In a musical landscape where the boundaries between past and present are blurring, Adai Song, also known as ADÀI in another EDM project, stands out as a bold and innovative artist. With her latest album, she reinvents shidaiqu, the iconic genre of 1920s Shanghai, infusing it with a feminist and contemporary perspective. Fusing traditional Chinese instruments, EDM rhythms, and hip-hop textures, Adai Song offers a sonic experience where nostalgia and modernity coexist harmoniously.
In this interview, we explore her unique world, her artistic choices, and her vision of music, while discovering how she transforms shidaiqu classics into anthems of autonomy and female empowerment. A dialogue with a voice that, between heritage and innovation, redefines the codes of a century-old musical genre.
The Bloom Project blends tradition and modernity in a unique way. What sparked this album?
I’ve always been fascinated by shidaiqu, that early fusion of East and West that shaped modern Chinese pop in the 1930s and 40s. It was the first time Chinese female voices appeared on the airwaves, yet almost all the producers and songwriters were men. Women were mostly just the voice, not the creators. Reliving that era felt like exploring untold authorial stories: this time, I’m the producer, the visionary, shaping both the sound and the story. The spark came from the realization that the dialogue between past and present, tradition and technology, still has so much to say. I wanted to honor this history, but also reinvent it, like making guzhengs and 808s coexist, and letting a century-old melody vibrate on an electronic rhythm.
If you had to describe the album’s sound in three words, what would they be?
Feminine. Cinematic. Electric.
Luxurious and emotional, it’s nonetheless driven by rhythm and sound design. Each track oscillates between gentleness and power, East and West, nostalgia and futurism.
Feminism and emancipation are strong themes in your music. What message do you hope listeners will take away from this album?
I want listeners, and especially women, to feel that we are capable of defining our own narratives. In the past, in shidaiqu songs, women could only express their desires or aspirations: « Who will love me? Who can I rely on? » because they had few choices in real life. But today, as a woman from this new generation, I prefer to express myself with creative freedom: Where is my value? What can I create? How can I tell the difference?
During the Grammy nominations, when I presented the album, I received touching feedback from all kinds of listeners. Chinese musicians told me, « I’ve never heard my instrument sound like this! » while Western audiences said, « I never imagined Chinese instruments could sound so modern. » And Chinese listeners often said, « It’s both strange and familiar. » These reactions mean a great deal to me. If my music can help people hear tradition in a new way, that’s a form of empowerment in itself.
Can you describe the behind-the-scenes aspects of your creative process when creating The Bloom Project?
Each song starts differently. I don’t really have a single formula: each track reveals itself in its own way.
For example, starting with harmony. For songs like “Night Shanghai” or “A Lost Singer,” I began by laying down chords on the keyboard and singing freely over them, letting the melody guide the harmony. Then, I added rhythmic elements, from subtle percussion to heavier rhythms, until the track found its groove.
A second method is to start with a bassline. For example, “River Run” began with the bass riff that you hear right from the start. It was the backbone of the track. Once the groove was strong enough, I built a house drum track around it. As the song reached its build-up, I felt something was missing between the tension and the release, so I pulled out a yangqin plugin and filled that gap with its shimmering, hammered string textures. This moment became the first touch of East Asian instrumentation in the song. Later, I incorporated a folk melody from Yunnan, China, using electronic textures and a layer of dizi (Chinese flute) drones. My co-producer, Electron, also added Japanese shakuhachi and other electronic textures, all of which blended into a single sonic texture.
The third process is where a piece is born from collaboration. “Wuxi Tune” came to me from my friend Siyi Chen, a guzheng player and arranger, who had already created a jazz interpretation of this centuries-old melody. She sent me her stems, and my co-producer Yuanming Zhang and I completely deconstructed them: I cut, flipped, and reworked the pieces, incorporating UK Garage rhythms into the arrangement. I reassigned the notes between the instruments, sometimes cutting up the melody so that the first notes are played by the saxophone, the next by the piano, and then by the guzheng. This is how the piece became this complex, staccato yet fluid collage.
And sometimes, the spark comes from an iconic sound I’ve imagined for years. Take « Carmen. » As a child, I was obsessed with the melody of the « Habanera » from Carmen, and I always wondered how it would sound on a guzheng. When I started this album, I already knew that would be the centerpiece: the guzheng carrying that famous tune. I built the bass line around it, and then, for the solo, I didn’t want a simple reproduction of the original melody. I wanted something wild, almost « unplayable, » a version that pushes the instrument beyond its tuning limits. That’s why the sampled guzheng plug-in became so crucial. It allowed me to imagine what the actual instrument couldn’t physically do.
Which track on the album resonates with you the most, and why?
That’s a tricky question. I can’t say there’s just one. If you ask a mother which child she loves the most out of all the ones she’s given birth to and raised, I bet you won’t get a straight answer. I’ve devoted just as much time, attention, and effort to each one. It’s really hard to say. But I can tell you that for “A Lost Singer,” I got an ear infection right after recording the erhu for three hours straight. And I had a nervous breakdown when I tried a multi-million shakuhachi solo for “Wild Thorny Molihua.” And I also had a moment of clarity while recording “River Run,” when I applied the altered melody of a southern Chinese folk tune to a metallic synthesizer. But once they’re released, they belong to the public. I like that listeners now connect to it in their own way, without me influencing them.
Finally, if a new listener were to hear only one thing about this album, what would you want them to feel or experience?
I would want them to feel that coexistence is possible. East and West, tradition and technology, femininity and strength can coexist in the same sound.