A: Growing up between cultures is very different from spending your whole life in one place. I'm Dutch-Indonesian, born in Colombia, raised in the United States and the Netherlands, and now based in Singapore. That layered background shaped how I see identity, and I probably never really fit in anywhere quite as much as a local.
Living across cultures taught me that reality isn't experienced in quite the same way by everyone. People grow up within different systems of meaning, values and assumptions, yet beneath those differences there is always a shared human thread.
That perspective influences my music. I'm comfortable with contrast, blending influences and moving between genres, but I'm ultimately more interested in what connects people than what separates them.
A: Losing two of my closest friends at nineteen forced me to confront questions I hadn't expected to face so early: mortality, meaning and how to live a life that feels authentic.
I don't think those questions ever have final answers, but they changed the way I approached life. They led me to study psychology, to question many of the assumptions I had inherited, and to become more intentional about how I choose to live.
Looking back, that experience shaped not only my music, but also the work I chose to pursue, the conversations I value and the person I've tried to become.
A: In the 1990s, places like Mazzo and Trance Buddha were far more than clubs. They were communities built around music, openness and shared experience. For me, they revealed that music could become something much larger than entertainment — it could create moments of genuine connection, transcendence and collective joy.
Those experiences eventually inspired me to DJ and produce electronic music.
With time, I also came to realise that while peak experiences can open doors, lasting growth comes from integrating what we discover into everyday life. That understanding has influenced both my music and the way I approach life.
A: It started simply with wanting to find the music I'd heard at parties. That curiosity eventually led me to Groove Connection in Amsterdam, where I spent countless hours discovering new records, learning from DJs and immersing myself in electronic music culture.
From there I began DJing, producing my own music and later founded Cytopia.org, one of the early online labels and distributors dedicated to Goa trance. I was fortunate to have music released by several labels and to become part of an international community of artists and producers.
As life evolved, so did my music. Electronic production gradually became more melodic and introspective, while my lifelong relationship with the guitar eventually led me back to songwriting.
Today those paths continue side by side: melodic electronic music as Servellen, and guitar-driven songs under my full name, Sander van Servellen.
A: Aeonica Music became the physical and creative home for both sides of my music.
I began building the studio in 2020, at a time when the world was in a strange place and many of us turned more deeply towards creativity. I wanted an environment where I could move from an idea to a finished recording without constantly interrupting the creative process.
Over time it developed into a sophisticated hybrid studio combining carefully selected analogue equipment with a modern digital workflow. More importantly, though, it became a place where I could explore ideas freely.
Aeonica eventually grew beyond the studio itself into the label and creative umbrella for the music I release, as well as a place where I can share some of what I learn about recording, production and sound along the way.
A: Because they are good at different things.
Digital tools offer extraordinary precision, flexibility, editing, automation and recall. Analogue equipment brings its own character, subtle nonlinearities and often a more immediate, instinctive way of shaping tone and dynamics.
I don't believe analogue is categorically better than software. Modern software has become astonishingly good, and in many situations it's clearly the more practical tool.
My experience, however, is that having access to both genuinely gives me more creative possibilities. Certain analogue processors still respond and shape sound in ways I find difficult to reproduce exactly in software, and sometimes simply interacting physically with an instrument or processor changes the way I make decisions.
The interesting part isn't arguing about analogue versus digital. It's understanding where each approach offers something useful and then choosing whatever best serves the music.
A: Very much so, although ideally the engineering should eventually disappear into the creative process.
Producing music requires me to move constantly between analytical and intuitive ways of thinking. One moment I might be deciding which microphone, preamp or converter is most appropriate. The next I'm playing a guitar or synthesizer and trying to express a feeling.
I don't see those perspectives as being in conflict. The point of understanding the technical side is to remove obstacles.
If I build the studio and workflow intelligently, then when an idea arrives I don't want to be thinking about routing or troubleshooting. I want to be able to follow it.
A: It usually starts with a question I genuinely want answered.
I might wonder whether an expensive converter actually sounds different from a more affordable one, what happens when the same recording passes through two different preamps, or whether I really hear what I think I'm hearing from a particular processor.
Once I've gone through the effort of comparing them for myself, it seems useful to share the results.
Microphones, preamplifiers, equalisers, compressors and converters can all influence a recording. Sometimes the differences are obvious and sometimes they're extremely subtle, but learning to recognise them has helped me make more intentional decisions.
I'm much less interested in declaring winners than in encouraging people to listen carefully. The internet already has plenty of strongly held opinions. I'd rather share what I hear and let people decide for themselves.
A: Many times.
There are moments when I wonder what it would be like to devote myself entirely to music. The idea is certainly appealing. But I've also come to realise that making music my sole livelihood would inevitably change my relationship with it.
When your survival depends on your art, it's difficult not to feel pressure to make what is commercially successful rather than what feels most honest. One of the great privileges of my professional career is that it allows me to approach music with complete creative freedom. I don't have to ask whether a song will generate enough streams or satisfy an algorithm before deciding whether it deserves to exist.
At the same time, I find genuine meaning in my work outside music. For more than two decades I've had the opportunity to work with universities, governments and research organisations to help strengthen research and innovation. It engages a different side of me and gives me a strong sense of purpose.
My professional life engages my intellect, while music gives me another space for emotion, introspection and creativity. Balancing the two isn't always easy, but I've come to believe that each has made the other richer.
Perhaps one day that balance will change. For now, I feel fortunate that I don't have to choose.
A: Music videos began as an experiment, but new creative technologies have made it possible for an independent artist to create visual worlds that would previously have required resources far beyond my reach.
I've always enjoyed storytelling, whether through writing, photography or music, so exploring the visual dimension feels like a natural extension of the creative process.
I'm interested in using imagery to deepen the atmosphere or ideas already present in a piece of music rather than simply illustrating it literally. Sometimes the visual story develops into something with its own meaning, which I find especially interesting.
A: Not at all.
Like most artists, I hope my music finds an audience. After investing so much time, emotion and care into creating something, it's only natural to want it to be heard. I won't pretend I'm indifferent when a release reaches very few listeners, and of course I'd love to share the music with more people.
The distinction for me is when the audience enters the process.
When I'm writing or producing, I try to create something that feels honest to me rather than predict what might be popular. If I start thinking about algorithms, streaming numbers or what people expect too early, I quickly lose the curiosity that made me want to create in the first place.
Once the music is finished, however, I absolutely hope it connects with others. Music has always been about communication as much as expression. If a song resonates with someone, helps them through a difficult period, or simply becomes part of their life in some small way, that's incredibly meaningful to me.
So yes, I want the music to be heard. I simply don't want the pursuit of an audience to determine what I create.
A: First and foremost, Aeonica is the creative home for the music I make and release.
But I also hope it appeals to people who share some of the same curiosity — listeners who care about the music itself, artists and producers interested in the craft of making records, or anyone fascinated by the relationship between creativity, technology and sound.
You can explore my electronic work as Servellen, my guitar-driven music as Sander van Servellen, or dive further into the studio, production process and stories behind the releases here at Aeonica Music.
However you arrived, you're very welcome here.