The Venue

I’m currently preparing for an exclusive corporate event for a select group of guests before they attend a ballet performance.

The schedule is precisely choreographed. I’ll be playing a 90-minute set, with several speeches planned during the second half of the evening. That means the music needs to leave space when it matters and gently reconnect the audience once each speech has finished.

One of the interesting aspects of this event is that, although the venue is confirmed, the exact performance location depends on the weather. So I’m preparing several scenarios in advance.

The client has a preferred location, of course, but from my perspective each scenario deserves exactly the same attention. I don’t think in terms of a “main plan” and a “backup plan.” Each option simply presents a different set of constraints, and each deserves the same level of thought.

This preparation probably won’t be noticed by anyone attending the event—and that’s perfectly fine. If everything goes well, the guests will simply enjoy the evening without ever thinking about the decisions that helped make it feel effortless.

The Music

The next challenge is choosing the music.

Unlike a club night, I know very little about the audience. I don’t know what they listen to, what mood they’ll arrive in, or how much attention they’ll pay to the music. That’s part of what makes it interesting.

My goal isn’t to be the centre of attention.

It’s to help create an atmosphere where people feel welcome from the moment they arrive. Some guests will immediately start conversations, while others may quietly observe the room before joining in. I hope the music gives both groups something they can comfortably share—a space that feels warm, unforced and inviting.

The speeches are just as important as the music. Rather than interrupting the evening, I’d like the transitions into and out of them to feel natural, almost unnoticed, allowing the programme to flow without drawing attention to itself.

There will probably be only a handful of guests who listen closely to the set itself. That’s perfectly fine. If someone with a deep appreciation for music notices an unexpected transition, a subtle harmonic layer or a familiar melody appearing in a new context, I’ll consider that a quiet success.

Everyone experiences music differently. Some analyze it. Most simply feel it. Preparing for an event like this means thinking about both.

The Creative Process

One thing I’ve learned over the years is that creativity rarely comes from unlimited choice. It comes from boundaries. From challenges.

From working within a set of constraints and finding something meaningful inside them.

As I prepare for this event, I’ve decided to place one more constraint on myself. The most important one.

Before choosing the music, I’m spending time learning about the ballet my guests are about to experience. I’m reading about the composer, listening to the score, and trying to understand what the conductor and performers are inviting the audience to feel during those first thirty minutes.

The more I understand what my guests are about to experience, the better I can prepare them for it—not by imitating the ballet, but by choosing the tempo and harmonically compatible set of keys to both limit and challenge myself. To see what’s possible within that context.

As DJs, we spend a lot of time thinking about what people are about to hear before they hear it. We can’t choose how they’ll experience those moments, but we can carefully shape the journey that leads into them.