From Burnout to Basslines: 4D4M talks Music, Motivation & Vision [Exclusive Interview]

An in depth interview that should not go amiss, Chicago-raised DJ and record producer 4D4M talks from burnout to baselines and everything in between.

Following a clear direction from the offset of his musical career, 4D4M sets the tone of what can and should be expected by artists looking to leave a lasting impact within a field that they are so passionate about. A warrior rising from deep within, the Chicago-raised DJ and record producer leaves no stone unturned, and as time progresses, his impact only further increases to a level that is more than hard to go amiss. Illustrating the importance of awareness within one’s field, 4D4M has created a movement in its own right, and through music that resonates directly with his crowds, this is one act that sets the standards at any given moment in time. From his hard-hitting productions, to live performances that define energy in its purest form, we could not be any more thrilled to be joined by the man himself, as he provides us with a wider look into his music, struggle and overall vision.

Adam, you’ve been involved in music from a very young age – with a copyright at six, a self-built DJ setup by 14, and the launch of ELECTROLABEL.COM in 2008. On paper that sounds amazing, but in reality, was the journey as smooth as it appears?

“Hell no. On paper it sounds like some “child prodigy rises straight to glory” thing. In reality, half my early gigs were broken cables and blown speakers. I built that flight-case rig when I was young because I couldn’t afford pro gear. It fried out constantly. And yeah, I had copyrights at six, but nobody cared I was still the weird kid. It wasn’t glamorous, but it forced me to figure s*** out myself. That DIY ethos is still what keeps me alive today and continuous self-improvement fuels the ability to bring my ideas to life.”

You emerged from Chicago’s underground rave culture – in what ways did that scene influence you, and what did it demand from you in return?

“The Chicago rave scene gave me my backbone. It was dirty, sweaty, unlicensed. You’d go to a warehouse and wonder if the roof would collapse, and half the time it almost did. That environment is why I lean toward hardstyle, riddim, tearout, rawstyle – it’s music that feels like the floor might break beneath you. But the scene also burned people out. Promoters disappearing with cash, cops busting parties, constant grind for scraps. It taught me passion but also cynicism. I love it, but it ate a chunk of my youth. I can still taste the grit though, the taste of chewed sand and rubble always sticks in your head.”

Many artists tend to skip over their setbacks – what would you consider your lowest point?

“Easy. One show in my early 20s, I saved every dime to rent a space, built the lineup, promoted it myself. Power blew halfway through my set. We sat in the dark while cops kicked everyone out. I went home broke, humiliated, and thought, “Maybe this is the end.” But you know what? That night made me bulletproof. Once you’ve bombed
that hard, the small s*** doesn’t faze you anymore.”

You’re not only a musician but also an inventor and patent holder. Some might see that as keeping a backup plan outside of music – would you say that’s a fair assessment?

“Maybe. Look, music’s unstable as f***. Most of your favorite artists do more than produce to keep the lights on. My restless brain has outputs outside of just music, making ideas into something tangible is something I can’t turn off. I don’t see it as hedging, I see it as building the ecosystem around 4D4M. The lights, the FX rigs, the new ways for festivals to be more immersive and interactive, they’re all inventions. If music collapsed tomorrow, I’d still be designing future tech. But ideally, both sides feed each other. That’s the vision.”

Your image leans strongly into dystopian cyberpunk. Do you worry at all about it crossing the line into style over substance?

“100%. If all I had was neon wires and glitchy visuals, I’d just be cosplay. The point isn’t the skin on the surface, it’s the feeling. My music sounds like machinery breaking apart to reconfigure. My videos look like industrial ruins because that’s how my brain processes the world. We’re already living in dystopia – AI replacing jobs, climate disasters, culture wars. I’m just amplifying it. If the visuals didn’t match the sonic violence, then yeah, it’d be fake. But for me, it’s one continuous body of work that comments our grim future we build by choice.”

Let’s talk about your releases. ‘I FEEL NOTHING’ ventured into frenchcore and metalstep, while ‘CAN’T LET U GO’ leaned more melodic and emotional. Some fans appreciate the range, while others see it as a lack of focus – how do you view it?

“I mean, I get it. ‘I FEEL NOTHING’ was me going nuclear with kickdrums. Pure chaos, a middle finger to comfort. People either loved it and break rails with it or said it was unlistenable. Then ‘CAN’T LET U GO’ came from the opposite place – melody, emotion, actual singing. To me, that’s not lack of focus, it’s honesty. Some days I feel like
smashing walls. Some days I’m brokenhearted. Why force consistency? I’d rather people call me unpredictable than boring. And enjoy the variety for a sec, OK? Your music sub-genre consumption should be as varied as your diet, period.”

We might’ve hit a sensitive spot there – but in September you crossed 1.5 million global streams. Some would call that huge, while others argue that in the TikTok era it’s modest. Does that matter to you?

“Both. It’s validating as hell when you’re independent, every stream feels like someone found you in the void. But I also know one influencer farting on TikTok can hit 10 million views in a week. So yeah, numbers are relative. The danger is chasing them. If I start writing 30-second drops just for TikTok, shoot me now. Streams are a milestone, not the finish line.”

You’ve called your fans ‘hardstyle warriors of bass.’ But who are they, really?

“Misfits like me. The kids in the back row, the ones who don’t feel at home at shiny EDM mainstages. A lot of them wear a lot of black and look a certain way, but overall my fans they want dirt, sweat, chaos. They’re ravers who still care about community, not just bottle service. I love them because they call bulls*** fast. If I dropped a corny “radio edit,” they’d roast me alive. And I need that. Keeps me honest.”

From a business perspective, you’ve mentioned being open to management but not in a hurry. What’s keeping you from taking that step?

“Trust. The wrong management will try to sand off my edges, make me “digestible.” I don’t want digestible. I want to hijack festivals with dystopia, not blend in with confetti cannons. If someone comes along who gets that, amazing. But until then, I’d rather go it alone. I’ve survived this long DIY, I can survive longer.”

Let’s talk about criticism. Some claim your sound is too niche or aggressive, and that it won’t reach beyond dubstep festivals. Does that ever worry you?

“Ah, sometimes. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want bigger stages. But I’d rather be niche than fake. Aggression is the point. If my music alienates some people, good. It means it’s honest. Not every piece of art should be for everyone. That said, yeah it stings when gatekeepers write you off. But I’m stubborn as f***. I’ll keep hammering
until they can’t ignore me.”

How do you manage the grind – the nonstop output, content demands, and financial pressures?

“Honestly, it’s brutal. Everyone thinks being an artist is just festivals and merch drops. Reality: I’m coding my own promo tools, running ads, building playlists, fixing my own website at 3 a.m. Social media is the worst, you either feed the algorithm daily or you disappear. It feels like working three jobs at once. But the alternative is silence. And silence feels worse when there are still sounds to uncover for mankind.”

Take us inside your secret warehouse studio. Why choose to stay underground rather than moving into a polished, high-end space?

“Because gloss doesn’t make good bass. My studio is damp, dusty, half the gear is cobbled together. But that’s the magic. You can’t make tracks like ‘TAKING OVER’ in a sterilised glass box with LED mood lighting. You need grit, you need rust, you need the sense that if you hit the wrong button, the power grid might go down. That danger bleeds into the music.”

If you had to choose a single track that represents who you are today, which one would it be?

“‘CAN’T LET THAT SH!T SLIDE.’ It’s raw, it’s blunt, it’s a statement. Life throws you garbage – industry politics, fake friends, bad contracts, a stacked system: and you either swallow it or fight back. That track is me fighting back. It’s not polished, it’s not pretty. But it’s real.”

Looking forward, what’s on the horizon for you, and what drives your ambition?

“Right now I’m working on an album but have gone into some side quests to unlock new sounds and production methods. Some of it is really heavy… I don’t know if anyone in the mainstream will like it, but I have to make it. That’s what keeps me hungry: chasing the sound that scares even me.”

Last question – if everything fell apart tomorrow: streams disappeared, gigs canceled, and the scene moved on, how would you respond?

“I’d still be in some abandoned structure making noise. That’s the truth. Even if nobody’s listening, I can’t stop. Music’s not my career… it’s my curse. And I’ve made peace with that.”

Precise and straight to the point, 4D4M follows a clear vision on where he wants to be, and how he strives to get there, and in doing so, has created a legacy that will defy time in the most immersive of manners. An act like no other, we will most certainly be keeping a close eye on the man of the moment and all his future projects within our community, but for the time being, you can stay fully up to date by following him on his official website HERE, as well as on Instagram and Spotify!