“Resilience doesn’t come from strength — it comes from learning how to sit with the pain and still choose to move forward.” For Lee Ann Roberts, techno is more than a genre — it’s a lifeline, a language born out of survival, longing, and the hunger to feel whole. Raised in Durban, South Africa, her earliest relationship with sound was instinctual — something she felt in her body before she ever imagined making it herself.
She didn’t grow up with music lessons or a family legacy of artists. Her world was marked by instability and loss, including the painful grief of losing her mother to addiction — a wound that never quite closes. And yet, it’s from this raw, unfiltered place that Lee Ann began creating: not to impress, but to understand herself.
With her latest EP — released on her own NowNow Records — she returns to her roots with a track that holds memory and mourning in the same breath. And so “Africa” became a kind of spiritual reconnection. “That vocal wasn’t a feature — it was sacred,” she explains. What began with a single ancestral sample unfolded into a deeply personal love letter: to the land that shaped her, to the rave culture that healed her, to the rhythm that carried her out of pain and into purpose. And those drawn to the electrified pulse of harder-edged techno will find themselves right at home.
In this interview, Lee Ann opens up with unflinching honesty about her childhood, the fire behind her sound, and the quiet strength that’s helped her rise again and again. She speaks about finding peace in small moments, trusting her gut over industry noise, and the softness behind the kickdrum.
Image courtesy of press
Lee Ann, “Africa” feels like more than just a track — it feels like a personal statement. What emotions were you sitting with when you made it?
Africa is one of those tracks that came from a very personal place. It’s more than music, it’s a moment of truth for me. When I was creating it, I was sitting with a lot of grief, healing, pride, and a longing to reconnect with something I felt I’d drifted from.What a lot of people might not know is that I come from the psy-trance world. That scene was my first love. I was going to psy parties every weekend for almost 10 years, completely immersed. The community, the openness, the energy — it shaped how I feel and approach music even now. There’s something in the repetition, the trance, the way people connect on the dancefloor… it never left me, even as my sound evolved. Psy taught me to listen with my whole body. With Africa, I wanted to tap into something deeper. I used an African vocal sample that resonated with me immediately, it felt ancestral, familiar, like a call home. It wasn’t about using it as a “feature” it was about honouring something sacred. That vocal became the soul of the track, guiding its direction. So in a way, Africa is me reconnecting with where I come from, spiritually, musically, emotionally. It’s my past and present in conversation. It’s a love letter to the land, to the roots, to the rave, to the pain, and to the healing.
You’ve said the track is tied to your roots — in what ways does ‘Africa’ express your personal journey?
Africa is tied to my roots in every sense, musically, emotionally, spiritually. It expresses my journey by bringing together so many parts of myself that I’ve carried, questioned, and come back to over time.I grew up in South Africa, and while there’s so much beauty in that, there’s also pain and complexity. My upbringing was difficult, I experienced trauma at home that left deep marks. Music became the one place I could process all of that. Africa is me reclaiming that space. It’s a track that holds grief and pride at the same time. The African vocal in the track felt like a calling, like something ancient speaking directly to me. It brought this deep sense of belonging, of memory, even healing. I didn’t want to overproduce it or make it too polished, I wanted it to feel raw, spacious, and real. Because that’s what the journey has been raw and real.It also ties back to my early years in the psy-trance community. I spent every weekend for about ten years in that scene, and it completely shaped me. That music, those dancefloors, that sense of freedom, it gave me a spiritual connection to sound and movement. Even though my sound has evolved, that trance state, that ritualistic energy, still runs through everything I do. So Africa is me bridging those worlds, my past and present, my roots and my growth, the pain and the power.
“The pain gave me emotional depth — I’ve learned to work with it, not against it.”
And stepping back from the track itself, how do you relate to your South African identity now that you’re based in Amsterdam and playing worldwide?
It’s something I think about a lot, especially as I spend more time abroad and play around the world. My South African identity is still a huge part of who I am, it’s in my rhythms, my resilience, my sense of community. But I think being away from home has also made me see it with new eyes. There’s a deeper appreciation now, and also a kind of mourning for the things I had to leave behind or outgrow, to be where I am. South Africa gave me my spirit. It gave me the fight. It gave me the ability to hold space for both joy and struggle, which is such a big part of my sound. Living in Amsterdam and being part of the global scene has opened up so much for me, but it’s also made me crave that connection to where I come from in a different way. I carry it with me, always. You’ll hear it in the textures of my tracks, in the weight of the drums, in the moments of silence, it’s all rooted in home. So even though I’m not based in South Africa anymore, it’s not something I’ve left behind. It’s something I’m constantly in conversation with in my music, in my spirit, and especially when I play. That’s why bringing NowNow to Cape Town for the first time was so emotional for me. It felt like a full-circle moment, bringing everything I’ve built back to the place it started.
You’ve spoken about a chaotic and painful childhood — how has that early turbulence shaped the way you see the world today?
It’s shaped everything. Growing up in chaos, in an environment that felt unsafe and unpredictable, forces you to develop a certain awareness of people, of energy, of your surroundings. It teaches you how to read the room in a way that goes beyond words. That hyper-awareness stayed with me, and I think it’s part of why I connect so deeply through music now. It’s my language it’s how I process the world. The pain I experienced in my childhood definitely left scars, but it also gave me a kind of emotional depth that I’ve learned to work with rather than against. It took years to even begin to understand that and honestly, I’m still working through it. But that turbulence pushed me to create. To turn something destructive into something meaningful. It’s also made me value peace and presence in a way I don’t take for granted. I find so much healing in the small things now, my home, my cats, nature, being surrounded by people I trust. That stability I never had growing up, I’ve built it for myself now. And because of where I come from, I never forget how fragile and precious that is. So yeah, the chaos shaped me but I’ve turned it into something I can stand on, not something I drown in. It gave me the fire, and now I get to choose what I do with it.
“Still learning. Still dancing — with even more truth, more fire, and more love.”
Was there a specific moment growing up when you knew music would be your way out?
Yes, there actually was a moment but to be honest, modelling was my first way out. It came a bit easier in the beginning. It was an escape, a way to get out of my environment physically and be seen in a different light. For a while, it gave me a sense of control, a way to survive, and it opened doors that helped me move beyond the chaos I grew up in.But even then, I knew modelling wasn’t it. It gave me a ticket out, but it didn’t heal anything. The real shift came when I started to understand how music could hold the things I couldn’t say out loud. I remember being a teenager, overwhelmed, headphones on, and just feeling a track in my bones. That moment when sound became a lifeline that’s when I knew music would be my real way out.When I found the psy-trance scene, everything changed. I was at parties every weekend for about ten years completely immersed in that world. It wasn’t just partying, it was community, release, transcendence. It gave me a new identity, one that had nothing to do with the trauma I came from. That’s where I really began to understand who I was and what I wanted to say. So yeah modelling got me through the first door. But music is what saved me. It’s where I found myself.
Do you trust your gut more now than when you first started out?
A hundred percent, I trust my gut way more now than when I first started. In the beginning, I second-guessed everything. I think when you come from a background where you’ve had to survive chaos, you learn to doubt your instincts because you were always trying to read other people’s moods, stay safe, adapt. You become hyper-aware, but not always in a way that allows you to trust yourself. Over time, and especially through music, I’ve rebuilt that connection with my intuition. The more I’ve stepped into my truth creatively whether it’s saying no to things that don’t align, or trusting a weird sound that just feels right the more I’ve realised how powerful that inner voice is. It’s like a muscle. The more I listen to it, the louder and clearer it gets. Now, I honestly don’t make decisions unless they sit right in my gut. Whether it’s about collaborations, shows, even the vibe of a track if it doesn’t feel aligned, I walk away. That’s something I never would’ve done in the early days, but it’s become essential to staying grounded and authentic in this industry.
“Femininity isn’t softness — it’s strength, intuition, and deep resilience.”
You’ve described yourself as someone who gets back up, again and again. What helps you stay resilient when the weight of it all hits?
That’s such a real question and yeah, I’ve definitely had to become someone who gets back up, over and over. Resilience for me doesn’t come from some unshakable strength it comes from learning how to sit with the pain and still choose to move forward. What helps me stay grounded is a mix of things. Honestly, music is my therapy. When things feel too heavy, I go back to creating. Not with any pressure, just to feel. That’s where I process through sound, texture, silence. It helps me make sense of what I’m going through when words don’t cut it. Also, my home is everything. I’ve built a space that feels safe, surrounded by people I trust and love and of course, my cats who remind me to slow down and be present. Nature too getting outside, touching the earth, seeing the sky it reminds me there’s something bigger than whatever I’m carrying in that moment.And then, it’s this fire I’ve had since I was a kid that quiet voice inside that says you’re not done yet. I’ve been through things that should’ve broken me, but they didn’t. And every time I get back up, I get stronger. So when it all hits, I let myself feel it, but I also remind myself I’ve survived worse. I’m still here. And there’s still more I need to say.
If someone only knew you from your harder tracks, what side of you might they be missing?
They’d probably be missing the softness the deeply emotional, introspective side of me that’s just as present, even if it’s not always loud. The harder tracks carry a certain armour, a fire, a refusal to be broken but underneath that is someone who feels everything deeply.There’s a lot of vulnerability behind the power. The reason the drums hit hard, the synths feel raw, the energy is relentless is because they’re carrying real emotion, real history. What people might not see at first is the grief, the healing, the tenderness that lives behind the kick.I think there’s also a dreamier, more spiritual layer to me that comes through in the textures, in the spaces between the beats. That comes from years in the psy scene, but also from just learning how to listen to myself and let the emotion breathe in the music. So yeah if you only know the hard side, you’re hearing the fight. But if you listen a bit closer, you’ll feel the heart behind it too. Im quite shy too. (laughs)
You’ve played everywhere from underground clubs to massive festivals — what kind of energy or reaction do you crave most from a crowd?
For me, it’s never really about the size of the crowd it’s about the depth of the connection. The energy I crave most is that moment when the whole room drops into the same frequency. When people stop thinking and just feel, eyes closed, bodies moving, fully present. That’s everything.I love the intensity of underground spaces — the closeness, the sweat, the rawness. It feels intimate, like we’re all part of something secret and sacred. But there’s also something wild about massive festivals when you can feel thousands of people moving as one. Those moments give me chills. What I’m always chasing, no matter the setting, is honesty. I want people to feel like they can let go, to go deep, to rage, to cry, to dance without holding back. When I see someone completely lost in the music, or when the energy shifts and I feel that unspoken trust between me and the crowd that’s what I live for. That’s when I know it’s real.
“The most important thing in life is authentic connection.”
I loved your Christmas Instagram post with your two kittens — absolutely adorable! We’re big cat lovers too. (smiles) What do your pets mean to you, especially with such a fast-paced lifestyle? Do they help you stay grounded in between the chaos of touring?
They really are the softest, sweetest, kindest babies ever, they need to be protected at all costs. (smiles) Honestly, I don’t even know how I got so lucky with them. With everything that goes on in my life the travel, the chaos, the pressure they’re my constant. My calm. There’s something so healing about the way they just are. No expectations, no noise just presence, softness, and unconditional love. When I come home after long stretches of touring, the moment I see them, everything slows down. They remind me that it’s okay to rest. That love doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful. They’re not just pets they’re family. They’ve helped me build a version of home I never had growing up. A safe, gentle space that I’ve created for myself. So yeah, they’re more than just adorable they’re part of my healing, and I couldn’t imagine life without them. They don’t care if I just played a huge show or got off a long flight they just want love and cuddles. And that simplicity is healing in ways I can’t fully explain.They ground me in the present and bring a sense of normalcy and peace in my life too.
From one woman to another — I just have to say, your presence is not only powerful, but beautiful. Has your relationship with your own femininity or self-image changed throughout your journey in music and life?
Thank you, that truly means so much, especially coming from another woman. My relationship with my femininity and self-image has changed massively over the years. For a long time, I associated femininity with vulnerability, and vulnerability with danger because of how I grew up, and because of what the world often teaches women about their worth, as well as coming from the fashion industry where how you look is everything and also gets scrutinized constantly. I used to armour up a lot, both emotionally and physically, just to feel safe in certain spaces, especially in the music scene. But over time, I’ve started to reclaim what femininity means to me. It’s not softness in the traditional sense it’s power, intuition, strength, sensuality, rage, creativity, and deep, deep resilience. I’ve learned that I don’t have to harden myself to be taken seriously. I can show up as my full self emotional, fierce, raw, glamorous, messy and still be in control.The stage has become a space where I express all of that. Some days I lean into the rockstar, edgy side of me, other days it’s the dreamy, mystical, more fluid energy. And both are equally me. So yes, the journey has been real but it’s also been liberating.
“Now I only make decisions that sit right in my gut.”
Where do you see yourself in around 10 years?
In 10 years, I see myself having achieved all my goals the ones I’ve already set, and the ones I haven’t even dreamed of yet. I’ll still be creating, still pushing boundaries, but from a place of deep fulfillment. I see myself living fully in my purpose, surrounded by people who inspire me, using my platform to help others unlock their own potential.I want to be creating from an even more grounded, rooted place with more peace, more nature around me, and a studio that feels like a true sanctuary. I’d love to be mentoring younger artists too especially women who come from tough beginnings offering the kind of support I never had when I was starting out. I see NowNow growing into something much bigger than me, a platform, a movement, a space that challenges norms and builds real community across genres, identities, and continents. I want to keep building bridges between South Africa and the rest of the world through sound, collaboration, and culture. Creatively, I see myself still riding the edge maybe even sharper. I’d love to be even more immersed in real-world art scenes, collaborating with other musicians, designers, and visionaries to craft immersive experiences things people can step into and feel… And on a personal level, I just want more freedom. More connection.
Still learning. Still dancing with even more truth, more fire, and more love.
The most important thing in life is?
For me, the most important thing in life is authentic connection… to myself, to others, and to the world around me. That sense of truth…of being fully seen and felt, and offering that same presence in return. Whether it’s through music, love, conversation, nature, or silence it’s about showing up real. Without that, nothing else really lands. Success, attention, validation it all fades. But when you’re living from a place of truth, even the hard moments carry meaning. Even the pain becomes part of something beautiful.
Listen to the full Africa EP via Beatport:
www.beatport.com/de/release/africa-ep/5017825
Follow Lee Ann Roberts for more:
www.facebook.com/leeannroberts07
www.instagram.com/leeann_roberts
open.spotify.com/intl-de/artist
