Raffertie: A Journey Through Sound and Identity

From early experiments with electronic music to crafting intricate orchestral scores, Raffertie has built a career that bridges genres, transcends boundaries, and continuously evolves. Drawing inspiration from everything–from the gritty, instinctive energy of dubstep to the refined sophistication of classical composition–Raffertie has carved out a unique sonic world that is as dynamic as it is distinctive. 

Throughout his career, Raffertie has navigated the complexities of the music industry, learning to trust his identity and instincts as an artist. Now, with years of experience and a deep understanding of both the technical and creative aspects of music, he’s more confident than ever in his voice–one that’s both challenging and accessible, raw yet emotive. In this interview, we dive into Raffertie’s creative process, the evolution of his sound, and films like The Substance he’s worked on. 

Photo by Amba Taye Pittard-Watt for SCRT

What first inspired you to study music composition, and how did you decide on Birmingham Conservatoire? 

I wasn’t sure what else to do, but I knew that music was my greatest passion. I had an excellent trumpet teacher who, early on, encouraged me to explore composition after I showed her some of the things I had been working on. Having that kind of support at such an early stage was invaluable, and I was lucky to have several great music teachers along the way. 

At the time, I didn’t even realise that music colleges existed–places where you could study music full-time. When I finally learned about them, I realised I wasn’t taking the right A-levels, so I had to start over. In the end it all worked out. I applied to several conservatoires, not entirely sure what to expect, and was fortunate to receive an offer with a scholarship from Birmingham Conservatoire. 

The composition department there, led by the incredible composer Joe Cutler, was eye-opening. I had amazing teachers and was exposed to styles of music and compositional techniques I had never encountered before. Going in, I wasn’t sure if I was good enough to pursue music professionally, and music college can be a kind of distillation process–you quickly discover where you stand and whether you can catch up if needed. Overall, it was a challenging but overwhelmingly positive experience, one that shaped me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. 

While studying classical and contemporary composition, were you already experimenting with electronic music, or did that come later? 

I dabbled in electronic music a bit before university, but it wasn’t until I got there that I started taking it more seriously in my spare time. I began releasing singles on Planet MU and playing a lot of DJ sets. Looking back, starting to release music while I was still in education was a huge advantage–it meant that by the time I graduated, I already had some momentum and a bit of a head start. I just kept going, staying in that mode of constant creation. 

For a long time. I saw my electronic music and my more orchestral composition as two completely separate worlds. That changed when I shared some of my electronic work with one of my tutors at the Conservatoire. He really liked it and convinced me to include it in my final portfolio. Up until then, I’d been quite shy about that side of my work, but hearing that validation gave me the confidence to share it more openly and recognise it as an important part of my musical identity. 

Birmingham Conservatoire fostered a culture of experimentation, and that encouragement to explore different approaches was crucial. It allowed me to embrace both sides of my music and see them as interconnected rather than separate.

You were DJing at major venues like Fabric and festivals like Glastonbury before you even graduated–how did you first break into that scene? 

After releasing singles with Planet Mu, they started getting good reviews in magazines like Mixmag and on early music blogs. I was doing a lot of mixes for different blogs, and they were making the rounds, with people downloading them. That exposure eventually put me on the radar of a live agent, who took me on and started booking shows for me. 

Photo by Amba Taye Pittard-Watt for SCRT

It was an exciting time–I was playing all over the UK and gradually expanding into Europe. At that age, with the freedom to sleep in until Wednesday if I wanted to, it was a lot of fun, and I really enjoyed it. But even then, I had a sense that DJing might not be something I could sustain long-term. It often felt like a solitary pursuit, and I had the best time when I was playing shows where my friends could be there. 

As I started travelling further across Europe, I found that I didn’t really know anyone in the cities I was playing in. Instead, the experience mostly involved small talk with strangers, and I rarely got to see much of the places I was visiting. Since most gigs were at night, I’d be in a city for 8-12 hours, but by the time I was free, everything was closed. It was great to travel, but in some ways, it felt like I wasn’t truly experiencing the places I was going to.

How did your session on Anne Hobbs’ Radio 1 Experimental Show in 2008 come about, and what did that experience mean to you at that time? 

At the time, her radio show was hugely influential in the electronic music scene–and it still is. With the rise of certain acts, she was the ultimate tastemaker, shaping the direction of the genre. I remember hearing Burial’s first music on her show; it felt almost magical. 

I think I first came onto her radar through Planet Mu after releasing my first couple of singles with them. The label must have sent her my music, and she eventually reached out to me. From that point on, I kept sending her bits and pieces, and she was incredibly supportive. In no small way, she helped establish what I was doing in those early stages.

Your 2009 remix of Franz Ferdinand’s No You Girls reached No.22 on the UK Singles Chart. How did that opportunity come about, and did you expect it to make such an impact? 

In electronic music, one of the most common ways artists break into the industry is through remixes. I’m not sure if it’s still the same now, but at the time, it was a major pathway. Remixing bigger acts created a trickle-down effect–being associated with them meant more people could hear your work and become familiar with you. 

I don’t know if I expected it to have a huge impact, but I was just excited for the opportunity. I was very familiar with Franz Ferdinand and had spent a lot of time in indie clubs growing up, so getting the chance to remix their music felt incredible. I was also a big fan of Domino Records, which made it even more special. 

With all of these moments, it’s less about immediate success and more about those small stamps of approval–those little acknowledgement from people saying, ‘I like what you do.’

What was your approach in remixing a track, how do you balance making it your own while keeping the essence of the original? 

Photo by Amba Taye Pittard-Watt for SCRT

I think it really depends on what elements of the original track stand out to you. Remixing is such an open-ended process–sometimes, the remix needs to be instantly recognisable, while other times, it can be completely transformed into something unrecognisable. For me, I try to find that particular element that catches my attention–whether it’s a hook, the topline, or a specific instrumental sound–something that I can imagine fitting naturally into my own style. While it’s important to respect the original artist’s vision, remixing also offers a chance to say, ‘Here’s another way to think about this song.’ There’s no single approach to remixing, but for me, it always starts with that one element that sparks inspiration. 

What was it like founding Super Recordings right after graduation? Did you always envision running a label, or was it something that naturally evolved? 

Starting the label was something I did with my manager–it felt like a great way to release my own music while also supporting other artists. As a DJ, I was constantly being sent unreleased tracks from friends and other producers, and at some point, it just clicked: why not put this on our own label? We had a couple of big singles that gained traction, and it was exciting to have full control over my music without having to go through the A&R process. 

I always found working with labels and A&Rs difficult. Some artists have really positive experiences, but for me, it was challenging for a number of reasons. I entered into record deals quite naively, without fully understanding what they entailed. Every label operated differently, and my experience wasn’t entirely positive–though, in hindsight, part of that was my own lack of awareness. I didn’t fully grasp what it meant to be signed. 

Looking back, the advice I’d give myself is: If a label signs you, it’s usually based on a couple of singles, and they want more of that. You become a commodity, something to be packaged and sold, and that tension between art and commerce isn’t always comfortable. Some artists are very business-minded and thrive in that environment because they understand what’s expected of them. Others are more focused on making an artistic statement, and if their vision happens to align with industry trends, they’re lucky. But there are also artists who struggle because they assume a label deal is about artistic development when, in reality, they’re expected to keep delivering a particular sound–something they may not want to do.  

Creatively, it’s hard to stay in one place. People still reference music I made five or six years ago, but I’ve moved on. Over time, I've gotten better at understanding why certain elements of my past work resonated with people and how to build on that without feeling stuck. That said, there will always be listeners who want to recreate your past sound, but as artists, we have to be allowed to evolve. Growth and change are essential. 

You signed with Ninja Tune in 2011–how did that partnership come together, and how did it shape your career moving forward?

My time with Ninja Tune was a formative experience–there were both great aspects and some challenges, but in many ways, that period shaped where I am now, and I’m happy with where I’ve ended up. I have to give a lot of credit to Just isn’t Music (JIM), the publishing arm of Ninja Tune. They were always proactive about getting my work out into the world, especially in the early days, securing sync and bespoke composition opportunities. That was what really allowed me to pay my bills, and from the start, in many ways, played a huge role in establishing me in the world of composition.

Photo by Amba Taye Pittard-Watt for SCRT

Coming from a background in composition, how did you transition into production and DJing? Was there a learning curve?

My interest in electronic music really came from a curiosity about how those sounds were made. It also felt like a relief to work on something completely different alongside my orchestral compositions. The stakes felt lower–I didn’t have to take it too seriously, and that freedom was enjoyable.

I think that playfulness comes through in some of my early work, like Wobble Horror, where even the title is silly. I recently played it to my son and we both laughed at how carefree and ridiculous it was. Those big, wobbly basslines swooping all over the place, the chopped-up samples–there was this raw energy and complete disregard for convention. It tapped into the dubstep, half-step vibe, but that was really the only thing tying it to a specific genre.

I think that I’ve been trying to recapture that sense of freedom–not worrying too much about what I should be doing and just responding instinctively. When you’re first making music, there’s a rawness to it; you’re reacting purely on instinct, even if you don't yet have all the technical skills to fully execute your ideas. For a while, I went deep into the technical side of things, learning how to craft sounds in a very specific way. Eventually, I had to figure out how to return to that instinctual approach. What I’ve realised is that you learn the technical side to the point where it becomes second nature–you’re not choosing something because it fits into a key or structure, but simply because it feels right in that moment. Like any musical discipline, it’s something you have to practice, but I feel like I’m getting back to that place where I can trust my natural response to things. 

As for why I was drawn to electronic music in the first place, I think it was the sense of possibility. It was something I could do entirely on my own, without relying on anyone else. Just me, a computer, and whatever I recorded into that. That level of control–the ability to build entire worlds from scratch–was really appealing. I love the way electronic music lets you get lost in your own experiments. It sometimes gets criticised for being cold or impersonal, and I understand that, but to me, that’s part of the challenge–finding ways to create something that connects with people in a medium where that connection isn’t always immediate. 

Did your classical training influence your approach to remixing and producing electronic music in those early years? 

A lot of what I learned at music college became an internalised technique–something that naturally and subconsciously feeds into my musical responses. I don’t know if I could pinpoint a direct this led to that moment, but being exposed to so many new styles and compositional techniques inevitably pushed me in different directions. 

One of the key composers I studied was Oliver Messiaen, and his use of modal harmony found its way into some of my orchestral work. I’ve always been drawn to modal harmony–there’s something about the way it catches my ear, and I often hear it in other people’s music as well. In The Substance, for example, there’s a strong modal character in some of the melody lines. I worked a lot with the Phrygian mode, which has a naturally dark colour to it. Once I landed on a particular melody line, it felt like the perfect way to reflect Elisabeth’s inner turmoil.

Was there a specific moment in your career where you felt like you had truly “made it”?

It’s funny–when I first started writing for film, I was really lucky in that one job seemed to lead to the next. I didn’t always take a moment to reflect on everything I was doing. A film or TV score involves a huge amount of work, and the quantity of music you have to churn out can be overwhelming. Sometimes, the timeframes are incredibly short and pressured. For example, on my first job, I had five days to write string cues and then record them with the London Contemporary Orchestra in an amazing studio. 

At the time, all I was focused on was getting it done. You don’t often have the chance to step back and appreciate what you’ve accomplished. After finishing a project, you don’t always think, ‘Wow, that was really impressive–I managed to do all that in five days, and it sounds great.’ I think that can happen between jobs, too–you don’t always take the time to reflect on what you’re proud of. Lately, though, I’ve been trying to carve out time after each project to listen back, evaluate what I liked, and think about what I might change if I had the chance to do it again. 

Over the past year, with the reception of The Substance from the Cannes Film Festival and to the awards season that just passed, there’s been a kind of life after the release of the film. The fan reaction has been amazing, and it seems to have developed a solid fanbase. It’s been one of those projects where there have been multiple opportunities to step back and think, ‘That was really cool, and I’m proud of what we achieved.’

It’s important to take stock of where you are because, without that, you can start to just go through the motions, doing things because you feel you should, rather than because you want to. Of course, there’s always that element of a job in anything you do. Music is my life–it’s everything I do. Honestly, I think I'd be completely unemployable doing anything else, so it has to work. When you’re doing something every day, you never want to become complacent about it. It’s a really cool and fun job, and I’m so lucky to be doing it.

What was the timeframe for working on The Substance and how did you get involved? 

In December 2023, I received an email from my agent saying there might be something coming up in January, so I should keep that time free. I didn’t think much of it until I got a request for a reel—a playlist of tracks from previous projects I’d worked on. I sent it to the music supervisor, who then forwarded it to the director, Coralie Fargeat. She responded positively, particularly to five or six tracks. We had a chat and got to work almost immediately.

They had only about three months from when I joined to when they needed to submit it for Cannes, so the timeline was very tight. The team had been working on the film’s edit for about a year, maybe eighteen months, before I got involved. I’m not entirely sure why they hadn’t brought on a composer earlier, but Coralie had temped the whole film with various scores. Her temping was very impressive—it felt quite score-like, and she’s very musically minded. The intention behind it was clear.

Photo by Amba Taye Pittard-Watt for SCRT

Sometimes, directors or producers can become too attached to certain pieces of temp music, even when it’s out of budget or doesn’t match the style of the composer. But Coralie was clear that the temp music was more of a guide for the overall dynamic and shape she wanted for the score—where she wanted it to peak and where it should be quieter. That understanding was really helpful and freeing because, for me, temping isn’t an issue as long as there’s clarity about its role as a guide. It helped me understand how Coralie was thinking about the music and how it should interact with the scenes.

In our first conversations, Coralie explained what she was trying to achieve with the film, and I felt I understood her vision quickly. We talked a lot about the violence in the film—not just the physical violence but the internal violence of the voice. Initially, I saw the film as a personification of that internal voice—the horrible things we say to ourselves, made real. There’s also an element of The Picture of Dorian Gray, where the two characters, Elizabeth and Sue, collide and create a kind of monstrous transformation by the end.

I think one of the things that attracted Coralie to my music was its balance between the angular, violent, raw elements the film needed and the sensitive, emotive side I bring in my work. She wanted both of those aspects to co-exist within the film and was interested in finding the crossover point, especially in how we could represent the two characters’ individual sonic worlds.

After our first conversation, I took a week to make seven or eight sketches, and Coralie picked out parts she liked. The main title track of the film emerged from those early sketches. There’s a techno-leaning kick and bass that came from this, and the signature sound everyone associates with the film was written into a scene where Sue is getting ready to go out. She’s putting on her catsuit and goes to whisper in Elisabeth’s ear while she’s unconscious on the floor. Coralie was very specific about how the music needed to capture the seduction of youth (Sue) and the seduction of the substance itself—what it promises and what it might cost. It’s that Faustian pact: something is going to go wrong, and there’s a price to pay for it all.

I normally take more time over the quality control of what I send to collaborators, but because of the tight timeline, Coralie encouraged me to send her everything I was making. It turned out to be a freeing process—I was plugging in synths and creating long soundscapes, some as long as twelve minutes. She would listen and point out specific moments she liked–’I like these ten seconds,’ ‘This sound here,’ or ‘This section here.’ Gradually, it all started to form a sonic world that felt right for The Substance.

Within the London landscape, do you ever get inspired to use particular sounds you pick up in your next projects?

Photo by Amba Taye Pittard-Watt for SCRT

Yes, I find myself doing this all the time. I have voice notes on my phone where I record things as I go by them. There have been periods when I’ve carried around a field recorder with me, and I’ve effectively created a sound diary over the past six or seven years. It’s a bit sporadic, with bits and pieces scattered throughout, but sometimes, when I listen back to them, I think, ‘Oh, that's interesting.’

I’m much better at labelling things now than I used to be, and I try to be diligent about documenting what it is about a particular sound that captures my attention. When I’m deep into the delivery phase of a project, there’s no time to sift through hours of sound recordings. I need to find something quickly—something I know will either work or won’t. Even if it leads me to something else, that hopefully helps me solve a problem I’m facing at that moment.

If you could go back to when you were just starting out, what advice would you give yourself?

I think I touched on this a bit at the AVA conference, but early on in my career, I found myself trying to be many different things to different people. If I could give advice to my younger self, it would be to have more confidence in who I am. While it’s true that we develop over time—and it’s hard to stay in one creative place—I’ve realised that a lot of my approach and the core of what I do have remained consistent. It’s really only in the last six or seven years that I’ve come to understand those fundamentals: how I approach projects, how I respond to briefs, and how I define my musical identity. I know it's not an easy thing when you're starting out but try to figure out what your identity is, get comfortable with it, and lean into your strengths.

To keep up to date with Raffertie's work, follow him on Instagram, listen to him on Spotify, or check out his website