Max HeyraudBlue Hour reflects on his debut album, Selva, long-form expression, and techno as a living lineage shaped by influence, movement, and time.
Luke Standing, better known as Blue Hour, has spent more than a decade carving out a space defined by uncompromising artistic identity and deep-rooted curiosity. Now, with the release of his debut album, arriving 13 years into the Blue Hour project, he steps into a new chapter of a long-evolving body of work that feels both expansive and deeply personal. The record unfolds like a window into the inner reflections of an artist who has been operating at full intensity for years, distilling that momentum into something cohesive, considered, and fully realised.
Originally from the UK and now based in Berlin, Standing has never confined himself to a single lane. As a DJ, producer, and curator, he has consistently positioned himself at the edge of contemporary club culture, helping shape its direction while remaining deeply embedded within it. Through Blue Hour Music and the co-curated platform positivesource alongside Philipa Pacho, he has not only introduced some of techno’s most vital emerging voices, but also built a creative hub for his own evolving output. Across his work, there is a consistent thread: a blending of sounds, aesthetics, and atmospheres that reflects his formative years in Bristol, where he was closely involved in championing the UK bass scene during a pivotal moment in the hardcore continuum, and his later refinement in Berlin, where his sound became more reduced, layered, and impactful.
His debut album, Selva, draws these influences together into a unified narrative shaped by ideas of ancient wisdom and forgotten worlds. Yet Standing is quick to note that this conceptual framework was never pre-planned; instead, it emerged organically through the process. “You absorb what people before you built and then carry it forward in your own way,” he explains, framing the record as a continuation rather than a reinvention.
Speaking openly about his journey to this point, Standing reflects on the value of long-form expression in an era dominated by constant release cycles. For him, the album format allows ideas to breathe in ways that weekly techno output often does not. Selva stands as a deliberate statement, one that rewards patience, depth, and sustained listening.
You’re now 13 years into your Blue Hour project and have just released your debut album. When did you first feel the pull toward creating a longer-form project? Was an album always part of your long-term vision?
Making an LP was always part of my long-term vision as an artist; I just didn’t know exactly when it would happen and didn’t want to force it. The record came about quite organically in the middle of last summer without a conscious intention to make an actual album. While working on a group of tracks, I began to notice a deeper narrative connecting them and felt drawn to expand upon them into something larger. I was more or less halfway into it by this point, so I just needed to immerse myself more in the writing side of the project, and that’s when things really started to take shape conceptually.
Up until this point, I’ve been a bit reluctant to start an album. It carries a significant amount of creative pressure, which can be challenging mentally, and there’s always that underlying worry about how it will be received, what it should be like or if you’re even capable of delivering it when you set the task. But I think everything was meant to happen exactly the way it did, and I’m genuinely happy with how it’s turned out.
You’ve described the LP as exploring “the mysteries of the natural world” and “wisdom passed down through generations.” I’m curious how your time travelling as a DJ has shaped that perspective. Are there particular countries, environments, or moments that come to mind when you reflect on those themes?
Berlin has been a foundational and inspiring place for me, but I’ve learned that I also need to escape it regularly to stay creatively healthy. Leaving the city and immersing myself somewhere that feels completely different helps break up my routines and patterns in a way that’s really hard to replicate otherwise. Throughout the year, I try to create opportunities for these moments; sometimes it lines up with touring, sometimes it’s a deliberate holiday, just being somewhere else, switching things up, taking in something new. The more exotic the better. Asia has been a particularly inspiring place for me. I don’t get that same sense of refreshment from other European cities; there needs to be a real contrast for it to work.
On the wisdom part of the question, I feel there’s a synergy and connection between the way tribal communities (like those in rainforests) pass knowledge down through generations and how techno similarly moves through people and time. You absorb what people before you built and then carry it forward in your own way. That lineage isn’t unique to tribal cultures or techno, really, it’s life in general.
I understand that you didn’t initially set out with a fixed concept, and that these ideas emerged organically. Do you ever begin a project with a defined theme or narrative in mind?
Theme and style are definitely more so than narrative. It depends on what I’m feeling drawn to at the time. With making an EP, I’ll look for common ground between ideas, bringing together new and sometimes older sketches into something cohesive. It’s a tighter format and has the possibility of telling a shorter story, I suppose, but it’s more often simply a collection of tracks that complement one another. The album format has the opportunity to reveal more, dive deeper and offer real-world building. Making Selva opened me up to what’s possible in that longer format, and that’s been a revelation for me personally; it’s made me want to do it again in the near future both as an artist and through the releases on the label.
More broadly, how do you feel about conceptual approaches to music within techno?
It can be a useful springboard for translating an idea, but it’s not always necessary. It really depends on the type of artist you are and the music you make. Within techno, the danger is falling into generic or well-worn themes that don’t genuinely reflect who you are. If, for example, your music already channels ideas around space, time or futurism, then that’s a natural fit, but forcing a concept onto music just for the sake of it rarely translates authentically. It has to come from somewhere real, and there are plenty of other ways to do it.
You’ve never really stayed confined to one lane as an artist. For some, an album is an opportunity to branch out stylistically, but that sense of exploration has always been present in your work. With that in mind, how did you approach this longer-form project mentally and creatively?
I’ve always enjoyed experimenting within techno and its adjacent genres, but for me, the diversity of this album lies in its moods rather than any broad stylistic range. Different tracks serve different purposes, but the theme ties everything together and gives it cohesion. I try to follow some kind of inner voice with my music because it rarely works if I force something; things need to happen on their own terms. That said, an album demands a different kind of focus and commitment than a shorter project. I can point myself in a direction, but the music tends to find its own way there, and that’s kind of what happened leading up to Selva fully taking shape.
The opening of the LP seems to trace back to some of your early UK influences. Could you talk about those formative experiences with bass-heavy music and how those sounds continue to inform your current work?
Before Blue Hour, I had a couple of different aliases; Furesshu was the most UK-leaning. When I was living in Bristol in the late 2000’s, I was absorbing the sounds of the city as well as the wider UK music scene at the time. I ran a club night and booked artists such as Scuba, Appleblim, Ben UFO, Headhunter and Martyn. It was an intimate venue with a strong sense of community. My interests musically with the crossover world between dubstep and techno that the club night represented ultimately led me to Berlin. Those years, combined with growing up listening to jungle/drum & bass, really shaped my musical taste, left a significant mark on me and kick-started my production journey. In some ways, the album feels like a full-circle moment, revisiting those influences on a more subconscious level. It wasn’t intentional, it just slipped through and can be heard in tracks like Arrival and Hidden Passage, for example.
More generally, how important is it for you to integrate your past influences into your present output? Do you see your music as part of an ongoing narrative or evolution?
It’s not a deliberate action I took this time round, but I suppose how could those experiences not inform your music? I think there’s something genuinely interesting about the way the past subconsciously resurfaces, leaving traces of where you’ve been. Music is always an ongoing evolution, and sometimes you have to look back in order to move forward.
Your LP has been described as marking a new era in your career. How would you define this new chapter in your artistic journey, and what are your thoughts on the album format in today’s music landscape?
Releasing Selva has opened a new chapter and started a new creative outlook for me and the label. I hope it leads to more longer-format releases from myself and others, and it feels like the right time to do it after kick-starting that process myself. As for the album format, generally, I think it’s more important than ever now. Most people can successfully produce tracks. Creating a cohesive EP with a clear theme is more challenging, but making an LP is one of the ultimate creative tests and statements.
There seems to have been a recent rise in techno albums. Do you see this as a response to, or even a pushback against, the fast-paced, almost throwaway nature of the current global techno output?
Yes, producers are looking to expand their output and connect with their audience in more meaningful ways. Demonstrating a level of artistic vision and inviting the listener to go deeper into their world is just one way to do that. An album is a statement, an invitation to engage more deeply with the music, reclaim space and perhaps force others to slow down. The sheer volume of techno being released weekly is overwhelming, and the quality is often barely passable in my opinion. You have to filter through a lot of noise to find something genuinely worthwhile, but I do believe real talent cuts through in the end. That said, I think it’s also important to stay engaged and connect with your audience regularly, whether through releases or otherwise.
The album is titled Selva. Does that name hold a particular significance for you?
Selva is a Portuguese and Spanish word for a dense tropical jungle environment. The title was chosen to reflect the broader narrative arc of the album, a voyage into an Amazonian or Mayan jungle setting. But beyond the literal meaning, there’s something in the word itself, the way it sounds and sits, that felt right. It carries a sense of mystery and texture that aligns more closely with the mood of the music than a straightforward translation ever could.
Finally, now that the project is out in the world, how are you feeling about it all?
It feels really good, I’m genuinely proud of the work and what it took to get here. There’s something enjoyable about sharing this moment with others, talking about it and reflecting on the LP personally, but also letting it go out into the world for people to discover. I’m giving it the space to do its thing, so I’m not quite on to the next thing yet in terms of studio work, but I expect I’ll start working on something new over the next couple of months once things have settled. After the hard work that went into creating it, there’s a lot of positive energy coming back, which feels good and encouraging. Much appreciated to everyone who has been supporting, it really means a lot!