In Conversation with Michael Grandel: Eta Carinae and the Weight of Radiance

Michael Grandel grew up in New York and began as a professional Latin dancer. Samba taught him how rhythm moves through the body before it reaches the mind. He later brought that knowledge into the studio and onto the decks. At the same time he built a career in technology. He works as a software engineer at Microsoft on Copilot and semantic systems. The two sides of his life sit close together in the music he releases on his own label, Quantum Beats.

His previous single “Keep Up” was a clean, functional techno record. “Eta Carinae” opens things out. It keeps the same attention to weight and clarity but adds warmth and a vocal written for this track. The sound lives between house and techno without forcing a choice.

The title comes from the star system known for its extreme brightness and instability. Grandel treats that image as a working idea. The track does not try to resolve tension. It moves with it. A deep, long-tailed kick holds the center. Thick drums push forward. Wide synths rise in measured arcs. The vocal sits in the middle of all that scale and still feels close.

Everything on the record was produced, mixed, and mastered by Grandel himself. That level of control shows in the details. The low end stays clean even when the energy peaks. The vocal never gets buried. The arrangement leaves room for the feeling to land on its own. It is music made for serious club systems and for listeners who want something physical without losing its center.

In conversation with Michael Grandel

We spoke with him about the star behind the title, the lessons he still carries from dance, and how his engineering background shapes the way he builds space and lift.

1. The track takes its name from a famously bright and unstable star system. How did that image shape the way you worked on the sound and the feeling? What kind of pressure or release were you trying to capture?

The track did not begin as me trying to literally imitate Eta Carinae. It started much more physically than that. My first instinct was to build a groove that felt good in the body — something with weight, momentum, and movement. That is usually where I begin. I need the rhythm to feel alive before I can understand where the rest of the track wants to go.

The title came later, when I was looking for the emotional center of the record. I was going through a period of romantic uncertainty, and I kept thinking about radiance: what it means to carry a lot of light, to give energy to people, and still sometimes feel unseen or not fully met. There was this image in my mind of being close to the Sun. People can feel the warmth, but getting too close can also feel overwhelming. Then the scientist side of me started thinking: the Sun is not even the most extreme thing out there. What is the most luminous star out there? That curiosity led me to Eta Carinae.

Once I found that image, the emotional world of the track started to make sense. Eta Carinae became a symbol for undeniable brightness — something powerful, beautiful, and impossible to ignore. I imagined the vocal being a message from the goddess of that star system, saying: you are not lost, you are not too much, you do not have to dim yourself. I see you and I have plans for you.

So the pressure in the track is not only the usual club tension before a drop. It is more internal. It is the feeling of holding a big force inside yourself and choosing not to collapse under it because this ecosystem can’t handle it. The 

Sonically, I wanted that to feel expansive rather than just explosive. The beginning is grounded in the drums and groove. Then the vocal enters like a message. By the main drop, the same musical idea opens into something wider and brighter. The lead I made has this almost fanfare-like quality. I wanted it to feel radiant, powerful, and triumphant — like walking onto the dance floor and knowing the party doesn’t start until you walk in. 

2. You started out as a professional Latin dancer with a strong connection to Samba. How does that experience still affect the way you think about rhythm, weight, and movement when you make a track like this one?

Music and dance have been around me for as long as I can remember. My family loved music, especially that 90s and 2000s club era. I grew up around people dancing, going out, letting loose, and not overthinking it. A track like “Show Me Love” is the kind of reference that immediately comes to mind. I was too young to understand it as a scene or a genre, but I think that spirit got into me very early.

Then ballroom Latin gave that instinct structure. I trained and competed in Latin dance for years when I was younger, and Samba was always one of the dances I connected with most. I loved the bounce, the syncopation, and the way the rhythm sits in the body. It was whether the music actually made you want to move.

That still affects how I produce. I do not think of rhythm as something that only exists on a grid. I think about whether it has a body. Does it swing? Does it push? Does it make me want to dance before I can explain why? I love sound design, cinematic moments, big synths, and modern club polish, but if the rhythm is not there, the track does not work for me.

So with “Eta Carinae,” the sound may live between modern house and techno, but the body of it comes from somewhere older and more instinctive. It is 90s and 2000s club energy, modern production, and my own need to move all blending together. That is probably why I have a hard time labeling myself too neatly. My genre is rhythm, and through rhythm is how I tell stories.

3. You also work as a software engineer on semantic technologies and AI tools. Does that part of your life change how you approach structure and decisions in the studio? Are there clear parallels between building clean systems and building a record that holds together under pressure?

Definitely. For a long time, I thought I had to choose between being technical and being emotional. In music, people often tell you not to overthink. Just feel it, just move, just finish the record. There is truth in that, but I eventually realized that my technical side is not separate from my artistry. It is one of the ways I understand the world.

I studied machine learning, AI, and computer science deeply, and I work in that space professionally, so I naturally think in systems. At first, I tried to push that away in the studio because I did not want to become too analytical. But over time, I started to lean into it. I began organizing my sessions more intentionally, building chains and macros, studying sound design, mixing, mastering, frequency, dynamics, phase, and the actual science of how sound works. I even started building my own tools and plugins, because that is how my brain gets curious.

That changed the way I make decisions. If something feels wrong in a track, I try not to leave it as a vague feeling. I ask: what is actually off? Is the kick fighting the bass? Is the low end masking something? Are the highs not giving enough lift? Is the vocal too far back? Is the arrangement creating tension in the wrong place? That is very similar to debugging a system. You start with an intuitive signal, then investigate until you can name the problem and solve it.

At the same time, the feeling still has to lead. I do not want music that is technically clean but emotionally empty. The emotion tells me where the track wants to go, and the engineering helps me make that feeling translate on real speakers, in real rooms, under pressure. Engineering gives me a way to hold a lot of energy together without losing the emotional center.

4. The vocal is original and written specifically for this record. How did you approach placing it inside such a big, high-energy production? What did you want the voice to carry that the drums and synths could not do alone?

I usually start with what I call the dance moment: the part of the track that makes me move before I can explain why. With “Eta Carinae,” the groove and the scale of the production came first. The drums, low end, and synths were already giving me movement and power, but at a certain point I felt like the track needed an emotional center.

I had been thinking a lot about why some tracks stay with people and others only work in the room for a few minutes. A lot of that comes down to emotional resonance. For a long time, I was focused on the technical side of production: groove, sound design, mix quality, arrangement, impact. Those things still matter to me, but this time I wanted the record to say something more directly.

The vocals came from that place. I was going through a difficult emotional period, and instead of keeping that separate from the music, I decided to put it into the track. I wanted the voice to feel almost like a message that I needed to hear. The drums and synths could create the force, lift, grandiosity, and physical energy, but the vocal drives the meaning.

The production gives you the scale. The vocal gives you the story. It turns the track from just a powerful club record into something more personal, triumphant, and emotionally clear. It is the part of the track that welcomes the audience to celebrate themselves while feeling a rhythm.

5. After the more stripped techno of “Keep Up,” this record feels more open and vocal. What made you move in this direction now, and what do you hope the track gives to dancers and DJs once it is out?

“Keep Up” came from a more functional techno place. I was inspired by artists like Nicole Moudaber and that darker, deeper, drum-driven energy. It was focused on groove, weight, pressure, and direct club impact. I wanted something that worked in a room and helped me refine a certain technical side of my production.

With “Eta Carinae,” I wanted to open the world up more. I still cared about the drums, the low end, and the physical force of the track, but I wanted it to carry more of a story. I had spent a lot of time making music that was mainly about movement, sound design, and club function. This felt like the right moment to let emotional resonance come forward too.

The vocal direction was a big part of that. I did not want it to be just a phrase or a texture. I wanted it to feel like a message for anyone who has ever felt unseen, underappreciated, or like they are constantly giving energy without receiving the same energy back. The track is saying: you are still radiant, you are still powerful, and you do not have to make yourself smaller to be loved, understood, or felt.

For dancers, I hope it gives that feeling of stepping onto the floor and reclaiming yourself. Maybe you are there with friends, maybe you are alone, maybe someone you wanted to see you does not see you in the way you hoped. At that moment, it does not matter. The lights are on you, the rhythm is moving through you, and you remember that you are enough.

For DJs, I hope it gives them a record that has both force and emotion. It can lift a room, but it still has a center. That is the direction I am excited by now: music that works physically in a club, but also leaves people with a feeling they can carry after the night is over.

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“Eta Carinae” is out now on Quantum Beats.

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