How Music Production Fuels My Artistic Vision and Life

Why? This is my calling, this is what I love!

When I think about what made me—and still makes me—want to produce music, and how it all fits into my artistic vision, I always come back to one simple truth: nothing moves me like music does. I’ve read countless books, seen powerful images and films, and heard inspiring words, but nothing compares to the way music can reach inside, stir emotions, and transport you to another state of being. Music has this almost magical ability to take all those scattered pieces of experience and knowledge in your mind and, in the right moment, fuse them into a single, vivid feeling. It’s not just awareness—it’s presence. It’s as if you’re living that truth, fully and completely. That feeling is mystical, transformative, and honestly, it’s what I’ve fallen in love with. It’s become my lifelong wish to explore this magic and share my discoveries with you—not just through the music I create, but through this brand, LRY8.Art.

For me, music production isn’t just a creative outlet—it’s a spiritual journey. It’s how I explore who I am as a human being and how we, as humans, interact with the universe. There’s something divine and transcendent about it, something that makes me believe in higher planes of existence. Music is the heartbeat of my artistic vision and the driving force behind LRY8.Art. Every step of the process—from the first spark of an idea to the final mix and sharing it with the world—is deeply intertwined with how I see, feel, and express life around me.

In this post, I want to invite you on this journey. I’ll share how music production shapes my creative path, how sound, storytelling, and visuals inspire one another, and why I truly believe that art and music together can enrich our lives. Whether you’re a fellow creator, a music lover, or simply someone searching for meaning, I hope you’ll find a piece of your own story here as well.

The Beginning: The Moment I Was Truly Born

If someone had told the 28-year-old Lucas Ryoo in 2018—unaware of his own depression—that the following year he’d embark on a marathon of 42 parties and raves and have one of the best years of his life (in a year with only 52 or 53 weeks!) just because a friend invited him to a rave where an artist I liked was playing, I would have called them absolutely crazy. And if they kept going, saying I’d fall so deeply in love with the music that I’d dive into production and DJing—and that this would become the gateway to my Ikigai, my reason for being? I’d probably ask them to check their meds and leave me alone. But yeah, that’s exactly what happened.

I come from an Asian family—I’m a first-generation son born in Brazil to Korean immigrant parents. As much as I want to avoid stereotypes, growing up I was always steered toward one of three career paths: medicine, engineering, or law. To make matters worse (or better?), I loved reading and writing as a kid, biology was one of my favorite subjects, I liked tinkering and fixing things, and I wasn’t hopeless at math or physics. My parents saw potential in me for all three paths — especially medicine and engineering, since I was always averse to being a lawyer. Even now, my mom jokes that I’d make a good doctor whenever I get all nerdy about some interesting biological fact.

But growing up, music was just something I listened to—never a career option. Maybe drawing, design, or architecture? I always liked to draw (I still do, as I try to improve my digital sketching skills), but you know how it goes: “artists are poor,” and given my aptitude for medicine and engineering, my loving immigrant parents, who worked hard for their business, wanted a secure, stable future for me. The only real incentive I had was to study and pursue a traditional career. The end result: I chose engineering and even started a degree in Naval Engineering and Architecture at one of Brazil’s top universities, POLI-USP.

But to be honest, that was never really my choice or my path—it was something suggested to me, and something I accepted because it felt safe and familiar. I had the means and capabilities, and it came from people who love me dearly and had the best intentions. I will always be grateful for their care. But following a path you never actively chose—one for which you have no true motivation other than wanting to earn a living and pay your bills—while comfortable, ultimately comes at a heavy price—especially if you’re someone like me who naturally seeks meaning in life and existence, and who began questioning the meaning of life at an early age. I went through a strong logical, rational, and nihilistic phase that dominated my thinking for a while. Combine that with the depressive mood of the emo movement of the early 2000s seeping into my teenage years and lodging itself in my subconscious, and, well, the seed for depression germinated after joining the rat race, the full survival mode gameplay. The ever-growing suicidal thoughts became a recurring visitor—one that I didn’t really listen to, until 2019 changed everything.

It’s funny—2019, the year of the 42-party marathon, was both one of the best and worst years of my life. It’s almost a universal law: the higher the high, the harder the fall, and you have to be prepared for that. I went into that year unaware that I was depressed. Depression is a silent condition that builds up gradually, sometimes over a lifetime, and just needs a trigger. For me, the trigger was getting a taste of being high on music—and yes, that included the reality of the scene: drugs. Objectively, I know the high from the music was—and still is—the main thing, but at the time I did use stuff to “enhance” the experience, especially to dance for hours and enjoy the music longer. The drugs were never the reason to go to parties; they were a bonus, maybe. The reason was always the music. But one thing about drug use, especially extended and recurrent use, is that it messes with your hormones—dopamine and serotonin—and makes day-to-day work and life feel even more horribly boring and meaningless. Combine that with a nihilistic and overly rational mindset, and you inevitably arrive at the conclusion: why keep living? Life is meaningless.

It’s a very narrow way of thinking—one that views life with no respect and through an utterly lazy, complacent, irresponsible, and degrading lens. The purpose of life is to step outside your comfort zone and seek meaning, to embark on the journey and face its challenges. Meaning is the end result of a process of building a life—a life for which you, and you alone, are responsible. But the tunnel vision caused by over-rationalizing a flawed yet logical statement—something people do more often than they should—compounded by worsening depression, a lack of self-driven motivation or goals, and the crushing reality of modern life and the corporate workforce, makes you focus solely on that: life has no meaning, no freedom—why keep going? Better to end it with a bang, close out the year at a big festival I’d been wanting to go to, and plan the final act—maybe overdose at the festival? Jump into the sea and drown? Those were some of the thoughts that crossed my mind a few times before a defining moment happened on the dance floor—a moment that changed everything.

And a side note here. Those thoughts that seemed so right and logical to me at the time now fill me with utter disgust. The suffering my actions would have caused those left behind, and my complete lack of awareness of that, just revealed to me how selfish I could be—a side of myself I will always remember so that I never become that person again. Honestly, I come from a truly loving and caring family and have incredible friends. I never experienced poverty, violence, or any other major hardship—the main issue that left me feeling empty was that I, and honestly, I think many of us in modern society, were never really raised or taught to seek something for ourselves. My parents, unconsciously due to their protective instincts, and the current society and educational model that just wants to train you to be a worker, ended up making me someone who never had to stop and ask myself—hey, what do I want to be? Or even, who am I really? But it’s exactly these questions, and the journey to find their answers, that set us apart from being drones and puppets and make us individuals.

But back to my experience on the dance floor and how everything I’ve said ties into my decision to get into music production and launch LRY8.Art. As I mentioned in a previous post, “How I Created My Logo and What It Means” (if you haven’t read it yet, click to open in a new tab and check it out later), December 31, 2019 is a really special date to me—it was the day I was born, not physically, but spiritually. I can’t tell you the exact time because I was already on the fifth day of the Universo Paralello 19/20 festival, an electronic music festival on a paradise beach in Brazil. At that point, time didn’t matter.

But I remember exactly who was playing—Nate Raubenheimer with his prog-psy project, Shadow Chronicles. I’d been waiting to hear his track “Everything is Everything,” a song that has always moved me in ways I can’t explain. That day, it became the anchor for a truly special moment—the moment I found myself and caught a glimpse of my reason for being. There’s a line in the song that goes:

“So now, everything is clear, as if a new person had emerged from within me. I can see myself from a perspective I’ve never seen before—no inhibitions, no worries. For the first time, I knew where I belonged, and nothing could stop me from being there. Nothing and everything felt real. The world was beneath me, around me, above me. I can see everything, and everything can see me.”

Yes, for the record, I was a little bit high at the time. But that voice resonated with me so deeply, and the serenity and calm that washed over me in that moment—as if all my questions had been answered, as if the fog had lifted and I could finally see the clear sky—was indescribable. I felt reborn, as if I’d broken free from a cocoon. That flood of awareness and realization that I am alive, truly alive… there are honestly no words that can fully capture it. But one thing I know for sure: I felt peace, the serenity that comes from knowing what I must do. Actually, the seed for LRY8.Art germinated right then and there.

How? Well, because of my mother’s nature—she has always sought comfort in the study of spiritual matters. First through her Catholic upbringing, and later through her exposure to Buddhism and Hinduism, as well as all sorts of studies related to the spirit and its elevation. I actually absorbed a great deal of it into my own being. At the time, I’d read works such as the Tao Te Ching, the Bhagavad Gita, the Kybalion, the Bible, excerpts from Buddhist texts and other philosophies—a plethora of material related to spirituality that also became part of my subconscious mind. A part that was pushed aside by my depression-fueled nihilism, but nonetheless an attempt to find a reason to go on.

The thing is, if you’re familiar with psytrance, you know it’s deeply rooted in India—its precursor is actually called Goa Trance, named after its origins on the beaches of Goa, India. So it’s only natural that a music style so closely connected to India would bring to mind what I’d read in the Bhagavad Gita, stirring up all those concepts and ideas about seeking meaning and serving a higher purpose. That was also what prompted me to start asking myself: Is the way I currently see life all there is to it? How can this music bring me so much joy? How does it make me feel and think about all these things? How does it make me be fully present in the moment and feel things I’ve never objectively experienced or rationally understood? I wanted to know more! If I studied it, would I find something deeper? If the artists I admire can do it, why can’t I? I want to do it—I fucking love this, and I want to be part of it. It was exactly at that moment that I became self-aware, that for the first time I wanted something for myself—when everything finally made sense: “So now, everything is clear, like a new person had emerged from me…”

And so it began—my journey into music production, to master the craft that has given me a new lease on life.

Beyond Music: When Music Meets Vision

One thing I’m deeply aware of—and I really want to share this with you, so I kindly ask for your attention—is that my experiences as a music producer are not just about sound, but about vision. Everything I’ve absorbed throughout my life—moments, lessons, memories—has been stored in my subconscious and comes together to form a narrative. This narrative is guided by my artistic vision, using music and dance as conduits to create moments of revelation. Music, in particular, has this almost magical ability to gather all those scattered pieces of experience and knowledge and, at just the right moment, fuse them into a single, vivid feeling—a moment of complete presence. I haven’t found this with anything else, and I’ve witnessed it on dance floors around the world enough times to know it’s real.

It’s important to emphasize that music alone is merely a tool—a beautiful and magical tool, but still just a tool. On its own, music isn’t the heart of the experience; it’s the medium through which a vision is expressed. This is why some people can have a transcendent moment while listening to a song, while others simply enjoy it as entertainment. It’s the meaning, the memories, the story, the context, and the individual that connect to the music and create the moment. As a producer, being aware of this is incredibly powerful. When I create, I’m not just focused on the technical aspects—I’m guided by a vision. If I share the images, stories, or messages that inspired a track, I’m inviting you to see the world through my eyes, to experience the depth and intention behind every note. The vision I build around my music can resonate with something in your life, making the experience richer and more meaningful.

Giving people more than just music—sharing what I felt while making it, what inspired me, and why I chose that title—is a way of sharing my vision. It might be the missing piece of the puzzle that brings someone closer to an experience that enriches their life in a deep and touching way.

That’s why, whenever I make music, it’s not just about expressing my creative impulse. It’s about understanding what message and story I want to share and offer to my listeners. My vision is to create music that is an invitation—a doorway into my world, but also a mirror for your own experiences and emotions. When you listen to my tracks, I hope you feel not just the beats and melodies, but also the intention, the memories, and the dreams woven into every note.

My greatest joy as an artist is when someone reaches out to tell me how a song touched them, or how it became the soundtrack to a special moment in their life. That’s the magic I strive for: to create music that is alive, that grows and transforms as it finds new meaning in the hearts of others. So, as you explore my project and my art, know that you are part of this vision too. Your stories, your feelings, and your interpretations breathe new life into my work, pushing me to keep exploring and making music, leaving life with meaning.

I’d like to thank you for being here, for listening, and for letting my music become a small part of your story. I can’t wait to share more of my vision with you and to keep creating these moments together.

Which Came First? The Idea or the Music?

One thing I’ve come to realize over the years is that, at least for me, starting with a fixed idea almost always leads to frustration. I’d say that about 80% of the time, when I try to force a track to fit a preconceived concept—like telling myself, “I’m going to make a song that sounds like this, with these elements, and it’s going to feel like that”—I end up getting stuck. I become so focused on preserving the original idea that I block my own creative flow. Maybe it’s a lack of technical skills, or maybe it’s just the way my mind works, but in my experience, whenever I’ve tried to rigidly follow an idea from the outset, I either get bogged down in the production process or I’m simply not satisfied with the end result.

Over time, I’ve learned to let go of the need to start with a fully formed idea. Instead, I approach music-making as a process of discovery. I sit down in the studio and just play around with sounds, rhythms, and textures. I let myself experiment, without any pressure to create something specific. Sometimes, it’s a new synth patch that catches my ear, or a drum groove that makes me want to move. Other times, it’s a happy accident—a random effect or a sample that sparks something unexpected. I’ve found that when I allow myself this freedom, the music itself starts to guide me. A mood, a feeling, or even a vague concept will begin to emerge naturally, almost as if the track is telling me what it wants to become.

Once something resonates—when I stumble upon a sound or a combination of elements that feels alive—I start to build around it. This is the moment when the “idea” begins to take shape, but it’s not forced. It’s more like uncovering a sculpture from a block of marble, chipping away until the form reveals itself. The initial spark might be abstract, but as I develop the track, a clearer vision emerges. I start to see the story, the emotion, or the atmosphere that the music is trying to convey.

At this stage, the track is far from finished, but it has a life of its own. That’s when I shift gears and become more intentional. I ask myself: What can I add to complement this foundation? Are there melodies, harmonies, or textures that can enhance the mood? Is there a narrative or a message that wants to come through? Sometimes, I’ll write down words or sketch out visual ideas that align with the music. Other times, I’ll experiment with arrangement, structure, or dynamics to bring out the essence of the track.

What’s interesting is that, even though I don’t start with a fixed idea, the final result often feels more authentic and satisfying. The music isn’t trying to fit into a box—it’s allowed to grow and evolve organically. I think this approach keeps me connected to the joy of creation. It reminds me that music is, at its core, an exploration—a way to discover new parts of myself and share them with others.

Of course, there are times when a strong concept or vision does come first, and when that happens, I embrace it. But I’ve learned not to force it. For me, the most meaningful tracks are the ones that start with curiosity and play, and only later reveal their deeper purpose.

So, which comes first—the idea or the music? In my world, it’s usually the music. The sounds lead the way, and the ideas follow, growing and transforming as the track comes to life. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Remember: It’s Not Just About Music—It’s About Us!

As I reflect on everything I’ve shared about my journey with music production, one truth stands out above all: for me, music is not the end goal. It’s the means—the vessel that carries something much deeper and more powerful. At its core, music is about self-expression, but it’s also about connection. It’s about building bridges between people, ideas, and emotions. It’s about us.

When I first started making music, I was driven by a personal urge to express what I couldn’t put into words. The studio became my sanctuary, a place where I could translate feelings, memories, and visions into sound. Over time, I realized that the tracks I created were not just reflections of my inner world—they were invitations. Each song was a doorway, opening up a space where others could step in, bring their own stories, and find something that resonated with them.

That’s the magic of music: it’s never just about the notes, the beats, or the technical wizardry. Those are just tools. The real power lies in what happens when music leaves the studio and enters the world. It becomes a shared experience, a language that transcends boundaries and brings people together. Whether it’s on a dance floor, through a pair of headphones, or in a quiet moment of reflection, music has the ability to unite us in ways that words alone never could.

But as my journey continued, I began to realize that music could be even more than a personal or shared experience. It could be a foundation—a starting point for something much bigger. I started to think about how my music could connect with other forms of art, with visual storytelling, with movement, with fashion, and even with the idea of a brand—LRY8.Art. Suddenly, the possibilities expanded. Music was no longer just a soundtrack to my life; it was a thread that could weave together a tapestry of creativity, identity, and community.

This realization changed the way I approached my work. I began to see each track not just as a finished product, but as a building block. I want to collaborate with other producers, visual artists, dancers, filmmakers, designers, and the audience. I believe that together, we can explore how sound can interact with image, movement, and style to create immersive experiences.

This is where the idea of “us” truly comes to life. When I share my music, I’m not just sharing a piece of myself—I’m inviting you to become part of the story. Your interpretation, your emotions, your memories all become part of the experience. And when we incorporate other forms of art, when we build a brand or a community around shared values and a shared vision, the impact multiplies. We create a space where everyone can contribute, where everyone’s voice matters — that is LRY8.Art.

In this sense, a brand is not just a logo or a marketing strategy. It is a living, breathing expression of who we are and what we stand for. It is the sum of our stories, our passions, and our dreams. When music becomes part of a brand, it takes on new dimensions. It becomes a symbol, a rallying point, and a way to communicate identity and purpose. It can inspire loyalty, spark conversations, and bring people together around a common cause.

Community is at the heart of all this. I’ve seen firsthand how music can bring people together who might never have met otherwise. Whether it’s fans connecting online, artists collaborating across continents, or strangers dancing together at a concert, music has the power to break down barriers and foster a sense of belonging. In a world that often feels divided, these moments of unity are more important than ever.

But building a community isn’t just about bringing people together in the same space. It’s about creating an environment where everyone feels seen, heard, and valued. It’s about encouraging self-expression, celebrating diversity, and supporting each other’s growth. When we come together around music—and the broader creative vision it represents—we have the opportunity to build something truly transformative.

For me, this is the ultimate reward of music production. It’s not just about making tracks that sound good or impress other producers. It’s about using music as a catalyst for connection, inspiration, and change. It’s about creating a legacy that goes beyond individual songs or albums—a legacy built on relationships, shared experiences, and collective meaning.

So, as I close this chapter and look ahead to what’s next, I want to thank you for being part of this journey. Whether you’re a fellow artist, a listener, a collaborator, or someone who stumbled upon my work by chance, you are part of the “us” that gives my music its true purpose. Your presence, your feedback, your energy—they all shape the direction of my art and the community we’re building together.

I encourage you to see music not just as entertainment, but as an invitation. An invitation to explore your own creativity, to connect with others, and to contribute to something bigger than yourself. Whether you express yourself through music, painting, dance, writing, or any other form of art, know that your voice matters. Together, we can create a world where art is not just a product, but a process—a living, evolving conversation that brings us closer to ourselves, to each other, and to a better world.

In the end, music is just the beginning. It’s the spark that ignites our imagination, the thread that binds us together, and the foundation on which we can build something extraordinary. So let’s keep creating, keep sharing, and keep believing in the power of “us.”

Thank you for listening, for your support, and for being part of this vision. The journey is far from over, and I can’t wait to see where we go next—together.

See you soon,
Lucas Ryoo