After making music for fourteen years, the prolific, Amsterdam-based DJ and producer Stef de Haan has his first-ever vinyl out with Berlin’s queer house and techno label SEVEN (for transparency, SEVEN and Hinterhaus are intertwined).
Titled Ataraxia, it moves from garage to minimal techno, with a rework by Perra Inmunda and a remix by Danny Wabbit.
This is big: Stef de Haan has self-released over 200 tracks over the last five years, a remarkable feat by any metric. For perspective, that’s almost a track per week for all five years.
Stef de Haan impressed SEVEN with his seemingly inexhaustible output and drive, and it paid off. “It’s so exciting!” he says, holding his release. “This is a huge moment for me. And I’m honoured to say it’s been met with really positive responses by some major peers, people I really respect.”
This is true—enthusiastic reception has come in from legendary artists like Anja Schneider, Bailey Ibbs, Laurent Garnier, queer DJ duo Blasha & Allatt, and Radio Slave. (Radio Slave especially loved the track “Dance Tool!” and wrote that they’ll “play it tonight!” at a gig.)
Stef de Haan has had tracks on vinyl compilations, like HEISSS VA002, but this is his first full vinyl EP.
He’s a producer, DJ, and creative force behind the collective De Reünie, and as half of the DJ duo Cybersex, Stef de Haan has deep musical roots. With De Reünie, he works to build community in Amsterdam with parties and a popular mix series. (Below, listen to the De Reünie Mix Series featuring Kim Swim.)
I sat down with Stef to talk about the personal stuff—mindfulness, art, work, and self-care.
How does it feel to have your first vinyl out?
“It’s crazy. I’ve made music for fourteen years,” he says. “Up to now, it was all digital.”
He especially loves the art. Stef de Haan is a talented artist and sells prints on his online shop, but he did not do the artwork for this vinyl; it’s by SEVEN’s designer, Milla Barbanera.
“I didn’t give her any direction,” he says. “When I saw the art, I saw it was fire and told her not to change anything.”
“If I’ve learned anything, it’s that when something looks right, don’t second-guess it. In art, the gut knows what’s right.”
Let’s talk about Cybersex.
Stef de Haan met his friend Nick Edwards—now known as DJ and producer EDWARDS—in 2019 at fashion school in Amsterdam. Before that, Stef had put in four years of graphic design study before pursuing fashion school.
Back then, his dream was to be a fashion designer. Then the first day of school happened.
“The orientation was like a festival. Nick and I were both clearly not comfortable with the idea of meeting the whole class, but we were comfortable with each other. We talked the whole time, then Nick asked, ‘Should we just leave?’ We weren’t feeling the vibe at all, so we bounced.”
They left, got beers, and have been friends ever since.
That friendship blossomed into Cybersex, known for their fast-paced sets built around “the purest form of groove and rhythm,” he says, pulling from dub, house, and techno, often with “glitchy synth elements.”
What did Amsterdam teach you about music?
Stef de Haan came up in the hip-hop and trap scenes of Amsterdam, which he says were “wild.”
“My first step into music was trap.”
At the time, his friend Nick was more into techno. “So we started going to techno parties on weekends.”
He names early spaces they loved. “We went to clubs and events like Eerste Communie and Spielraum.” Techno, at first, was Nick’s influence—then became a major focus on Stef’s musical output.
Do you still make and love trap?
He definitely does. “When I started producing, I mostly made trap. I love it. It’s probably the genre I listen to most.”
“Just this morning, from when I woke up to early afternoon, I made trap. Coffee and trap. That’s a good morning.”
Why did you leave fashion?
“At fashion school, I realised the sustainability issue on a deep level. That was a problem for me, even wanting to be part of the industry. I’m not the biggest activist, but I can’t unsee the waste.”
He describes music as the opposite kind of art.
“Making music feels like cheating,” he says. “You need some equipment that’s relatively inexpensive compared to materials needed for fashion—a computer, a drum machine—then make thousands of tracks without creating any waste. It’s a sustainable art form. Fashion is not.”
What’s the biggest personal lesson you’ve learned?
“Eight or nine years into producing, I lost faith in it. I stopped believing it was possible to get a career from music,” he says.
He kept releasing, but nothing landed.
“I consistently put stuff out. Nobody gave a fuck. At that point, you have a choice. Either you quit because it’s not picking up, or you continue without expectations.”
After some soul-searching and mindfulness, he chose the second path—he reframed the work as the point, not the labour.
“That’s the switch. I did it for fun because I truly enjoyed the process.”
Later, the work picked up. “It’s crazy how that happens.”
In the years since, De Reünie has hosted big events at Radion and Tillatec in Amsterdam, and the collective has done many events outside the Netherlands, including an appearance at Whole Festival and a club night at FOLD in London.
What pitfalls do young artists need to watch out for?
The wrong motives, Stef says—though he’s careful not to moralise. Wanting fame and money is normal, and he’s not pretending it doesn’t matter, but he’s blunt about what happens when those are the whole drive.
“It’s normal to want recognition for what you do, but if fame is the main goal, it won’t last. It’s empty.”
He says love has to live underneath it.
“You have to love music regardless of what you get back. The enjoyment of making music, listening to it, obsessing over it—on some level, that has to be the reward. If you don’t enjoy that, do something else.”
Let’s talk about your painting.
Stef de Haan’s work looks like elevated graffiti—a little dark, even nightmarish, but on the zany side: abstracted cats, castles, bats, and simple, spray-painted creatures, rendered like the painter was on LSD. In a word: the art is super cool.
Because Stef de Haan is a visual artist and painter as well as a musician, SEVEN loved the idea of including a pull-out poster of one of his original artworks in every copy of the limited edition version of Ataraxia (aka SEVEN7009LTD). This edition is limited to 200 copies and is a beautiful white vinyl in a custom outer sleeve.
Currently, Stef de Haan sells a selection of high-grade, art-print versions of his paintings on his online store.
“Every so often, I make a collection of ten pieces, create high-res prints of each of them, and do limited runs.” He treats batches of prints like limited fashion drops—once they’re gone, they’re gone.
But painting needs the right mental space, and last year, that headspace vanished for a bit.
“At the end of last year, I was burned out and only made music. There was no room for painting.”
Now, thankfully, it’s back. “I’m getting inspiration again. More paintings are coming.”
He ties the shift to his physical and mental health. “I feel physically and mentally well this year. I’m in a better place.”
“When I’m physically drained, too much partying, not enough sleep, I can’t work. I get annoyed, irritated. And there’s this inner dialogue that says, ‘Oh, actually you’re not that great of an artist.’”
He talks about days when nothing comes—when he wants to stop. “You work all day, and nothing comes out, and it just feels like a slap in the face.”
How do you get through those unfulfilling days?
“Up to a point, I think you need an inner critic,” he says. But he’s wary now of how easily that voice, that healthy critic, turns destructive.
“You can’t kick yourself too hard. I think most artists struggle with this. You have to practise being soft with yourself. Tell yourself it’s good that you put in the work today.”
He adds, “If you obliterate yourself, it’ll make you scared to work the next day. If you’re softer, you can come back tomorrow. Not every day is a great day for creation. That’s okay.”
What do days off look like?
He laughs: “Days off? Not doing anything is impossible for me.”
He can force himself away from the computer, but his mind stays on the work.
“Mentally, I’m always in it. Listening to music, getting visual inspiration. Lately, I don’t go a day without stimuli.” He pauses. “Maybe I should!”
You meditate. What does it do for you?
Here, I confess to Stef that meditation is a big part of my life, too—I do it daily. To date, Stef de Haan is the only artist I’ve interviewed who also meditates regularly.
“The brain doesn’t stop,” he says. “So I sometimes need some self-imposed silence.”
He wanted to do a silent retreat this year, Vipassana-style: ten days of silence and meditation. “I need that,” he says. He applied to one retreat centre and was not accepted. “In the end, there was not enough space. Too many applicants. Spots fill up.” He wants to try again. “I hope I can do it this year or next year.”
He tells a story from the day before our interview: “Yesterday, I had a phone call with a friend, and it was terrible.” I ask for details, but he’s vague: “Sad things.” His mind woke up when it should have been shutting down for the night.
“I was on my evening walk, which I do every evening to get my brain ready for sleep, but after that call, my mind was so active, so I meditated for twenty minutes and was able to sleep.”
What do you miss from Amsterdam when you’re away?
He laughs again. “Lately, less and less,” he admits. He misses his home because it’s comfortable. He misses his gym, his friends, and his family. But, he says, “I’m not that attached to Amsterdam anymore.”
Stef de Haan grew up in a small village about thirty minutes from the city and moved to Amsterdam at age seventeen. He’s thirty now and no longer lives in the city proper; he lives nearby.
I ask about tour life, and he talks about other cities as “new playgrounds.”
“Being in another city feels like love,” he says. “I walk around, and it’s new territory, new places. With DJing, I’m lucky to build connections outside my country, meet promoters, meet new people, play a few times a year, and feel comfortable in many places.”
“DJing gives me little homes everywhere.”
You often play in Berlin. What’s your relationship with this city now?
“I love Berlin so much. I could see myself living here. And Barcelona. England too.”
In particular, he loves Manchester. His booking agency is based there, and he has many connections there. But Berlin hits different—it’s special.
“I feel freer going out in Berlin compared to Amsterdam. Maybe because I’m less known here. I feel unknown. And I love that.”
He treasures the feeling of being unknown.
“Being unknown in a city is a brief and precious thing.”
Stef de Haan has his first party in Berlin coming up next month—Cybersex Invites at club AEDEN. Danny Wabbit, who remixed Stef de Haan’s track “1 More Time Selecta” on Ataraxia, will also be playing there.
Is it true you turned down a record deal with a major label last year?
This part of the conversation shifts. He clears his throat: “Yes. A major label came to me through email,” he says. He did his research, and at first, the offer seemed overwhelmingly good.
“At first I was like, ‘What the fuck, is this really happening?’” He got on a call, and they talked about what they wanted, what they could offer.
“They wanted to move quickly, while I was excited and not thinking.”
They were required to offer him a music contract lawyer and connected him with one in the U.K., but he found his own lawyer. By law, the label had to pay for it. The lawyer went through the proposed contract.
“It wasn’t a 360 deal,” he says. “Not the worst thing possible. But it wasn’t great.”
A 360 deal is a label agreement where the label takes a cut from multiple income streams—not just recorded music, but also touring, merch, brand deals, and sometimes publishing—on the logic that the label is “investing” in the artist’s entire career.
Even though it wasn’t that, the deal structure didn’t sit right with him: a short-term commitment, three EPs, four songs each, for an amount of money he would not disclose to me.
“It wasn’t even close to the value of the tracks,” he says. “On top of that, I’d lose my freedom.”
The big risk, for him, wasn’t money; it was time. “The biggest risk is getting shelved,” he says. He describes a nightmare scenario, one that other artists he trusted warned him could happen: finishing music, having masters ready, then waiting for the label to release them while other, bigger artists got priority.
“You can be on a shelf for a year,” he says. During that time, he says, he would not be free, contractually, to do anything else. He could not self-release anything until those three EPs came out. “You can lose the momentum you built for elven, twelve years,” he says. He talked to people, gathered details, and made a choice.
“I’m not going to sign myself away for some money. I worked too hard for musical freedom, one of the few things in life I can be completely in charge of.”
What advice would you give to younger artists?
“Do your research—deep, deep research,” he says. “Don’t assume they’ll make you instantly famous.”
He describes the industry as a machine: recruiting, scanning, finding what’s taking off.
“It’s a conveyor belt,” he says. “It’s money. They look for new artists to make them a little money, but they’re not looking out for your best interests. Look out for your own interests. Get a good lawyer to look over everything.”
Stef de Haan thinks a bit, then adds: “It took me a long time to realise this, and now I think it’s true of all business: it’s about leverage. Anything can be leveraged. Streams, visibility—even Instagram followers. If you build leverage yourself, they’ll negotiate. If you don’t have leverage and you’re hungry for the deal, they’ll grab you, and the contract will not be in your favour, and you won’t have anything to bargain with because you won’t have any leverage to pull.”
Do you have any music heroes?
Stef de Haan calls his inspiration “fluid.” Not one hero, and certainly not one sound, forever, but “there are all-stars,” he says. “Aphex Twin is a beacon—unapologetic expression, visual identity, innovation, being ahead of their time.”
Do you ever feel pressure to stay within a certain sound?
Yes—but he says all artists do, especially in the current streaming landscape.
“There’s an expectation of what people expect my sound to be,” he says, “and then there’s another world where I’d feel completely free.”
He really wants to release something that isn’t club-oriented house or techno—to drop a left turn.
“I’m getting into trap subgenres,” he says. “I want the freedom to drop a single that’s completely outside the Berlin house and techno sound.”
I tell him it’s a great idea, and that I encourage it. Bowie went pop; Radiohead made a hard electronic left turn with Kid A; Taylor Swift pivoted from country to pop. He’s in good company.
What’s the hardest part about touring?
Loneliness, he says—along with what happens when the body collapses in a place that isn’t home.
“Taking care of yourself is extra important on the road,” Stef de Haan says. “Feeling shitty at home is OK, but in another country, alone in a hotel room, mentally drained—that’s something else.”
His rules are basic: “Sleep. Don’t be reckless. Think about the next day.”
He admits he used to live the “classic” touring logic: “Enjoy the moment and figure the rest out later.” But that shifted. “You can have panic attacks in the airport,” he says. “I’ve had multiple. Sometimes the only thing I could do was stop and breathe.”
Why do you care so much about physical training?
“Working out is so important for me,” Stef de Haan says. “I’m big into callisthenics now.” He likes slow, measurable progress—one pull-up becomes two, two becomes four.
He likes that callisthenics forces the whole body to cooperate, not just isolated parts moving weight. We talk about powerlifters lifting huge amounts of weight. “The body is just not meant for that,” he says.
“I don’t really believe in powerlifting. You have one spine. Chill out.”
A lot of ego in the gym, he says, is about proving something.
“I don’t know, man. After years in the industry, staying up all night, it’s inevitable, I think, that you grow up and learn to appreciate how good it feels to be well.”
He feels well—this, at least, is where his life and his music seem to be centred now.
“It’s nice to just be good,” he says. “And that’s where my artist life is placing me now. Just be good.”
Words: Alexander Cheves
Images: Mara Menzel, with additional photos provided by the artist
