Tommy Nietz stepped into this interview with the same charged clarity that lights up his latest release, Spirit of God. His work carries a pull that feels both internal and cosmic, shaped by contrasts that refuse to sit quietly. Throughout our conversation, he speaks about the emotional weight that powers his production, the quiet force that keeps urging him forward, and the moment he let hope seep back into his creative world. If you want to understand how he builds sound from tension and tenderness, and why Spirit of God marks a powerful shift in his artistic path, this is a conversation worth settling into.
Welcome to A&R Factory, Tommy, it’s a pleasure to have you here and to dig into the heart of what’s powering your new release. “Spirit of God” lands with this wide-open emotional weight while still kicking out that huge electronic pulse. When did you first realise you wanted to push those two forces together rather than keep them in separate corners?
I realised pretty early that my sound lives exactly in that tension. I’ve always felt that emotion doesn’t have to be quiet — it can be huge, overwhelming, almost physical. And electronic energy doesn’t have to be cold. So with Spirit of God, I wanted those two worlds to collide instead of coexist politely. The emotional weight opens the heart, and the pulse pushes it forward. That combination feels the most honest to me right now.
You often talk about the invisible force that drives you, the thing that sits behind the production work. What does that feel like in your day-to-day life and when you’re making music?
It feels like a quiet pull — something that keeps moving me even when I don’t fully understand where it’s taking me. In daily life it’s this constant awareness that there’s more beneath the surface. When I’m producing, it shows up as intuition: sounds I’m drawn to without explanation, decisions that feel “right” before they make sense logically. It’s not mystical as much as it is a deep internal momentum.
There’s a real sense of release in this track, almost like a door cracking open to something brighter. Was there a specific moment or experience that nudged you towards writing something so charged with hope?
Yes — there was a moment where I realised that holding on to pressure doesn’t create strength, it blocks it. That shift opened something in me. Spirit of God came out of this feeling of exhaling after a long time. Not because everything was suddenly perfect, but because I finally allowed space for light again. The hope in the track is real because it was something I genuinely needed at that moment.
Your work exists between contrasts, which is such an intriguing place to build a sound from. How conscious are you of those contrasts when you’re writing, and how much of it just spills out naturally?
Some of it is intentional — I love sharp contrasts, because they make a track breathe. But most of it just happens naturally. I tend to write in extremes: soft vs. explosive, intimate vs. huge, synthetic vs. organic. Those contrasts don’t feel like choices; they feel like my emotional language. I think that’s why people often describe my music as both powerful and vulnerable.
“Spirit of God” has this festival DNA stitched through it, but it also feels incredibly intimate. When you picture people hearing it for the first time, what kind of space do you see them in?
I actually see two spaces at once. One is a massive festival field — lights cutting through the night, the whole crowd breathing in sync. The other is someone listening alone with headphones, maybe on a late-night train ride. If a track can hold both spaces at the same time, that’s when I know it’s alive.
Your production style feels as though it is reaching for something beyond the usual electronic palette. What sonic ideas or textures have been on your mind recently that pushed this track to where it is now?
Lately I’ve been obsessed with textures that feel ancient and futuristic at the same time — airy choirs, resonant pulses, distortion that almost sounds like breath. For Spirit of God, I layered organic elements with very clean modern synths, almost like building a bridge between worlds. I wanted every sound to feel touched by something human, even inside a very electronic structure.
You’ve spoken before about wanting Nietz Sounds to tell stories that move beyond the surface. What kind of emotional narratives are you hoping listeners pick up on when they sit with this release?
I hope they feel that moment where you rise — not because everything is resolved, but because something inside you shifts. Spirit of God is about strength that comes from vulnerability, about recognising that you’re not walking alone, even when it feels like it. If listeners pick up even a spark of that emotional truth, the story has landed.
As you look towards whatever is coming next, what elements of “Spirit of God” feel like they’re pointing you towards the next phase of your sound, either emotionally or creatively?
The emotional clarity — that’s definitely staying. And the blend of cinematic textures with heavy festival energy is something I want to explore even deeper. Spirit of God feels like a doorway: on one side is the sound I’ve built so far; on the other is the next evolution of myself as an artist. I’m excited because I can feel the direction even before I can fully describe it.
Stream Spirit of God on
Spotify now.
Interview by Amelia Vandergast
