Samantha Togni on the Legacy of Dance Music’s Queer Roots

Header Photo By Joseph Delaney

To simply call Samantha Togni a DJ and producer would be doing her a disservice. As well as being an internationally renowned artist who has played super-clubs the world over, and released a string of hard-hitting tracks over the past decade, the london-based musician is also the founder of Boudica, a platform championing women, trans and non-binary artists in electronic music.

With Boudica, Togni runs workshops, a conference, and an international club series, all designed to amplify underrepresented voices in club culture. Boudica is also a record label, with releases featuring the likes of Métaraph, Jasmine Infiniti, Yazzus, Peachlyfe and Animistic Belief.

Togni recently worked with I. JORDAN for the euphoric, floor filling False Alarm. Plugin Boutique teamed up with the duo for a collaborative event with pointblank music school, where the pair gave an intimate breakdown of False Alarm, followed by a live discussion exploring their shared creative influences and the professional nuances of navigating the music industry as queer artists.

To celebrate Pride Month 2026, we caught up with Togni to talk about the iconic instruments that kick started the global dance music movement, how the accessibility of modern production tools empowers more voices to be heard across the world, and the relationship between queer communities on dancefloors past and present.

Can you recall a moment in the rave where the sound of a classic piece of gear fundamentally changed your creative direction?

Raves have massively influenced my sound and creative direction from the very beginning. Before I moved to London I was going to free parties and raves in Italy where I saw crews like Spiral Tribe and Narkotek – that completely changed how I experienced electronic music.

When I moved to London and experienced the clubs and warehouse raves there, it pushed that even further.

There are definitely certain sounds from the rave that have stayed with me forever. Growing up in the UK the squelch of the Roland TB-303 was my soundtrack.

When I think about my first real connection to electronic music I think of The Prodigy, 808 State and Dave Clarke – they all took the 303 and shaped it into something of their own. Then later discovering the Stay Up Forever crew with D.A.V.E. The Drummer and The Liberators had a huge impact on me and later I also had the chance to release music on their label which felt very full circle.

How does working with classic instrument that were staples of early house and techno connect you to the roots of the US and UK electronic scenes?

The Roland TR-909 is definitely at the heart of it for me. When I think about the foundations of techno and early electronic music, it always comes back to percussion, groove and the rawness in the flaws. The 909 was the driving force of entire scenes across Detroit, Chicago and the UK, shaping how we speak electronic music.

A lot of my workflow still starts from that place. The core of my tracks is usually built around drums and percussion – rhythm feels like the emotional and physical foundation of my music.

There’s something powerful about using the same DNA that defined the roots of techno and house culture. I always find myself returning to those classic sounds because they carry so much identity, body and slap within them.

I then build on those elements through resampling, sound manipulation, and combining them with modern tools – whether that’s VSTs in the box or hardware like my beloved Elektron machines. I love finding the balance between electronic music’s roots with classic sounds like the 909, and evolving it using modern sound design techniques, shaping it into something personal but familiar.

With instruments moving from rare hardware to accessible software, how do you think this helps more diverse voices get involved in production?

I honestly love the idea that a kid in a remote part of the world can make an absolute banger on a crappy laptop and upload it to the world so easily!

I think where technology has arrived now is incredibly empowering because access to making music is no longer limited to people who can afford huge studios or rare hardware.

Sometimes people forget what music is actually about at its core: playfulness, creativity, experimentation and self expression. The fact that someone can download a few tools, teach themselves online and create something that connects with people across the world is honestly beautiful to me.

Electronic music is truly an universal language. You can put people from completely different places, cultures and backgrounds in the same room and they will connect through rhythm and sound, without even speaking the same language. I think the accessibility of software and production tools today has made that even stronger because it allows more voices, stories and perspectives to exist within electronic music.

It’s also created these huge online communities where people share music, ideas, techniques and inspiration with each other constantly, and I think that openness is one of the most exciting things about where electronic music is today.

Photo By Joseph Delaney

Is there a classic instrument that acts as a common language between the different queer collectives and scenes in the US and UK, past and present?

The 909 for me is the sound of Detroit and Chicago, and the roots of underground dance culture.

A lot of these scenes were built by Black and Queer communities who created spaces where people could come together, express themselves, and feel a sense of belonging at a time when the outside world often didn’t feel safe for them. Warehouses, basements and clubs became sanctuaries, and music was at the centre of that connection.

What has always resonated with me is the instinctive feeling of the 909’s percussion – there’s something deeply hypnotic about its rhythm and repetition. I think that’s why it became so connected to these queer spaces and communities because people went there to disconnect from the outside world, lose themselves for a moment and feel free. That repetitiveness and groove has this way of taking you out of your head and into your body, and I think that feeling is still at the core of the dancefloor experience today.