MANDA MOOR | IT 2025 #02

There are moments in an artist’s life when vision collides with timing so serendipitously that it feels like fate. Manda Moor, the magnetic French-Danish-Filipino DJ and producer, is living one of those moments. With Mood Child—the label she co-founded with Sirus Hood—reaching critical acclaim as Beatport’s Hype Label of the Year, it’s clear that this isn’t just a creative outlet. It’s a manifesto. One that channels her roots in Chicago house, her obsession with groove, and her burning need for emotional truth on the dancefloor.

Yet, to reduce Manda’s mission to accolades would be to miss the beating heart of her movement. Mood Child is a portal. A label, yes, but also a collective, an energy, a declaration that in today’s sprawling digital landscape, artistry matters more than algorithms. A DJ’s job, as Manda sees it, isn’t simply to deliver a beat—it’s to guide a mood. To let go of genres and lead with feeling. I sat with Manda for an intimate conversation about Mood Child’s ethos, her formative influences, and what it means to remix house music royalty. What emerged was a portrait of an artist not just at the height of her powers, but reshaping what power in electronic music truly looks like.

When I asked Manda Moor what emotional void Mood Child was born to fill, she didn’t hesitate:

"The concept of Mood Child was born during the COVID pandemic, at a time when touring had come to a halt. To channel our creative energy, we came up with the idea of releasing music on Bandcamp for a limited time only. Each month, we would delete the previous release and upload a new one, an intentional contrast to the oversaturated world of digital music where everything is available all the time. This sense of scarcity generated excitement and attracted a vibrant community of dedicated supporters who followed us throughout the journey."

"This community also tuned in to countless hours of live-streams from our studio, where we jumped freely from one vibe to another. Through this process, we realized we didn’t want to be confined to a single genre or label; we wanted to be chameleons, able to express ourselves through a range of moods. That ethos lives on in our label, which gives artists the same freedom: to explore different sides of themselves and to perform with that same fluidity at our events."

Mood Child’s four emotional archetypes—Wild, Trippy, Dreamy, and beyond—don’t just describe songs; they map out interior landscapes. It’s a cinematic approach to house, and when I asked how Manda curates around these moods, her answer was both meticulous and intuitive:

"In our continued effort to offer an alternative to the oversaturated digital music landscape, we decided early on to focus on curated Various Artists albums of 6–10 tracks, rather than the more traditional 2–4 track EPs by a single artist. Some initially warned us that Various Artists Albums tend to get lost in the flood of releases, but we believed in the power of strong curation."

"By organizing each album around a specific and clearly labeled mood like Trippy Moods or Dreamy Moods, we give listeners a sense of what to expect while still surprising them with the diversity and nuance within each emotional theme."

"This approach allows us to highlight music for its vibe rather than the artist’s profile. It creates space for emerging talent alongside more established names, emphasizing artistic expression over reputation."

"We’ve also taken this concept to vinyl with our Various Moods series (and some personal projects like Ghetto Corazon EP, Homo Sapiens EP and Peligro EP), selecting six standout tracks that capture different emotional textures."

Throughout our curation process, we stay focused on the feeling of the music rather than the name behind it. We listen to every submission we receive (via Trackstack), test tracks during our sets on tour, and then return with a fresh perspective, placing each piece where it naturally fits within our evolving vision of mood-driven storytelling."

Mood Child isn’t confined to headphones—it lives and breathes on dancefloors across the world. For Manda, these events are laboratories for genre-defiant experimentation.

"It’s exactly that: a space for authenticity, risk-taking, and emotional freedom. Our goal with Mood Child events is to take people on a journey, introducing them to sounds and energies they didn’t even know they would love. It’s a place where people can reconnect with their inner child, let go, and fully embrace the moment."

"One unforgettable milestone was our very first Mood Child event at the Wild Corner (yes, the toilets!) of Hï Ibiza in the summer of 2022. That same day, the club had just been named the #1 club in the world, which made the occasion even more surreal... The vibe was electric, intimate, and unfiltered. It was pure Mood Child. We have been having an event there every year since then."

"From there, the journey has taken us around the world... Each event is a reminder of why we do this: to create something meaningful, unexpected, and deeply felt on the dancefloor."

It’s clear that Manda Moor is the emotional engine behind Mood Child; visionary, intuitive, and fiercely independent. When she told me the label was born during the stillness of the COVID pandemic, it made perfect sense. Touring had stopped, but her creativity hadn’t. Instead, it evolved.

She started releasing music on Bandcamp with a bold premise: one release a month, live for a short window, then gone. No back catalog, no second chances. In a culture of infinite scroll and streaming permanence, this was a radical act. But it worked. “People tuned in with more intention,” she told me. That sense of scarcity sparked a real community—devoted listeners who were present, not passive.

During that time, Manda and Sirus streamed countless hours from their studio, shifting moods, swapping roles, playing with boundaries. “We didn’t want to be boxed in,” she said. “We wanted to express all the different parts of ourselves.” That refusal to adhere to one genre, one aesthetic, or one safe lane became the core of Mood Child.

Here’s what struck me: Mood Child is not about genre at all. It’s about mood. Wild. Trippy. Dreamy. Raw. Emotional signposts that guide each curated release. As someone who’s spent years tracing the evolution of labels, I found this framework refreshingly sincere. Manda doesn’t chase trends—she curates feeling. That’s why Mood Child’s “Various Artists” releases stand out. They’re built like soundtracks to a mood, not marketing compilations.

She told me that early on, people warned her that VAs don’t perform well in the algorithmic world. But she trusted curation over convention. And it worked. Because when you focus on the emotional language of music—on the resonance, not the reputation—you create space for magic. That’s how emerging artists end up sharing the spotlight with established ones. Mood Child is a home for both.

Some artists, like Malikk or Marian (BR), have released full-length solo albums—8 to 10-track journeys through their emotional landscapes. These records feel personal, like sonic memoirs. Meanwhile, the Various Moods vinyl series and EPs like Ghetto Corazon or Homo Sapiens bring the label’s vision into physical form. Mood, quite literally, becomes matter.

But perhaps the clearest expression of Mood Child’s ethos happens in their events. The first Mood Child showcase at Hï Ibiza’s Wild Corner in 2022 was unforgettable, not just because it was their debut, but because it happened the very night the club was crowned #1 in the world. With The Martinez Brothers and Paco Osuna holding court on the main floor, Manda and Sirus turned the bathroom-turned-dancefloor into a spiritual portal. It was sweaty, spontaneous, and alive.

Since then, the Mood Child wave has touched down everywhere: from Elrow at Fabrik Madrid to Womb in Tokyo, from Floyd in Miami to festivals in Albania, Thailand, Brazil, and beyond. These aren’t just parties. They’re transmissions. Each one a reminder that dance music, at its best, is not just sound—it’s sensation.

There are a few artists whose presence on stage feels like both a riot and a ritual. Manda Moor is one of them. Her sets are incandescent—bold, bouncy, and dripping with house history—yet always underpinned by a striking reverence. Behind the decks, she’s not merely spinning tracks; she’s conducting a séance with the spirit of Chicago, Paris, Manila, and beyond. Her journey isn’t just musical—it’s mythic.

From remixing pioneers to anchoring her sound in cultural multiplicity, Manda Moor embodies the paradoxes that define great artistry: she is both disciple and innovator, student and shaman, digging into the crates of the past to build a new future—one groove at a time.

“They represent something much deeper: the trust of my heroes, and my place, however small, in the ongoing story of house music.”

For an artist so deeply invested in house’s pulse, remixing legends like Roy Davis Jr., DJ Pierre, and K-Alexi Shelby is more than professional—it’s spiritual. These are not reworks; they’re archival resurrections. Emotional time travel. Moor doesn’t remix history. She communes with it.

“Before I even started producing music, I made it a point to understand the roots of house, how it all began in Chicago, and who the true pioneers were,” she explains.

“That connection gave me a deep sense of gratitude and responsibility… It’s about creating a bridge between generations.”

Her tributes aren’t symbolic. They’re sonic epistles. On her reimagining of Watch Them Come by Roy Davis Jr., there’s an almost reverent precision, as though she’s not just remixing the track but translating its DNA into a new dialect. For her, this isn’t about ego.

“They represent something much deeper: the trust of my heroes, and my place, however small, in the ongoing story of house music.”

And what a place she’s carving.

“Those tracks were honest… born at a time when I was hungry.”

Tracks like What U Want and Picante didn’t just top Beatport charts—they marked the arrival of a distinctive voice in modern house: a balance of “bounce and spice,” a sonic signature equal parts sass and soul. But behind the infectious groove lies a hunger that shaped every bar.

“What U Want” was my very first original release, and it came out on a goal label for me, Kaluki,” she recalls.

“It went straight to number one on Beatport… that gave me the confidence to keep pushing.”

The momentum continued with releases on Hot Creations, including The Climax and later, Picante, a track that’s since become a signature weapon in her sets.

“I was obsessed with the 2019 Burning Man set from Jamie Jones b2b The Martinez Brothers… it captured everything I love about house.” That 15-hour sonic odyssey ignited her creative fire, one that continues to burn across her discography.

“I didn’t see many other women playing the music I loved… so I became her.”

Moor’s sound is a melting pot of contradictions and cultures: she’s Danish-Filipina, raised in the French Alps, but her soul lives in Chicago’s basements and Ibiza’s sunrises. Her musical influences read like a shuffled deck—Britney Spears meets Paul Johnson, ABBA meets Apollonia. But it’s precisely this hybridity that gives her productions their kinetic character.

“My mother was a singer, and my father’s a pilot. From her, I got the passion. From him, the discipline,” she says. Her early musical crushes spanned Queen and Eminem, but it was a YouTube rabbit hole—and a track by Amine Edge & DANCE—that served as her portal into the rabbit hole of house.

That curiosity led her to teach herself how to DJ. Not out of vanity, but necessity.

“I didn’t see many other female DJs who played the kind of music I loved,” she says.

“That lack of representation only pushed me further… I wanted to be the artist I was searching for.”

This self-invention is not just admirable—it’s radical.

“Touring gives me the most—but it also takes the most.”

There’s an unglamorous undercurrent to Manda’s career: the grind. Touring is both crucible and canvas, and she’s honest about its toll.

“Early flights, little sleep, unpredictable food, and sometimes being alone… It’s tough,” she confesses.

To survive, she cultivates rituals: eating well, staying mindful, surrounding herself with friends, and embracing rest when she can. When she’s home, recovery is sacred.

“It’s in that quiet space that I reconnect with myself… producing takes a lot out of me, and I’m learning to protect that space.”

Despite the chaos, she views each set as a gift. A way to connect. A stage not for performance, but transformation.

“I want people to lose track of time… and leave with an emotional memory.”

When she crafts a set, Moor isn’t just selecting tracks—she’s sculpting emotion. There’s architecture in her builds, depth in her breakdowns. Her influences—Jamie Jones, Louie Vega, Seth Troxler, The Martinez Brothers—aren’t just heroes. They’re touchstones.

“They create pure magic… I’m sure they’re not even from this planet,” she laughs.

But her curation philosophy is earthly: read the room, find the pulse, and guide the crowd through texture, tension, and transcendence.

“I want them to travel through their senses,” she says. “To leave not just remembering a party, but remembering me.”

“If I can hold my own next to Jamie Jones… then I can do anything.”

Some artists climb the charts. Others claim moments. For Manda Moor, one such moment occurred under the cerulean skies of Bosnia, at Cercle’s spellbinding event above the Pliva Waterfall. Slated as the opening act for Jamie Jones, she was already floating. But what happened next was a myth.

“Jamie asked me to go b2b with him that day,” she recalls. “It wasn’t just a career milestone… it was deeply personal, almost spiritual.”

It was also the day she conquered her fear. “That experience helped me overcome my stage fright,” she says.

“It felt like a confirmation that I was exactly where I was meant to be.”

And perhaps that’s the essence of Manda Moor: a deep knowing. Not just of beats or history or harmony, but of purpose.

“At the core of everything I do is a desire to give back. Having the ability to shape experiences and influence culture is something I don’t take lightly. What drives me is creating unforgettable moments, bringing people together, and using this platform to spread connection and joy, especially in a world that can feel so heavy. If I can offer even a moment of escape, unity, or love through what I do, then I’m fulfilling my purpose”.

“After all, it’s in my name: Manda Moor (Mand’Amour), Amour meaning Love in French. Love is at the center of everything I strive for”.

As our conversation wound down, I found myself not just informed but moved. Some interviews leave you with quotes, and then there are the ones that leave you with echoes.

From the first answer, it was clear I wasn’t just speaking to a DJ or producer—I was sitting across from someone who has turned music into memory, rhythm into legacy. She speaks of Kerri Chandler and Mood II Swing the way others speak about heirlooms—precious, foundational, alive. That reverence isn’t for show. It’s in her DNA.

She describes her remixes as “personal milestones,” not for hype but for healing. Each track feels like a conversation across time—with her influences, with the culture, with herself. When she talks about playing next to her heroes, there’s no arrogance—only awe. Only someone who remembers what it felt like to first hear house music in the solitude of a bedroom can now play it for hundreds with that kind of conviction.

But it’s not all nostalgia and glow. She’s honest about the toll: burnout, marginalization, and the fight to hold space in an industry still learning how to see her. And yet she insists on presence. On joy. On softness as resistance.

She calls herself a bridge between generations, and I believe her. Not just because of who she references, but because of how she listens, how she remembers, how she plays. She’s not trying to reinvent the wheel; she’s keeping the wheels turning, polished with history, greased with hope.

I’ve done countless interviews. Some artists want to impress you. Some want to pitch. But the rare ones? The ones who make you want to go home, dig out a dusty record, and dance like no one’s watching? They remind you why you ever cared in the first place.

And for that, I’m grateful.