We talk to Lindstrøm about his label, playing live, his fascination with synthesisers and Space Disco in an extensive Q&A ahead of Norwegian Disco Lights this Friday
If the Belleville Three are considered the holy trinity of Detroit techno, then Oslo’s space disco scene needs its own trifecta. We would like to nominate Prins Thomas, Todd Terje, and Lindstrøm into the position. Over the years they’ve become Norway’s answer to second-wave disco pioneers, laying much of the foundation for what would evolve into one of the country’s most distinctive musical exports; following in the footsteps of artists like Bjørn Torske and Rune Lindbæk.
As one half of the duo Lindstrøm & Prins Thomas, and through his extensive solo work, Hans-Peter Lindstrøm has played a central role in shaping what journalists would later dub the “space disco” sound. Early tracks like Boney M Down, I Feel Space, and Arp she said became dance floor staples; records that not only achieved classic status but also helped dismantle lingering stigma around disco for a new generation of listeners.
They proved the genre had depth and longevity, capable of evolving far beyond its late-70s caricature of sequence flairs and syncopated beats. Decades later, disco’s revival shows no signs of slowing, its influence now woven into everything from crate-dug obscurities to contemporary pop and over the past 20 years, Lindstrøm has continually redefined that sound, pushing it into unexpected territory.
Originally from Stavanger, he arrived in Oslo at a time when DJs like Prins Thomas and Todd Terje were energising dance floors with eclectic selections of boogie and disco. With a background in rock bands but a fascination with synthesizers and Italo disco, Lindstrøm began collaborating with Prins Thomas while also developing his own productions.
His debut album, Where You Go I Go Too, opened with a sprawling 30-minute progressive composition; an audacious statement that made even the extended works of Giorgio Moroder seem concise by comparison. Rather than settling into a formula, he followed it with a vocal-driven record next, setting the tone for a discography defined by constant reinvention.
From collaborative projects like his album with Todd Rundgren to his widely praised 2020 live recording at the Henie Onstad Kunstsenter, Lindstrøm has remained committed to avoiding repetition. His career is marked by a deliberate unpredictability, each release exploring new ideas rather than revisiting past successes.
After two decades releasing albums on Smalltown Supersound, Lindstrøm has now turned his focus fully to his own label, Feedelity. His 2025 album Serious Symptoms inaugurates the label’s LP catalog, with a compilation of his earliest singles set to be released on vinyl for the first time in 2026.
With a live performance at Norwegian Disco Lights this Friday, the stage is set for our conversation. As one of the key architects of the space disco movement, Lindstrøm’s influence is well documented, but was he aware of what he was helping to create at the time? And how exactly did that sound come together?
We explore these questions and more in our interview with Lindstrøm.
Let’s start with the next release, which is a compilation of your earliest 12 inches from Feedelity records. Why re-issue it now and why remaster it for vinyl?
I’ve been thinking about re-issueing it for a while, because it was previously only available on CD, which made sense back then, 20 years ago. While it was available as 12 inches on vinyl before, there are a lot of people that missed out and would like to have it on vinyl too. Also it was nice to mark the 20th anniversary of Feedelity in this way.
After working with Smalltown Supersound for the last 20 years, this record and last year’s Serious Syntoms was released on Feedelity. Why work exclusively on your own label again?
I was never really signed to Smalltown Supersound. When I first met Joakim Haugland (owner of Smalltown Supersound) I had just had kids, and he proposed that he could help distribute my music to help unburden the workload. I’ve only been licensing all my tracks to Smalltown since then.
If you’re working with too many people, you lose touch with the rest of the creative process of running a label. I ended up only doing the music – which was amazing – but around 2017, I realised I missed working on every aspect of my release. Even though it takes a lot of time, I really enjoy it and it’s easier now more than ever to work on the label.
20 years ago, everybody wanted a major deal, but that’s all changed now.
Yes, it seems to be working for you. I saw Serious Symptoms is already sold out.
It’s been so long since I put out my own records, and I was really surprised.
Is there something about having all this creative control with running the label and making the music?
I even wish I could do the artwork as well, but I realised I really can’t. I hooked up with my old friend Ole Martin Lund Bø, who did all the early Feedelity artwork and after 20 years he was keen to pick it up again. That was also a nice full-circle moment for me.
Talking about going full-circle. I Feel Space is on the compilation, a track that is a dance floor classic by any measure today. What is your relationship with the track today; and are you ever tempted to revisit it creatively?
I’ve been playing that track live since it was released, so it’s something that’s been with me for 20 years. When playing live I can make some small changes, but when I remastered it, I wanted to make sure it was remastered on the same files as the original.
Listening back to the pre-master from 2005, I can definitely hear that it would sound different if I made the track in 2026, but if I’m listening to something, I will always prefer the original.
Have you ever thought of recording a live version of that or any other track?
No. To be honest, I’m not too preoccupied with live recordings. It’s not that interesting for me. I did do a live version with Why Kai, when we had a few gigs and last year I did a version in Manchester with the Vålerenga Mannskor, but I don’t think it was even recorded.
You do all these live concepts and shows like the equipment heavy show at Hennie Onstad a couple of years back; your annual Christmas drummer boy performances; and things like the male choir version of I feel space you just mentioned. Is there a reason you keep changing and developing these performances?
I like to change things up when I get too set in my own set with the laptop and Ableton. The Hennie Onstad set was without any computers. I don’t really do that too often. I did it too at Stavanger Konserthus with a church organ and a lot of modular synthesisers.
It’s usually too much hassle doing all that stuff, so that’s when I prefer the laptop setup again. But really, my focus will always be working in the studio and making new music. I used to travel much more and these days I have a few gigs in Norway and suits me much better. I got a little fed up travelling around the world, doing this.
So the studio is your happy place?
Yes, that’s where I enjoy it.
What about DJing… While people might not know you as a DJ, there was a time you were doing it regularly in and around Oslo.
I haven’t DJ’d for about 20 years. I stopped DJing because I was surrounded by so many great DJs. My background is from playing in bands and playing instruments. I hadn’t DJ’d until the late 90’s so after 3-4 years of DJing; Ableton came along and I could perform my own music.
You mentioned playing instruments in bands, and I’ve read that it wasn’t just the piano, but also the organ through which you developed your skills as a musician. How did that come about?
Just to be clear, it was the Hammond organ and not the church organ. It’s basically a church organ without the pipes.
Still, not an obvious choice for an instrument. I know of a few bands in the 70’s that used the instrument, but were they fashionable when you started out?
They were just coming back into fashion again. A lot of bands started using Hammond organs and at the same time they were selling really cheap analogue synthesisers. In retrospect, I should have probably started collecting synths instead of buying an expensive hammond organ.
What made you buy the Hammond?
I was a big fan of Deep Purple, and they are famous for using a Hammond.
When did the move to synthesisers eventually happen?
I had always been into synthesisers, because when I was 14 or so, I had gotten myself a Juno 106 synthesiser. I thought it wasn’t an interesting synth at the time, and I only realised later it was an amazing synth.
I was listening to a lot of Italo Disco back then in Stavanger and I liked the sounds, but I couldn’t programme it at all. There were no Youtube videos back then and nobody to teach me how to use it.
But were there people in Stavanger that were into the same thing you were, the Italo Disco sound?
Nobody I knew. All my friends were into rock music. I played in a Deep Purple cover band and I played in a gospel choir. Nobody I knew was into synth music, so I guess abandoned it quite early. I rediscovered it when I was introduced to club music.
And that would’ve coincided with your move to Oslo?
Yes.
Arriving in Oslo at that time, hanging out with Prins Thomas and Todd Terje, were you aware that you were becoming part of something new, a new scene or musical culture.
No! (Laughs) I was just making music. I was definitely inspired by what Terje and Thomas were doing in terms of the DJing, the tracks that they found, and the music they made. We didn’t have that instant feedback from our music that you get today with instagram and such. Sometimes I would get a text months later saying something like ; “It’s crazy! Francois K was playing your track at Space.”
At least I didn’t think at that time it was something special.
When people and especially the media started labeling it as Space Disco, did that make sense to you?
It made sense that the media needed some kind of thing to make people click and read. It wasn’t something that we tried to focus on. I just happened to be one of the guys to be associated with the Norwegian thing.
Were you even thinking about it as Disco when you started making it?
I remember speaking to people in Italy that said: “it’s crazy how you guys are labelling this as Disco; if we were to label it as Disco in Italy nobody would be interested”. I think that in Norway there were no rules and I was just making music that I wanted to listen to. Nobody told me I couldn’t do it or that it wasn’t in the tradition of dance music.
Talking about something that wasn’t in the tradition of dance music, your first solo LP, “where I go, you go too, ” that really broke the mold as a record where a 30 minute dance track could be a viable thing. What was the concept behind the record?
I wanted to do something different and Thomas and I had been doing some longer workouts on the 2nd album. I was introduced to a lot of Krautrock and I was thinking maybe it would be fun to do something like that.
At the same time Nike asked me to do a running track. James Murphy from LCD soundsystem did it first. In the middle of the process, I realised it was too good to give away for a commercial.
It was fun to do something different, because working on a longer track you have more time to build up your music.
Typical of me, I did the vocal album with short tracks directly after that. If I do one thing then I want to do a different thing the next time. I might come back to that, because I really like the idea of making a long track like that.
I thought I heard glimmers of the Who in there, and I know you’re a fan of prog rock too. Was there anything from that musical world that still influences your music?
I always listened to a lot of krautrock rock and synth music. I guess whatever I listen to at the moment, that’s what inspires me.
On the subject of prog…working with Todd Rundgren must have been like these worlds of influences colliding. How did that come about and was there something coming full circle with your earliest influences from Rock?
I asked Emil Nikolaisen from Serena-Maneesh to join me and we met Todd Rundgren in Oslo once to record as much as we could. I’m really proud of that album, but it was a big hassle to finish it. There were a lot of ideas and a lot of different ways we could go with the tracks. It was a very conceptual and experimental record. Emil and I were big fans of Todd Rundgren’s experimental phase in the 70’s and we tried to channel something of that into this project.
Was it intimidating working within your hero?
No, he’s such a great guy!
Are there any other artists or projects on your bucket list you are looking to complete soon?
Not really. I’m pretty focused on what’s in front of me — finishing the new album and keeping things simple!






























































































































































How has it informed your work beyond the DJ booth and in the studio?









































What do you remember of the nights at Space @ Bar Rumba?
How did you and Honey start working together?
You mentioned, Garage was big when you were teenagers. Is that around the same time you started to make music?















































James doesn’t feel queer is a “sexual statement,” but rather an ideology. “I know cis straight woman who identify as queer,” he says as an example. For James, queer is about a “rejection of patriarchy” and a the celebration of “alternative lifestyles” on dance floors. “As long as they bring love and joy to the dance, then everybody is welcome,” insists James. Even though the party they “do in New York is a different crowd to the one in London and the one in Berlin is different to both of those,” that queer element remains at its core and James “love







Tell me about WINDOWS. Is it an album and/or a live show?









Ida and Naomi both grew up in what they consider a “small town” called Sandefjord. Both had taken an early interest in music albeit from different points of view. While Ida was “drawn into singing very early,” Naomi was an avid listener, consuming all she can from Beyonce to Dimmu Borgir. At around the age of 11 Naomi’s dad built her a dance studio in the basement with “some cheap speakers and different kinds of disco lights” encouraging the impressionable youth towards electronic dance music. She would be “dancing like a crazy person to Benny Benassi” in her basement enclave she remembers fondly today.



You’re talking about the early nineties?
Wilkes
13 years is still a long time for a club night, especially at that time, when everybody was going from one thing to the next quite quickly. How did you maintain that excitement around it for so long?
You got pigeonholed as a DJ, somewhat unfairly, in that Deep House trend after “Your Everything.” What effect did it have on what you would do next and how did you eventually sidestep it as a DJ?
Lars grew up in the
At 13 he had heard his first DJ playing Disco records consecutively, and by 15 he went to his first club and bought “Ten Percent“ on Salsoul. The speaker hanging out the window soon developed into a party in his apartment, and requests to play at other people’s house parties followed as he became a local mobile Disco music of some repute. “I just loved the music, it was just everything for me,” he remembers. At 18 he had made something of a career out of it, playing mostly commercial music, before somebody dropped “a stack of what they called Loft records” at his feet. “I was like ‘Whoa, what is this sound?’” It was a selection of expensive, limited press- and imported records, the kind of which they had been playing not only at the Loft, but also Paradise Garage. Although Morales had not yet been to either club, since they were strictly private clubs, he started making inroads as a dancer frequenting venues like Paradise Garage and the Loft through acquaintances with memberships, and eventually befriending people like Mancusso and DJ Kenny Carpenter. It was through Carpenter that he was inducted into a record pool, the first organisations that supplied DJs with new, unreleased music for the club, and it was through this pool that he would have his first major break as DJ.


The first release on the label came via KiNK, with the aptly titled “Home,” and in that record we find similarities to KiNK’s music from “Under Destruction” as tracks play on similar rhythmic and melodic themes, distilled down from traditional music, with titles like The Clock and The Grid redefining the concepts contained in their titles for western ears. Accompanying the release and future releases from a small, but dedicated community of artists, are a series of photos – most of which taken on phone – from Bulgarian DJ legend DJ Valentine. Alongside the music it consolidates a label that for the first time will distill some of that Bulgarian traditions into a contemporary platform.

They had known they “had something by the first record” , the rather wordy “some, but not all Cheese comes from the moon.” That record, released on Planet Noise in 2004 had put Ost & Kjex on the map in Norway, but it was when they “sent the first tracks to Crosstown Rebels and they called back” they had something special according to Petter. “When Crosstown Rebels called up, we knew the outside world was listening” reiterates Tore and by the time of Cajun Lunch their sound was truly established. 



Do you remember a specific moment or track that inspired you to first mix two songs together?
Tell me about going to the Loft.
Did he just play on Blå’s soundsystem?
Did you ever talk to him about the peak era of the Loft?




She gives my a side glance before answering; “Obviously there is a correlation… do I need to follow that…. A bit if I want to, but not really.” It’s understandable why she won’t acquiesce to the archetypes that dominate DJ culture today. As she insists, she
That was my introduction to Jaeger’s “Diskon sound” as I came to know it and throughout my tenure here, the sound system kept growing, shrinking and moving in a constant evolution that owner and resident Ola Smith-Simonsen (Olanskii) still refers to as a ”work in progress.” It’s been in a constant state of flux that has taken a life of its own as the venue, the DJs and the audience kept changing around it and as it kept retreating further into the structural makeup of the room and the dance floor it’s allure is indistinguishable between these elements. And as Ola starts talking about the next phase of the system and the recently-installed bass traps settle into the walls, it’s an evolution in sound that refuses to come to any natural conclusion. 
“It’s like money,” collates Rosner in a RBMA lecture; ”you can never have too much because you know you can give some of it away. Loudspeakers can never be too big, because you can always turn the volume down.” In one of Rosner and Mancuso’s crowning achievements at the Loft their combined efforts resulted in creating a tweeter-array system that helped spread those higher sonic frequencies more evenly and further across the room, so that even the person sitting in the back could hear every element in the music rather than just the bass frequencies, which naturally has the longest reach. Even though Rosner didn’t initially agree with Mancuso’s tweeter array idea, he soon came around when he discerned ”the more you have up there the better.” It’s a sonic philosophy that’s still noticeably adopted today when you see towers of horns jutting out high above the DJ somewhere like stalagmites on a cave wall, but while it’s certainly helpful having all that sound on tap, it’s pretty pointless if it’s not pointed in the right direction.
It was Alex Rosner that introduced Long to this world, as a kind of fixer for his sound systems and it would be Rosner that would also inadvertently put him into business. In “Last night a DJ saved my life,” Francis Grasso described an incident where Rosner sent Long out on a job, and Long usurped his boss by outbidding him on the same job as an independent contractor. Rosner remembers it differently in the RBMA documentary. According to Rosner, John Addison (Studio 54) had phoned Rosner up in the middle of the night to ask about doing some work for him. Rosner swiftly hung up on Addison, noting the lateness of the call in what I assume was short conversation littered with expletives. Addison in all his ‘70s cocaine-fuelled cock-sured fury was not a person you would hang the receiver up on likely and put his next call in to Rosner’s budding apprentice effectively putting Richard Long and associates into business.
“Drugs, nothing more,” says Tornike, but “when they raided the club, no-one was arrested for dealing drugs and they couldn’t find any drug dealers inside the club, only finding 2 or 3 grams” on individuals. The club owners were arrested too, without a warrant on some overblown claims of obstruction, which never resulted in any charges brought forward, but what happened directly after the raid, was a force of solidarity in a clubbing community that we haven’t seen since the time of the criminal justice and public order act. People like Tornike, who had started gathering outside Bassiani as the police were carting off their friends and colleagues, were protesting the arrests. “We were trying to figure out what was happening,” explains Tornike who “didn’t even know which Police station they took them to” at the time.
In the month of October, DJ Lekkerman hands over the reigns of his weekly residency to a couple of stalwarts on Den Gyldne Sprekk roster, and two DJs and music enthusiasts that know the concept inside out. Beastie Joyce and Jørgen Egeland host another month of Den Gyldne Sprekk at Jaeger with a series of concepts that go from another KIZZ pøb to the blood-curdling sounds of Memphis Rap for Halloween as the pair resurrect their Funk Boys alias to invite a host of kindred spirits to the lineup for October.
KIZZ PØB returns! What is it about the band in your opinion that continues to draw old and new fans to their music?
How did you feel your set at Jaeger went?
Do you consider yourself a veteran of the scene in that respect?
The music you guys make on Rebound to me sounds like its all built on a foundation of House, but there’s also that frosty Norwegian sonic element in there. What conscious steps do you take in creating that sound?
I spoke to Carl Craig recently and he told me that DJing was the day job to afford the passion of making music. But I have a sneaking suspicion that’s the other way around for you, that DJing is the true passion?
I think it would’ve been that way. I know DJs who just don’t have the attention span to make music. Some guys from Detroit I would really like to see out here, more. They are excellent DJs, but just don’t get the opportunity because they don’t have the patience to sit around and programme music.
Jann Dahle started making music in 1992 in Tromsø when he moved there to study law. It was a fortuitous time to be making music in Tromsø as the critical point for a burgeoning Disco and House scene that would eventually spread around the globe. “I met Rune (Linbæk), Bjørn (Torske) and Kolbjørn (Lyslo aka Doc L Junior) and I started professionally DJing back then,” remembers Dahle. “There was a lot of buzz about Norwegian Disco at that moment, because of Bjørn,” but Tromsø being a small city, Dahle “got to know everybody” involved in music and landed a job at Brygge Radio alongside Bjørn, Rune, and Geir Jenssen (aka Biosphere).




When and how did Techno exactly come into your life and what drew you to the genre?
What do you look for in a Techno track to make it into your sets?



Channeling that experience of touring and playing live into this record, Dave Harrington Group favour an uninhibited approach on “Pure Imagination, No Country” as they capture that raw intensity and power of a live band in the studio. Nick Murphy emphasises this energy through post production, which on their previous LP, favoured a slicker, more refined approach. Dave Harrington’s guitar takes more of a central role on the LP, where it appears mostly unprocessed in its natural state taking the stage front and centre in the production across the album.
Working with TB Arthur and people like BMG, do you think It’s changed the way you make music?
Like every DJ out there today you have an agent that takes care of your bookings, but do you have the final say where you’ll play?






















I’ve read that your philosophy is about exporting the Black Motion, and in extension the South African sound to the wider world.