Los Hubibis
Can you introduce yourself to our audience?
(Tell us your name, background, and how you became an artist in the electronic music scene.)
We’re Los Hubibis — a Swiss–Canadian duo based in Zurich, blending music, love, and culture into something all our own.
We met under the disco ball at Stereo in Montreal, one of the world’s most iconic and inclusive clubs — and honestly, we fell in love twice that night: once with each other, and once with the kind of music that moves you from the inside out. That was the start of something bigger than us — a project that’s as much about emotion and identity as it is about sound.
Vince comes from a background in strategy and consumer behavior, with years spent understanding how people move, think, and connect. Gaspard brings in philosophy, game design, and software development — with a gift for building emotional journeys that unfold in time and space. Together, music became the place where we met in flow.
Our first time producing was during a trip to Palma. We skipped the beach and spent the whole holiday holed up in a hotel room, making sounds and building stories. That week changed everything.
Since then, we’ve kept creating: producing, DJing, and developing music tools that are open-source and community-driven — designed to make listening, mixing, and creating accessible to anyone. Simple enough for a kid, powerful enough for the connoisseurs.
Our sound is shaped not only by our personal histories — but by the chosen family of DJs and artists who lifted us up early on, and by the Middle Eastern and Mediterranean roots that live quietly in our rhythms.
Los Hubibis isn’t just a duo. It’s a shared universe — one where sound becomes story, and every set, every track, is an invitation to dream together.
What inspired you to pursue a career in music, specifically in electronic genres?
Electronic music was the first space where we truly felt free — where we felt like we belonged. You walk into a club and no one asks who you are, what you do, or how you’re dressed. It’s not about performance — it’s about energy. It’s about presence. And for us, that was everything.
That kind of inclusivity — where sound matters more than status — pulled us in and never let go. We weren’t just listening to tracks anymore; we were experiencing something bigger than ourselves, something communal and transcendent. That made us want to give back. To contribute. To create.
As artists, we were drawn to the fluidity and possibility of electronic genres. There’s room for storytelling, for emotion, for tension and release — all without needing words. We love that it’s a language anyone can speak if they’re willing to feel.
That’s what drives us: building not just music, but experiences that connect people. Whether we’re producing, mixing, or designing tools for other artists, it all comes from that same place — wanting others to feel what we felt the first time we truly lost ourselves on the dancefloor.
How would you describe your style and sound?
(What sets you apart as an artist?)
Our sound lives somewhere between the heart and the hips — cinematic but grounded, emotional but club-ready. We move through deep house, progressive, melodic techno, tribal, and indie dance, but always with a story underneath. You might hear a warm groove that slowly turns shadowy… or a hypnotic beat that opens into something vulnerable. Duality is part of everything we do.
We build our tracks like emotional journeys. There’s always a sense of space and movement — from dreamy to driving, soft to raw — but never just for show. Every sound has a reason to be there. Every transition has something to say. Sometimes we’re inspired by mythology or philosophy, sometimes by a night out or a personal shift. But there’s always an arc.
What sets us apart, maybe, is that we’re not trying to fit a genre. We’re trying to build a universe. Something immersive, layered, and human — whether you’re on a beach at sunset, in a sweaty club at 6am, or just walking alone with your headphones on.
And beneath it all, we care just as much about the how as the what. That’s why we’re also developing tools that help other artists create, mix, and connect more freely. Our music starts with feeling — but it’s backed by intention.
At the core, we’re artists who want to feel — and help others feel — something real, whether they’re dancing, creating, or just listening.
Tell us about your latest release.
(What’s the story or inspiration behind it?)
June in Retrograde is the final chapter in a trilogy we started last year — a journey through illusion, intuition, and transformation. The first track, Indica Desert, was a mirage — hazy, hypnotic, and disoriented, like being pulled into a dream you can’t fully control. Then came Electric Sands, where the dream sharpens — you begin to see symbols, feel rhythms, trust your instincts. June in Retrograde is the moment of return… but nothing is the same.
It’s about duality. Echoes. Déjà vu. That strange feeling when you revisit a memory or a place and realize you’ve changed. It’s also about movement — inwards and outwards — like a retrograde motion that doesn’t mean going backward, but deeper. There’s a sense of ceremony in the track: tribal textures, layered percussive tension, and emotional builds that hint at something ancient.
We kept asking ourselves while making it: Who is the dreamer? And the track never fully answers that. It just opens the portal.
What message or feeling do you want listeners to take away from this release?
We want people to feel unsettled in a beautiful way — like they’ve just woken up from a dream they don’t fully understand, but can’t shake.
It begins at twilight — memories float like dust in the warm air. You’re walking through a city you once knew; familiar streets, unfamiliar steps. Something’s shifting — in the sky, your breath, the stillness between sounds.
As the groove deepens, shadows stretch. Old feelings resurface — not to haunt, but to be healed. Synths shimmer like thoughts you almost forgot.
And then, release. The pulse steadies. You’re still in motion, but lighter — not new, but whole.
June in Retrograde is about sitting with duality: light and shadow, tension and release, movement and stillness. It’s a reminder that transformation doesn’t always feel clean or linear. Sometimes the real shift happens in the confusion — in the loop, the pause, the echo.
And when the planets spin backward, do you still feel like you’re moving forward? That question was always there — not to answer, but to guide the energy.
If all it does is make someone close their eyes at 6am and feel something — anything — then we’ve done our job.
Can you walk us through the creative process behind this project?
It started with a melody — something complex and a little chaotic that came to Vince one day, almost like a reflection of his mood. He mapped it out instinctively, and from there, we began to break it apart. Rebuild. Strip it down. Reimagine it.
That’s how we work. Vince is the emotional core — the melodies, the movement. Gaspard brings the grounding — percussions, groove, polyrhythms. But the strength of what we do isn’t in splitting roles — it’s in how we pass things back and forth, constantly reworking ideas with full trust that the other person can flip the whole thing upside down.
This track lived with us for over a year. We started it in Canada, carried it with us to Switzerland, and it kept changing as we did — shaped by the people we met, what we were learning, and how we were evolving both personally and creatively.
We’ve always been drawn to the space where emotions meet the dancefloor — where something deeply personal can still move a crowd. That’s where the groove comes in. The percussion holds space for the melody to breathe. And in this case, the result feels less like a “track” and more like a symphonic movement — something shifting and layered, with no single center of gravity.
How does this release differ from your previous work?
This is the first time a track of ours felt like it couldn’t be contained by a single groove or structure. June in Retrograde is deconstructed to its core — it breathes, unravels, re-forms. In some ways, it’s closer to a symphonic piece than a club track. It’s layered, emotional, and intentionally off-balance.
What sets it apart is also how deeply collaborative it was. With past tracks, we had clearer roles — one of us building the spine, the other shaping the emotion. But with this one, everything was blurred. We passed it back and forth for months, pulling it apart and putting it back together without ego. It became a mirror of our process, our move across countries, and our evolution as artists.
It also marks a shift in intention. We’re not just making music to play out — we’re creating emotional experiences that sit somewhere between ritual and release. This track was never trying to be big. It was trying to be true.
What do you think is the biggest challenge for artists in the electronic music industry today?
Honestly? The pressure to follow rules that were never meant for you.
The industry is full of silent expectations — sync or no sync, vocals or no vocals, stay dark but not too dark, be niche but still blow up, spend time, spend money, be an expert. But the truth is: none of that defines the creative act. As Rick Rubin says in The Creative Act, “creating is the greatest form of freedom.” And we believe the only rule that matters is: be honest.
For us, creating music is like birthing something alive. It grows. It changes. It moves through different stages, just like we do. And the moment you share it — even with just one person — something shifts. Sharing is part of the process. Not for validation, but for release.
There’s a track we love — Spark It Up by Saison — where a soulful voice says: “Inspire. Motivate. Cultivate. Let it go now.” That line says everything we believe about creativity.
So if we had to give one piece of advice? Make your own path. Sing in the street. Share the song. Let go.
What role do events, collaborations, or labels play in shaping your career?
(Please mention your collaboration with Cafe De Anatolia)
We played our track Stereo — unreleased at the time — at Bestiario in Tulum. As it dropped, the crowd didn’t know it was ours. But they started cheering, feeling themselves, eyes closed, hands in the air. That moment was surreal. There’s nothing like seeing someone connect to your sound — in their own way, with no context, no bias — just energy meeting energy. That’s something you can’t replicate online. That’s the magic of real-world spaces.
Collaboration, for us, is sacred. And working with Café De Anatolia has been a dream — not just because of their sound, but because of their spirit. They’ve built something from nothing, rooted in emotion, openness, and global connection. It’s more than a label — it’s a community, and that’s exactly what we want to be part of.
We don’t just look for exposure — we look for alignment. Values. Vision. People who care more about connection than numbers. Labels like Café De Anatolia inspire us not just as artists, but as humans building something of our own. The way they’ve grown their collective, supported artists across genres and borders — it pushes us to be better.
At the end of the day, it’s not just about music. It’s about community, intention, and the spaces we create — both on and off the dancefloor.
Do you have any advice for aspiring artists looking to break into the scene?
Learn everything you can. Listen with obsession. Then forget the rules and follow your own.
Reach out to artists and labels that align with your vision — but do it with intention. Be professional. Be human. Out there, both big and small names do take the time to listen. But don’t expect anything in return. You’re not doing this for clout. You’re doing it for you. And the people who are meant to find you, will.
Take risks. Release the track. Play that first gig. Pitch that first label. The only way to do it… is to do it.
Turn strategy into action. Turn intent into something real.
Time and money? They matter. But they’re not an excuse. We started by investing 15 minutes a day — just enough to stay connected. And eventually, we couldn’t stop. That’s something Vince learned from Gaspard: you don’t need to go all-in from day one. Microdose the music. Build the habit. Let it become part of you.
This journey is about consistency, courage, and connection — to your art, to your people, to yourself. Be vulnerable. Be curious. And above all, keep going.
At the end of the day, we’re all just human — trying to turn sound into feeling.
What can your fans expect next?
(Are there upcoming releases, performances, or projects you’d like to share?)
We’ve got two releases lined up that we’re really excited to share:
Our Zootherapy EP drops June 20 on Blechtrommel — a wild, percussive ride through instinct, impulse, and liberation. It blends cinematic tech house with raw techno energy, and was built to tap into something primal.
On September 3, our EP What Summer Left Behind will be released on Future Avenue — it’s a more introspective piece, capturing the tension between change and nostalgia as seasons shift. Each track tells part of that story.
We’re also playing a series of private events this summer in Zurich — intimate spaces that let us connect more deeply and test out new sounds in real time. More soon.
And beyond the decks, we’re building something new: a plugin designed to help artists — from beginners to experts — create more intuitively. It’s part of a broader open-source platform focused on learning, community, and making music more human. This first tool is all about flow — no more second-guessing, just creating.
June in Retrograde / June 24th / Los Hubibis on Cafe De Anatolia