From Berlin’s Techno Underground to Cannes’ Spotlight: Kangding Ray’s Sonic Journey with ‘Sirāt’

Kangding Ray’s unique sound exists in a compelling, fluid space where the mechanical meets the spiritual. His compositions feel meticulously crafted yet inherently organic, like intricate circuitry learning to breathe and emote.

David Letellier, the Berlin-based electronic artist behind Kangding Ray, was the mastermind behind the original score for Oliver Laxe’s acclaimed film, Sirāt. This movie premiered at the 78th Cannes Film Festival, captivating audiences with its narrative of a father and son navigating the desolate southern Moroccan deserts in search of a missing daughter/sister. The film plunges viewers into an intense desert rave before transforming into a psychedelic road trip. Along their journey, they encounter a nomadic group of ravers, still chasing the lingering echo of that initial pulsating beat.

Sirāt garnered significant recognition, sharing the Cannes Jury Prize with Mascha Schilinski’s Sound of Falling, and Letellier’s score itself received the prestigious Cannes Soundtrack Award. His music masterfully transitions from raw techno beats to serene, ambient textures, a sonic journey that critics lauded for perfectly mirroring the film’s progression from a frenetic desert rave to a profound spiritual odyssey. The film’s critical success continued, leading to its selection as Spain’s official submission for the Oscars 2026.

When Oliver Laxe first approached David, he sought a musician capable of treating sound as a metaphysical landscape. Their collaboration transcended conventional scoring, transforming techno into something both radiant and ephemeral. “Oliver had a few different musicians in mind, and I think I was the one who resonated a lot more directly with it,” David recalls. “He sent me the script, and I realized the ambition of the project and his vision. I had a few doubts, but I trusted him, because I saw his film and discovered his world. It really resonated with me.” Their initial creative briefs quickly evolved into a series of shared experiences, fostering a deep mutual understanding. “He would come to Berlin and we were listening to music… just listening. The idea was to find a common ground and a common vocabulary, like a way to talk together.”

As he began crafting the sonic fabric of Sirāt, David envisioned the process as a “slow dematerialization of techno.” The film’s opening sequence pulsates with a familiar four-on-the-floor rhythm, yet by its climax, those same frequencies dissipate into a vaporous, almost spiritual, presence. “Oliver had Amber Decay and Blank Empire on his reference playlist,” David explains. “They were kind of the foundation, but these are techno tracks, and the score isn’t only techno. As the film advances, the techno becomes a lot more ambient, a lot more psychedelic and spiritual.”

His goal was to maintain continuity, transforming the same raw musical material over time. “I wanted to keep the same sound to have something homogeneous,” he says. “If I put so much time and effort into something like that, I want to do it fully. I want to create a coherent work. I don’t want the music to be wallpaper. The coherence needed to be there between these techno parts and the ambient part. So I started to degrade the techno — take out the beats and explode them into particles.”

During the film’s elaborate opening rave, which was meticulously staged over three days, David collaborated with various collectives to create a truly living, breathing organism. “The wildest moments at raves are the ones we can’t really talk about,” he laughs. “That’s the spirit of the rave. Usually, in a rave, there are no cameras allowed. So filming one is already very blasphemous.”

He vividly remembers the final day of filming the rave. “I was playing a long set, and the ravers and the filming crew started to dance together. It was pretty wild. At some point, Oliver asked the filming crew to stop because he felt it was too invasive. He wanted it to proceed without people being filmed. It was beautiful — to have the decency to stop and give them some distance, leave them alone.”

David’s own introduction to rave culture came later in his life, primarily through Berlin’s vibrant club scene rather than the illicit outdoor gatherings of early British raves. “My first experiences were more urban,” he shares. “I became integrated in it later on in my career. It started with playing at clubs like Berghain in Berlin, which is very intense. It introduced me to the idea of fully immersive dance.”

He also recalls a deeply transformative experience far from Europe: “The Labyrinth Festival in Japan, 2011. It was a massive sound system placed in a forest, in the rain, and it kept going no matter what. In a way, this is what the film is about. You keep dancing, no matter what happens. You overcome death and pain through dance. You exalt a celebration of life.”

The profound political underpinnings of rave culture were not lost on him. “When I was a teenager in the ’90s, all the most interesting musical movements were anti-capitalist and anti-fascist,” he states. “It wasn’t even only rave — literally all youth culture was around that idea. That’s been lost a lot over the years.”

Back then, he observed, a spirit of resistance permeated every musical genre. “You had bands like Rage Against the Machine pointing at police brutality and American imperialism. In rave culture, communities were trying to create spaces of freedom because society wouldn’t allow it. It was a beautiful thing; melting political consciousness with the energy of youth that just wanted to party.”

His deep respect for sound predates his electronic explorations. “I don’t come from an electronic background,” he explains. “I was in a rock band, and more into noise and industrial music, like Nine Inch Nails. But I didn’t plan to become a musician. I was an architect.” He specifically mentions his admiration for Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails: “I’m a massive Nine Inch Nails fan, and have been following what Trent Reznor does.” He even shared that he had listened to their latest Tron: Ares soundtrack while cooking the previous day—an image that perfectly captures how intense, grungy sounds can seamlessly integrate into the everyday life of a true raver.

Remarkably, architecture, his initial professional path, never truly left his creative process. “When I moved to Berlin, I met a lot of artists doing everything in between,” he explains. “I worked with Carsten Nicolai (German musician Alva Noto), who became a bit of a mentor. He showed me the many ways to connect architecture, art, and music. Everything became one continuum, and the same concept applied to a building, a sculpture, a film score, or a techno album.” His first record, released almost by chance, dramatically altered his life’s course. “Life decided otherwise,” he says. “I had to stop architecture and do music. But I didn’t really choose this life.”

Over more than two decades, the signature Kangding Ray sound has evolved from intricate minimalism to a more emotionally resonant style. “My first three albums were very ambient and filigree,” he notes. “Then gradually I became more interested in the pure energy of techno, because that’s where I felt there was more possibility for emotional connection. Around 2011, I wanted to move from a purely experimental approach to a more holistic one, from the club to the museum and everything in between.” Today, he’s almost always seen with his distinctive black snapback, which has become an iconic extension of his persona.

David also acknowledges a camaraderie with electronic musicians like Jon Hopkins and Nils Frahm, artists who inspired many to discover his work. “I know both Jon Hopkins and Nils Frahm,” he states. “We’ve played together, hung out, and I definitely see them as contemporaries. We each have our own sound, but there are definitely conceptual bridges. Even if we do different things, we approach the emotional connection to music in a similar way.”

Winning the Cannes Soundtrack Award for Sirāt came as a genuine surprise, especially as he was the first composer to be recognized for a score so deeply rooted in techno and rave. “I was very surprised,” he admits. “I was in an airport when they called. I didn’t think they would give it such a score. But it opens possibilities. It’s a good sign that this kind of music can be accepted in such a context. Being at the start of something is a very good feeling.”

Among the composers who profoundly influenced his artistic sensibilities, David highlights a lineage of electronic visionaries: “Eduard Artemiev, who composed for Andrei Tarkovsky, was one of the first real pioneers in integrating electronic music into arthouse cinema. Vangelis’ Yamaha CS-80 synth pads for Blade Runner still touch me each time. More recently, Oliver Coates for Aftersun, Ben Frost, and Geoff Barrow for Ex Machina; they’re all strong references.”

Looking ahead, David is already envisioning future projects. “I would love to work with Coralie Fargeat (of The Substance fame),” he says with a smile. “I met her in Cannes, she’s amazing. And maybe the Safdie Brothers or Andrea Arnold — they have such strong emotional films. I’d love to work more on radical independent projects.”