Max HeyraudDan Stanford lost his hearing when he was a toddler and now finds connection, identity and purpose in the midst of Dublin’s dancefloors.
Dublin’s Dan Stanford was three when he lost his hearing. Now, he’s a regular fixture across the city’s clubs, moving through dancefloors, immersed in sound, and at the early stages of his DJ career himself. His relationship with music is more personal than most.
Years of cochlear implants, repetition, and retraining his brain to process sound from scratch have shaped the way he hears, feels, and understands it. What returned was never the same, but that difference became defining. In the low end of club systems and the physicality of techno, Stafford found not just music, but a deeper connection, one that is instinctive, embodied, and never taken for granted.
Having lost your hearing at such a young age and becoming profoundly deaf, can you take us back to those early years and what it was like when sound began to return?
Going deaf at the age of three, my earliest memory is of being in bed at night listening to my parents’ laughter fading over time. My mother was the first to notice something was wrong when my speech began to decline. I wasn’t picking up on simple conversational cues, and my pronunciation was becoming erratic. It was from there that I was taken to an audiologist clinic and given hearing aids. My mam tells me she cried when I told her I could hear the train passing by outside the window.
From then on, in the eyes of everyone but myself, I was “different”. I followed the other kids around, believing I was a part of them, but the visual stigma of hearing aids on my head separated us. My speech was improving, and the hearing aids put me at a level like other kids, but I was falling behind, and I wasn’t aware of why until the slagging and teasing came in. At first, it was extremely difficult to come to terms with, but over time, something inside me flipped like a switch, and I could use it. Yes, I was “different” but not in the negative way some people wanted me to believe. In my head, I could be just like them and even better.
My earliest memories of music were from my dad’s CDs in the car, most notably Queen and their song ‘Radio Ga Ga’. Something about the alien-like feel to it, with its synths, really spoke to me. At the age of six, I got my first Cochlear Implant on the right side of my head. This was the start of me having to ‘retrain’ my brain. Sound that was previously clear was metallic, robot-like and extremely grainy. Through time and extreme effort, I was able to force that sound to become clear just as it was before. It was like I found a new lease on life, I could hear my Dad’s CDs again, follow along in conversations and feel more accepted into society. The cochlear implant came with a more visible external piece to wear on my ear, but by then, I was well able to weaponise people’s ignorance as motivation for myself.
Do you recall the first time, following your surgeries, that music or sound had new meaning to you?
Following my first surgery at 6 years old and my second surgery at 11, I discovered that music was a privilege that can be lost at a moment’s notice.
Music was a primary motivating factor in my efforts to train my brain to hear with new technology. So much so that I gave myself tinnitus by overexerting myself. I was oblivious to the world of dance music at this point, and still, just having the ability to dance or sing along to a song was pushing me.
It wasn’t until I came across the movie ‘Trainspotting’ that I knew of the existence of dance music. To me, this is the most memorable part of my journey as I formed a tie with music created by machine technology, synonymous with the technology that let me experience it.
You cited Trainspotting as a pivotal occasion; we recently discussed the soundtrack and narrative’s influence on young culture. What in the movie drew you to dance music?
‘Trainspotting’ to this day is my favourite movie. The first track that drew me in was ‘Dark and Long (ride the train mix)’. There was something about that sinister synth at the start that perfectly tied into Renton’s beginning of his withdrawal from heroin. I was amazed that such music could pair so well with this terrifying and unique experience (especially the baby crawling on the ceiling). But also, I wanted to dance. The repetitiveness of the machine-like synth lines lulled me into a groove, and as the track progressed with those beautiful chords and pads, it gave me a sense of hope for Renton. This was unlike any listening experience I’ve had before and for it to be created from machines amazed me.
The soundtrack of that film also made me discover the broad range of emotions that dance music can convey. For example, ‘for what you dream of’ signifying happiness, while also being in a club setting of people dancing their socks off. And of course, ‘Born Slippy’, which to this day is still one of the most beautiful tracks I’ve heard, perfectly capturing a sense of hope and concluding the movie amazingly.
After this, I only wanted to hear more, which led me to discovering Underworld’s discography and falling in love.
You’ve mentioned artists like Aphex Twin, The Prodigy and Underworld as early influences and your introduction to electronic music. Where did that come from, and what was it about their sound that pulled you in? Given their distinct, often visceral sonic palettes, what was it like experiencing that kind of music after such a long period without sound?
Artists like these were my lifeblood in my early teens. Underworld’s emotional take on techno spoke to me as a young, emotionally charged person. They were a gateway into discovering artists like Aphex Twin, Squarepusher, Orbital and the Chemical Brothers.
While I was unaware of this at the time, the frequency range that I can hear lies between 10hz to about 8.6kHz. While anything above 9khz would be small details in a song, I believe this limitation made me focus on the bass and the hats in a track that cut through the mix. Squarepusher’s jazz-like take on jungle pulled me in immediately; it was specifically their bass lines that had me questioning “what the fuck am I listening to?” in the most positive way possible. Aphex Twin’s AFX moniker added on to this. AFX made me wonder how something like this was possible to make, and I related it to my own journey, exceeding expectations in technology.
The gritty nature of music artists like these allowed me to find a home for myself in music. Going from the robotic and metallic textures of having my Cochlear Implants switched on to breakbeats and thumping four to the floor kicks felt natural to me, and from there, low end was what I sought after. The ability to not just hear the music but to feel it physically made me believe that this is what I worked so hard to be able to hear.
How did your perception of electronic music differ from others, given your hearing experience?
My perception of electronic music is unique, as I stated previously, my limited frequency perception makes me look more intensely at other parts of a track that people might not give much thought to. I get more than a sense of ‘groove’ from a low end; I get emotion. I hear every producer’s intention with their bassline, and from there, I can see it proven in the mid and high frequencies.
Percussion is different for me as I need it to really cut through a mix. While others can tell the subtle changes and nuances in certain hats, I focus more on the building blocks of a track’s phrasing, for example, a snare coming in that perfectly aligns with the melody and bass.
I would say 8 times out of 10, I notice the kick/bass in a track first, and that’s its major selling point to me. I believe I live in the low end and the gritty robotic textures because it turns my hearing journey from one of hardship to one of passion, dance and with how amazing the Dublin scene is, community.
Tell us about your first club night. What did it feel like entering that space for the first time?
My first club night was Index back when they were at Liberty Lane. X-Club were headlining with Dylan Fogarty and CJ Bolland on support. Entering that space, the first thing I noticed was, of course, the thump of a kick and the roll of a bassline coming through the floor. I got butterflies that I was about to enter a place that was almost designed for me.
Dylan Fogarty was on, and I had never really heard the type of techno he was playing. The low end was driving, and the percussion hit me in an impactful way that I hadn’t experienced so far. Again, I fell in love. Dancing through his set, I picked up on how talented Dylan was as a DJ. The control he had of the room, playing music that he had a love for, was inspiring to me.
The crowd was going 90 the whole night, and everyone was so positive, so friendly, and the room seemed to be a collective unit of people. The clubs I had been to before were nothing like this; they weren’t music-centred, and their goal was to make money off drunk college kids. That night, I vowed never to go back to one of those clubs again, and that dance music clubs were my new home.
Dublin has a tight-knit scene. How did clubs like Wigwam or Tengu affect your connection to music and community?
Dublin’s tight-knit scene was what made me realise techno isn’t just about the music, it’s also about the people behind it. From a new friend made in a smoking area, to sharing a dance with a stranger you’ll never see in the crowd, to reconnecting with an old friend you had no clue loved dance music. Eventually, you can go to any night out and have a group of people you’ve connected with before and dance the night away with them.
As a DJ its important you connect yourself with people and broaden your network, but as a lover of dance music, there’s no other place like these clubs to connect with people on such a meaningful medium as the music itself.
I’ve seen music give people something to fight for, I’ve seen people fall in love over it, and people live for it. Dublin’s scene is one that is actively pushing against strict government rulings, not just to thrive but to live. That’s a community I’m proud to be a part of and ecstatic that I can associate it with my life’s greatest passion.
What pushed you from being a listener to wanting to DJ yourself?
What pushed me from being a listener to wanting to DJ myself was wanting to share my unique perspective on music with the world. I love the music so much that it makes me emotional to think about, and I can share that with a room of people who are just like me. When I’m behind the booth, I am the music. I’m no longer different to the crowd in my hearing, I’m someone with one of the most unique perspectives on techno that someone can come across, and all I want is to share it.
When you’re mixing, how do you connect with the music physically and emotionally? Does that experience ever feel more intense or even transcendent for you?
When I mix, everything is on the fly. I don’t prepare a set list or anything. I make it a point to study every track on my USB, and I go off my own instinct. This is how I connect with my music. I’m constantly discovering new sounds from layering tracks. I guess you could say the ease of restrictions like sticking to a tracklist is a way for me to break away from my own limitations and feel free in what I can do.
An experience I can describe as intense was when I was doing a workshop hosted by Dublin’s own Collie and run by the TUD DJ soc. He was teaching us to mix vinyl, and I stepped up to the turntables and pulled off a mix on my first try. This was like a caveman discovering fire for me, as I had found a way to DJ with absolutely 0 guidelines or limitations, to me, it was just you and the record, and you’ve got to make it work, which fascinated me. The ability to get an even closer connection with your music with the curation process of vinyl struck me, and since that workshop, I’ve been growing my record collection and getting a vinyl setup together.
In the movie ‘It’s All Gone Pete Tong’, Frankie Wilde is a deaf DJ who mixes by putting his feet on a pair of subwoofers. I don’t know if that will work for me, haha, but I have absolute faith that my connection to techno is what makes mixing come naturally to me.
You’ve had to “retrain your brain” several times. How has it influenced your mindset as a DJ?
Retraining my brain after both surgeries has reinforced my mindset so that I will never quit. I’m going to be here when I’m 70, still mixing and trying to get other people to listen to me.
Basically, it’s made me stubborn and instilled in me that I will get exactly what I’m going after as long as I don’t give up and I give it 100% of my effort. Which, at the moment, is just getting more gigs. I gave myself small goals to achieve when retraining my brain, and it gave me something to always work for. Those goals grew exponentially each time I achieved them, and I’m going to apply the same to DJ’ing.
Everyone faces their own hardships, and they’re able to apply them as lessons to life. I think my situation is tailor-made for the mindset a DJ needs.
Were there moments when you felt excluded from music culture?
While 99.9% of Dublin’s scene is made up of the most amazing people, there are always going to be one or two that are ignorant and think it’s funny to make an inappropriate joke, but that’s life, and you’re going to get these people no matter where you go.
The best thing you can do about it is enjoy yourself and not let it affect you. Maybe these people are jealous that you can enjoy yourself so much with such a limitation, or maybe they just need to make themselves feel better. What matters is the 99.9% who you connect or who your presence inspires. The number one piece of advice I have for anyone like me and just everyone in general is to just be nice.
There are times I may feel like a promoter is hesitant to take a chance on me, as being deaf is a part of my identity as a DJ. The decision to include or exclude this part of my identity with DJ’ing is something I’ve wrestled with. I decided in the end that it is a part of me and a major part in my selection and mixing, and that any promoter who decides to take a chance will be someone I can surprise and connect with due to their open-mindedness.
Do you think clubs and promoters are doing enough to make spaces accessible? What could improve?
I think clubs do all they can to make spaces accessible. Unfortunately, they’re faced with extremely tough challenges from the government and expecting them to make their spaces accessible would be extremely tough.
Something that really stuck with me was Fabric in London revamping their dancefloor to provide deaf people the opportunity to experience music in a completely new way. Because of this, Fabric is my dream club to play for. The level of care and detail that goes into a project like that (even though it’s in London) fills me with hope that other clubs will follow suit in the future.
Many people are in situations where they physically can’t get into a club, or they don’t have access to hearing aids. I would love to see a club in Dublin follow in Fabrics footsteps to create an environment that’s more inclusive to everyone.
If someone reads this and is on the fence about going to their first club night, what would you tell them?
To anyone reading this who is hesitant about going to their first club night, I could not recommend it more. I’ve been in your shoes before, and I have no clue where I would be if I didn’t take that first step of going to a club night.
Even if dance music isn’t your favourite, maybe you are sick of the clubs you’re going to now and need a change. The people you will meet, the music you’ll discover, and the passion that goes into keeping this scene alive will stick with you.
I couldn’t think of a community that has been more friendly, open, and accepting than this one. You will truly feel at home. And if you go out and you don’t like it, at least you can say you tried it.
In this community, people don’t look at you as someone with a disability. They look at you as an equal, as someone with the same love that they have.
Everyone needs to dance; it’s good for your soul.
