy real quick. And I'm not gonna lie to you, I'm not the most organised person in the world. But my way of sorting and tagging things makes sense to me. I tag on four axes. There's the mood and emotional tenor of things—sassy, naughty, trippy, psychedelic, euphoric, spiritual, cosmic, ominous, cheeky, dreamy, tears, poignant, tears of joy, spooky. And then there's individual features or components. I find this really useful when I can't remember what a song was, but I remember it had fingersnaps or spoken word. So it's about individual markers that might be memory triggers for me. I've tagged something as general as "guitars" if that's what a song has. Other examples: polyrhythmic, triplets—which help me do certain types of transitions—spoken word, pointillistic, big drop, big bassline and beat science, which is sound design-y, modern bass music stuff.

Then there's the situation axis, which is the time, place or function. That could be an opening track, or a second track. Bathroom break, tension builder, catharsis, coming up for air, winding down, closing tracks, final tracks. More general shit like sunrise, because that's an important time. And then daytime, which is a trickier zone. Beat tools to cut into some other tracks that are difficult to mix in order to get to somewhere else.

And then I have transition tempo. There's two types of tempo transitions that I can do. One is a subtle, hypnotic approach, trying to do it without anyone realising what's happening. That's usually a polyrhythmic approach, or layering a bunch of tracks until people are like, "How did we get here?"

The other type is more like having a moment—a decisive tempo shift. So for that I have tracks that actually change tempo, and have that moment built into them. Those are useful, and creative. I also have exit strategy tracks. Let's say I've changed the tempo and I want to follow it with something really strong so we can settle into the new tempo. It's a balance.

The fourth axis is energy. I used to do an out-of-ten system, but I think that's just too many. I would get confused between what's a seven and what's an eight. Now I just start with zero, which means the room is empty. That's an interesting idea to me because there are tracks that interact well with an empty space. And then I go to zero from one, building from there. One to two is like a tepid build—I use the idea of a boiling pot—two to three mid-bubble, three to four boiling, and four to five is peak energy. That's how I categorise things. I did once have a genre system, but it just doesn't work for me.

If you're DJing a shorter set, like at a festival, do you switch between moods or try to stick to one?

Short sets are tricky. With long sets you have more of an opportunity to feel out what the vibe is and build something. If it's a really short set I probably won't change the tempo, for example. Mood can vary, it's more about a consistent energy level, a more standard build-up. But at some festivals I can really go there. I just have to suss out what the vibe is.

"Slower tempos are deeply sensual. They activate a certain type of dancing, which activates certain types of feelings."

So the moods can also be reactive. I think a lot of DJs, unless they were nudging the tempo up over the course of a set, wouldn't think of tempo changes in the way you do—because they think it's risky.

It's one of the most important tools you can have, if you use it well. So many people think of it as a technical gimmick to show off or something, but I don't. I was a dancer for so many years, and the way that the body interacts with different tempos is so interesting. Sure, you can play a four-hour set at 140 BPM, but people's bodies get fatigued and it becomes more like a march than a dance. A tempo shift can activate something special, and create a moment of body unlocking or catharsis. There's so many different ways, going faster or going slower or changing tempo a bunch of different times. I don't think you have to do it. I usually don't plan to do it, or decide that it's going to happen at a certain time. And then sometimes it happens and it's not the best decision, I have ways of getting out of it. But that's the thing: tracks sometimes change tempo, and so can DJs. Most of the music we hear in clubland right now is between 120 and 145 BPM and I find that a bit limiting. There's so much amazing music and so many different tempos, and it can all still be for the dance floor.

"I think there are a lot of parallels between narratives in DJing and good storytelling in writing ... Like good novels and stories, the listener is drawn in by an immersive setup, a captivating and unique start that isn't too predictable or reliant on clichés."

How much do you plan ahead for your sets?

If it's a very long set or a set that I'm anxious about, I'll usually set up a trajectory plan, I'll draw out a little map. All of my sets that are longer usually have a storyline or progression. I'll divide the set into different chunks, and those chunks can all be moved around based on circumstance—sometimes, if the person before me is playing at 130 BPM, it's not going to work to play 160 at that moment. So I'll swap it out for another section or moment. For sets that I feel especially nervous about, or back-to-backs, I create specific playlists with different sections so I can have a guide to work from. Or a plan to transition between sections, like from 140 to 100 BPM, or 100 to 160 BPM. Then I can choose out of these multiple options what I want to do at any moment. I don't think it's possible to fully plan out a set. It just wouldn't work.

Do you pay close attention to the audience?

Here's the thing about reading the room. On paper, this is one of the fundamentals of being a DJ. I don't believe that you should just indiscriminately play anything. However, I'm a people pleaser. And when you get super invested in observing everyone to the extent that you're overanalysing, you're trying to read their minds, you can lose yourself. I think that nowadays people are looking for big reactions, and so the trend has been to play harder and faster, more energetic, with more drops, because people are looking for a reaction, often to post on Instagram. Loads of the music I like doesn't cause those kinds of reactions. But that doesn't mean it's not interesting, and that doesn't mean I don't love it. In fact, I love it more.

The kind of reaction I'm looking for people is different. I think about the most impactful moments I've had on the dance floor and my hands weren't in the air. I want to go against the idea that you have to read people's minds or give them what they want all the time. You have to be open and perceptive, and have a good sense of what is going on in the room. But pleasing everyone is a fool's errand, and leads to everything sounding the same, and you lose the most important thing you have to give to people—your own perspective and intuition. There's a certain amount of bravery you have to have, and just show them what they didn't know they need and maybe lose some people.

Have you had any clearing the floor experiences lately?

I've definitely cleared the floor—it's a thing that happens. Most of my favourite DJs have cleared the floor, and I've realised it's not usually about them. Maybe everyone went to have a cigarette, or went to the second room, or, worst-case scenario, the people there weren't ready or didn't like it. And so what then? I used to feel terrible about it, but now I think you just have to commit to your vision. Sometimes, people won't vibe with it. But if you're trying to please everyone, you will betray yourself, and you won't tell a story that's meaningful.

The London-via-Bristol and Seattle artist now calls Berlin home.

You talk about your sets in terms of building narratives. What are the stories you're trying to tell?

I think there are a lot of parallels between narratives in DJing and good storytelling in writing. I think they both have room for the listener or reader's imagination and interpretation, which is something I find especially exciting versus other mediums like cinema, which can be far more visual and literal. Like good novels and stories, the listener is drawn in by an immersive setup, a captivating and unique start that isn't too predictable or reliant on clichés. There's usually a build-up in tension in some way, and then release, some plot twists, sub-plots within them. Variations in structure and style that keeps you on your toes. The characters within feel real, and the ending blows you away somehow. That's one of the reasons why I enjoy closing—I get to be a part of that. I'm not that interested in escapism, though. I love world-building as a tool for storytelling, but I'm not into creating a world that's just for pure escape or unrealistically idealistic. I don't want to write a utopian fantasy. I want the narrative to be personal, intimate, often confrontational or having moments of tension, but also moments that feel a little awkward, or maybe funny, like when you aren't exactly sure what you're supposed to feel or do.

Surrealism in general is a big influence on me. The stories I like to construct are real and human, but also contain fantastical elements and follow unexpected or surprising trajectories. I'm not into sets that are predictable or access a world that is some kind of seamless entity with one dimension throughout. Or that you have to choose, for example, darkness or lightness in one set. I am often chasing an otherworldly feeling. But also one that is deeply rooted in the human experience.

What do you mean by human experience?,

All of the different parts that make up being a human: the good, the bad, the ugly. When things are too superficial or one note or mood or feeling, they don't feel real to me. We contain multitudes. There's a realness and confrontation I also want to feel in my sets, and in music in general, and I think lots of the most amazing music has been made through various people's most intense personal experiences. Having a deep connection with the music you're playing enables you to do that.

How does DJing make you feel when you're doing it?

Internally, I'm such a messy, chaotic person, and I hate living in my brain—it's annoying as hell. But DJing is the one time my brain is quiet. I feel so locked in and so in tune with myself that it can also make me feel really terrible if I'm not connecting well. DJing is the ultimate form of communication for me. And at its worst, it can feel like a very lonely and isolating experience.

"I want to go against the idea that you have to read people's minds or give them what they want all the time."

Do you have a particular set where you felt like everything was working perfectly?

I've never felt that a set worked perfectly—but I find that to be a good thing because it means I've been taking risks, and pushed myself. To an extent, I know I'll never feel everything was working perfectly. Some people will say, "You smashed it," but I don't think I've ever said or felt that way about anything I've done. I don't mean this in an annoying, self-deprecating way—I'm just philosophically against purism and uniformity and being overly calculating, so it will be a bit uncomfortable for everyone, myself included, at some point because things won't always hit perfectly by design. I'm happy other people want to do that. There is some magic in the chaos that makes me feel less like it's a calculation and more like something wild and miraculous is happening that even I don't really understand and sometimes never will.

A set I remembered and replayed in my mind long after was Nowadays on New Year's Day. I didn't sleep. Or prepare for it. I was flying by the seat of my pants for six or seven hours, and honestly, it was kind of terrifying at the time. I was so upset at myself for not preparing more, and I kept thinking about it. Every decision I made felt very spur of the moment. It was super thrilling, kind of ridiculous and I absolutely did do some things that didn't land (or I didn't feel they did). There were sets I prepared for way more, but this one felt extra special. To an extent, it was out of my hands—the crowd and the environment made up so much of the experience.

The first time I played at Honcho Campout I also didn't really have a plan, but I knew I wanted to hit certain notes. To be honest, immediately after, the whole thing felt like musical vomit. I went on way longer than I could have imagined, and I was inhaling the fumes from the generator and feeling pretty out of it. I had this poignant playlist of stuff that I collected but never had any intention of playing out, and I played a bunch of things from there and it became very emotional. I started to cry. And then I realised everyone else was crying. I'd never experienced anything like that before, and before then it certainly didn't feel like everything was landing, often I felt like I was on the brink of losing some people and people certainly left, but I think maybe that's why we got there.

You're really good at playing non-dance music and beatless music, like on your Blowing Up The Workshop mix. How do you approach putting these kinds of tracks together?

For that mix, I wanted to tell a story of a particular experience I had. It was a difficult time in my life, and I wanted to show the process of working through something that was really hard. Finding the catharsis through tense moments. So it starts slower with an invite to this world I'm taking you into, and then it slowly builds this tension through different tracks. It wasn't made to be listened to passively as background music, it's probably too erratic to just relax to. I made specific playlists for each section, and I would periodically add to them. Lots of it was songs I was listening to on repeat at the time. There's a peak in the middle and many emotionally loaded tracks that are harder, grittier, and contrasted with others that are more soft and emotive. That's a thing that is important for me: creating something that could never exist otherwise out of contrasts. I like to build these mixes out of modular structures of different emotional states and tenors.

What techniques are you using to mix these ambient or beatless tracks together?

For one, I got really into this pedal that you can use to help string a lot of tracks together in a more seamless way without necessarily beatmatching or layering. I can single out individual elements and then time them with the delay pedal. At the time I made that mix, I was using the Eventide H9, which is a super neat multi-FX pedal. Now, I've stripped things down. I use the Boss DD-200 Digital Delay, and it's more like a regular delay. But for that mix, I was blending Cocteau Twins into a footwork track. So I would find an element or a snippet of a phrase, and loop it even though it wasn't the same tempo. Then I could use the delay to exaggerate it and actually beatmatch it that way. You can also have a complete disregard for beatmatching or do a really quick mix. Some of my favourite DJs, like DJ Marcelle, do this. She doesn't beatmatch, she just chooses her moments. You can make songs connect really well if you choose your moment.

How did you come to the point of using a pedal for DJing?

I saw some other people like gbd (fka savile) using them and it seemed like a more creative way to mix than just one long, seamless blend. Now I feel naked when I don't have one. You can even use it to transition between tempos, doing a long-tail fadeout and cranking up the delay and then starting a longer track and it won't feel like a song ended. So for me, it felt like a way to get away with my bullshit.

Does wanting to use a pedal or a device like that cause issues when it comes to setting up at clubs?

If I can, I will always soundcheck before set. I want to look at the room and understand the situation I'm going into, because I actually will adjust what I play. What kind of sound does the room have, and how does it feel in the room? How do tracks I know well feel and how are they represented? I'm not going to play my most hi-def, beat science-y records if there's not the clarity to do that. And I also can set up my pedal, check the monitoring. I have to have good monitoring if I want to be able to DJ the way that I want.

You use three CDJs when you DJ, right?

Yeah. It's great if there's four.

So what are you doing that makes use of a third or fourth CDJ?

With the types of music that I'm playing, I'll add the hats, the midrange or the vocal from one track and I'll loop it and I'll be doing a mix and I often bounce back between the two. And then, if these three are playing, then I'll want to have a new track come in and drop to that one. It's just juggling a lot of loops and elements that I want to combine from different tracks. I often use this to add more momentum to tracks that could otherwise not work on the dance floor as well.

"I was a big practiser, and that's why I've always had decks in my room. It's a big part of what I think of as 'DJ maintenance.'"

You don't find it difficult to juggle so many things at once?

Sometimes, I try to simplify things depending on where I'm at in the set. It can be good just to play a whole song or two tracks into each other. It's also important to know when to do that. But I enjoy the feeling of having a lot going on and feeling fully present, like everything is spinning above my head, and I feel so in it and being attentive to all those different things at once. It can feel calming.

Do you practise a lot?

I was a big practiser, and that's why I've always had decks in my room. It's a big part of what I think of as "DJ maintenance." And I also approach making mixes as DJ homework, because I feel like all the things I do in mixes I want to be able to do in sets. So I'll practise doing a really tricky transition, which helps you learn how to do more tricky things in general. I read in Andy C's Art of DJing that he practised for two hours every day. And I used to make myself do that, especially when I was trying to beatmatch on vinyl.

Now, I don't have that kind of time, but I try to make time to have as much hands-on experience with music as possible. I also think it's really important because when I'm in my room, I feel like that's when I'm able to take the most risks and fuck up. I still fuck up in real life, of course. But I feel like the bedroom is the best incubator for me to have a real discovery moment. So I still practise, but not for two hours every day.

Do you try to learn the tracks you play inside-out?

The better you know the tracks, the better it is. But in the age of digital music, there's such an arms race to have all the newest stuff and refresh your playlists all the time. People forget that when you could only play vinyl, people would just play the records over and over, they'd have their signature tracks. And I think you need to have some trusted tracks that are always in your arsenal, that you know so well that you're able to live life on the edge and play something new, because you can always mix it with something familiar. Sometimes, I'll download something that caught my ear and want to try it out on a crowd. Sometimes, it goes super well, and sometimes I'm like, "Oh no, I wish I listened to that more."

"I'm in a phase of trying not to think too much about what it is, and just building interesting stories."

For someone who's so into so many kinds of music, how do you find new music to play?

I used to be pretty into just going to the record stores, online or in real life. Bandcamp was a huge discovery tool, but then I felt like it became a bit of an echo chamber. You can find so much on there, but as a means of discovery I've been trying to find different ways, because the interface makes it difficult for you to discover with the feed alone. I'm not obsessed with rarity, I'm gonna have no problem playing stuff that other people like. I just don't like feeling like I'm inside an echo chamber where everyone is playing the same stuff. It makes me feel uninspired.

I'll use Discogs and do a thing where I combine a bunch of different style terms to get that kind of going into a record store randomised effect. Two terms, two styles that are seemingly very different, and it will just return a bunch of neat stuff that you can filter. So much of the music I like exists in the space between genres, and that's been a good way for me to find interesting things. It's also important to pay attention to things that are going on outside of your own dance music scene. From being a booker and working in venues I always liked to know what was going on in the larger world, watching Tiny Desk concerts, listening to KEXP or going onto YouTube and seeing what crazy pop music was coming out from different parts of the world.

As someone with a lot of notable online mixes, do you think it's an important medium for DJs? How do you approach them differently than playing out?

They're very important. It's like mixtape culture, which happened before the internet. That was how DJs would spread their sound. And if you're living in a place that feels more cut off—like when I was living in Seattle—places that don't have a larger clubbing infrastructure, even if you're playing out a lot, there's only so many people that can see you play. So mixes are a way to explore your own sonic world and to share it with other people who don't live in your city.

I know Eris Drew feels similarly. I approach mixes like I'm making an album out of loads of disparate material that I want to string into a narrative. When I'm making a mix, it's different from playing at a club because it's a world that I'm building in itself with no external input. Some of these series were very important to me too—Blowing Up The Workshop was so influential in how I engaged with music. People were creating these fascinating narratives that weren't beatmatched or followed rules and featured all sorts of music and each had their own identity.

With every mix—it's becoming harder and harder—I try to do something that I feel like I might want to go deeper on in "real life" or sets. I just did a mixtape for Eris on T4T LUV NRG. I had been just finding a lot of tracks that were from the '70s, '80s and '90s, that sounded like or had elements of modern bass music and dubstep. They're all mastered differently and completely different from each other; logistically, it was a nightmare to mix them. So, I thought it would be an interesting challenge to try and take all of these elements and build them into a cohesive narrative and see where that gets me. The tracks started to tell their own story; a fantastical place was emerging, and I wanted to flesh it out fully. With mixes, I have even more scope to push and explore interactions between tracks so that they are greater than the sum of their parts. So, in this one, a single track alone might not sound like dubstep, but this track with elements of this track and the mood of this other track give me a feeling beyond what they are individually.

I've seen you describe yourself as an introvert before. Do you enjoy letting people into your personal world when you DJ?

I think I'm probably better at communicating things through music than through words. And I think there's an element to all of the music that I like—it's beyond anything I can communicate. After that first Honcho Campout set, I was terrified because I let people into my world and it felt very vulnerable, very exposed. Immediately after, I was like, "Oh God, that was kind of a lot," and I felt a bit ashamed even. At my best, I can really show myself and show a very personal connection with music I love. And that can be so special and rewarding and communicate things beyond words for me, but it also can feel really intense and make me want to hide.

If you're feeling vulnerable like that, does it help if people come up to you and tell you they liked the set?

I used to feel so awkward if I had been so vulnerable, and people would come to talk to me about enjoying my set so much. I would focus on the technical parts, I then would tell them about all the times I messed up and why I thought it wasn't good. After a while (and I still have to remind myself), I have to be like, "Actually, this isn't really about me." It's important that someone had this experience, I need to check my ego and remember that this is beyond me, my interpretation or fears. I'm super grateful that someone would interact with it in any way, and even though I'm feeling vulnerable and a bit exposed or there were parts I didn't like, that's powerful and meaningful to me.

To put it bluntly, you're not necessarily DJing to start a party. You're DJing to express yourself.

Yeah. It's also a form of connection. I don't think every set can be the utmost form of connection. But I think the reason why I do this is to connect somehow, and that's when I find it most valuable and rewarding. But sometimes, I connect via a feeling of fun, of cheekiness, and silliness, that's also just as valid. Of course, starting a party can be a result. Every set doesn't have to be this insurmountable drama. Even though I love drama—in music, anyway.