Change is rarely a straight line — more often it is a spiral, a slow turning where fragments of the past leave their shadow into the present before dissolving into something new. For Portuguese DJ, producer, and curator Caroline Lethô, that spiral took her from the restless pulse of the city into the grounding silence of nature. Out of this shift came Transmutations, her upcoming new EP on Beat Palace Records, a release that melds together deep house, acid, disco, IDM, and EBM.
“It changed the way I listen — to myself, to others, to sound,” she says. And you can hear that transformation in the music: the urgent edges of Acidic Insights, the surrendering softness that follows, and finally Flow, where everything lands — calmer, lighter, alive.
In our conversation, Caroline opens up about leaving the city behind, her beginnings in her father’s late-night jazz rehearsals, and the ways music became her grounding presence. We also talk about Mud Re Terra, the rural festival she co-curates in Portugal, and how home, for her, has become less a place and more a state of belonging.
photography by Zé Maria
Hey dear Lethô, I’m currently listening to Acidic Insights, your first track release from your first full release ‘Transmutations’ on Beat Palace Records, which will be out on August 26th, featuring 4 original tracks in your trademark explorative dance sound — throwing in deep house, acid, disco, EBM, IDM, and garage influences. Honestly, with the energy of this track, it’s nearly impossible to sit still. You said the EP is “born from a live set I created during a personal transition. A time when I left the city and moved closer to nature. That shift gave me the space to slow down, listen and reconnect with my creative instincts. It’s a reflection of inner change and a document of a moment when making music became grounding.” Do the tracks reflect that driven, fast-paced city energy and on the last track, Flow, it´s when you leave this behind you?
Hey! I’m really happy to share a bit of my world with you through this conversation. “Transmutations” is a very personal release — not only because it’s been a while since my first EP, but also because it holds the memory of an internal shift that shaped the way I relate to sound and to life.
Yes, exactly — you really felt it! The first tracks definitely carry more intensity and urgency, like echoes of a city pace pulsing through. There’s movement, friction, restlessness — all of which I was still carrying when I first started shaping these sounds. But as the EP unfolds, there’s a softening. By the time I reach Flow, it’s like I’ve fully landed. That track came from a place of acceptance and ease — I had found a different rhythm, more in tune with the natural world and with myself. So yes, it’s a kind of symbolic letting go — of noise, speed, pressure — and arriving somewhere quieter and more grounded.
Why did you decide to leave the city in the first place, and how has your life changed since — not just musically, but also in terms of how you live and feel? And is there anything you actually miss about city life?
Leaving the city wasn’t sudden — it was something I felt building up over time and mostly came with all the lockdowns of Coronavirus and a love story :) I love many things about city life: the energy, the people, the constant stimulation. But at some point, that same intensity started to feel draining. I needed space — physically and emotionally — to reconnect with what I realized was an essence of mine. Moving closer to nature shifted everything. I started waking up with the sun, spending more time outside, and experiencing time differently. It changed the way I listen — to myself, to others, to sound. My music became more intuitive. I started creating from a place of presence rather than pressure. That said, I do still miss the spontaneity of the city — running into friends, late-nights, the cultural buzz. But I’ve found that visiting cities now feels more intentional and nourishing, because I’m not constantly immersed in that rhythm anymore. I can dive in, enjoy it, and then retreat again.
“Moving closer to nature shifted everything. It changed the way I listen — to myself, to others, to sound.”
The order of the tracks you chose for the EP — as well as their titles (Acidic Insights, Surrender, Breakthrough, Flow) — do they tell the chronological story of your personal development during that time? And: when do you personally feel most “in flow” in your life?
Yes, the order and titles are intentional — they trace an emotional arc that mirrors what I was going through at the time. Acidic Insights represents those sharp realisations, the uncomfortable truths that surface when you slow down and really listen. Surrender is about the release — letting go of control and trusting the process, even when it’s messy. Breakthrough marks a kind of inner shift, a crack in the surface where something new starts to emerge. And Flow is that moment of integration — when things begin to feel aligned, effortless, alive. I feel most in flow when I’m centered and grounded in myself — when I’ve done my rituals, my yoga, and I’m connected to my body and breath. Being in nature plays a big role too. In those moments, the overthinking stops, and I feel more like a channel — open, present, and at peace. It doesn’t happen every day, but when it does, it’s like everything clicks into place.
You mentioned that making music became grounding for you during this time. Can you describe what that grounding process looked or felt like?
Grounding, for me, is about presence. And music gave me that — it pulled me out of my head and into my body. I’d lose track of time, drop into deep focus, and often end up creating something that surprised me. It reminded me that I don’t always have to understand what I’m feeling — sometimes I just need to give it a shape, a rhythm, a texture.
I’d also love to hear more about your beginnings in music — as a child you regularly attended your father’s jazz rehearsals where you would listen and absorb the warm woodwind tones of his saxophone. Do you still remember how you felt back then or what kind of thoughts you had when you heard that kind of music?
Yes, those early moments definitely marked me. I was really young, and the rehearsals often happened late at night — I’d sometimes fall asleep to the sound of the music. I remember the atmosphere more than anything: the sounds, the people, the instruments, the feeling of being there. It was warm, familiar, and somehow comforting. Even if I didn’t fully grasp what was going on musically, those sounds became part of my internal library — many of them still live in my memory today. I remember the concerts too, the energy of live playing. I think being around that world so early gave me a natural connection to music as something lived and felt. I wasn’t thinking about it in any analytical way, but I felt the power of it. That stayed with me.
“Music gave me presence — it pulled me out of my head and into my body.”
You were also a bass player in a blues and jazz band in Faro for many years before you started exploring electronic music. What were your first real encounters with electronic music, and what fascinated you about it so much?
My first real encounters with electronic music came through the MP3 players and CD’s of some older friends. I’d scroll through their selections and be completely amazed — discovering acts like The Prodigy, Kraftwerk, Aphex Twin, Underworld, Massive Attack… It was a whole sonic universe I hadn’t heard before. Eventually, they started taking me to parties — first in my hometown, sometimes hidden away in the southern mountains of Portugal. Those early experiences were magical. Later, we started going to Lisbon together, and everything opened up even more. Even then, my love for bass was already there — and I think that’s what really pulled me in. I remember being struck by how physical electronic music was, how it moved people collectively, almost like a ritual. It wasn’t about showing off or playing complicated parts — it was about energy, atmosphere, repetition, and trance. What fascinated me most was the freedom.
And by the way — have you actually completely moved away from the jazz and blues scene?
Not completely. Jazz and blues are still very much part of me — they’re woven into how I listen and create music today. The improvisational spirit, the emotional honesty, the groove — all of that informs my approach, even in electronic music. And I still try to see my Dad’s shows whenever I am back in the south. (smiles)
You’re also co-organiser, music programmer, and part of the production team of Mud Re Terra, this rural festival in Portugal. On the website it says: “At Mud Re Terra, we aim to be more than just a festival. In these challenging times of global unrest, we are committed to being an alternative—a sanctuary of peace, love, tolerance, and inclusivity.” So — what has been one of your most beautiful or meaningful moments at the festival so far?
Aw Mud Re Terra is one of this year’s highlights. One of the most amazing things about the festival has been seeing so many different people from all kinds of backgrounds — families, kids, different “tribes” — coming together, sharing, growing, and being present without judgment. You could feel the good vibes everywhere, in the energy of the place and in people’s faces. It’s really special to witness that kind of openness and connection, where everyone feels safe to be themselves and just enjoy the moment.
What are the biggest challenges when it comes to organising a festival like this — and what’s something you maybe underestimated going into it?
One of the biggest challenges is balancing all the practical details with the vision and spirit of the festival. When you’re working with a small, passionate team and volunteers, logistics like infrastructure, safety, and scheduling can get really complex. It takes a lot of patience, communication, and flexibility. Something I underestimated was just how much time and energy goes into coordinating and making sure everyone feels supported and heard. It’s a huge effort behind the scenes, but it’s also what makes the festival feel like a true community.
“I feel most in flow when I’m centered and grounded in myself… the overthinking stops, and I feel more like a channel — open, present, and at peace.”
You’ve performed at iconic venues like Tresor and Dekmantel Selectors. How do those experiences compare to playing or curating something as intimate and close to the heart as Mud Re Terra?
Playing at iconic venues is an incredible experience — the energy is powerful, the crowd is focused, and you can feel the legacy in the air. It’s exciting to be part of such important places in electronic music history. But Mud Re Terra is something else entirely. It’s intimate, warm, and deeply rooted in community and nature. There, I get to connect with people on a more personal level — it’s less about the spectacle and more about shared experience, growth, and presence. Curating and playing in that setting feels like creating a safe space where people can truly be themselves. Both experiences inspire me, but Mud Re Terra touches my heart in a way that goes beyond performance.
Having roots in India and Africa, and being raised in Portugal — do you ever feel pulled in different directions culturally? Or does it feel more like a fusion that gives you strength?
It feels like carrying a tapestry of histories, rhythms, and stories in my soul. At times, it can feel like different winds pulling me in many directions — each with its own colors, textures, and voices. But rather than feeling torn, I find strength in this fusion. It’s like a living mosaic that shapes my identity and creativity, allowing me to move fluidly between worlds and perspectives. This blend nourishes my music and life, offering a deeper understanding of connection, complexity, and belonging. It’s a reminder that home isn’t a single place — it’s many layers of culture, memory, and feeling, all alive within me.
What does “home” mean to you now — is it a place, a feeling, or a community?
Home, to me, is less about a fixed place and more about a feeling of belonging and peace. It’s where I feel grounded, safe, and free to be my true self. Sometimes that’s a physical space — like being in nature, surrounded by familiar sounds and rhythms. Other times, it’s a community of people who share openness, trust, and understanding. Home is the quiet moments of connection, the rituals that center me, and the spaces where creativity flows without judgment. It’s a state of mind and heart that I carry with me, no matter where I am in the world.
Who or what inspires you outside of the music world? Are there any books, films, artists, or thinkers that you keep returning to?
I find inspiration far beyond the music world — in nature, literature, film, and the lived experience of creative freedom. Writers like Aldous Huxley, Boris Vian, bell hooks, Clarissa Pinkola Estés, and the author of Cloud Atlas (David Mitchell) have profoundly influenced how I think about consciousness, identity, social justice, and storytelling. In film, I’m drawn to works that explore the inner world and emotions with honesty and poetic depth — directors like Wong Kar-wai, Terrence Malick, Andrei Tarkovsky, and Agnès Varda. Their films create space for reflection and the ineffable. As for artists and thinkers, I’m inspired by free spirits who blur boundaries and question norms — from musicians like Brian Eno, Sebastian Vaughan (aka 69DB) and Laurie Anderson to contemporary thinkers like Rebecca Solnit and Vandana Shiva. They all invite me to explore the unknown, embrace complexity, and honor the creative impulse in life. Ultimately, I return to anything that helps me slow down, deepen presence, and connect authentically — be it a book, a film, an artist, or a walk in nature.
Thank you for these thoughtful questions — it was such a pleasure to reflect on all of this. I feel very lucky to be doing what I do, and even more so to connect with others through it. May we all keep finding ways to transmute, grow, and flow.
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