INTERVIEW BY SEAN OCEAN
Detroit techno is often characterized by its structural resilience and its ability to continually reinvent itself culturally. Rebecca Goldberg has emerged as a figure of the contemporary era, operating not merely as a DJ but as a sophisticated multidisciplinary artist whose work encompasses music production, live performance, graphic design, and acoustic ecology. Her professional trajectory is deeply rooted in the unique environmental and cultural landscapes of Michigan. A relationship that informs a diverse creative output ranging from high-energy acid techno to experimental, site-specific soundscapes. By synthesizing the industrial textures of machine music with the naturalistic elements of the Great Lakes region, Goldberg represents a significant maturation of the Detroit sound, prioritizing historical archival, technical improvisation, and interdisciplinary collaboration.
Your background is unique for a DJ and techno producer, having earned a degree in American Culture from the University of Michigan. How did your studies in areas like feminist studies and the history of American popular music provide the “launchpad” for the empathy and curiosity you bring to your art today?
Studying American Culture gave me a foundation for understanding music as something deeply social and political, not just aesthetic. I am aware of whose voices are amplified and how power operates in creative spaces. This naturally translates into my empathy not only toward people, but toward sound itself and the contexts it comes from.
You’ve described yourself as a “multi-medium hustler,” integrating graphic design directly into your musical releases. When you are conceptualizing a project like the playing card-inspired artwork for the 313 Acid Queen EP, does the visual aesthetic typically precede the music, or do the two evolve simultaneously?
Most of the time, they evolve simultaneously. I don’t really experience sound and visual as separate processes and they’re in conversation from the beginning. A rough sonic idea will spark an image or symbol, and that visual language will then feed back into how the music develops.
The face card artwork for the 313 Acid Queen EP came from thinking about the way techno has historically defined itself through logos and symbols rather than literal imagery. Some of the most influential artists in the genre built entire worlds from simple, instantly recognizable logos. I was drawn to the idea of a big, bold, minimal design that carried as much weight as the music itself. The visual elements helped me lock in the mood and structure to become a part of a larger concept. Letting the music and visuals grow together keeps my projects cohesive and it allows them to feel like a complete package rather than just a collection of tracks.
In your project, The Arb, you used a 15-minute unit of time for both your audio recordings and the development of your cyanotype prints. Why is that specific timeframe significant to your meditative practice? Further, do you see 15 minutes as a sort of both literal and conceptual blueprint to base an idea on?
That fixed duration removes decision-making from the process. I’m not wondering “when should I stop?” It creates discipline. A proper cyanotype exposure takes about 15 minutes to process as well, so it wasn’t super deep how that part of it came about. Literally, it does structure the work as each piece is the result of the same process and time duration, whether it’s the recording or cyanotype print. Conceptually, it becomes an idea you can repeat, stack, or recontextualize. When working on any projects I like to create loose guidelines for myself.
For the BBC Radiophonic Workshop’s “Travel Agency Project,” you submitted “completely raw, unedited” recordings of Michigan landmarks. When you are on an “auditory hunting expedition,” how do you decide which environmental “imperfections”—like passing traffic or wind—should be kept to preserve the authenticity of the soundscape? Or is the irony of including traffic in the Motor City not lost on you?
When I’m recording I try to make decisions based on recognizing what belongs to a place in that moment, not so much about eliminating “imperfections”. For the BBC Radiophonic Travel Agency, the instruction to submit raw recordings aligned perfectly with how I already think about field recording as documentation. Passing traffic, wind, distant machinery or human presence are part of the acoustic landscape, not intrusions to be scrubbed out.
For most projects I’ll make intentional choices that I can control like: waiting for a specific kind of weather, visiting a site at a certain time of day, or deciding whether to avoid or deliberately seek out locations with heavy man-made noise. Sometimes I’ll skip a place because the sound is overwhelming, and other times that very condition is the point. Once I’m recording, though, I tend to include everything. There are always variables you can’t control, and I’m comfortable letting those in for the most part.Detroit’s identity is inseparable from industry, movement, and machines. It is most authentic to embrace those sounds and I don’t believe imperfection exists. What some might label as flaws are often the most honest markers of place, time and reality.
Through your Detroit Frequency workshops, you lead field recording tours to teach others how to observe the world through sound. What is the most surprising thing you’ve learned about Detroit’s shifting sonic character by listening to it alongside people of all different ages and experience levels?
One of the most surprising things I learned is just how much range Detroit holds within its borders. We had the opportunity to explore older and newer locations in the city and experienced urban density, near-rural quiet, industrial, bustling markets, and moments of near silence, all within Detroit. Listening together highlights how layered the city really is, and how Detroit isn’t defined by one sound or one narrative.
In the collaborative EP Buildings, you worked with SickBoy, somebody you had never met in person. How did you use photography and video of Detroit’s Art Deco skyscrapers to communicate a “sonic map” to a collaborator 4,600 miles away?
Because SickBoy was in Italy having never been to the States at all, and we had also never met in person, I needed a way to communicate Detroit without just words. Photography and video of the city and skyscrapers became a kind of shared visual language. Detroit techno has always traveled farther than the city itself. He was familiar with and influenced by the ideas of futurism, repetition and resistance before the project was conceptualized. The communication and visuals were the remaining key components in creating the final EP.
You’re noted to have a great and warm friendship with Stacey “Hotwaxx” Hale, some would say is the Godmother of House, who gifted you your first MPC. What is the most important lesson she taught you about maintaining innovation and the integrity of the Detroit techno tradition?
Stacey Hotwaxx Hale was my teacher long before I got to know her. She was spinning on the radio while I was obsessing over mixes and starting to dig deep into music. Of course I didn’t realize how uniquely special it was to have this sort of programming on FM airwaves while coming up! After finally meeting her and developing a connection over the years, Hotwaxx solidified my deep respect for her hard work. Putting in the time, learning the tools, and showing up consistently are her keys to longevity. Equally important was her emphasis on community building and mentorship. Detroit Techno survives because knowledge is shared. By giving guidance, creating opportunities, and lifting others up, as she does, you’re not just preserving a tradition you’re actively pushing it forward.
While your moniker, 313 Acid Queen, has been a pillar of your identity, you’ve mentioned you don’t want to be “bound to genre”. How do you balance honoring the legacy and love of Midwest Acid Techno while exploring your interests in more John Cage-influenced, experimental, ambient, or “mineral” sounds?
313 Acid Queen started as a way to claim where I’m from and what shaped me. That foundation will always be there. Acid techno taught me how to listen to repetition, tension, and subtle change. It’s boundless and experimental in its own right. My interest in John Cage, ambient, and more avant garde leaning work comes from the same place. I am curious about texture, space, and the possibilities of manipulating sound. Sometimes that energy wants to be loud and physical, sometimes it wants to be quiet and strictly environmental. Whether I’m working with a squelching acid bassline or field recordings, I’m still thinking about place, time, and the embodiment of sound.
It’s also a fun alias to use for releasing projects or special performances.
To touch upon that “mineral” sound a bit further. We’re not talking about “rock music” here, are we? Or is it a euphemism for crystalline synergies?
We’re referring to organic, environmental sounds. In my work I use field recordings that I capture in varying spaces where the landscape itself becomes the instrument
Dive into your live sets. You’re on hardware, is that correct? How do you prep for your sets? Do you have a mix-and-match approach with loops on hand, or do you focus on good sound design and tracking sequences on the fly?
Yes, my live sets are hardware-based. I’m drawn to hardware because it keeps the process physical and responsive and feels closer to performance than playback. My setup and process give me just enough structure and leaves room for risk and improvisation. To prepare a live set I focus more on sound design and building strong, flexible sequences rather than locking myself into a fixed arrangement. I’ll have a collection of patterns, textures, and rhythms from my machines that I know well, but they’re intentionally open-ended. Loops can be extended or reworked in the moment depending on the room and the energy. I’m focused on creating something that only exists in that moment. I use my own handwritten annotations as a self-invented sheet music. Writing them by hand is necessary and part of the muscle memory of my prep. The balance between preparation and spontaneity is what keeps live sets going for me.
How do you focus on making an entirely improvised live set happen while feeling the energy of the crowd? Do you pay attention to just one person who is completely vibing, or is your peripheral vision picking up on cues that you are particularly clued into?
Like I said there is always some level of preparedness when I’m playing live. While I’m in the moment I am confident with my arrangements, tools and cues and I’m not overthinking it. I’m focused on the sounds and manipulating them in real time. I’m not locking in on any single person, but I do notice clusters of energy. I notice how bodies are moving, where attention is rising or drifting and when the room collectively leans in.
