
It's midnight, Dr. Max Cooper
When the chance to meet Dr. Max Cooper comes up, you run—no questions asked. His simplicity and the way he greets me instantly ease the pressure of this unexpected rush. In the end, nothing beats true spontaneity.
An hour and a half before our scheduled meeting, my iPhone rings:
Hi, it’s Max Cooper. Tell me, are you around?
Me: Of course! — even though I’m all the way across town.
He’ll meet me in 15 minutes, backstage.
His simplicity and the way he greets me instantly ease the pressure of this unexpected rush. In the end, nothing beats true spontaneity.
As a child, if
someone had predicted that you would become a DJ, what would have been your
reaction?
My shyness would
most certainly have answered impossible. As a kid, I thought a DJ was some kind
of radio host, someone who picks up the microphone and yells "hi everyone,
how are you doing tonight?" And it was inconceivable to me: inconceivable
to speak in public. However, from the age of 17, when I started going to clubs,
music became obvious. But it remained a hobby for a very long time; science was
and became my job before music took over.
Now that music is
your job, what does a working day look like for Max Cooper?
I wake up late…
especially on weekends when I sleep very little. For example, last night I made
a gig, then I took two flights to get here to Geneva. I had to install my
equipment and check the sound, the light. So generally I sleep 3 hours a night
on weekends. Fatigue builds up so well that between Sunday and Monday, when I
get home, I sleep a lot: more than eleven, twelve hours. And I find a certain
rhythm and my routine.
This routine necessarily begins with a late awakening. As soon as I get up, I turn on my computer and start working. In pajamas, I'm going to join my studio and start playing with the different instruments. My days are often spent answering the phone and emails in order to coordinate with my team: my manager, my agent, my travel agent, accountant, public relations and other people around me. Many people ignore that the job of DJ is not just a gig on stage, that a team is preponderant behind the scenes of a scene to carry out any project. It’s only after dinner, around 9 p.m.-10 p.m. that I start composing until 2 a.m.
Max Cooper, night owl.
He will add that silence and
darkness feed his creativity.
The excess fatigue also takes him into
unsuspected corners of his mind. I bring him back then to our sheep, namely
Emergence, his visual show.
At this stage of your career, is the music no longer sufficient since you
deemed it necessary to add images?
I’ve always been a
visual artist from the start. Of course, music is enough; many DJs are happy
with it. But my music has always been visual in my head. So much so that with
Emergence, I wanted to show these images. Sometimes the images came first and I
composed from the visual. The other time, the music was composed beforehand and
the images followed.
So do you think of music in terms of
colours, sensations, images?
I don't really
think about the creative process. If I compose something and it sounds right,
then I take that path. If, on the other hand, the sound is not there, I throw
it away and try something else. But colors, images are present; then it's about
decomposing the sound, peeling it.
How do you read your audience? Is it a collaboration or rather a
battle?
Understanding your
audience is a key element of the DJ profession. Being younger, it was easier
for me to involve it in my music because I went out a lot and I could feel the
atmosphere of the different clubs.
I knew more or less what to expect.
As the clock strikes midnight, I fade into the crowd, just another spectator among many. 2 hours later, Max Cooper takes the stage, surrounded by the visuals he weaves so seamlessly into his music. He deconstructs them only to rebuild them—layer by layer—until a universe unfolds before my eyes: the Big Bang, black holes, planets, stars… and then, human life.
I journey through the centuries, witnessing the evolution of humanity and its intricate complexity.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it: the man I call Dr. Max Cooper is a true humanist. To miss the chance to encounter him is, in a way, to neglect a small but vital civic duty.