A DJ controller changed the way Singhara heard music. Given to him in 2016, it offered something that listening alone could not: the ability to shape a song in real time, to stretch a passage, redirect its energy and discover another possibility inside it. The machine became an instrument because it gave his imagination something to play.
“Although a controller is a machine, it allowed music to feel elastic, stretchable, and malleable—it allowed my mind to play with music for the first time,” he tells LAPSOFLUX.
That sense of discovery runs through his account of becoming a producer and performer. His interest in music and instruments began earlier, but the controller gave it a practical language. Since then, he has pursued production across genres while learning multiple instruments. What holds those interests together is a desire to move people physically and emotionally, sometimes within the same phrase.
A Dance Floor With an Emotional Life
Singhara traces his sound to rave culture and the experience of hearing electronic music through festival-scale sound systems. The attraction was both bodily and emotional: the force of a beat, the atmosphere around it and the feeling that a crowd could inhabit something together.
“My music is known for being emotive and euphoric, while still catering to the dance music space,” he says.
His influences resist a narrow genre description. He names Pharrell, Mumford and Sons, Kanye, Skrillex, Tripolism, The Beatles, Sting and Radiohead. These are musicians with different approaches to rhythm, songwriting, texture and performance. For Singhara, they form a palette rather than a set of boundaries.
That breadth helps explain why his creative process changes from session to session. Sometimes he starts at the piano and keeps playing until an idea holds his attention. Sometimes a drum groove provides the foundation. Working with collaborators from a blank canvas brings another kind of energy, with the pleasure and difficulty of discovering a direction together.
He does not describe a formula for reproducing an earlier success. He describes ways of remaining available to the next idea.
When the Title Comes First
For his albums Still Waters, Mocean and Rooted, the titles of the songs came before the music. That reversed the order of his usual work. A title established an atmosphere or suggestion before there was a composition to express it.
The approach suits his understanding of the album as a complete narrative. A track has its own identity, but it also sits within a sequence. Its emotional effect depends partly on what precedes it and what follows.
One session remains especially vivid. While making “Sunsets on Jupiter” with Zach Langlois for Still Waters, Singhara recorded live violin for the first time. The piece became the album’s ninth and final track.
“The music that was recorded, produced, and brought together in the studio that day felt like magic, and it will forever live within the record,” he recalls.
The memory is specific because it captures something he could not reduce to a technical achievement. The instruments, production and people involved brought the record to a conclusion that felt right to him. The finished track became a place where the atmosphere of the session could survive.
Protecting the Curiosity That Makes the Work
The practical demands of an independent music career can pull against that openness. Singhara speaks candidly about the tension between creative curiosity and the administrative work required to sustain it.
“I find that the more I dig into the logistical, white-collar duties of the business, the more the childlike nature and curiosity within me suffer,” he says.
He also recognises the reverse problem: creative immersion does not remove professional responsibilities. The challenge is to give both parts enough attention without allowing either to overwhelm the other.
Pricing his work has been particularly difficult. He distinguishes the value he believes he creates from the amount another person is willing to pay for it. Negotiating those differences can unsettle an artist’s confidence, especially when an offer begins to feel like a judgement on the work itself.
His response is practical and repeated: consistency, experimentation, discipline and the willingness to recover from disappointment. He does not suggest that confidence arrives once and remains intact. It has to be rebuilt through the work.
For other musicians, his advice begins with the same idea of creative openness that the controller first gave him.
“Music doesn’t come from us, it comes through us,” he says.
The People Around the Performance
Asked for a memorable show, Singhara names his appearance with The Coffee Party at The Well in Toronto in May 2025. He remembers the whole setting: weather, audience, sound system, season, location and lineup.
The performance mattered because those elements came together. A successful set could not be separated from the conditions that allowed people to experience it.
That extends to the time around the music. His shows create opportunities to talk, dance and connect before and after the set. The audience is made up of people he can meet, rather than a response to be measured from behind the equipment.
In his spring 2026 interview, Singhara said he was working on a fourth album. He described returning to the drawing board with the excitement of a storyteller, imagining a record experienced from beginning to end.
For him, the possibilities are expansive: joy, sadness, harmony, movement. An album can offer each of those feelings without settling into only one. The ambition is to make a journey that holds them together—and to leave enough space for the listener to bring a life of their own into it.
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