UNER

Hello! Right now, I’m in my studio, my own little temple of sound and silence!

It’s a very particular kind of emotion. It’s not adrenaline or euphoria but something closer to reverence. Like handing over a sacred object you’ve crafted in solitude. There’s a vulnerability in that but also freedom. CONTICINIUM was born in the silence of my own “retreat” from the scene, so sharing it now feels like returning from a long exile (in part it is) but bringing a map I drew along the way. I am a bit nervous, yes, and “excited”. But over it I’m grateful. Because I know how much I had to lose and how much I had to let die to arrive here. It is a moment of survival and of transformation.

CONTICINIUM, the title itself refers to the quietest moment of the night, just before dawn. And that’s exactly what this album represents: the stillness before rebirth. It’s not just a comeback; it’s a reconciliation. With myself, with the silence and with everything I once tried to escape. The album traces a path through solitude, confrontation, surrender, and eventually, forgiveness. Not the kind you ask for but the kind you give yourself. Each track is a step in that process. It’s the sound of shedding layers. Of learning how to breathe normally again. I went through a period where I questioned everything: who I was, what role I played in the industry, and what was left of the kid who started this journey. And CONTICINIUM is my answer. Or rather, my offering. It’s a reminder that even when the lights go out, there’s something holy in the dark.

It wasn’t born as an album at all. It started as an exercise of the first step into communication with myself and the part of me that was dormant for a period of time. I needed to reconnect with my inner “frequency”. The first track I made was Chrysalis, and at the time, I wasn’t even thinking of a body of work; I was just trying to feel something again with “clubbing” music. That track was the beginning of the metamorphosis; it was a form of self-discovery and a way to break out of a cocoon I was in. After Chrysalis, everything else followed. The tracks came together almost like chapters in a book I hadn’t consciously planned to write. Each one felt like a natural step in the process and a continuation of a story that was unfolding in real-time in front of my eyes.
The process itself was incredibly intuitive. I didn’t chase genres, and I certainly wasn’t concerned about fitting into any mold. What I chased were sensations, the raw, unfiltered emotions, memories, fears, and hopes that had been buried for so long. Each track is a fragment of that process of reconstruction. And that’s why the album, while so diverse in sound, is completely coherent in spirit. It comes from one place: a deep and personal truth that I could no longer ignore.

The last few months have felt like walking barefoot across sacred ground: fragile, but real. When I released Shiddi, I didn’t know what to expect. I just knew I had to begin somewhere, and that track was my way of saying, “Here I am again, but different.” What’s happened since then has been deeply moving. Not in terms of stats or playlists (those things don’t define a work like this) but in the way people have opened their hearts back to me. I’ve received messages from strangers that felt like letters from old friends. People share how certain tracks have helped them through moments of confusion or of personal problems. And that, to me, is the highest kind of recognition. Because it means the music reached beyond the surface. I’ve been trying to stay close to that energy. Reading every message and taking the time to respond when I can. There’s been this quiet but powerful exchange happening between my silence and their stories, and I carry that with deep gratitude. I think the act of releasing this album is less about presenting songs and more about offering a space where vulnerability is safe again. That’s the real feedback I value.

The coherence in CONTICINIUM doesn’t come from technique. It’s not in the synth palette or BPM or genre. It comes from the emotional intention sewn into every piece. Every track is part of a larger inner narrative, like chapters of a story I couldn’t write in words because I can’t write in all the different languages of the planet, but music is the one everybody understands. Some tracks were born from stillness, others from chaos. Some were written in light, others in the middle of a night that felt endless. But they’re all connected by the same thread, which is transformation. You could say each piece is a mirror, sometimes cracked, sometimes clear. They reflect struggle, solitude, surrender… and slowly, reconciliation. I didn’t want to create something you just listen to. I wanted to create something you feel through. My wish is that CONTICINIUM gives people the space to “sit” with themselves without judgement, without needing to explain what they’re feeling. Maybe it helps them remember a part of themselves they had buried. Or maybe it simply gives them breath or just a moment to dance. It’s an album for presence. For remembering that darkness isn’t the end of something but often the beginning.

Chrysalis, without a doubt. Because, as I mentioned earlier, it holds the seed of everything. It was the first breath after a long silence and the first sign that UNER was still alive inside of me. Its meaning is both literal and symbolic, the transformation that happens in the dark, unseen. It’s that sacred process of dissolving yourself to become something new. It gave me hope when I had none, and for that, it will always remain the heart of the album. Even in terms of production, Chrysalis marks the shift from NIN3S to UNER (you can feel it at the very beginning of the track). It feels like a conversation between the two, like a gentle handover: "It’s your turn now."

I remember the hunger. That kind of “obsession”. The fire that didn’t let me sleep, not because of anxiety, but because I was consumed by a “purpose”. I was crafting a path with bare hands, no money, no rich family, stone by stone, in silence and darkness, with no one watching. There was no strategy, no blueprint, just instinct. I didn’t know where it would take me, but I knew I had to keep going. Pallene and Bassboot weren’t just tracks; they were turning points. Bassboot was pure energy. It was wild, unapologetic, alive, and even a little “weird”. That track was like a scream into the sky, and it echoed further than I ever imagined. It brought me to festivals, to places I had only dreamed of playing. It introduced me to a global audience, and it introduced me to myself. I could even say that Bassboot was the door that was opened to give a pass to Pallene. With Pallene, I felt like I was finally able to capture a kind of emotional depth inside club music that I had been chasing for years. It wasn’t just about making people dance but about making them feel something in the middle of the chaos. That track opened doors too, but more importantly, it created connections. I still remember people writing to me after sets telling me they felt seen, that the music gave voice to something they didn’t know how to express. Even today people still have Pallene as a light in the darkness.
But as much as those tracks carried light, they also carried weight. The rush of success, the pressure to maintain it, and the fear of being forgotten in a scene that moves too fast. That period taught me both the beauty and the brutality of the industry. I was building a name, yes, but sometimes in the process, I forgot to ask what that name truly stood for. Looking back, I don’t reject those moments. I honour them. They are part of my DNA, the roots of everything I’ve built since. I could say everything I have started is thanks to those tracks. But today, I’m no longer building just visibility; I’m building meaning, and that’s a very different kind of foundation.

NIN3S was the exile. The sacred cave. I can say it's the space I created to heal in public without anyone realising I was healing. Through NIN3S, I could cry in chords and scream through my piano. It allowed me to break free from the expectation of being “UNER the DJ” and become simply Manu the artist. It started just before the pandemic, almost like an unconscious preparation for what was to come. I had already felt the cracks forming years before that moment (creatively, emotionally, and spiritually) back in 2015, and NIN3S (four years later) was the first response that something needed to shift for me. Then, when the world fell silent, I listened. While everything stopped outside, inside I started moving in ways I never had before.
During those months of isolation, NIN3S became my way of staying alive. Not just musically, but emotionally. It gave me tools I didn’t know I needed (stillness, introspection, patience). I wasn’t trying to make people dance anymore; I was trying to breathe. To make sense of a very long grief, confusion, and change through textures, harmonies, and silence. It was never meant to be a “side project”. It was a lifeline, a mirror and a rebirth. And now, with UNER re-emerging, NIN3S isn’t something that is going to be left behind, NO! It is something I bring with me. It walks beside UNER as a brother, as a smiling shadow. Because the truth is I needed both, and I still do.

It was transcendent. Not just because of the scale, with over 140 musicians on stage, but because of the emotion. Standing there, hearing some parts of the electronic music world translated into orchestral language alongside classic pieces of classical music transformed to electronic, is a kind of magic that’s hard to describe. Javier and I created a journey that was both cinematic and intimate. Seeing people of all ages with happy faces in the audience, feeling the vibration of the strings in your chest… that’s the kind of impact that stays with you. It reminded me that music is not just entertainment; it’s medicine!

There’s a fear of failure that kills experimentation. The industry today is obsessed with a new kind of perfection, with metrics, with playing safe. Everything’s optimised for algorithms, for “virality”, for the playlist system. The result? A sea of copy-paste sounds, ghost-produced identities, and artists trapped in a loop of trends they didn’t even start or selling the idea they invented something when we are just repeating cycles! We’ve turned music into content, and in doing so, we’ve made it disposable. Labels are scared of risk. Managers and promoters want the “sure thing”, and they are willing to pay insane amounts of money for that “secure shot”, while thousands of young, visionary artists (not coming from rich families) with a more coherent message are “starving” because they can’t make a living from their art. Artists are coached to fit moulds rather than break them. And that’s dangerous because it dilutes the power of music to shake us, to provoke and to challenge us. But true art is born from risk, from not knowing “what the hell am I doing here” (Radiohead wink) or what you’re doing, but following the pulse anyway. From being brave enough to fail publicly. That’s the essence of experimentation. And that’s where I try to live now.
I admire artists who still dare. People like Floating Points, Burial, Bicep, Skrillex, or Ryuichi Sakamoto before he passed. They remind us that music is about pushing, not pleasing. They don't create to fill a gap in the market but to express a truth. That’s what I believe in. That’s the kind of artist I strive to be. Not one who follows the map, but the one who draws it as he walks. Lately, I’ve also been listening to artists that are pushing boundaries in different ways. Artists like Jon Hopkins (who continues to challenge himself with every release), Kelly Lee Owens or someone like Loraine James. There are still a lot of brilliant people out there making music for the sake of creativity and not just to fit into the framework of what the industry says is “popular”.

Right now, my focus is completely on CONTICINIUM and everything that will grow from it. But there’s one project I’m particularly excited about: this August 24th, at Teatro Apolo in Barcelona, UNER and NIN3S will finally meet on stage. It’s going to be the first time both of my identities share the same space in a live show, and it feels like a huge moment of reconnection. After years of walking these separate paths, August (my birth month) will mark the moment when both worlds converge, live and direct. What excites me most is that maybe it’s a hint of what’s to come. A teaser… MAYBE. Who knows? But this is a moment that has been a long time coming, and I’m approaching it with a sense of reverence for both projects. I don’t know exactly where it will take me, but I trust that this live encounter will open doors for something much bigger.
Beyond that, the real focus for me is staying true to myself, to my voice, and to the honesty I bring to everything I create. And in this stage of my life, that’s what truly matters to me: continuing to evolve with authenticity.