A.D.H.S.

There is a particular electricity that threads through Berlin after midnight. It lives in basements, in the dust of old factories, in the pulse of rooms where bodies move as if following an ancient ritual written in kick drums. For A.D.H.S., that electricity was never an aesthetic choice. It was recognition. A mirror. The moment he walked into Hammerhalle at Sisyphos years ago, long before he lived in the city, something clicked so profoundly that it rearranged the interior map of his life. He remembers it with absolute clarity.

“The energy in that room just hit me straight in the chest. It felt raw, alive, and somehow familiar.”

That night became the origin story of everything that followed: leaving his hometown, taking DJing seriously, and eventually producing music that would travel far beyond the boundaries of Berlin. A single instant of alignment that revealed not only what he loved, but who he was. The city built the foundation; the rave gave him the vocabulary. What came after was speed, momentum, and the kind of artistic formation that can only happen when someone realizes they are finally exactly where they belong.

Every career has a point when the circle suddenly widens, when a personal language becomes collective, when a once-private instinct unexpectedly resonates across continents. For A.D.H.S., that turning point was not tied to strategy or visibility, but to a track he almost ignored.

“I had zero expectations for Zulu. I didn’t even plan to release it.”

But he sent it. And then the world sent something back. Clips began appearing of the biggest DJs in the world playing it everywhere from Awakenings to Miami. Huge moments unfolding around a track he almost kept buried on his hard drive. It was the shockwave that made him realize his sound was no longer a local expression but an expanding, global pulse.

Momentum followed: releases, touring, and viral clips that cemented his presence on the world stage. Yet if you listen closely to how he reflects on those years, there is something grounded beneath the movement. His evolution was never about scale. It was always about clarity. Each stage, each set, each city made him understand another angle of what he was becoming.

The next chapter required its own architecture. K__ZPT arrived as both vessel and declaration. A place where conceptual intention is not an accessory but the backbone of the project.

“I’ve always been drawn to conceptual music. Albums with a theme, a world, a deeper artistic intention.”

His latest release, SEHT IHR NICHT?!, is the clearest example. It was born not from club euphoria but from pressure: the climate crisis, the silence surrounding it, the emotional weight that grew until it had to become sound. In the world of A.D.H.S., music and imagery are inseparable. A track is never just a track; it is a scene, a narrative, a psychological landscape. K__ZPT gives that instinct a home, one that major labels often cannot.

“Music and imagery belong together. That’s how you reach people on a subconscious level.”

The mission extends beyond himself. He wants artists to express the second and third layer of their vision, the ones that never fit into a standard release strategy. A track with a world behind it, a piece with a message too heavy or too specific to be reduced to an algorithm. K__ZPT is built for intention, not convenience.

His new In the Dark EP on EXHALE captures the feeling of wandering through an unfamiliar metropolis at 3 AM, guided only by light and instinct. The two tracks come from opposite worlds but share the same nocturnal axis. Shanghai inspired the title track, a city he describes as hyper-saturated and illuminated from every angle.

“Maxed Out was born in London, where everything feels grittier and more raw.”

The contrast is the point. One track is razor-sharp and trance-bright; the other heavy, rough and charged with rave tension. But both reveal something about how A.D.H.S. perceives the emotional architecture of cities: every skyline has a soundtrack, every corner a BPM.

For an artist who has played some of the biggest stages in the world, few moments have struck as deeply as his back-to-back with Thomas Schumacher at Fusion Festival. The memory carries an almost reverent tone.

“It felt like we were creating those two hours together.”

Fusion is a place where the crowd listens differently, where attention becomes devotion. A.D.H.S. describes a kind of purity: rave culture before algorithms, before commercial polish, before the world shifted. During that set he felt something crack open, an overwhelming sense of connection that brought tears afterward. It became a reminder of why he began in the first place and why places like Fusion matter: they are cultural ecosystems, not commercial machines.

Can’t Hear You began far from Berlin, on a beach in Sri Lanka. No pressure, no deadlines, just emotion. He played the early version a few times, posted a small clip, and then the story took an unexpected turn.

“Bart saw it, messaged me, and asked if I could send it over.”

The collaboration was defined not by heavy reconstruction but by precision. Skils stripped the track to its essence, allowing the emotion of the original moment to remain intact. The lead, the chords, the vocals: untouched. What changed was the breath between them. The soul of Sri Lanka stayed; the structure matured.

Taking on a new interpretation of Thomas Schumacher’s Schall required careful internal negotiation. He hesitated. He questioned whether he could add something meaningful to a track with enormous cultural weight.

“I only want to touch a track if I immediately hear ideas.”

Schall demanded both respect and vision. The first drop had to remain; the emotional architecture needed space. His goal was not reinvention but modernization, giving the track the impact needed for today’s dancefloors while protecting its historical DNA. Once the concept crystallized, the production flowed easily. The story he wanted to tell was already there; he only needed to translate it.

Memoro reveals another dimension of his identity: his affinity for big, heavy, atmospheric basements and dystopian soundscapes.

“I really connect with the dark aesthetic of Memoro.”

The EP’s second track, John Doe, deepens his fascination with cinematic storytelling, weaving filmic scenes into techno frameworks. It also nods to Joyhauser, whose massive hooks influenced him in his early days. The release became the perfect moment to embrace memorable, high-impact motifs without abandoning the emotional weight that defines him.

Playing across Asia, South America, Europe and beyond has shown him one truth repeatedly: distance does not dilute emotion.

“It’s always powerful to realise something you created on your laptop is being felt by people 10,000 kilometers away.”

He sees cultural differences not as barriers but as amplifiers. Every crowd carries its own frequency, its own emotional rhythm, its own way of surrendering to music. What travels is not sound, but intention.

With K__ZPT, EXHALE, Memoro, Drumcode, and collaborations all intersecting at the same time, A.D.H.S. feels one part of himself shifting faster than the rest: his musical identity.

“Sometimes it even feels like I evolve a bit too fast.”

He moves through tempos, textures, and emotional palettes, always exploring without losing his core. And right now, that evolution pulls him back to the sound that shaped him at the beginning: when techno was still subculture, not the mainstream soundtrack to nightlife. Raw, emotional, honest.

This is the energy he wants for K__ZPT: a platform where artistic freedom overrides conformity, where tracks that need to exist will exist, regardless of whether they fit a playlist. A home for experimentation, breakbeat, ambient, cinematic fragments, heavier club weapons and everything in between. A space where intention tells the story, not algorithms.

A.D.H.S. is not chasing expansion. He is building depth. And in the world he constructs, the night is never just darkness; it is a canvas. A place where cities speak, emotions fuse and identities evolve in real time.

What began in a crowded Berlin room years ago continues now across continents, in festivals, in labels, in the moments between beats where an artist recognizes himself again.