Indra Aziz
For well over a decade, Montreal-born electronic music producer Jacques Greene has maintained a vanguard position within contemporary club culture. Celebrated for his ability to merge the subterranean energy of UK garage, house, and techno with profound emotional resonance, Greene has consistently sought inspiration outside the traditional confines of dance music. Following a celebrated trajectory that includes his sublime 2019 sophomore full-length, Dawn Chorus, the producer is now preparing to release his most comprehensive and far-reaching project to date: a new album titled jg, slated for release on October 16 via LuckyMe.
Ahead of the album’s arrival, Greene’s artistic footprint is expanding into new mediums. His creative evolution is highlighted by the recent release of his debut film score, composed in collaboration with electronic artist Nosaj Thing under their shared moniker, Verses GT. The score soundtracks The Color of the Sun, a feature film written and directed by Xavier Tera. Premiering at the prestigious 83rd Venice International Film Festival, the film achieved critical acclaim by capturing the FIPRESCI International Critics Award. This cinematic triumph mirrors the expansive, widescreen aesthetic defining his upcoming solo record, punctuated by the spectral UKG inflections of lead single "EVERYONE," featuring SEES0000.
To contextualize the widescreen shift in his sound, Greene sat down to dissect the cinematic touchstones, formative media, and foundational beat-making practices that have quietly anchored his trajectory over the past fifteen years.
The Cinematic Spark: From Teen VHS Sessions to MPC Sampling
Greene’s fascination with the intersection of sound and image began long before he stepped into professional recording studios. Tracing the genesis of his musical comprehension, he points directly to Jim Jarmusch’s 1999 masterwork, Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai.
"We watched this movie a lot as teens and the RZA soundtrack kind of opened up a whole dimension not only for how film composers could approach a score, but the very thought of what kind of music could be truly ‘cinematic,’" Greene reflects. He notes that Jarmusch’s aptitude as a curator of mood left an indelible mark, extending to the filmmaker’s later deployment of Ethiopian jazz legend Mulatu Astatke’s catalog in 2005’s Broken Flowers.
This early exposure to unconventional cinematic scoring coincided with Greene’s formative years as a teenage beat-maker operating out of his bedroom. Armed with a distinctive red-and-blue Akai MPC 1000, Greene began acquiring film score LPs to mine for textures and samples. Among the most influential was Bernard Herrmann’s tense, atmospheric score for Martin Scorsese’s 1976 classic, Taxi Driver.
"There’s probably a Zip disk somewhere in my mom’s storage with the absolute worst beat you’ve ever heard sampling my favourite cue from the movie, Thank God For The Rain," he admits. These early production exercises laid the groundwork for an enduring interest in psychological tension, space, and minimalism in music arrangement.
Redefining the Score: Contemporary Inspirations and Missed Recognition
As Greene’s career progressed from club-focused 12-inches to long-form electronic composition, his appreciation for modern film scoring evolved. When asked about a score he wishes he had written, he points toward Mica Levi’s staggering work on Pablo Larraín’s 2016 biographical drama, Jackie.
Observing the graceful migration of artists from underground music cultures into high-level film scoring—citing peers like Oneohtrix Point Never’s Daniel Lopatin and Bobby Krlic—Greene reserves special admiration for Levi’s disruptive approach.
"The disorienting glissando strings not only capture the disorientation and the weight of the action on screen, but kind of reconfigured what I thought a score could ‘feel’ like," Greene explains. He notes that subsequent cinematic works, such as Monos, Zola, and Jonathan Glazer’s harrowing The Zone of Interest, share this commitment to sonic subversion.
Conversely, Greene remains acutely aware of the systemic oversights within film composition awards, citing the tragic case of Johann Jóhannsson’s score for Denis Villeneuve’s 2016 sci-fi landmark Arrival. Discussing Jóhannsson’s composition "Heptapod B"—a piece analyzed deeply on the Song Exploder podcast—Greene laments how studio mandates and the late inclusion of pre-existing Max Richter cues compromised the film’s sonic cohesion.
"It’s a shame about that god-awful Max Richter cue used in the first and last scenes, which not only cheapen the entire movie, but apparently disqualified Jóhannsson from being nominated for an Academy Award he would have deserved winning," Greene states.
The Architecture of Escape: Travel Companions and Visual Language
For an international touring artist, transit time serves as an unintentional sanctuary for media consumption. While traversing global time zones, Greene relies on consistent cinematic comfort food to anchor him during flights.
"Honestly, I love a star-studded romp on a plane," he says, citing frequent viewings of Martin Scorsese’s The Departed and Steven Soderbergh’s Ocean’s Eleven on airline entertainment systems. "I’m definitely well into the double-digits on both. I know every beat of each scene and each performance (and that hilariously suave and cool guy score in Ocean’s) and can’t wait to watch them again."
Beyond narrative cinema, Greene’s aesthetic sensibilities are deeply informed by fashion and visual arts, specifically the collaborative output of photographer Willy Vanderperre and designer Raf Simons. Tracing an artistic lineage through generations of digital mood boards, Greene emphasizes the lasting impact of Vanderperre’s sprawling 2005 monograph, Redux.
"We might be four levels deep of a copy of a copy in the zeitgeist at this point, but it still all comes back into focus when you flip through the pages," Greene notes. "Great photography, stark, evocative text and graphics. Still feel a deep love for it."
Industrial Darkness and Sci-Fi Minimalism
Greene’s musical DNA also carries the heavy, industrial shadows of late-90s alternative culture. David Lynch’s 1997 psychological thriller Lost Highway remains a cornerstone of his artistic memory, bridging his teenage obsession with industrial icons like Trent Reznor and Marilyn Manson with Angelo Badalamenti’s austere, chilling compositions.
"The Angelo Badalamenti score is him at his most cold and austere, which is a really interesting new angle on his romantic leanings," he observes, recalling the visceral thrill of hearing Nine Inch Nails perform The Perfect Drug live decades later.
This affinity for sparse, emotionally complex soundscapes directly informed the creation of his 2019 album, Dawn Chorus. During the recording process, Greene collaborated with composer and multi-instrumentalist Brian Reitzell, a partnership facilitated by mutual appreciation for Cliff Martinez’s minimalist score for Steven Soderbergh’s 2002 sci-fi remake, Solaris.
Utilizing a setup consisting primarily of a bass marimba, a string quartet, and a mono synth, Martinez’s score remains Greene’s definitive benchmark. "I’ve watched this movie well upwards of 20 times since and this score accompanies me on flights, through insomnia, talking me off anxiety ledges," Greene shares. "It’s another score that kind of plays with your expectations of what a sci-fi score can be."
Uncovering the Hip-Hop Roots of JG
Despite his current footing in progressive electronic music and contemporary scoring, Greene’s foundational rhythmic vocabulary stems from an unexpected mainstream source: the golden era of early-2000s hip-hop production.
"Coming from a beat-maker scene in my teens before finding my voice in the world of dance music, my favourite mainstream producer was Timbaland," Greene reveals. He notes that many of the non-Roland drum sounds embedded in his early catalog trace back directly to classic Timbaland and Neptunes sample packs. Even auxiliary percussion elements, such as the tambourine shaker featured in his early releases, were pulled straight from the instrumental pressing of Clipse’s seminal track Mr. Me Too.
Broader Implications and Album Outlook
As Jacques Greene prepares for the release of jg on October 16 via LuckyMe, these disparate threads—ranging from the minimalist dread of Bernard Herrmann and Cliff Martinez to the polished rhythmic punch of early hip-hop and the widescreen ambitions of his Venice Film Festival success—converge into a unified artistic statement.
By refusing to compartmentalize his influences, Greene exemplifies the modern multidisciplinary producer: an artist capable of navigating underground dancefloors, high-fashion visual landscapes, and international cinematic scoring with equal fluency. As jg prepares to reach audiences worldwide, it stands not merely as a collection of electronic tracks, but as the culmination of a decade-and-a-half spent absorbing, filtering, and redefining modern sound.
