Max HeyraudSamantha Togni’s debut album, The Meaningless Beautiful, is a genre-defying statement that fuses techno, punk, EBM, and beyond into a deeply personal vision of artistic freedom and identity.
Samantha Togni is still basking in the glow of her debut album, The Meaningless Beautiful, which arrived just under a week ago via her multidisciplinary imprint, Boudica Records. The label also serves as the home for her FLINTA+ and LGBTQIA+ platform and event series, reflecting the same uncompromising ethos that defines her music.
Across nine tracks, The Meaningless Beautiful is a full-bodied sensory assault, seeing Togni obliterate any preconceived notions of who she is as an artist with a sledgehammer forged from electroclash, punk, bass music, acid house, techno, and trance. These influences collide into a record that carries the full weight of her appetite for eclecticism and her refusal to conform to industry expectations, delivered with remarkable confidence and poise.
Best known for her uncompromising, hard-hitting brand of techno, whether through her residency at Berlin’s legendary Gegen or in the booth at her own Boudica events, Togni uses the album format to reveal a much broader artistic identity. Rather than simply extending her club sound, The Meaningless Beautiful becomes a deeply personal reflection of her lifelong relationship with music. As she puts it, “music has always been more than just sound.”
From her early forays into hardcore and enduring EBM influences to the punk attitude that remains embedded in everything she creates, the album traces the musical DNA that has shaped her journey. The result is a flourishing debut that feels both visceral and inward, inviting listeners into a vivid documentation of the influences, instincts, and experiences that have defined Samantha Togni’s evolution as an artist so far.
Congratulations on the album. To start with, my first impression was surprise; it feels like quite a significant sonic departure from what I might have expected. Do you think that’s a fair reading, and was that kind of reaction something you were aiming for?
When I was making the record, I tried to erase any expectations people might have had of what it should sound like. I looked inward, reflecting on my journey through music and life, which have gone hand in hand since my early teens.
I wanted this album to fully represent my vision of music and feel like a journey without compromise. I wasn’t interested in making decisions based on what was expected of me or what might work best commercially. I wanted it to be an honest reflection of my taste, both as a listener and as a producer. Many of my influences actually come from outside of techno, and I wanted to let them exist freely within the record. I wanted the album to be a raw and sincere expression of my own perception of beauty in music.
The title “The Meaningless Beautiful” is intentionally ironic, a small reaction against the pressure to make everything with a clear purpose or strategy. For me, beauty often lies in the simple act of existence, and that’s what I wanted this record to be.
It also feels like a “proper album” in the sense that it goes beyond a collection of club tracks. Coming from an artist traditionally associated with techno, it doesn’t feel like a standard 12-track DJ tool record. Instead, it feels more expansive, almost like you’ve built a whole world rather than a linear techno album. Would you say that reflects your intention going into it?
That’s exactly the reaction I was hoping for. I wanted the album to feel like a window into my world rather than simply a collection of tracks. I think that’s reflected not only in the music itself, but also in the collaborations, the visual identity, and the message behind the record.
For me, music has always been more than just sound. It’s a complete world made up of emotions, visuals, attitude, community, references, and meaning.
I am a big believer that we should create intentionally and contribute something meaningful through our art. While making this album, I kept asking myself what I wanted to leave behind, what story I wanted to tell that would feel genuine and lasting rather than temporary or disconnected.
So from the beginning, the goal was never to make a conventional techno album. I wanted to create something immersive that reflected who I am as an artist and as a person. Something that felt timeless rather than tied to a particular moment or trend. The album is by far the most complete representation of my creative world that I’ve made so far.
One of my standout tracks is “United Underground” with Shannon Funchess; the EBM influence really comes through. Can you talk about how that track came together and what inspired it?
I reached out to Shannon a couple of years ago; I’ve always been a huge admirer of her work with Light Asylum and of the uncompromising approach they’ve kept throughout their journey in music. And, of course, Shannon’s voice is absolutely mesmerising, almost otherworldly.
EBM has been a significant influence on me for many years, particularly artists such as Silent Servant, Ancient Methods, and many of the records that came out from that darker intersection of industrial, techno, and EBM. I wanted this to be an opportunity to create a track in that realm that has meant so much to me, and doing it with Shannon felt special.
What struck me most was how much weight and meaning Shannon was able to convey with just two words: “United Underground.” For me, the track is a celebration and a defence of underground culture, those spaces and collectives that have allowed people to find themselves.
In many ways, the song is a tribute to those sanctuaries and a reminder of why they’re worth protecting.
Similarly, “Cold Chains” with Claudia Kane stood out; it has a slightly darker, more punk or new-wave energy that even reminded me of artists like Gesaffelstein. How do you find working in those more punk-leaning or post-punk sonic territories?
Gesaffelstein has been one of my biggest influences for a very long time, so that’s a huge compliment. His music has had a big impact on me both creatively and emotionally.
I’ve always been drawn to artists and bands that sit in between electronic music and post-punk. Artists like Gesaffelstein, Boy Harsher, Lebanon Hanover, and ADULT. have all inspired me in different ways. With Cold Chains, I wanted to tap into that darker, moodier territory and create something that felt cinematic, gothic, and emotionally charged.
I’ve known Claudia for a long time, and her voice felt perfect for that world. There’s something both powerful and ethereal about her sound that brought exactly the atmosphere I was looking for.
It’s difficult to pick favourites from the album, but this is definitely one of the tracks that feels closest to my heart.
I remember visiting Le Musée de l’Orangerie in Paris and seeing an exhibition called L’Ange du Bizarre. I was completely blown away. I instantly bought the book, and it’s probably the art book I return to most often. Francisco Goya and Max Ernst have been huge references for me… hence all this dark shit! I think Cold Chains comes from that same place. It’s not darkness for the sake of darkness… It’s about exploring tension, seduction, vulnerability, and strange beauty.
Staying with that idea for a moment, there’s a strong sense of punk attitude running through parts of the album. Does that framing resonate with you at all?
Absolutely. I grew up listening to punk and American hardcore; they’ve influenced me massively. I remember being about 12 years old and borrowing Suffer by Bad Religion from my local library. Bear in mind, I was living in the middle of nowhere in Italy, with no idea how that CD ended up there. But I remember putting it on and being completely blown away. Even now, when I listen to that record, it brings back a vortex of emotions.
A lot of my teenage years were spent hanging around squats, going to gigs, and watching bands play. More than anything, punk gave me a sense of acceptance and belonging that I hadn’t really found anywhere else at the time, as I really struggled to fit in when growing up. That’s a feeling I’ve been chasing ever since, and it’s something I try to recreate in everything I do.
I think there are actually a lot of similarities between punk and techno. A bit in the sound, of course, but more so in the energy, the rawness, the sense of community, and the idea of creating your own spaces and your own culture. That attitude has stayed with me throughout my entire life.
Punk was the beginning, and it will always be part of who I am. Those roots are incredibly important to me, and I think they come through in everything I do… from the music I make to the work we do with Boudica.
The album is also built entirely around collaborations. How did you find that process compared to your usual workflow as a techno producer, where you might typically work more in isolation? Did that shift change how you approached making music?
One of the most rewarding parts of making this album was having the opportunity to work with such amazing artists, all at different stages of their careers, with different personalities, perspectives, and approaches.
What was really precious about the process was how much I learned from it. This album forced me out of my comfort zone and see music through someone else’s eyes. Every artist brought something unique to the record, and that constantly inspired me but also challenged me.
Working with vocalists in particular was a huge learning experience. Of course, there’s emotion in a kick drum, but the human voice creates a connection with the listener in a way that instruments alone often can’t. You can definitely expect this not to be the last time I work with vocalists.
I’d also like to give a special mention to Dave Cowshed, who mixed the album. I was involved throughout much of that process, and being able to observe his approach so closely was an amazing experience. Something I will cherish forever is how much I have learnt from all the collaborators that made this project possible.
Another notable aspect is that the collaborators are entirely Queer and FLINTA+ artists. While there’s been progress in representation on lineups, recorded music still feels heavily male-dominated. Was this an intentional statement in response to that imbalance, and how do you view the current gaps in representation in recorded music?
Absolutely. It was a conscious statement, and it also felt like a natural extension of the work we’ve been doing with Boudica since 2019. We’ve always wanted to demonstrate that diverse lineups and high-quality music coexist and deserve to be centred.
While there has undoubtedly been progress, I think the last 12 months have reminded us that progress is never guaranteed. We’ve seen a decline in diverse festival lineups; we’ve witnessed SA scandals that exposed deep structural issues within parts of the electronic music scene, and we continue to see disparities not only among artists on stage and in studios, but also among the people making decisions behind the scenes.
One thing I’ve noticed after more than ten years of touring is how few women I’ve met in ownership or leadership positions at festivals, clubs, and labels. I’ve met even fewer people from gender minorities in those roles. That matters, because representation is also about who has the power to shape opportunities and influence culture.
At the same time, women, trans, and non-binary artists continue to face disproportionate levels of harassment, scrutiny, and gatekeeping, both online and within the industry itself. There is still a tendency to question our legitimacy, to treat us as exceptions rather than equals.
So for me, this project became a celebration of Queer and FLINTA+ artists, but also a reminder that the fight for equality is far from over. It’s an ode to people who are not only carving out space within music, but who are also fighting to exist, be respected, and live fulfilling lives on their own terms. Progress has been made, but there is still a huge amount of work to do, and the deeply ingrained biases that exist within the music industry need to be challenged if meaningful change is going to happen.
On a more reflective note, the album feels like it might also represent a personal or artistic journey up to this point, something quite difficult to encapsulate in one project. How did you approach reflecting on your own trajectory while making it?
The album comes from a very deep moment of reflection about where I am in my life and in my career. Over the past year, I’ve gone through a fairly intense personal process of re-evaluating my priorities and what I want to say through my music and my projects.
At times, I felt like I was on a kind of hamster wheel, caught up in the pace of things without really stopping to ask myself why I was doing it in the first place or what originally drew me to music. That’s still an ongoing journey for me.
I’ve also been questioning the wider structures around music… the gatekeeping, the expectations, and the pressure to constantly produce and move forward. And I realised that the more I pushed in that direction without reflection, the more I started to lose touch with both myself as an artist and as a person.
So this album really marks a moment of reconnection. It’s a reflection of where I am right now, but also part of an ongoing process of trying to stay closer to the core of why I started making music in the first place.
There’s also a sense that this record resists being boxed into a single label or sound, which can be difficult in an industry where artists are often categorised for booking or branding purposes. Do you feel that tension between artistic identity and external expectations?
In an industry where a lot of times we have to make decisions, there are certain things I don’t want to compromise on. This album, especially as a first statement, was one of those.
There’s definitely a sense of resistance in it. I wanted to make something for myself first, something that reflects everything I love about music rather than fitting into a predefined box. The record moves across techno, EBM, midtempo; there are collaborations with rap and rock artists. It shifts between tempos from 100 BPM to 150 BPM; it breaks expectations and limitations.
In an industry that often pushes artists into very fixed categories, I wanted to resist that instinct to simplify or label everything. Music has liberated me, shaped me, and made me who I am. The album honours that.
Finally, what do you want listeners to take away from this album?
If the album moves people in any way and makes them feel empowered, connected, or like there’s a space there for them, then that’s enough for me.
You can listen to the album here.
