Tummur’s ‘Get On The Saddle’ isn’t just deep and dub electronica, it’s a circuit board spinning in time with your pedal stroke, a glitchy gear ratio for your soul. Read our discussion with the artist below!
Describe your sound in 3 words
If I had to sum up my sound in three words, I’d say it’s rhythmic, bass-driven, and immersive. When I started this project, I took a step back to really analyze my strengths and weaknesses in music-making—trying to define what makes my sound unique and how I would describe it to someone who had never heard my music before.
I realized that my biggest strength lies in beats and bass—how they interact, how they create movement, and how they shape the overall groove of a track. I’m not someone who focuses heavily on complex harmonies or intricate melodies. Instead, I embrace simplicity in the melodic department, letting the rhythm and textures drive the track forward.
For this project, I let samples guide the process. Rather than forcing melodies or overcomplicating things, I focused on how the samples could naturally shape the track’s evolution. A perfect example of this is Get on the Saddle—the phrase itself is actually my own voice, and it just popped up naturally during a session while I was interacting with the music. It wasn’t something I planned, but it fit so well that it became a defining element of the track. That’s how I like to approach music—letting moments happen, following where the sound takes me, and building everything around that core rhythmic and bass-driven energy.
Tell us a few things about Get On The Saddle. What is the main idea behind it?
“Get on the Saddle” is more than just a track about cycling—it’s about freedom, movement, and breaking away from routine. The song tells the story of a stay-at-home dad who finally gets a rare night out, capturing the excitement and spontaneity of that moment. It follows a simple yet relatable journey—rushing to meet friends for a drink, enjoying the social moment, and then biking home slightly tipsy.
Musically, the track mirrors this experience: the beats and synths push forward with momentum, reflecting the energy of heading out, while later sections introduce a more wobbly, free-flowing feel, representing that slightly unsteady but fun ride home. There’s also a deeper layer to it—this track isn’t just about one night out; it’s about that universal feeling of escape, of stepping away from responsibilities for a moment and embracing life in motion.
On another level, it connects to the Finnish midsummer vibe—where even at night, there’s still light, and the whole atmosphere feels full of possibility. That sense of openness and joy is something I wanted to capture in the music.
You mention rediscovering cycling in 2023 and it becoming a central theme. Beyond the physical act, what specific aspects of cycling influence your music’s rhythm and structure?
Cycling as a theme in my music started as a mixtape idea, but it quickly evolved into a full album project. I wanted to explore the connection between movement, rhythm, and storytelling, using cycling as the central concept. Get on the Saddle is the second single from this ten-track project, and each track reflects a different aspect of the cycling experience—whether it’s speed, endurance, or the meditative flow of a long ride.
One of my biggest influences for this was Kraftwerk’s Tour de France Soundtracks (2003). That album showed me how a concept album around cycling could work, using electronic music to capture the essence of motion and rhythm. I loved how they translated the physical experience of cycling into sound—the breathing, the mechanical sounds, the changing landscapes. That approach inspired me to think about how I could use my own sound palette to reflect the feeling of being on a bike.
Structurally, cycling naturally has a pulse—the steady cadence of pedaling, the shifts in tempo when climbing a hill or picking up speed. I try to bring that into my music, with tracks that have a forward-driving energy but also moments of release, where the music breathes and expands, much like the rhythm of a long ride. It’s about capturing that flow state, where movement and thought become one, and letting that translate into sound, creating an experience that feels both driving and hypnotic.
You mention The Prodigy as one of your influnces. Being one of our favorite bands too, if you had to choose one of their track, which one would it be?
I’d have to go with Firestarter. That track—and the entire The Fat of the Land album—was a huge influence for me. I still remember how big of an event it was when it came out in ’97. I was just 13, and my older brother and I made a special trip to Helsinki for the album release at a local record store. We bought the CD right there, and it was such a big moment for us.
Firestarter especially stands out because it captures that rebellious, high-energy vibe that was so different from anything else at the time. It still resonates with me on a really personal level, almost like the soundtrack of me growing up. It really shaped my perception of what electronic music could be.
Sampling as an art is a key part of your process. Which sample driven album is your favorite and why?
Endtroducing….. by DJ Shadow is a big one for me. It’s such a masterclass in taking samples from different sources and weaving them into something entirely new and cohesive. The atmosphere of that album is incredible—it’s moody, cinematic, and full of detail. But beyond that, it connects with my own journey in music.
When I got into underground hip-hop in the 2000s, what really struck me was the DIY ethos. The hip-hop scene showed me that anyone could make music—it wasn’t about how well-trained you were or how expensive your setup was. If you had the ear for it and the love to make it happen, that was enough. That mindset was incredibly liberating. It wasn’t about showing off technical skills; it was about making something that felt real. DJ Shadow embodied that spirit—his music was built from forgotten records, chopped-up sounds, and pure creativity.
Back then, artists were almost faceless figures. You didn’t have social media or endless interviews—you just heard the music in its purest form. Mixtapes would pass from friend to friend, and half the time, you didn’t even know who the producer was. There was something special about that—hearing music without any preconceptions, without knowing the artist’s image or personality. It was just the raw sound speaking for itself. That experience shaped how I think about music. It’s why I focus so much on the feeling of a track rather than just the technical side of things.
Which is your go to synth, analog or digital, when you start a new project?
When I start a new album project, I first lock in an album template in Ableton Live. This means choosing a consistent set of sounds that will shape the overall sonic identity of the album. For example, on this album, I decided to go with an 808 drum machine for the foundation, a Moog bass for warmth and depth, three synth sounds for melodic and atmospheric elements, and the Elektron Octatrack for sampling.
Every idea starts from the same starting point to ensure a coherent sound throughout the album. Of course, as the tracks develop, I tweak the synths to complement the samples, but the core sound palette remains consistent. Then, as the story of each track starts to emerge, I refine the sounds to match that narrative, shaping the track’s identity while still keeping it within the sonic world of the album.
At some point, I also made a conscious decision to stick with Ableton’s built-in tools and fully learn them inside out. This way, I can master my tools instead of constantly searching for new plugins or instruments. It’s not just about saving money—it’s about depth over breadth. By working with the same tools over time, I’ve developed a workflow where I can focus purely on creativity without getting lost in learning new software every time I sit down to make music.
If the music of Tummur was a film, which film would that be?
I’d probably say Amélie. It’s not just about the visuals, which are stunning and full of warmth, but also the way the film feels. The way Amélie sees the world really spoke to me—her curiosity, imagination, and the way she finds joy in small, often overlooked details. I’ve always felt like a bit of a weirdo, and people have told me that too. I see things differently than most, and my inner world is pretty rich.
I can spend long periods alone, completely diving into a subject, peeling back every layer until I understand it inside and out. That’s a huge part of how I make music—it’s one of my longest-running passions, probably because it’s so hard to truly master (and because, honestly, I was really bad at it in the beginning). But that challenge, the depth, and the endless learning are what keep me engaged.
I also connect with the playfulness in Amélie. My sense of humor has always been a big part of who I am—a former boss once told me my humor is “a sense of intelligence.” I think that same curiosity, playfulness, and ability to get lost in the details are what drive my music. It’s not just about making tracks; it’s about creating little worlds, much like how Amélie turns everyday life into something magical.
In which state of mind do you imagine people might listen to your music?
I hope people actually listen to my music, rather than just having it on as background noise. I imagine it being played when someone is doing something rhythmic but engaging—like washing dishes, woodworking, driving, or cycling. I want the music to add to their experience, where they can lose themselves in the sound but also pick up on the little details and narratives within it. Ideally, listeners feel connected to the story behind each track and engage with it on a deeper level.
Thank you!
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