Los Angeles producer Nick Viola draws on a deep history in industrial and powernoise, previously recording as Fractured Transmission, to produce techno that is heavy, high-velocity, and uncompromisingly bleak. As label manager of Valley Electroniks and through releases on imprints such as OMEN Recordings and Venaeform, his work channels hardware-driven industrial energy into raw, distorted textures.

Viola's production, highlighted in his Precursor EP, is defined by a dystopian aesthetic. He builds crushing, driving grooves layered with hollow, menacing atmospheres, fusing synthesis with raw material and captured environment. The result is techno engineered for austere dancefloors, serving as a direct exercise in controlled tension and mechanical menace. Viola approaches production as a disciplined practice, making what needs to exist, driven by conviction rather than accessibility.

 

Hi Nick! Thanks for talking to 6AM how are you doing?

I’m doing well. Honestly, the pace has been relentless lately, but I’ve been trying to be more intentional with how I navigate it. My process usually involves getting into a very specific headspace to explore a theme, and once I’m there, I stay in it as long as possible recording raw material without any restrictions of self-editing. It’s about capturing that pure state before the ‘editor’ brain kicks in. Most importantly, I’m finally learning the importance of just taking a step back to enjoy the finished results, appreciating the work once it’s out in the world, rather than just immediately jumping into the next thing.

 

The new EP on OMEN Recordings landed on March 6. For people just discovering you through this release, what does this project say about where Nick Viola is right now that older material maybe did not?

I view this EP as the moment the ‘Nick Viola’ sound really started to define itself. In the past, I was exploring the boundaries of industrial and techno, but this EP is where I think I’ve finally figured out what my actual relationship with those sounds feels like.

It’s a direct result of recognizing the balance between the creator and the editor. Spending however much time submerged in a theme, recording massive amounts of raw material without any rules or restrictions on what the tracks should be. Then, step back and find those mechanical throughlines that feel right.

For people just hearing my work for the first time, this release is a more distilled version of that. It’s less about trying to fit into a genre and more about creating a specific atmosphere that feels honest to where I am. It’s a move towards being more intentional with the shadows and grit.

 

 

You have a background in industrial and powernoise under Fractured Transmission. When you moved into techno, what parts of that earlier mindset came with you, and what did you have to deliberately leave behind?

Fractured Transmission was about raw aggression and pure confrontation. It was designed to punish the listener and the sound system. I don’t view it as something I ‘left behind’ so much as something that I had to go through. I couldn’t have reached the headspace I’m in now without those years of exploring total sonic confrontation.

What did come with me is that core industrial DNA. I’ve shifted away from trying to overpower the audience. Now, it’s more about presence and intention. I’ve traded that blunt-force trauma for a more focused, mechanical discipline. It’s a shared experience rather than an attack. I let go of the need for noise for noise’s sake to find that power in the space between sounds. 

 

Your headshot uses pixelated eyes instead of a straightforward portrait. What made that visual feel like the right introduction to the project, and what does it communicate that a normal photo would not?

Techno has become such an influencer-driven economy now, and I’m not interested in putting anyone down for how they choose to promote themselves, but my personal rebellion against that is to make my own image feel as cold and unflattering as a passport photo or mugshot. It’s meant to be ubiquitous and stripped of vanity. By pixelating aspects of the photo, I’m trying to remove ego from the frame. So much of someone can be garnered from their eyes, it’s an invitation to connect with the person, I want the listener to focus on the work instead. It communicates that this project is a product of mechanical intent, not a curated persona. It’s about the output, not the individual. We could be standing next to each other in line at the coffee shop and you’d never know it was me.

 

As label manager of Valley Electroniks, you see the scene from both the artist side and the organizational side. Has running a label changed how you judge your own music, deadlines, or creative standards?

It’s a difficult balance, but my intention is to always be artist-foward. I view my role at Valley Electroniks more like a gallerist than a traditional label manager, everything is in service to the music and the vision of the artist. I’m curating a collection of works that I believe in, and I just hope people connect with them enough to support that vision.

We’ve fully recognized and embraced the ‘outsider techno for outsider people’ mantra. We aren’t interested in making the techno du jour or trying to participate in whatever is considered ‘cool’ at the moment, we’re very comfortable operating in the fringes.

Running Valley Electroniks has forced me to be more objective in my own material. When you’re curating a space for artists, you have to be sure that your own output holds the same level of honesty. It’s made me more ruthless in my own editing phases, I have to ask myself if a track is actually saying something essential, or if it’s just trying to fit a mold. It’s made the creative standards for my own music much higher because the work has to justify it’s own existence. 

 

Los Angeles has so many different electronic identities happening at once. How has living and creating in Los Angeles shaped your perspective, especially when your sound leans toward something more severe and stripped of comfort?

Being born and raised in Los Angeles feels like a rarity these days, and it gives me a different lens than the transplants who move out here to chase a specific scene. I grew up in the middle of these overlapping subcultures, spending as much time at Das Bunker as I did at Dark Matter Sound System or Droid Behaviour parties. For me, those worlds were never separate; they were just the same energy presented differently.

That history is why I’m comfortable in the fringes. Living, creating (and surviving) here means navigating the friction between the glossy surface and the gritty underbelly. My process of unrestricted recording is a way of capturing that specific atmosphere and tension. I’m not trying to fit into a specific ‘LA sound’ because I’ve been here long enough to see those identities shift and fade. I’m just reflecting on the version of the city I’ve always known, the one that is sprawling, brutal, and completely stripped of comfort.

 

Thanks again for taking the time! Is there anything else you would like to add?

Ultimately, it’s all in service to the output. I’m staying committed to a process where I just follow the creative threads wherever they lead, keeping things unrestricted until the tracks find their own shape. There’s no agenda other than to keep pushing forward.

That said, while the music and aesthetic are intentionally cold and confrontational, I’m not. The art is the vessel for that energy so I don’t have to carry it around. I’m always open to talking about any aspect of my practice, gear, Dodger baseball – you name it. The music is the ‘strict’ part; I’m just the facilitator.

Thanks for the space.

 

Connect with Nick: Instagram

Connect with OMEN Recordings: Instagram