”If it doesn’t have synthesizers, I don’t want it.” This is the story of my lifelong obsession with synthetic sound.

For some reason, people ask me all kinds of things and one question people ask me frequently is what kind of music I listen to. While I have a broad taste in music I always come back to synth music.

Since 1982, I’ve been hooked on synthesizers like others are on coffee or nicotine. It all started with Kraftwerk, and those German robots were my gateway drug. Their machine-precision and hypnotic beats made me realize I didn’t need guitars or even a human feel in music; give me loops, repetition, and a sense of alienation, and I’m happy. Kraftwerk was pure, uncut electronic, and from that moment, I was all in.

Then Howard Jones came along with his upbeat, almost annoyingly optimistic synth-pop. Unlike Kraftwerk’s cool minimalism, Jones’s music was the synth version of comfort food. His infectious energy gave a melodic, human side to the electronic genre, and he somehow made keyboards feel alive. And then there was Alison Moyet. She was a powerhouse, a voice that brought soul to synth with Yazoo. Moyet didn’t just sing, she poured raw emotion into those electronic beats, balancing the cold mechanics of synth with a voice that could floor you in seconds.

The 80s were my synth paradise. I couldn’t get enough of Bronski Beat with Jimmy Somerville’s haunting falsetto, ripping through tracks like “Smalltown Boy,” which was synth-pop but with something darker, something that cut a little deeper. I identified with this song, as a queer kid in a small town. Then Erasure hit the scene, giving me another dose of melodic, danceable synth, blending Vince Clarke’s unmistakable keys with Andy Bell’s magnetic vocals. Erasure was wild, unrestrained synth-pop, a constant fixture at every party worth going to.

Through the late 80s and into the 90s, I was expanding my taste, diving head-first into industrial with bands like Front 242 and Nitzer Ebb. But it wasn’t all dark. The 90s brought in a synth resurgence that mixed the old with the new, and artists like Pet Shop Boys kept things quirky and melodic, while Depeche Mode and New Order proved synths could go mainstream without losing their edge. Alison Moyet’s solo work also stayed with me; her voice was timeless and adapted so well, keeping that electric edge even in the singer-songwriter space.

As the millennium turned, I saw the genre reinvent itself yet again. Synth wasn’t just an underground scene anymore. Bands like Syrian, !Distain, and Minerve took synth back to its moody, electronic roots but with a polished, digital feel. They didn’t shy away from new technology, layering on effects and tightening the beats while still keeping the soul of the synth intact. I loved it. This new wave wasn’t just revival, it was reinvention, modernizing the best parts of the genre without watering down its essence.

Of course, Sweden had its own synth renaissance. I couldn’t resist Twice a Man, who brought something so avant-garde to synth that it felt both familiar and unsettling, a blend of cold and experimental that only Swedish bands could do. Then came S.P.O.C.K, who took the genre to a quirky, sci-fi world, infusing those precise beats with a sense of playful storytelling that stuck with me. And Covenant, another Swedish marvel, added a darker, industrial edge to synth while keeping it danceable. Covenant took the genre into moodier, often dystopian landscapes, a refreshing twist that expanded what synth music could express.

Today, I still revisit the classics. Kraftwerk and Howard Jones are still my holy grail, but I keep finding new sounds that echo the old. Acts like Dekad are part of my daily soundtrack, along with newer synthwave artists who’ve leaned into the retro future vibe, delivering nostalgia wrapped in neon. And the synth journey keeps evolving. I can’t imagine ever walking away from it because, honestly, if it doesn’t have synthesizers, I might not want it.