Music as an antidote.

Music has always been my antidote. It is how I process what I feel and turn it into sound, and making it is the most restorative kind of flow I know. That is where the name comes from: an oxime is an antidote, and I wanted a name for music that restores you and gives your energy back.

I started at six with a tiny Casio synthesiser. I'm self-taught and never learned to read a score properly, so when I found one I wanted to hear, I turned it into machine code and got a Commodore 64 to play it. I have been hooked on synthesisers ever since.

Drum and bass reached me in Finland long before London. A friend recorded long-wave radio from army bases in the UK, and those tapes were my first taste of it. I was at the first gig LTJ Bukem played in Helsinki, and that jazz-liquid flow stayed with me. When I moved to London in the 1990s I could finally dive all the way in.

I like to build wide, dark, starlit soundscapes with synthesisers, then bring in horns, guitar and piano so the music stays warm and human. Most tracks pass through more than one of the four energies, still, drift, charged and moving, and I use those names to think about where a track could go. I work with generative and random elements too, and I look for sounds that are interesting to listen to and hard for a machine to predict.

I write, produce and master everything myself, and I care about the sound more than I would like to admit: crisp and expansive, but warm.

The music is meant as fuel for other people's work. Late at night by candlelight, on a run, on a bike, in a car, or under a film. It is not there to ask for your full attention, only to keep you in the flow you are already in.

I am currently scoring a documentary about art, design and sculpture.