Electronic music pioneer Suzanne Ciani on the Buchla synthesiser, the emotional pull of the ocean, and why sound should always convey what words cannot.

“I feel very grateful,” says <a href="https://www.instagram.com/sevwave/?hl=en">Suzanne Ciani</a> of being described as a pioneer of electronic music. “It’s given me the ability to communicate what I care about from the original experience I had in the 60s and 70s,” she continues. “It was a powerful moment in the design of the instruments, especially Don Buchla’s instrument. And I feel privileged to communicate what I think is important.” Ciani speaks in a way that keeps time fluid, her work unfolding as an ongoing conversation between past and present. “There was a quiet period for 40 years where nothing was really going forward,” she reflects. “In fact, what we did was go backwards, which is a miracle in technology.” For her, this shift marks a moment when electronic music stepped away from its earliest language before gradually finding its way back.
That perspective comes from a career that has helped define the very fabric of electronic music. Widely recognised for her pioneering work with the Buchla synthesiser, Ciani emerged as one of the medium’s most innovative voices in the 1970s, creating music and sound design that bridged the worlds of experimental composition, commercial media and popular culture. Her influence can be heard across decades of electronic music, making her reflections on the genre’s past, present and future particularly resonant.
“The whole trajectory of the language of electronic sound was lost when the keyboard came in,” she explains. Early electronic music grew from control voltages and open systems, shaped outside traditional instrumental forms. “Instead of being about what it originally was, it went the way of traditional interfaces. So we didn’t know how to make a new interface. How do you relate to this machine? How do you play it?” Musicians turned toward familiar tools, keyboards, guitars, wind instruments, percussion, carrying established gestures into a new medium. Then a new generation began to look differently. “The kids put the brakes on,” she says. “They were like archaeologists. They said, ‘Wait a minute, we missed something.’ They wanted vinyl, cassettes, to look at what was done before.” The movement opened a path back toward analogue systems and modular synthesis, toward a tactile relationship with sound that emphasised touch and immediacy.

Image credits: @Karel Chladek

Ciani’s own return emerged through a direct call from Don Buchla. “He said, ‘If you’re thinking of getting back into this, now is the time.’” She began assembling modules again, reconnecting with the architecture that had first shaped her work. “It’s been a process to recreate or rediscover some of the modules,” she says, describing a dialogue between earlier systems and contemporary ones. Her relationship with the instrument remains deeply physical and responsive. “I always found these instruments to be sensual,” she says. “You are working with something that is in some sense alive. It has electricity. It’s warm. It talks back to you. There are lights. It contributes. It’s a partner.” The interaction unfolds in real time. “You turn a knob, you get a result. You move a slider, you get a result. It’s a beautiful, in-the-moment interaction.”
At the centre of her practice is composition, guided by feeling. “I’ve always thought of myself first as a composer,” she says. “And translating emotion has always been my goal.” She speaks of early experiences that shaped this perspective.

Image credits: @Sean Hellfritsch

Image credits: @Richard Beggs

“My grandfather stayed alive his last ten years just to listen to opera,” she recalls. “There was always passionate content around me.” Her studies introduced her to structured systems based on numbers and rules, while her own direction remained rooted in emotional expression. “I always felt that music should convey feeling,” she says.
This sensibility flows through her early works, particularly the Wave series. “The sea has always been my creative safe place,” she explains. Even before living near the ocean, its presence informed her imagination. “If you listen to Seven Waves, people think those are real waves, but they were made with the Buchla.” The ocean becomes a model for sound itself. “It’s noise that you can shape,” she says. “Each wave had intention. Each one was designed.” The compositions followed a simple structure in naming. “They were Wave One, Wave Two, Wave Three,” she says, referencing a classical approach similar to opus numbers. Later releases introduced titles, expanding their identity while preserving the original concept of evolving sonic forms.
Her connection to the sea carries both emotional and structural meaning. “It’s an infinite place,” she says. “A forever place.” The ocean holds a sense of continuity and movement that resonates with her approach to sound. “It’s very feminine,” she adds. “A different energy system. The slow building of a wave, the release.” This rhythm informs her sense of musical time, emphasising flow and transformation. This sense of connection extends beyond music into broader cultural and environmental awareness. “Artists are the connective tissue,” she says. “Whether it’s political or environmental, we communicate emotionally.” Music offers a shared language that reaches across boundaries. “It’s universal,” she says. “It allows people to connect.” In the context of environmental concerns, she emphasises awareness as a starting point. “You just have to be aware,” she says. “That feeds the system.” Collective attention, even in small gestures, contributes to larger change. “If everyone does the smallest thing, it matters.”

Image credits: @Lloyd William

What continues to energise her work is the act of playing itself. “Playing,” she says. “Being in the moment.” The experience carries a focused presence. “It’s like meditation,” she explains. “You’re just there.” She compares it to tennis: “Just watch the ball.” The immediacy of performance creates a space where sound unfolds in direct response to touch and intention. Outside of performance, life continues with its own rhythms and challenges. “Life has episodes,” she says. She speaks openly about change and the experience of loss. “I’m confronting the loss of my home,” she shares. Her approach to these moments reflects the same principles that shape her music. “I go with the flow,” she says. “My whole relationship with water and flow, that’s my energy system.” Time, in her view, carries its own movement. “You go through it, and then time changes course,” she says. The idea echoes throughout her work, where sound evolves through motion, interaction and transformation. Ciani’s music continues to move in this way, expanding, returning, reshaping itself through each gesture. Suzanne Ciani was invited to Ibiza as a guest and collaborator of MusicForTheSea.org, an NGO initiative that connects the international music community with artist collectives and scientific experts to address ocean protection.

Waves of Feeling

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