INTERVIEW: SEÑORA

“Práctica de Límites” is a bold meditation on thresholds—geographical, sonic, and emotional. With roots in the political realities of imagined borders and the deeply personal process of creative transformation, this album by Señora invites listeners to reflect on where limits begin and dissolve. While not overtly didactic, it carries the weight of global tensions, refracted through experimental soundscapes that oscillate between mechanical precision and human imperfection. From reversed vocal fragments to unconventional rhythmic structures, Práctica de Límites is both a continuation of the introspective tone set by the artist’s previous album Fósil, and a forward-facing dive into a more kinetic, danceable language—one that never lets go of its emotional depth.

1. Your album asks, “What belongs when, sonically speaking?”—how would you answer that today?

I still don’t have a clear answer, that’s exactly why I’m asking the question. But if I had to offer a direction, I’d suggest looking into the concept of hauntology, as explored by Mark Fisher. He writes brilliantly about how certain sounds carry the weight of lost futures, and how the past can echo through the present in unexpected ways. That idea resonates deeply with what I try to explore: what happens when sounds appear out of time, or refuse to belong neatly to a specific era.

2. There's a cinematic quality in your productions. If Práctica de Límites were a film, what genre or story would it tell?

It would definitely do something eclectic, at least that would be my wish. A film like “Under the Silver Lake” comes to mind. It’s a good example of how to deliver clear emotional or sensory stimuli within a framework of abstraction. That’s a kind of art in itself. Conveying something meaningful without giving everything away. For me, the goal is always to offer something new and disruptive, but still grounded in intention. When that balance is there, it feels like you're heading in the right direction.

3. What makes a recording “stolen” versus “discovered” in your context?

A recording feels “stolen” when it’s captured without permission or outside its original intention. When you're taking something raw, maybe even private or accidental, and placing it into a new sonic environment. There's a kind of beautiful trespassing in that. A “discovered” recording, on the other hand, feels more like an encounter, something found organically, maybe forgotten or overlooked, that suddenly reveals its potential when recontextualized. Both carry a different kind of energy. I use both, depending on what the track asks for.

4. Which track on the album presented the biggest compositional challenge?

All three tracks had their own challenges, but I’d say “Antiarmónica” gave me the most headaches. I went through several iterations of sounds, constantly tweaking to find the exact emotional tone I was after in certain riffs and rhythms. With electronic music, the real task is getting the machine to express what the human feels and that translation can be more demanding than people often realize. 

5. You've played across varied geographies—from Ferropolis to Moscow. What moments stay with you from those travels?

I carry very fond memories from each of those places. In most cases, my music was met with warmth and openness, which is always incredibly rewarding. It’s still exciting and a bit surreal to know that people across different parts of the world connect with what I do. Wherever I go, I meet listeners who’ve already spent time with my music and bring their own perspectives to it. That’s deeply comforting. These encounters also become part of my personal journey. They help me stay grounded and navigate my own emotions.

6. How did you sequence the tracks—what narrative or flow did you imagine?

Most of the time, the process begins with improvisation, just exploring ideas freely and gradually, a direction starts to take shape. Out of the many tracks I begin, I select the ones that resonate most with the concept that’s starting to emerge for the album. From there, I adapt and reshape them so the whole project feels coherent. Other times, a single track becomes the conceptual anchor, setting the tone and guiding everything that follows. With “Práctica de Límites” it was mostly the first scenario.

7. In an era of algorithmic listening, what does artistic risk mean to you?

We're living in a moment where the biggest competition might come from a machine. One capable of identifying patterns that trigger very specific emotional responses. That’s an unprecedented challenge. But maybe it could serve as motivation to surpass the machine and convince the public that AI might handle the repetitive or functional tasks but the truly creative, risky, and emotionally resonant work still belongs to humans. It is undoubtedly the script of a science fiction novel.

8. If you could host a listening session anywhere in the world, where would it be?

Lately, I’ve been thinking how special it would be to host a concert at my parents’ house, where I was born and raised. It’s in a beautiful spot, surrounded by the local vegetation, and there's a piano there that’s been part of the family for years. On a mild afternoon, with the natural setting as a backdrop, I think it could create a truly intimate and meaningful experience. I'll think about it more carefully…

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