My Synth and My Friend, DJ Bruno

Why I’m not a musician, I’m just a guy trying to stay sane in a loud world

I have a friend named Bruno. He’s an old sea wolf of the DJ world—the kind of guy who lived through the golden era of Italian House music when everything felt like a warm hug.

Me? I’m the guy in the home studio, tinkering with dark synths and “machine gun” baselines.

We’re both over fifty. In the world of electronic music, that makes us living fossils. But we aren’t chasing the charts or trying to get booked at Coachella. We’re just two "grumpy old men" from the balcony of The Muppet Show, arguing about frequencies because, frankly, it’s cheaper than actual therapy.

The Sound of Therapy

I need to be clear: I am not a "musician." I leave the real art to the professionals who can actually read sheet music without getting a headache.

For me, opening my software at the end of a long day is about survival. I spent twenty years in the trenches of the nightlife industry—handling security, VIPs, and club owners who thought "good music" meant making the speakers scream until your ears bled. I’ve seen the ugly side of the neon lights.

Now, my studio is my sanctuary. When I drop a heavy, rhythmic synth—what Bruno jokingly calls my "machine gun"—I’m not trying to start a revolution. I’m just trying to process the noise of the world. It’s my way of killing time before it kills me.

The Great Debate: Sun vs. Shadow

Our friendship is basically one long, ritualistic argument.

Bruno wants the sun. He wants the 2004 Funky House sound—vocals, soul, and zero drama.

I tend to wander into the shadows. I like the grit. I like the tension.

The moment he hears a sharp, synthetic edge in my tracks, he loses it. "There’s that machine gun again, Feliks! You’re giving in to the darkness!" He doesn’t get that I don't have a 20-piece orchestra or a world-class soul singer in my spare bedroom. I have my imagination and a few plugins. My “dark” music isn’t a choice; it’s just the color of my peace and quiet.

The Peace Offering

Recently, I got tired of his nagging. I decided to do the silliest, most “uncool” thing a grown man can do: I wrote a song for my best friend.

I titled it, very creatively, "Bruno." I stripped away the "machine guns," muted the dark drama, and tried to find that old-school sunshine he loves so much. It was a tribute to a time that’s gone, played by two guys who refuse to dance in the dark bunkers that modern clubs have become.

When I sent him the demo, he didn't critique the mix. He didn't complain about the synths. For the first time, he just listened.

Why We Still Do It

The world has gone a bit dark, and most club owners are still measuring “vibe” by how much cheap tequila they sell. But as long as I have a laptop and a friend to argue with, I’m doing okay.

I’ll probably keep making "bad" music. I’ll definitely keep using those machine-gun synths that drive Bruno crazy. Because at the end of the day, we aren't trying to be stars. We’re just two fossils using sound to stay alive.

A Little Postscript: Music as a Tactical Retreat

There is a side note to this story that involves less glitter and more grit. I’m a combat-wounded veteran, and after being seriously wounded in action, music became the only language that could help me process the things words couldn't touch. After I took my military retirement — carrying a collection of health issues from combat wounds that liked to scream at me in the middle of the night — I had two choices: I could stay home and let the “PTSD monster” eat me alive, or I could find a new rhythm.

I chose the rhythm.