I last saw Juan Mendez—better known as Silent Servant—when he DJ'd his curated night at Berlin club Tresor in November. His set, a less frequent expression of his affinity for old-school techno and delay-spattered dub, effused light in a space that can sometimes feel oppressively dark. Silent Servant neophytes may have been surprised by such a joyous departure from the darker hues of techno, EBM and industrial that became his calling card. But those familiar with his expansive musical lexicon would have rightfully seen it as a reflection of his creative spirit. He was an unconfined curator of niche sounds and subcultures.

Mendez, who died last Thursday at the age of 46, was a visionary multidisciplinary artist whose work across graphic design, DJing and production helped define the contemporary techno canon, as well as its visual representation on underground label art and party flyers. Born in Guatemala and raised in Los Angeles, he was swept up by the romantic keenings of The Smiths and the shoegaze bands coming out on indie powerhouses like Sub Pop. As he grew up and experienced the colliding worlds of Downtown LA warehouse parties and early Berlin techno, he distilled these influences into a language that became uniquely his own. According to friend and collaborator Telefon Tel Aviv, "if ever there was a sound of the LA underground, it was surely him."

The result of this cultural cross-pollination was a number of projects that found the emotional resonance between modern techno, '80s new wave and synth music at the intersection of dance and doom. The band he produced with ex-wife Camella Lobo, Tropic of Cancer, was one example, its stylish and seductive atmospherics a hallmark that would permeate the Silent Servant project afterwards. His work as part of Sandwell District with Female, Regis and Function was another, the group's haunting austerity the lingua franca for an ensuing generation of techno artists. In this sense, Mendez brought together many different facets of the creative worlds he touched—literally, in the case of Sandwell District, which notoriously suffered from fractured interpersonal relationships—and figuratively, as the musical glue between genres and scenes.

Mendez's own music skilfully contrasted emotional melodies with a scuzzy, mechanical brutality. His first album, Negative Fascination, was my introduction to the Silent Servant universe. Spare and cinematic, it conjures a landscape as dreamy as it is dark—the fetid haze of a dance floor once the club clears, the lurch of machinery after the cogwheels stop. He continued experimenting with these aesthetics with his now-defunct label, Jealous God, which put out a bounty of tough, guitar-driven dance EPs that simultaneously took cues from bands like Cabaret Voltaire and outfits from the '90s Birmingham techno canon. His only solo release on the label, featuring the classic "Lust Abandon," showcased the endlessly unfurling minor chord arpeggio that became his hallmark sound.

Musical A&R aside, a large part of what made Jealous God such a striking project was Mendez's distinctive art direction. A visual designer by day, he created phantasmagoric, Duchamp-like still lifes on each cover, taking cues from '60s product advertisements and former Downwards and Tresor designers like Claudia Eden. His archival reserve was vast, and he pulled together references from film, literature, out-of-print single-run zines, experimental photography and beyond. Together they formed cryptic (and sometimes whimsical) visual juxtapositions—whips sprouting foliage, lipstick and brass knuckles—that Mendez called "sanctity and sleaze." As Matt McDermott observed in his 2017 feature on Jealous God, it would be easy to categorically define Mendez as a dark figure from his records alone. But upon close observation, there was always a strong current of humour running through his work.

I became obsessed with Mendez's catalogue as an early 20-something with tendencies towards goth and grunge, establishing a virtual kinship—and later, a real one—with an artist whose ability to forge aesthetic and emotional connections between timelines, styles and mediums opened new vistas to the hidden affinities between music and art. In Mendez's hands, there was a vast archaeology to be excavated beneath our culture's surface, endless relics to be rediscovered and relationships to be made. His long-running show on NTS Radio was (and continues to be) a sort of musical bible for those seeking an education in more marginalised strains of electronica and rock, each broadcast a chronicle of far-flung music refracted through Mendez's sharp curatorial lens. As Veronica Vasicka wrote to me: "Juan's unique talent lay in seamlessly bridging these diverse musical universes, a skill that set him apart."

Dekmantel Festival, Amsterdam, 2015

It's not just the loss of Mendez's prolific artistic practice that will leave a void. In the wake of his passing, my Instagram feed has been flooded with images of an artist who was as beloved for the sense of warmth and communion he brought to the industry's social fabric as he was for his groundbreaking work. Alejandro Cohen, the director of dublab Radio, told me that Mendez was sweet, unassuming and loving. "What I will miss the most about [him] is the way we hugged when we said hello and goodbye," he wrote. "It was always a type of embrace as if each time would be the last." "Everyone around adored him, but he was never about himself, he was always about us,' continued his agent, Daniela Cia. Stories of Mendez's unrelenting support, kindness and generosity abounded, with many artists and institutions claiming that the direction of their lives and creative output wouldn't be the same without him.

"Juan will always be the epitome and definition of artistic integrity—no fluff, no compromise, pouring his heart into every medium he touched," the techno artist Drumcell told me. "Complete and unwavering conviction defined everything he committed himself to, a man of true vision both audibly and visually. He remained untainted by the outside noise and pressure that an industry focused on monetary gain could impose on an artist. He was a beloved friend, a profound mentor, and undoubtedly the biggest inspiration to all of us in our local community."

On a personal level, Mendez was a longtime musical hero whose friendship over the last few years surprised and touched me. The first show we played together in 2017, he dug through my record bag during soundcheck, playing limited-press records and rare gems that he invariably knew by heart. A diehard fan, I was in awe. Over the years, he would offer me a place to stay when I was going through a break-up, or unsolicitedly Dropbox me music I might enjoy. He would send words of praise and encouragement when I put out music or published a story and share his own worries and insecurities with a poignant vulnerability difficult to come by in nightlife. For those in his orbit, he had endless time and an open heart.

I met up with Mendez on his last trip to Berlin, sitting down to chat about his recent EP for Tresor, eerily titled In Memoriam. The four tracks are an elegy to his memories and influences, synthesising the sounds of dub techno, new wave and electro from Detroit. He choked up as he reflected on its release, contemplating the musical giants who had shaped his life and disappeared in accelerating numbers over the years. How does one leave a legacy? What marks a life full of personal and artistic success?

Mendez's untimely death (alongside his wife, Simone Ling, and the venerated post-punk artist Luis Vasquez) makes it tragic to envision the huge amount of unrealised work he had yet to deliver into the world. But it's safe to say that despite any misgivings, the impression he made is lasting. He was a true conduit between creative realms and the pulse that ran through underground scenes in LA, Berlin, New York and beyond. Not just a documenter but a seer of sorts, he was endlessly curious about the fringes and how jagged artefacts of time and history fit together. I'm sure that the impact he will exert isn't done. For now, as Mendez transitions from this existence to another, we shall not say goodbye; instead, in the words of Sandwell District, where next?