Mikey La Luna: "I bring light into the darkness through rhythm, voice, and intention"
- Editorial Staff
- Jan 14
- 5 min read
Mikey La Luna is a bridge between worlds, born among the Caucasus mountains where he mastered the grace of Georgian ballet and the power of tradition. From reimagined folk infused with electronic energy to the hypnotic pull of techno, his journey is a sonic exploration blending spirit and rhythm. Self-taught and visionary, Mikey fuses tribal house, ancestral melodies, and shamanic atmospheres into musical rituals that open spaces of freedom—celebrating our truest nature: wild, radiant, and connected.
"Hallelujah. الحمد لله .הללויה." combines three different languages and cultures. What does this fusion represent for you, and how does it reflect the musical message of the track?
Three words. Three languages. One meaning.
"Hallelujah • הללויה • الحمد لله" is the same word expressed through different cultures. Each version speaks of gratitude and recognition of a single higher source. In a time when differences are constantly emphasized, these words spoken daily in places that define identity - quietly reveal how much we actually share. Even within monotheistic belief, the direction is the same: toward one source, one essence.
That same idea shaped the music. Just as I brought together the Quran and the Bible through language, I fused modern electronic production with ancient tribal rhythm and the emotional presence of electric guitar. Today’s electronic music is deeply influenced by tribal traditions; technology doesn’t erase them, it gives them structure, balance, and space.
"Hallelujah • הללויה • الحمد لله" lives in that meeting point, where old and new, ritual and movement, belief and dancefloor come together. The track isn’t about blending differences for effect, but about revealing the unity that was already there.
Your evolution from Tash Tash to Mikey La Luna marked a shift from electrified folk to a more ritualistic and spiritual sound. How do you experience this personal and artistic transformation through your music?
With Tash Tash, both the world and I were more naive. That project came from a very raw place, pure celebration. I was deeply connected to a Georgian cultural spirit that says eat, drink, and dance as if there is no tomorrow. Back then, that was my truth. I was a proud atheist, rebelling against the blind faith I grew up with and choosing freedom, joy, and movement over belief.
Over the years, something softened and opened. I realized that faith doesn’t have to belong to religion. There is belief without labels, a direct connection to the soul and to spirit. Not to follow rules, but to become a better human being, day by day. Less poison, less division, less ego. More presence, more responsibility, more unity.
Mikey La Luna grew out of that shift. The dance is still central, but the intention is different. The music is about creating one shared frequency, where people move to the same rhythm, feel connected, and speak the same language without words. I didn’t find this in books. I found it on dancefloors and in sacred singing circles, where strangers suddenly become one moment. It’s not a break from the past, it’s a continuation. The party is still there, now it carries meaning.
Your work is deeply influenced by shamanic and ritual traditions. How do these experiences shape the creation and energy of your live performances?
Five years ago, I didn’t even know the word "shamanism".
What I knew about indigenous cultures was very superficial: people running around with minimal clothing, feathers on their heads, a spear in hand. That was the image.
As I went deeper, I discovered something completely different. Healing through music. A form of belief that welcomes everyone without conditions. A way of thinking that understands energy as a balance between masculine and feminine, not as opposites, but as forces that complete each other.
This connected naturally to where I come from. Georgian culture was shaped in warm lands, close to nature. People learned to love Mother Earth, to sing to her, to honor her through food, dance, and community. That sense of grounded joy stayed with me.
In my live performances, I bring all of this together. I play ethnic percussion from warm countries, organic and earthy, alongside colder, spacious synth and organ sounds. The set flows between drive and softness, rhythm and melody, masculine and feminine energy, without walls or definitions.
That’s where the idea of the Shaman of the Night comes in. I don’t try to escape the darkness of the club - I work with it. I bring light into it through rhythm, voice, and intention, turning the dancefloor into a place where people can move, release, and reconnect before they step back into the world.
Growing up between Europe and Asia with Georgian roots, what elements of your heritage do you carry forward into your electronic productions?
For me, it’s not only about growing up between Europe and Asia, it’s also about growing up between eras. My generation grew up on rock’n’roll and folk music. We lived before smartphones and the internet, and now we’re standing inside an AI and consciousness revolution. I’ve experienced the past and the future in the same lifetime. East and West. The authentic and the programmed.
Those experiences shape my electronic productions very directly. From my heritage, I carry forward repetition as trance, rhythm as something communal, and melodies that feel sung rather than designed. Even inside modern club structures, the music is built to hold people together, not to showcase technology.
For many years, I was anti-clubs and anti electronic music. I believed it was killing roots and tradition. With time, I understood the opposite. Electronic music doesn’t erase heritage, it preserves it. It gives ancient rhythms a new body, a new context, and a new future.
That’s why I bring organic grooves, emotional phrasing, and human imperfection into clean electronic frameworks. If this fusion works in music, it proves something bigger. Different times, cultures, and identities don’t need to compete. They can coexist, amplify each other, and move forward as one.
Electronic music can be seen as a universal language that connects body, mind, and spirit. What do you believe is the transformative power of this language in people’s lives?
Today, more people gather on dancefloors than in churches, synagogues, or mosques. Clubs and festivals have become one of the main places for communion. A place to meet yourself, to meet others, and to feel part of something bigger for a few hours.
That’s the real power of electronic music. It bypasses ideology and goes straight to the body. From there it opens the mind, and if you let it, the heart follows. No sermons, no rules, no hierarchy. Just rhythm, sound, movement, and shared presence.
For many people, the dancefloor is where connection happens today. Strangers moving together. Different backgrounds, beliefs, and stories syncing into one pulse. That’s not escape. That’s remembrance. A reminder that community doesn’t have to be explained to be felt.
That’s the message I carry. Not disconnection, not running away from reality, but coming closer to it. A psychedelic journey that grounds rather than detaches. Music as a celebration of life, sound, and togetherness. My hope is that creators and communities built around this spirit can keep growing freely.
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