Between Spaces
For a brief stretch of time, music wasn’t something I escaped into after work. It was the work. I lived inside it. I programmed rooms, moods, and expectations. I learned how sound behaves when it’s given architecture, lighting, a bar, and a crowd. How a night can open slowly, or collapse if you don’t do it right!
As music director for a group of Bangkok clubs known for inviting the outside world in, I sat between instinct and obligation. BEAMCUBE was intuition-led, music that felt like muscle memory. BEAM was different. Larger, louder, and less forgiving. A room that asked questions I didn’t always know how to answer. What does relevance sound like when you’re no longer the target demographic? What does progress mean when the floor wants familiarity?
I stopped pretending I knew. Instead, I listened. To rooms filling and emptying. To the generational gaps. To my own resistance. Programming became less about taste and more about tension; how far you can stretch a room before it snaps, how to seduce without surrendering.
It wasn’t romantic all the time. It was logistics, emails, tech and hospitality riders. But it was also presence. Standing at the door. Walking artists through a city and acting as a translator between cultures, tempos, and expectations. I was there, fully.
Then the doors closed. Abruptly. I returned to corporate rhythms: calendars, desks, weekends as islands. Financially safer. Temporally poorer. The freedom to drift, to be changed by cities and conversations, is suddenly rationed.
This mix exists in that in-between space. A document of motion and pause. A residue of nights spent shaping air. A personal archive, maybe a soft ending, maybe a false one. A fable, if you like open-ended, unresolved, still humming quietly after the lights come up. This mix for Phelt Magazine’s Fables series is a reflection of that chapter. Some stories don’t really end… they just change tempo.
*Recorded at home in Bangkok, Thailand (2026)
