Gareth Jones is by now one of the most eminent synthesists in the UK. A veteran producer and mixer with records by John Foxx, Interpol, Mogwai and many more to his name, he spent his formative years at the legendary Hansa Studios in Berlin, where he created groundbreaking albums with the likes of Depeche Mode and Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds. Jones creates intricate and experimental electronic compositions, both as one half of Sunroof with Mute founder Daniel Miller and solo as Electrogenetic. His latest album Electrogenetic 2: Nos Da is out now on Mortality Tables.
On his entry into modular
My entry into modular synthesis wasn’t a sudden conversion so much as a gradual return. My first real encounter goes back to the 1980s, when I purchased a Roland System‑100M. It introduced me to the idea of building sound from first principles; patching signal paths, shaping voltages, and discovering relationships rather than relying on presets. Years later, when I decided to dive into Eurorack, I found myself unexpectedly overwhelmed. Even with a clear budget, I had no idea what to spend it on. I made several visits to SchneidersLaden in Berlin, and each time I was completely disoriented by the sheer range of possibilities.
It was Andreas Schneider who gently guided me through that moment. His advice was beautifully simple: buy a small case, choose just a couple of modules, and begin. That approach changed everything. Coming back to modular in this way felt less like learning something new and more like reconnecting with a language I’d once spoken. It reawakened a beginner’s mindset — where curiosity leads and where not knowing becomes the most valuable starting point.
On his go‑to modules
My go‑to modules tend to be those that blur the line between utility and instrument. I’ve always been drawn to modules like [Make Noise] Maths, Mimeophon, Wogglebug and QPAS, not necessarily for what they are on paper, but for how they behave in context. Maths, for example, is endlessly revealing. It can be envelope, LFO, logic or something more abstract depending on how it’s patched. Mimeophon brings a sense of space that feels almost performative — it’s not just delay, but a shifting environment. Wogglebug introduces a kind of animated unpredictability that keeps the system alive, while QPAS offers a sculptural approach to filtering that feels very musical.
Alongside these, I’ve had a very positive experience working with the Music Thing Modular Workshop System. Its relative limitation is actually its strength. With a smaller, more defined set of tools, you’re encouraged to go deeper rather than wider, and that can lead to a much more intimate relationship with the instrument. Within that, the little computer section has a vast and surprising potential — it opens a door to programmability and variation that can transform even the simplest patch into something evolving and alive. What interests me most is how modules interact. Often, I’m less concerned with individual functions and more with the ecosystem they create together.
On Electrogenetic 2: Nos Da
Electrogenetic 2: Nos Da is deeply personal for me. The title itself comes from something my father used to say to me each night — ‘Nos Da’, which means ‘good night’ in Welsh. As a child, I misheard it as ‘no star’, and that misunderstanding stayed with me in a strangely poetic way.
The record is built around memory, inheritance and listening across time. Many of the sounds originate from my father’s record collection — small fragments, textures, and atmospheres that I’ve recontextualised within a modular framework. It’s a kind of dialogue between past and present.
Many of the sounds originate from my father’s record collection — small fragments, textures, and atmospheres that I’ve recontextualised within a modular framework.
A significant part of the album was created outside the studio, in places like an English countryside hotel and on a terrace overlooking the Aegean Sea. Working in those environments influenced the pacing and openness of the music. For the core of several pieces, audio was conjured from modules not usually considered primary sound sources, like Maths and Wogglebug. Treating these as generators rather than processors opened up unexpected sonic territories, where the material felt discovered rather than designed. Ultimately, this album is a gesture of gratitude. A way of saying good night, and thank you.
On Berlin and Hansa Studios
When I first worked there, the city itself carried a very particular energy — divided, intense, and creatively charged. That atmosphere inevitably found its way into the music. Hansa offered a unique combination of precision and possibility. The technology — especially the early digital systems and the SSL console — was cutting‑edge, but there was also a strong sense of experimentation. At that time, I very much felt that I was playing the studio as an instrument. The entire environment — tape machines, outboard, routing, the console — became part of a modular system in its own right.
Working with artists like Depeche Mode in that context was about shaping signal flow as much as it was about capturing performance. Sound wasn’t fixed; it was something you navigated, patched, and discovered in real time. What stayed with me is the idea that a studio can be more than a technical space. It can be a living system. In many ways, my work with modular now feels like a direct continuation of that approach: an open, exploratory dialogue with the architecture of sound itself.
On the culture of modular
The culture around modular synthesis is something I find deeply encouraging. There’s a strong sense of community, curiosity and shared exploration. People are often as interested in how something was discovered as they are in the result itself.
What feels particularly vital at the moment is the culture around open‑source and open‑access digital modules. There’s an incredible generosity in the way knowledge and tools are shared. A beautiful example is the community surrounding the Music Thing Modular Workshop System computer cards, where people are constantly developing and exchanging new ideas, extending the instrument in unexpected directions.
Similarly, the ecosystem around the Expert Sleepers Disting EX and NT is remarkable. The module itself is already extraordinarily capable, but what makes it truly special is the wider community — developers and users creating add‑ons and new ways of thinking about its potential. What I appreciate most is that this culture resists fixed hierarchies. There’s no single correct approach. Modular becomes a shared language, shaped collectively, yet expressed individually. In that sense, it’s not just a technology. It’s a living, evolving practice.