Tone Glow 151: Juan Atkins

An interview with the "Godfather of Techno" about being raised by his grandmother, meeting George Clinton, and collaborating with Moritz von Oswald

Juan Atkins

Photo courtesy of the artist

Juan Atkins (b. 1962) is a pioneering artist from Detroit who is credited with being the originator of techno music. A lifelong music lover, he was deeply inspired by Funkadelic and played bass in funk bands as a kid. Later, his grandmother would buy him a Korg MS-10 synthesizer, leading to him eventually make music in Cybotron. Alongside Rik Davis, the two would release songs like “Clear” and “Alleys of Your Mind” that would serve as foundational texts in the style known as electro. Atkins would found the record label Metroplex in 1985, and would release a slew of records in numerous groups and under various aliases throughout his career, including Model 500, Infiniti, and Borderland. Most recently, he released a song as Model 500 titled “I.D.L.E.” for a compilation released by Tresor. In August, he will perform under the same moniker at Houghton Festival in the UK.

Joshua Minsoo Kim talked with Atkins on June 6th, 2024 via Zoom to discuss his upbringing, the artists who influenced his sound, how he considered Cybotron different from contemporaneous hip-hop, and more.

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Joshua Minsoo Kim: How’s your day been?

Juan Atkins: I’m usually working in the studio at night so I’m just waking up. I’ve only been up for about an hour.

Have you always typically worked on that night-owl schedule?

It organically works out that way. It’s more quiet at night and there’s not a lot of business going on, so it allows you to be creative. Most people are asleep.

I totally get that. Even just the fact that my dog’s asleep is crucial.

Yeah, exactly.

So you were born in Detroit in 1962. Can you paint a picture for me of what it was like to grow up there? What was it like to hang out there?

Well, I wasn’t hanging out. I was just born—I was only hanging out on my mom and dad’s lap (laughter). I can’t really remember so much back then—it’s so, so long ago. My grandma more or less brought us up. My father was incarcerated for most of my life and my mom was so young, so basically my grandma adopted us and was more or less my mother. She used to take us to Belle Isle Park, which is a park in Detroit out in the middle of the river. She would take us there in the summertime and we had a picnic basket. That’s one of the vivid memories I have of being in Detroit with my grandma. She had a Hammond B3 organ and took me to a music store. That’s where I picked up my first synth.

What we her name?

Lily. God rest her soul, she’s passed now.

Can you talk to me more about her? Do you feel like parts of her personality rubbed off on you?

She was a typical inner-city Black grandma in Detroit. If you can imagine that, you’d be pretty close. She was really outspoken. She was my mom—she taught me everything in terms of etiquette and how to hold my fork and knife and what things to do and what not to do when you’re in a dinner meeting. She taught me how to court girls (laughter).

What’d she say in terms of courting girls?

Ah, well she gave me pointers. One of the things I remember is that when you’re with a girl and she’s with a friend, talk to the one you’re not interested in—that will make the girl you’re interested in like you more.

Do you have any memories of her playing the Hammond B3?

She used to play the boogie-woogie. She surprised me one day because I didn’t see her play often. It wasn’t like she was always playing. I came home from school one day and I saw her playing the boogie-woogie and I was like, “Dang grandma, I didn’t know you had it like that.”

Did she try to instill a love for music in you?

She didn’t try to engage in lessons or anything; she just let me fly on my own. The thing is, during the early years she probably didn’t think I was serious when I was playing around with the organ. She thought I was just playing it because it was there. As time went on, she took more notice because I stuck with it and was serious. As I got older, she bought my first synth at the store I mentioned earlier. It was at the back in the synth room. This must’ve been the mid-70s. The Korg MS-10 and Minimoog had just been released to the normal public; it was cheap enough to where a guy like myself could afford to buy a synth. So my grandma was watching, but watching from afar. She was watching but wouldn’t tell you she was watching, and then all of a sudden she’d give you a gift to let you know that she was paying attention.

What was her reaction to when you had those first records out in the 1980s?

Oh man, she was my biggest fan—she was my biggest fan. At this particular time we were all living in the same house—it was her, my dad, and myself. They went through late nights of me banging on the synth! But they never told me to stop. They could’ve said that it was getting late and that they needed to get sleep, but nobody ever stopped me.

I know you were in funk bands during your teenage years. Did you guys practice at your place?

Nah. Normally I’d play in somebody else’s basement or garage. This is like the pre-teen years. My father bought me my first electric guitar for my 10th birthday. The amplifier was built into the guitar case. Later on, Garry Shider from Funkadelic offered to buy that from me. At this time, he was friends with some other friends who were living in the same building. Mike Banks, Eddie Fowlkes, and Gabe Gonzalez—and other people who played with P-Funk—lived in that building as well. These players would come by and visit these guys, and Gabe brought Garry Shider up to my place and I got to meet him. Of course Funkadelic was iconic for me, so to have Garry Shider in my house was an honor.

When was this?

This was recent. Not recent recent but the techno movement had already started, Metroplex and Cybotron had already started. We were already at the top of our game. We always said in interviews that P-Funk were such a great influence, and around the same time I met George Clinton! You know, I had a sentimental value with this guitar because my dad bought it for my 10th birthday. I don’t have it now but the dude offered me $500 for it.

A lot of people in the neighborhood played with P-Funk, and most of the band was from Detroit. I can’t remember the actual first time I met George. I had a friend named Rob O’Dell who collaborated with me on the Mind and Body (1999) album, but he was working at a studio in East Detroit. It doubled as a recording institute in Detroit and George Clinton did a couple of sessions out there. I can’t remember when I met George for the first time but I think it was through this guy Rob.

One time we actually went to his house and he had a farm. It was out in the middle of nowhere in like Fenton, Michigan. We went into his front room and, at this time, when you were collaborating with someone you had to give somebody a physical tape. Email wasn’t even around at this time. So if we wanted to give George a track at this time, we had to physically pass it to the person. He might have been doing a session at United Sound, and it was funny because they needed a piece of gear and I lived right down the street from United Sound. Someone called me up and was like, “George is over here doing a session, can we borrow this?” and I had it! That may have been the first time I met him.

Did you two get along?

It was great. That was my idol, man. He would have these stories. He was always telling stories about the adventures he and the group had. He’d look at the situation and say a sentence, and within that sentence it was like a thousand words. You’d have to carefully process what he said in a few words. He said a lot with little. And that’s a gift that most poets and writers have.

Are you able to link the P-Funk stuff to the music you were doing early on with Cybotron?

I didn’t want to copy somebody’s music. And plus, what I was doing was way fast-forward. Yeah, there was inspiration. In particular, one of the things that transferred over and that would stand out from a lot of the P-Funk was the handclaps. Those loud handclaps were an actual staple of P-Funk and a lot of funk music in general—there was a lot of emphasis on the 2 and the 4. Even with “Alleys of Your Mind,” I literally programmed some white noise to make that handclap and that was inspired by P-Funk songs.

I know you’ve said in previous interviews that Kraftwerk was an influence. Those are the two artists I usually hear. Were there any others?

Around that time, there was Gary Numan with “Cars.” There was Yellow Magic Orchestra. There was the Human League. A lot of Euro synth pop. Our music and all of that music was in parallel. The main thing that I was listening to at a very early age was P-Funk, and that’s what I always say.

I do want to ask about Yellow Magic Orchestra. Was there a specific song?

“Firecracker.” That was the main song. [Legendary Detroit radio DJ] Electrifying Mojo played that and a lot of the records that influenced me was what Electrifying Mojo was playing. That was one of his staple songs.

You were in this band when you were a pre-teen and then you were in Cybotron with Rik and Jon-5. Do you feel like there were specific things you learned about playing in a group context as a kid that helped you out when you got older and did Cybotron?

Whenever you collaborate with somebody else, it’s the same type of protocol. Nothing really changes. You have to collaborate, which means you work off of somebody else’s ideas. Even today, it’s the same. You’re ping-ponging ideas to each other. I might come in and play a bassline and Rik might play something else, like a topline, or it could be vice versa. And we keep going back and forth—you keep hitting ideas to each other.

Do you feel like the songs on Enter (1983) were easy to make?

It’s a process. Every song is different, every collaboration is different. Some you put a little bit more work into than others. Some ideas work and some ideas don’t. This process is about building.

I wanted to ask about some of the stuff you made in the 1980s. You had Visions with Anthony “Shake” Shakir. You had Channel One with Doug Craig. You had Kreem with Kevin Saunderson. What was it like to work with each of them? Did they have a specific style that you had to navigate?

It wasn’t necessarily a specific style, but everyone had their own personality. Every individual is an individual. I don’t expect to get the same bassline from “Shake” that I would from Kevin. Everything comes along with the personality of the person. With those particular artists—the Metroplex artists—it wasn’t so much of a 50/50 collaboration so much as it was them coming in with a track and if I thought something needed embellishment I would embellish it. For the most part, most of the tracks were just all them.

So what was it like with “Triangle of Love” then with Kevin?

“Triangle of Love” was my bassline, and Kevin—along with everyone else he worked with—put everything else on that record. But that was just me giving him a bassline and going, “here you go.” And then he did all the rhythm tracks and everything around it.

Did you ever have specific directions for how the vocals would sound? That track in particular sounds like something that was similar to Latin freestyle from around the time.

Unless I did the vocals on my own, any other vocalist was more or less the writer of the lyrics and everything. I would listen to vocals from different people and would maybe change a word or add a phrase, but for the most part, the ideas came from the person singing. There were rare cases where I’d have someone sing exactly what I wanted them to sing, but it was mostly their own creative forces.

Do you remember any songs where you had the specific lyrics and melodies planned out for someone else to sing?

Not really. I would sometimes put forth the chorus or the hook and let them write around the hook.

Were you keeping up with the electro-inspired hip-hop that was happening in the 1980s? I’m thinking about stuff from Whodini and Mantronix. When I think about the Audio Tech stuff that you dropped in the late ’80s, these things definitely feel like they’re in conversation.

Well, actually, they were keeping up with me. It wasn’t me keeping up with them. “Clear” (1983) was a precursor track.

Yeah, for sure.

“Clear” was at the forefront of that whole era.

Do you have any feelings about being an instrumental part of hip-hop’s DNA during the 1980s? Was that something you thought about at the time?

When you say hip-hop, everyone has a different description of what that means. The stuff that I was doing fell more into what the British called “electro.” It was more uptempo. When you say hip-hop, that’s synonymous with rap. And for me, rap was always too slow. The tempo was too slow. The stuff that I was doing with “Clear” and “Alleys of Your Mind” and “R-9” and “Future”—this was more dance-oriented. It was in the 124 to 136 tempo range. It was suited for dance floors. With rap you just sort of sway, and at the time I didn’t consider rap to be dance music.

Do you dance a lot yourself?

I mean, I can (laughter). I can keep a beat, let’s put it that way.

Did you ever have this relationship with your body where you thought about it with your songs? Like, did you envision how people would move?

I wasn’t making music for specific dances. It was just rhythm.

You mentioned that the British called your music electro. Do you remember the first time you knew that your music was played in Europe?

Street Sounds reached out to me to license “Clear” so it could be on their compilation. They were based out of the UK. That was a signal that people were hearing that music.

When did you first head over there yourself?

1989 or 1990.

I’m curious about your experiences with that because you have those Output singles. “Escape,” for example, sounds a lot like a Detroit take on UK hardcore music.

That’s funny—you did some good research because I can barely even remember that record (laughter). Stuff was going back and forth. I can’t say that I wasn’t reacting to developments that were happening. You send an idea out there and somebody regurgitates it and sends it back, and then I regurgitate it and send it back. There were a couple instances where stuff like that happened, for sure. And I don’t wanna discount the creative energy that people on the other side of the ocean was doing. Especially Black kids—I could identify with that. That whole jungle stuff. 4hero for example—Dego and Marc—were really inspiring. I liked the progress that they put on top of what was happening already. So I was definitely checking for that stuff.

On the topic of Europeans, I wanted to ask about how you first linked up with Moritz von Oswald. He did the remix for Infinit’s “Think Quick” back in 1994. And then he obviously had the remix of Model 500’s “Starlight” in 1995.

Moritz and Mark Ernestus were partners and how I met them was that they came to Detroit, actually. Mark owned Hard Wax and that was the first record store selling this stuff in Berlin. They came to Detroit and were buying stuff at the pawn shop—they wanted to sink their teeth into this sound. One day I got a knock on the door. Like I said, I was in this building that Mike Banks was in, and he was in [Underground Resistance].

Tresor in Berlin had a big affinity for UR. That’s where Jeff Mills and Rob Hood started, and they were once in the group at the same time. I guess Mark and Moritz, along with Thomas Fehlmann, came to investigate. They were cool with Mike because they’d talk with him a lot or whatever. One day I opened the door and they were all there, they were telling me that they wanted to meet me and say hello. So that’s how that started—they wanted some records and they wanted a direct line to Juan Atkins. They wanted to support my music, so we kept in touch.

Later on, I ran into Thomas Fehlmann in the UK at ZTT Records. We were both sitting in the lobby, waiting to see the manager and director—a guy named Liam, who I guess was Trevor Horn’s right-hand man. Thomas said, “Hey, would you like to come to Berlin?” And at this time, I had never been to continental Europe; I had only been to the UK. So he set it up for me to go to Berlin and do some studio work with him and Mark. I ended up staying at Mark’s apartment in a guest room and Hard Wax was downstairs, and Tresor was there too. So that’s where the 3MB project—the 3 Men in Berlin—started. At first it was me, Mark, and Thomas. Moritz was more or less the engineer of the studio; he wasn’t so much one of the musicians. But later on, when I flew into Berlin and did Sonic Sunset (1994), I basically did that whole EP at Moritz’s studio, which was called Love Park.

Was it the same thing collaborating with people from Europe versus those in America?

Yeah, it was just ping-ponging.

Do you feel like things changed between when you first worked with Moritz versus more recently with your collaboration with him in Borderland? Obviously technology changed in various ways.

It’s no different. The only difference now is that you don’t have to be in the same room to exchange ideas. The thing is, we prefer to be in the same room. So it’s not like I send him a file and he sends a file back—we don’t do it that way. We don’t even collaborate until I come into Berlin. One time we did a collaboration for Borderland—that “Riod” track—that was done at my studio in Detroit. That was when they were here for Movement. Riod is actually my dog’s name spelled [kind of] backwards.

Wait, what’s his name?

Dior. And they fell in love with my dog. He was in the studio session while they were there. He’s passed now.

I love the progression of your music because after becoming familiar with what was happening in Europe, you had dub techno records. And then on Mind and Body you had some of the trip-hop stuff. What about those two genres spoke to you?

With the Mind and Body tracks, I think you’re talking about the Rob O’Dell collaborations like “Everyday” and “Just Maybe.” Sometimes people give me credit for more thought than actually goes into this stuff (laughter). Making music for me is more fun when it’s spontaneous, when you’re not thinking about doing a certain style.

I’m a music lover first and foremost, so when I’m going in to make stuff, I don’t have a particular genre in mind. I don’t try to think about these categories because it limits your creativity. You can’t fit your stuff into a box; I let other people define what they think the genre is. And I really get off on doing stuff that you can’t really put a genre tag on. All of this music and all of this stuff you find interesting goes into your subconscious, so when I get ready to create, it all comes out.

Is there anything you feel people would be surprised to learn is in your subconscious?

Shit (laughter). That’s a hard question to answer. You mean in terms of influence? People would be surprised to learn that I used to like a lot of rock and roll. KISS—I loved Alive! (1975). I went out and bought that album. Led Zeppelin. I really like “Kashmir”—that’s one of my favorite rock songs. Frank Zappa. “I am the slime from your video,” you know? David Bowie. Stuff like that.

Is there anything you wanted to mention about your upcoming performance as Model 500 at the Houghton Festival in the UK? Is there anything you’re specifically aiming for or want to try out?

Model 500 was actually booked at this Tresor party because of this new compilation with Carhartt. I did a new song which was exactly what I was just describing—it’s a song that doesn’t really have a genre attached to it. It’s called “I.D.L.E.” I’ll probably have a couple more new Model 500 songs for that performance.

Is there anything that we didn’t talk about today that you wanted to talk about?

Nah, I just go with the flow. I don’t need a whole lot of prep for interviews because the best answers come spontaneously.

I have a question that I ask everyone at the end of my interviews and I wanted to ask it to you. Do you mind sharing one thing you love about yourself?

Just one thing? (laughter). Can I say “me”?

Your answer is “me”?

Yeah, everything about me.

Juan Atkins is performing as Model 500 at Houghton Festival in the UK. More information can be found here. His newest track as Model 500 can be found on Tresor’s 030313 compilation, which can be found at Bandcamp.

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Thank you for reading the 151st issue of Tone Glow. It’s official: Techno is secretly Zappa-coded.

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