LAURE CROFT

For Laure Croft, techno has never been just about nightlife. Long before it became a profession, it was a place of becoming. A space where chosen family formed in basements and corridors, where identity sharpened under strobes, and where emotional truths surfaced without apology. Moving between Utrecht and Berlin, she approaches the dancefloor with a relationship rooted in lived experience rather than aesthetics, shaped by years spent listening, surviving, and learning in underground spaces.

That history is audible in her sets. Guided by her mantra “keep it sexy,” Laure approaches energy with patience and intent, treating the booth as a site of tension, restraint, and release rather than instant gratification. Playing vinyl as a tool rather than a statement, she builds long-form narratives that privilege physical connection over hype, trusting instinct while remaining grounded in discipline. Her sound moves from slow-burning hypnosis to heavy pressure, always emphasizing flow, timing, and emotional honesty.

Beyond the decks, Laure’s work extends into the structures that hold the culture together. As the founder of Sexyrecs, a Kinky Sundays resident, and a regular presence at Berlin’s RSO, she understands queer underground spaces not as style but as infrastructure. They are places where safety enables risk, where vulnerability fuels experimentation, and where freedom is collective rather than performative. In this interview, Laure reflects on endurance, identity, discipline, and the quiet choices that shape a life committed to techno with intention.

For Laure Croft, techno has never been a destination. It has been a process of becoming. Long before Utrecht and Berlin became coordinates on a touring map, the club was already a place where life unfolded. Hallways, toilets, basements, dancefloors. Not as nightlife, but as sites of encounter, survival, and recognition.

“Techno echoes through every part of my daily life. The people I love most, my chosen family, entered my life in hallways, toilets, basements, and on dancefloors. It shaped me emotionally, socially, and spiritually. Before techno, I passed through other scenes, but this was the language that stayed with me long after the lights came up.”

What Laure carries from the underground is not nostalgia, but lived knowledge. Lessons that extend far beyond the booth, shaping how she moves through the world.

“In everyday life, I recognize lessons that only underground spaces could teach me that no therapist could fully articulate. Many of us met each other at rock bottom, grew together, and somehow found ourselves healthy, grounded, and winning in our own ways. That kind of growth is inseparable from the culture that held us.”

Commitment, for her, has never been unquestioning loyalty. It has been earned through friction, disappointment, and self-confrontation.

“The underground was not always kind to me. At times, it felt like it failed me, until I realized I had been failing myself. That realization changed everything. Life takes its toll, but it also sharpens you. Learning never stops, healing never finishes, and techno remains everything society is not.”

Laure’s sets are not about reaction. They are about relationships. Her connection to the dancefloor begins in the body, not the head.

“I am a junky for emotional connection. Once that bond with the crowd exists, everything else disappears. I am not calculating or planning. I feel first. If something hits me in the body, I trust it will hit them, too. That physical response is always my starting point.”

This instinctive approach places her firmly in opposition to hype-driven DJing.

“There is a big difference between following and leading, and I choose to lead. I like guiding people into places they did not know they were ready for. That comes from trusting instinct, not chasing reactions. When I play, thinking shuts off and the body takes over.”

Her resistance to trends is not ignorance, but integrity.

“I see trends, I listen, I stay curious, but I never abandon my instinctive sound. Playing something I do not feel would be fake. Performative DJing does not interest me. I want the crowd to feel me, not consume me. Real connection cannot be rushed.”

For Laure, queer underground spaces were never about aesthetics. They were about conditions.

“Queer spaces were never about how things looked to me. They were about what became possible inside them. They created the conditions to feel safe, to experiment, and to exist without explanation. That is infrastructure, not aesthetics.”

Those environments reshaped her understanding of belonging.

“After years of feeling alienated, queer underground spaces made me feel like an insider. Still an alien, but surrounded by other aliens. That is where I learned who I was, and how to read a room through safety, tension, vulnerability, and desire.”

They also taught her how to take risks responsibly.

“Queer spaces taught me that taking risks is essential. It is better to fail honestly than to perform perfectly. Safety does not mean comfort. It means trust. That principle guides how I play, how I curate, and how I hold space.”

Extended sets are where Laure’s philosophy becomes fully embodied. Time stretches. Control loosens.

“An all-night long set requires a completely different mindset. Nothing can be rushed. You have to settle into time. Preparation matters, but so does vulnerability. Standing alone in a room with no safety net is terrifying and beautiful at the same time.”

Her relationship to pacing is guided, not imposed.

“I guide people by the hand during long sets. I do not drag them or throw them into the deep end too early. Push and pull, restraint and release, those decisions are not calculated. They are felt in real time.”

Uncertainty is not something she avoids. It is something she trusts.

“There are moments in long sets where I honestly have no idea what I am doing, and those are often the best moments. Overthinking stops, listening deepens, and trust takes over. Knowing when to push and when to hold back is a feeling, not a strategy.”

For Laure, instinct is supported by structure. Freedom is earned through preparation.

“Instinct does not exist without discipline. My preparation is precise so that I can be free on the floor. The heart listens to the room, and the head maintains structure. That balance is what allows instinct to feel effortless.”

Her relationship to imperfection is deliberate.

“Perfection has never been the goal for me. It feels boring and fake. The beauty is in the cracks, in raw transitions, in moments that feel human. Even small mistakes can add something if you stay present with them.”

Physical stamina and emotional presence are inseparable in her work.

“Endurance feels like running a marathon that is emotional as much as physical. Staying present hour after hour means listening not only to the room, but to yourself. Returning to breath, body, and connection is what keeps the exchange alive.”

Letting go of ego was part of learning how to last.

“I had to learn that people leaving during long sets is not rejection. Fatigue is not judgment. Endurance is staying committed even as the room thins out, playing with intention for those who remain and for yourself.”

Public perception has never captured her whole reality.

“People often mistake me for being cold or arrogant, but in reality, I am deeply empathetic. A giver, when treated with respect. What you see is not an act. There is no split between my public presence and my private self.”

What opposition revealed was not fragility, but clarity.

“There were many attempts to dim my light. What those moments revealed was not weakness, but clarity. I did not become louder or harder. I became more precise. What was meant to diminish me became fuel. Success for me right now is alignment. When my inner world, my values, and the life I am building are no longer in conflict. Filling clubs, building Sexyrecs, and creating spaces where people feel free and connected are all expressions of that alignment.”

Boundaries are not barriers. They are foundations.

“Protecting my energy is not selfish; it is necessary. My non-negotiables are honesty, respect, and environments that allow growth. Without pressure and resistance, nothing blooms.”

The choice to continue is conscious, shared, and fragile.

“This life is inseparable from who I am. In the sweat, the tears, and the closeness of bodies moving together, I feel most present and most alive. Its future exists only because we continue to choose it with intention, care, and responsibility.”

Listening to Laure Croft speak about techno feels less like an interview and more like being allowed into a private logic. What stays with me is not a genre, a tempo, or a scene, but a way of moving through life with attention and responsibility. Her relationship with the dancefloor is built on trust, endurance, and an uncommon willingness to remain open, even when it would be easier to harden. In an era that often rewards immediacy and performance, Laure’s practice reminds us that depth is not loud, and integrity does not rush. Some artists fill rooms. Others hold them. Laure does the latter, and she does it by choice.