Danish-Spanish singer-songwriter and producer Astor is carving out a distinctive space in electronic pop with music that blends industrial beats, cinematic synths, and deeply personal storytelling. His latest single, “Lift Him Up,” explores the lasting impact of emotional inheritance and the difficult but transformative process of breaking generational cycles. As he continues building the narrative world that began with his debut single “Falling” and looks ahead to his debut album Surrender, Astor joins us to discuss vulnerability in songwriting, healing through music, and finding transcendence in life’s most painful experiences.
You describe your work as existing at the intersection of electronic pop and sound art — how did that hybrid identity begin for you?
It started with my fascination with Björk, and her ability to merge songwriting with a broader artistic concept — one that also encompasses a deeply creative approach to sound design and production.
What role does formal musical education play in a genre often associated with instinct and immediacy?
It creates the foundation for instinct itself. A strong, conscious creative framework is what allows my instinct to play out more freely.
“Lift Him Up” continues the universe introduced in “Falling” — what connects these two works conceptually for you?
“Falling” is a more introspective song — searching for answers within. “Lift Him Up” is a call toward something bigger. Both, though, are part of the same process of inner transformation.
How do you decide when a track should lean toward accessibility versus experimentation?
It’s in combining both worlds that I feel most authentic — they both have to be present. I have a deep love for the strong pop melody; that’s primarily how I create accessibility. And as both a listener and a composer, I’m drawn to music that keeps me curious.
Industrial sound design often carries connotations of coldness — how do you reframe it as something emotionally expressive?
For me, industrial sounds are full of emotion — they carry feelings like anger, willpower, and pain. Another way to put it: they represent the inner demons you’re fighting, but also the power you have to overcome and push through them.
Can you walk us through the earliest version of “Lift Him Up” — what did it sound like before it became what it is now?
I began with the ending — I wanted to create an epic chorus that connects to something divine. Everything else was composed as a build toward that final resolution.
The song deals with emotional inheritance and paternal absence — how do you navigate writing about real experiences without reducing them to autobiography?
Art, for me, isn’t a personal diary. It’s a way of using personal experience to create something that reaches beyond the self — music that builds community, connection, and cultivates spirituality.
Do you think there is a “spiritual” dimension to your music, or is that something listeners project onto it?
There’s a very real spiritual dimension to my music — it reflects how I experience the world, and that comes through in the art.
What does vulnerability look like in your production process, not just your lyrics?
My voice is where vulnerability is usually most obvious. But personally, I also find vulnerability in noise. Silence opens space for all the inner voices — whereas noise gives me peace, a place to sit with difficult feelings.
How important is repetition in your songwriting language, especially in a track like this?
In “Lift Him Up,” repetition emerged naturally from the writing process. The words felt urgent — like someone on their knees, reaching for something greater to give them the strength to rise. The repetition became a prayer. More broadly, what interests me about repetition is how it can shift in meaning as the context around it changes — while still providing a common thread throughout the song.
You often work with contrast — light and dark, control and surrender. Is that something you actively design, or something you naturally gravitate toward?
All my songs explore duality — love and fear, light and darkness. It’s a reflection of the duality of life itself, something we all live within. “Falling” leaned toward control — being trapped in fear. “Lift Him Up” is a definite step toward surrender, toward being lifted into the light.
How do you know when a piece of music is emotionally “complete,” especially when dealing with unresolved themes?
I’m not sure you ever really know. At some point, you have to let go of the piece and continue resolving in the next one.
What role does silence or negative space play in your compositions?
Silence and negative space deeply interest me as a composer and producer — in building tension and creating dynamic contrast. It’s something I want to explore more in my next chapter. This album has taken a more maximalist approach, which reflects the absence of inner peace I was carrying during this phase of the process.
As you move toward your debut album Surrender, what kind of emotional or sonic evolution are you aiming for?
The experimental sonic approach in my production is a direct reflection of my desire to contribute to a world with more space for diversity. By melting genres together and pushing sound design into new forms of expression, I’m pushing toward growth — both musically and emotionally.
If “Lift Him Up” is a statement, what do you hope people misunderstand or over-understand about it?
I want the listener to feel seen. To know they are not alone in their quest for self-transformation and liberation.
