There are artists who arrive with volume and artists who arrive with gravity. Olga Korol has always belonged to the second category, shaped by the quiet discipline of the Ukrainian underground, co-founder of Body Parts, and part of that school of selectors who can shift a room without ever raising their voice.

As she returns this Saturday, November 29, the expectation isn’t for something louder or faster, but something deeper: a continuation of that dialogue between artist, system, and the people who know when to lean in.

You’ve been everywhere lately, but there’s always a moment between airports, afterparties, and late-night digging, where the dust settles and the real you comes up for air. What’s been on your mind in those in-between hours?

I like these kinds of questions because they create space to share something personal, which feels therapeutic.

One of the most common feelings for artists today is loneliness. You’re constantly surrounded by new people at every gig. Sometimes you build meaningful connections, meet inspiring minds, find souls you genuinely admire, but then you have to leave. You carry a beautiful aftertaste from those moments, but also a sense of sadness because they end so quickly. Suddenly you’re alone in another airport, and the whole cycle starts again the following weekend. 

It’s inspiring, and I’m grateful for the experiences, but it leaves a certain melancholy, the loneliness that’s different from being alone. There is the perfect Brazilian word for this, Saudade, that people feel more than define. It’s not just “missing” something; it’s a mix of longing, nostalgia, affection, melancholy and a quiet sweetness all in one.

In those in between moments, my thoughts go first to my family and the people closest to me. And I also can’t ignore the reality that a large part of my mind is occupied by the Russian war against Ukraine. Unfortunately, it has become a defining part of life and has changed my perspective in a way that can’t be reversed.

How would you describe your style without using any genre labels? Just the feeling people walk away with.

It’s like a soundtrack with a kind of gangsta attitude, something that doesn’t say much but leaves an impression. It’s not sad, and it’s not happy either; it’s in the zone where emotions exist, but nothing is out of control. The melodies got nostalgic while the drums and grooves roll with confidence. A bit sneaky, a bit streetwise, sometimes acidic. It's cool, but I'm pretending not to care.

You’ve played enough rooms to know when a space leaves a mark on you. Guesthouse has its own gravitational pull. After your nights here, what lingers with you the longest?

Indeed, I’ve seen many dance floors, and I can definitely include Guesthouse in my list of favourite playgrounds. I respect this place because it represents pure underground culture, it has educated more than one generation, it has made a massive contribution to the electronic scene, and it has stayed true to its identity throughout the years.

I remember the early editions of the club and how it evolved and developed with time. Playing here is always exciting, because both the crew and the crowd are spoilt in the best possible way; they’re educated, they listen, and they know exactly what they want. When a room truly understands the music, it becomes a dialogue, not a performance. That feeling stays with you.

Is there a track you’ve rinsed more than you care to admit, and what makes it timeless for you?

The first track that comes to my mind is Carl Finlow – Convergence.  It came out the same year I started playing music, in 2005, so it’s tied to a very specific moment in my life. I remember hearing it at Kazantip and later at the early Sunwaves, probably in Arpiar's set. It has this timeless mood that still hits me every time, it’s emotional but futuristic, and somehow always relevant. I actually made a small cover of it recently, which will complete my vinyl release next year. Some tracks just stay with you, and this one never lost its power.

When you think about the scene right now, what gives you hope, and what still keeps you restless?

I like watching what the new generation is doing, and I also respect how many veterans in our scene still push the standard higher. It’s inspiring to see people dare to experiment; that’s always been the mission of the underground: to look for new ideas and not be afraid to try things that don’t fit the formula.

What keeps me restless is how fast the commercial side picks up those ideas and turns them into something cheap. The underground builds something meaningful, and then someone repackages it without the soul. That part still irritates me.

Catch Olga playing this weekend at Playedby's 11 Years Anniversary.

Interview written by Bianca-Iulia.