Written by, Eric B Thornton
Twenty years is a long time to keep the underground pulse beating. For Sacha Robotti, the Berlin-bred, California-based producer who’s been a fixture on the Dirtybird roster and the architect behind his own Slothacid imprint, those two decades have traced a nomadic arc across continents, genres, and incarnations. Now, with his debut solo album I, Robotti slated for early 2026, Robotti is finally pulling back the curtain on the human behind the machine.
His latest offering, “Manifest” (dropping this Friday), arrives as a collaborative fever dream featuring SYREETA, Mikey V, and longtime collaborator Blakkat. It’s the third single from the I, Robotti campaign, following “The Flood” and “Say It” with Victoria Rawlins—each one peeling back another layer of an artist who refuses to be contained.
“At this point my sound is like a multilingual creature,” Robotti tells me. “It speaks disco, techno, house, breaks, and whatever else I feed it. But at the core has always been groove-driven, emotive, slightly left-of-center music with a pulse that makes your hips move before your brain even knows why.”
“Manifest” embodies that philosophy—a track that lives in the sweet spot between jackin’ house and peak-time euphoria, anchored by SYREETA’s commanding vocal presence. It’s a sound that traces its lineage back to the Chicago house pioneers of the ’80s and UK garage innovators of the ’90s, filtered through two decades of Robotti’s globe-trotting evolution. “I love working with people who aren’t afraid to throw out wild ideas,” he explains. “If the chemistry is real, the music follows.”
From Berghain Basements to California Campouts
That chemistry has been cultivated over two decades of basement raves and festival main stages, a journey that began in Berlin’s grey-skied U-Bahn stations circa 2005. To understand Robotti’s trajectory is to understand Berlin’s unique place in electronic music history. After the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, abandoned buildings became incubators for a new techno culture—venues like Tresor and later Berghain became pilgrimage sites for anyone serious about underground dance music.
By the time Robotti formed Robosonic and started touring globally in the early 2010s, electronic music was experiencing a seismic shift. The 2013-2015 era marked the moment when “EDM” became mainstream and underground culture collided with mass appetite. Disclosure was bringing UK garage to pop radio, Claude VonStroke and Dirtybird were creating a distinctly Californian house sound, and festivals were becoming the new stadiums.
“We didn’t realize this was going to be the last era where scenes formed entirely organically,” Robotti reflects. “Before everything became ‘content’, before festivals got bought by multinational conglomerates, we had sweatbox basements, weirdos, mystery. No one was trying to reverse-engineer a TikTok drop.”
It was the Wild West, but with lasers—a brief window where you could still discover a Detroit legend playing a 200-capacity basement in Kreuzberg, or stumble into a desert rave with no Instagram documentation.
The Commodification Question
But Robotti isn’t here to mourn what’s been lost. “I want to be optimistic,” he insists. “Underneath all the wires and corporate scaffolding, the core of what dance music means to me is unchanged. There’s still the need for spaces where people feel safe to get weird together. People still want to gather in the dark, forget who they’re supposed to be, and resurrect their souls by sunrise.”
It’s a sentiment that echoes the original house music ethos—born in Chicago’s Warehouse in the early ’80s, where Frankie Knuckles created sanctuary for Black and queer communities. Or the UK’s Second Summer of Love in 1988, when acid house brought together everyone under the banner of PLUR. These foundational moments weren’t about building brands—they were about building community.
I, Robotti is that resurrection made manifest. The album is what Robotti calls “the reboot, the meltdown, the upgrade, the exile, the rebirth.” It’s his first solo full-length after 30 years on the decks. “It’s the diary of the guy who had to crawl through burnout, heartbreak, immigration, insomnia—and still showed up to play bangers,” he says. “People know the sloth, the party goblin, the DJ—the album shows the person behind all this.”
Slothacid and the New Underground
With “Manifest” and the forthcoming “All Night” (featuring SIAN and Joplyn), Robotti is building a kaleidoscopic narrative that moves from tech-house to breakbeat, indie dance to peak-time techno. It’s untethered, restless, alive—much like house music itself, which has always resisted singular definition.
For Robotti, keeping the underground spirit alive in 2025 isn’t about gatekeeping. “The ‘underground’ isn’t a place anymore, it’s an attitude,” he argues. Through Slothacid, his imprint focused on music over metrics, he’s proven you can grow globally without selling out. “It’s about the music, not the circus around it.”
It’s a philosophy reminiscent of what made labels like Dirtybird, Crosstown Rebels, and Hot Creations special—artist-run operations that prioritized vibe over algorithmic optimization. In an era where Spotify playlists and follower counts dictate booking fees, Slothacid’s approach feels almost radical.
“Manifest” drops Friday—another dispatch from a journey spanning Berlin’s concrete tunnels to California’s sun-scorched desert, from Paradise Garage to the digital age’s infinite dancefloors. Robotti has spent 20 years proving you can evolve without erasing where you came from. Time to wake up and manifest something new.
Check out our interview with Sacha below!
FRANK151:If you could curate your own dream festival, who would be your top three headliners, dead or alive?
Sacha: Only three? That’s cruel! Shall we go with Jimi Hendrix, Nirvana, Donna Summer..? Or perhaps Prince, Daft Punk, George Michael? Or maybe Tupac, Biggie, ODB? Or Bowie, Bjork, Frankie Knuckles?… or Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone, Marvin Gaye?..or..
You’ve been shaping underground culture for over two decades… how do you define the evolution of dance music from 2013–2015 to now?
2013–2015 felt like the beginning of a crazy spurt of growth, after a good 3-4 decades long prior evolution of dance music. In the 2010’s, the industry realized our weird little world could headline main stages, and that there’s profit to be made with the “underground” in the future. Promoter crews were still throwing raves in the city and the countryside while kids in the suburbs were discovering their first Disclosure tracks.
I was touring as a DJ globally at that time with my duo Robosonic. For me it felt like the Wild West but with lasers. We didn’t realize this was going to be the last era where scenes formed entirely organically before everything got fed through algorithms, brand decks, investor expectations, and the lens of social media. Before everything became “content”, before festivals got bought by multinational entertainment conglomerates, we had sweatbox basements, weirdos, mystery. Things were not commodified 24/7. No one was trying to reverse-engineer a TikTok drop or pitch a consumer-friendly party moment to a boardroom of people who don’t dance. Shit was way more organic.
I could expand quite a bit on this commodification, but I want to be optimistic. Underneath all the wires and corporate scaffolding, even throughout the slow death of clubs since Covid, the core of what dance music means to me, is unchanged. There’s still the need for spaces where people feel safe to get weird together. People still want to gather in the dark, forget who they’re supposed to be, lose their minds together, and resurrect their souls by sunrise.
Your catalog moves through disco, tech-house, darker tones… how do you describe your sound today?
At this point my sound is like a multilingual creature! It speaks disco, techno, house, breaks, and whatever else I feed it.
But at the core has always been groove-driven, emotive, slightly left-of-center music with a pulse that makes your hips move before your brain even knows why. Right now I’m in a more cinematic era, but still with warmth and humanity. I like tracks that feel alive, tracks that are taking you on a trip.
All Night has this late-hour mystique… what inspired it, and how did the collab with SIAN & Joplyn unfold?
SIAN had this demo track that he sent me, the idea to “All Night”. Joplyn came in with her ethereal vocal magic that feels like it’s floating above the city. I worked on the sonics and arranged the whole thing.
The track is a kind of nocturnal postcard — that moment when you’ve been up too long, the club lights are blurry, and you start slipping into a dream-state.
Your upcoming album “I, Robotti” is described as a personal + sonic memoir. What does it reveal about you that fans haven’t seen?
“I, Robotti” is basically me taking the mask off, while also putting a new one on.
It’s the reboot, the meltdown, the upgrade, the exile, the rebirth. It’s the first time I’ve allowed all my worlds – Brussels native, Berlin kid, California immigrant, club rat, producer, human, machine, spiritual being – to coexist in ONE body of work. It is my first solo album after 20 years of professional DJ & producer career, and 30 years on the decks. I’m collaborating with friends on it, with people who’ve been part of my journey that took me literally across the world. Music is my everything.
“I, Robotti” is the diary of the guy who had to crawl through burnout, heartbreak, immigration, insomnia, and his own expectations — and still showed up to play bangers. There’s humor in it, but also vulnerability.
People know the sloth, the party goblin, the DJ, the producer — the album shows the person behind all this.
From Dirtybird to Slothacid — what have you learned about keeping the underground spirit alive while growing globally?
I guess in 2025, the “underground” isn’t a place, it’s an attitude. Social media and smart phones put an end to the “underground”. Now it’s more nostalgia, curiosity, community, and a refusal to make music just because it streams well.
You can play big stages and still be “underground” if you lead with authenticity and surround yourself with people who love the culture, not the clout.
Slothacid was intended as an outlet for my own music initially, we’ve grown over the years – now it’s a platform that releases music by mainly younger producers, without focusing too much on their social media numbers. If you send a demo to Slothacid, know that It’s about the music not the circus around it.
You’ve collaborated with legends and newcomers — what draws you to someone?
I love working with people who aren’t afraid to throw out wild ideas, laugh at themselves, or dig into something uncomfortable. If the chemistry is real, the music follows.
If “I, Robotti” was a movie, what’s the opening scene — and what plays during the end credits?
Opening scene:
A dim Berlin U-Bahn station in winter. The sky and buildings come in 50 shades of grey. The year is roughly 2005.
A young version of me steps onto the platform with headphones too big for his head and dreams too big for the room he’s living in.
The camera pans through decades — clubs, airports, ubers, taxis, trains, empty hotel rooms at 5 a.m., deserts, festival crowds, fans, groupies, friendships, — like memories flickering through the wiring of a robot waking up.
The robot that wakes up is me, sitting at LAX, final boarding call, I get up and run to the gate, I make it, plane takes off!
End credits:
A warm, hopeful piece — something analog, melodic, maybe even slightly sentimental.
Maybe an old version of me and an old version of my sister playing a duo, cello and piano, like we used to when I was a child. Feelings of gratitude; the journey isn’t over.