Lila Tirando a Violeta Enters a New Chapter with Dream of Snakes

Over the past decade, Uruguayan producer and vocalist Lila Tirando a Violeta has carved out a singular presence in the global electronic music scene — a shape-shifting artist whose releases span Hyperdub, N.A.A.F.I., and now Berlin-based label Unguarded. Her latest full-length project, Dream of Snakes, arrives as a vivid, visceral transmission from the borderlands of memory, transformation, and techno-futurism. Inspired by recurring dreams, the lush rural landscapes of Ireland (her current home), and a desire to reconnect with bodily movement, the album marks a departure from the narrative-heavy frameworks of her previous concept records.

In our interview, Lila opens up about her creative rituals, the symbolism behind her recurring snake dreams, and her evolving relationship to club culture — as both sanctuary and contested space. She reflects on recording vocals at night in a remote forest, why Dream of Snakes is her most physically intuitive release to date, and how Latin American sonic memory continues to shape her experimental approach. Across nine tracks, the album blends field recordings, dembow rhythms, IDM, and distorted vocals into a shape-shifting soundscape that resists categorisation — yet remains emotionally direct and deeply human.

Read the full interview below to dive into Lila’s world — from the surrealism of dreams to the real-world urgency of cultural preservation, and discover how Dream of Snakes invites us not just to listen, but to transform.

Dream of Snakes is such an evocative title — what do snakes represent to you in Dreams?

The title Dream of Snakes came from a series of recurring dreams I was having while working on the album. The snakes never felt threatening, they weren’t nightmares. Instead, they carried a kind of quiet symbolism, like messages from the subconscious that I didn’t yet know how to interpret. I became curious about what they might mean, so I started reading about the symbolism of snakes in dream psychology and mythology. That opened up this rich world of associations: transformation, ouroboros, cycles of death and rebirth, intuition and hidden knowledge. All of those themes felt deeply connected to the place I was in… emotionally, creatively, even spiritually. In the middle of that process, I rediscovered Sueño con Serpientes, a song by Silvio Rodríguez that I grew up hearing at my grandparents’ house. The lyrics are dense and poetic and musically it blends 60s Latin folk with experimental textures in this really striking, almost dreamlike way. So the image of snakes became a kind of guiding symbol for the album not just in a literal sense.

What was the creative process like for this album compared to Limerencia and ACCELA? What do you feel you’ve explored differently this time?

Compared to Limerencia and ACCELA, the creative process was much more internally and solo driven. When I started working on it, I had just moved to the southeast of Ireland, and I was in a really introspective place. Unlike my prior albums, which were both concept albums with clear thematic frameworks, I deliberately set out to avoid any pre-existing narrative this time around. I didn’t want to start with a story, I wanted the sound to be the story.

Since I wasn’t performing live much during that period, I had this strong need to create music that could move me on a personal level, tracks I could dance to alone in my room, or that could accompany me on my long walks through Irish nature. So this album was less about constructing something from the outside in and more about letting things surface from the inside out.

You’re living in Ireland but originally from Uruguay — how does this dual cultural identity influence your sound and artistic vision?

I lived in Uruguay most of my life and it’s where my family is. I carry a deep emotional attachment to the country, history and landscape. When I first moved to Europe, I tried living in other countries but didn't really fit in and when I moved to Ireland it brought a shift in atmosphere and I felt like I really connected with the culture and the island's historical past. Surprisingly the culture here had a lot in common with what I experienced growing up in South America. In my artistic vision rather than choosing one identity over the other, I let them coexist. That duality and moving around often has shaped my sound into something that's constantly evolving.

The album was born from a desire to bring people together on the dancefloor. How do you imagine the audience will respond when you perform these tracks live?

Oh, that's very hard to know yet so I don't wanna jinx it but I really hope for some mosh pits, I will know very soon when I debut the songs soon at LEV festival which I’m looking forward to.

How did your collaboration with SideProject — known for working with Björk — come about?

The Icelandic trio reached out to me not long after my last album with Sin Maldita was released. Apparently, they had really connected with it, which was such a pleasant surprise, especially since I’ve admired their work for quite a while, their latest album on SVBKVLT and their work with Bjork. That initial message quickly turned into a conversation, and from there we started tossing around ideas for a possible collaboration.

What began as a simple exchange of references and demos soon evolved into something much more fluid that ended up reflected on this track. In Uruguay, ostriches are called ñandú, and their calls are sampled throughout the song. However, they’re nearly indistinguishable from a synth arpeggio, which made blending the field recordings with the instrumentation a fascinating process. Even though we were working remotely, the connection was surprisingly intuitive. It felt like we were in the same room, chasing the same abstract feeling.

Many of your visuals seem to come from a parallel universe, suspended between the digital, the bodily, and the dreamlike. How do you build the visual world of your project?

There is definitely a connection through my album covers and videos both visually and conceptually. Dario Alva who’s done the art for my past 3 releases has become an essential collaborator in shaping the visual language around this project. His ability to translate my sonic ideas into intricate mythology is incredible. We both share a love for surrealism, flamenco art, ceramics and anime. We're both drawn to that hybrid space between classical iconography and pop culture references. I think that shared language allows the visuals to feel like a natural extension of the sound world. I’ve been playing with the idea of myself as an avatar and building worlds ever since my 2019 album Sentient, doing designs on Blender and Cinema4D. I’m very inspired by early multiplayer videogames like Second Life. I think that visual continuity, through recurring figures, gestures, portals, and hidden messages, helps map out that journey in a way that feels immersive or cohesive across my discography.

How do you experience the club today? Is it still a space for liberation and Transformation?

I feel like nightlife is shifting rapidly…Clubs are closing at an alarming rate and the energy of the dance floor feels noticeably different compared to when I first started playing. There used to be a rawness, a kind of unpredictability that felt electric, like anything could happen in the space of a night. Now, in many places, that feeling is harder to come by.

Within the queer scene which I feel part of, I do still feel a strong sense of purpose and I feel nightlife remains a space for liberation, healing, and for fully embodying who you are. It’s where we gather, express, and transform together. That essence is resilient, and I don’t think it ever truly disappears. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel some tension around the direction things are moving. There’s this creeping sense that the club landscape is becoming more curated by the logic of algorithms than by the spirit of community. The rise of "algorithm DJs"... people who are booked more for their online reach than their actual artistry or contribution to the culture, reflects a broader shift in how value is being assigned. Social media metrics seem to be increasingly prioritized over sonic identity, emotional resonance, or even just the ability to hold a room together. It’s disheartening, especially when you’ve spent years building something from a place of genuine passion and integrity. I’m not against visibility or growth, but I do think we need to ask ourselves what kind of culture we’re shaping when success is measured primarily by numbers and whitewashing rather than by connection, intention, or risk-taking. The most meaningful sets I’ve experienced (both as a performer and an audience member) were often in underground venues, DIY gigs with no cameras and likes… Just people, sound, and trust.

I still believe in the power of the dance floor, and I think we’re at a point where we need to collectively reimagine what we want from it. That means carving out space for those who are in it for the long haul, who carry a vision, who care deeply about sound and community. Otherwise, we risk losing something sacred that has been key for so many of us.

Do you feel part of a particular scene or musical network now that you’re based in Europe?

I’m very much a loner in that sense. I’ve moved across countries so many times that it’s been difficult to feel deeply rooted in any one local scene. That sense of transience has made me more of an outsider wherever I go… not in a negative way, but more in the sense of observing and moving through spaces rather than being anchored to them.

But when it comes to musical networks, I’ve built so many deep and meaningful connections, especially online. Some of my most significant collaborations and friendships started through forums, discord, DMs, email threads or sharing music across time zones. Eventually, many of those digital relationships translated into real-life moments which has been awesome, for example with many of the collaborators in this album we met that way first, and later on we ended up playing together and working IRL. I feel a strong sense of belonging within a more fluid and global constellation of artists, especially those working within experimental electronic music, club, ambient, and queer scenes. It’s not tied to one geography, but more to a shared set of values and sonic curiosity. That kind of network feels more aligned with how I live and work.. A bit borderless and always collaborative.

Who are the artists or projects you feel most connected to right now?

I tend to step back from contemporary music while I’m working on a record. It’s not that I’m not interested, quite the opposite. There’s so much brilliant, boundary-pushing electronic music being made right now, and I have deep respect for the artists shaping the current scene. But I’ve realized over time that I’m extremely absorbent creatively. If I’m too tuned into what’s happening at the moment, it becomes harder for me to access my own sonic language without interference. So during the creative process, I usually turn to music that feels a bit outside of time, I feel connected to older records, archival material, movie soundtracks, experimental folk, or obscure finds from across Latin America, ambient, and post-punk.

Some artists that have felt especially resonant for me lately are John Cale, Kate Bush, Sylvia Meyer, Tim Buckley, Fad Gadget, Roger Doyle, This Mortal Coil, Arthur Russell, Siouxie, Dean Blunt, Algebra Suicide, Darnauchans, Brian Eno, The Space Lady, Psychic TV, and Cocteau Twins. Their work doesn’t serve as direct inspiration in a linear sense, they don’t guide what I should do; they open up possibilities, or shift the atmosphere around what I’m making.

Is there a dream collaboration you'd love to make happen one day?

A bit of a cliche answer but it has always been Brian Eno.

What excites — or scares — you about how technology is evolving in music?

Technology in music (and in many other creative areas) has always brought both excitement and fear I believe. Even when synthesizers first appeared, there was a lot of resistance, some musicians thought they were cold, inhuman, that they’d replace the emotionality of “real” instruments. I love a quote by Bob Moog that says : ‘I was never worried that synthesizers would replace musicians. First of all, you have to be a musician in order to make music with a synthesizer.’ I believe the same principle regarding the fear of AI music, without artistry behind it it's just a void and soulless. What worries me isn’t the tools themselves, but how they’re increasingly entangled with visibility, how algorithms, streaming metrics, and trends are starting to shape not just who gets heard, but how people create in the first place. There’s something very vulnerable about making music, and I worry that the need to perform success online can erode that, the need to be constantly putting out music accompanied by portraits of the artist. I still believe in mystery, in slowness, in making something that doesn’t need to go viral to be meaningful.

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