Some artists create music; others sculpt environments, bending sound into something immersive, physical, almost alive. Dragana operates in that in-between space, where music isn’t just heard—it’s felt and absorbed. Her work thrives on tension and release, on frequencies that unsettle before they soothe, on the idea that sound doesn’t just exist in a vacuum but is shaped by the spaces it inhabits.
In this conversation, we step into her world—one where context is king, silence speaks as loudly as distortion, and the line between sound and sensation is deliberately blurred. We talk about the places that shape her work and the emotions she aims to evoke.
Q: What role does context play in your performances?
A: The music is the context. A sound in a warehouse isn’t the same as sound in a forest. The way the air moves, how the walls absorb or reject frequencies, how the people in the room shift their weight - it all feeds back into the sound.
Q: You work a lot with tension and release—how do you approach this in your sets?
A: I like to hold a moment until it almost breaks, then either let it collapse or twist it into something unexpected. Silence is part of it, too. Sometimes the best way to create tension is to play with the feeling that something is about to happen.
Q: Are there particular environments (physical or emotional) that you feel enhance the experience of your sets?
A: Anywhere that feels like a threshold. A completely blacked-out room with no sense of walls or scale. Where your ears do all the seeing. A brutalist concrete bunker, where the low-end swallows you whole. A vast, open field where the sound dissolves into the horizon. Buildings with half-finished walls. Airports at 3AM. Deserted locations… Places where time stretches, where reality feels slightly off. Emotionally…The space between memory and dream - when you’re half-awake and unsure if what you’re hearing is real or fantasy.
Q: How do you select the tracks that make up your sets?
A: I don’t always fully prepare. Sometimes I just set up and see what emerges. A lot of it is about finding a balance between control and chaos - guiding the texture without taming it too much.
Q: Do you see your sets as storytelling, or is it more about creating a state of mind?
A: It’s a place, not a story. If you step into it, you might find a narrative, but it’s not one I’m telling.
More like a landscape with no map.
Q: Are there any non-musical influences that shape your approach?
A: Weather. Architecture. Sensuality. Cinematic sound design, especially when it’s more felt than heard. I like music that behaves like fog - seeping into space, rather than occupying it.
Q. Do you work with improvisation, or is your expression tightly structured?
A: Both. The best moments happen in the liminal between improvisation and structure. When a system is structured enough to create something unexpected and lets you respond in real time.
Q: Do you think the audience’s perception of sounds shifts depending on the cultural or social setting?
Definitely. In some places, people let the sound wash over them. In others, they dissect it, looking for structure where there isn’t one. I like when people stop trying to figure it out and just listen. If it doesn’t feel like you’re inside the sound, I haven’t done my job.
Q: Do you see yourself integrating other art forms or disciplines into your work?
A: Sound is already visual, physical, architectural. I’d like to work more with spaces that shift based on the frequencies inside them.
Q: What emotions or thoughts do you hope to evoke in your listeners?
A: Disorientation evolving into clarity. A sense of being nowhere and everywhere at once. I want the sound to pull you under, to make you forget where the edges are - like walking into a fog so dense you can’t tell if you're moving forward or standing still. And then, just when you surrender to the drift, something sharp cuts through - a frequency, a shift in texture, a sudden silence - that makes you realise you've been holding your breath.
It’s about dissolving perception, then snapping it back into focus. Like waking up from a dream you weren’t sure you wanted to leave.
EXPLORE MORE
Art week Shows:
Comments