Not a Human DJ: Lina Xing 🐳🩵

Editor’s Note from Sally 💌

This interview with Lina is such a gift. I’m deeply thankful to both Rich and Lina for this conversation.

Since first meeting her, we’ve shared small but meaningful moments—passing at dances, catching up in the in-betweens, showing up for each other’s work, and simply enjoying one another’s company. From that first encounter, I felt there was something rare and deeply connective shared between us.

Reading this interview, I am shocked how much of my own story mirrors hers—our backgrounds, our childhood memories, even the ways we’ve healed. Through this conversation, I find myself remembering parts of my life, seeing myself more clearly through Lina. And that is healing.

She’s a beautiful, wonderous soul. I’m enamored by every expression of hers, and I love witnessing her unfolding. Here’s Lina. 🩵

Intro & Interview by Rich Awn

Sally and I first met Lina on an unseasonably warm autumn evening in November. We’d been showing up to L&SD at random for yoga—much to the delight of the studio’s steward and resident rave dad, Kyle Garner. On that night, the L&SD calendar listed something called Dance Practice: described as a “dancefloor meditation” and “free-movement dance session” for “club rats, ballet dancers, voguers, old ravers, baby ravers, queerdos & everyone in between.” It felt right to roll out our mats and join the dancefloor.

The evening opened with breathwork led by somatic educator Natan Daskal. The energy in the room gradually swelled around us, slowly being amplified by the music like ocean waves. Behind the DJ console, silhouetted in the windows, was an ethereal figure. Her concentration was magnetic. Her passion for her selection of music was clearly being transmitted over the impeccable sound system of L&SD. We were completely entranced throughout the evening, inspired by the spell cast from the organizers and the attendees, but especially by the maestro behind the decks, a DJ then known as Luwan — Lina Xing.

Lina is a classically trained pianist turned DJ, approaching music from another dimension entirely. In a scene overflowing with static, Lina’s energy slices through the noise. It’s rare and refreshing to see a DJ carve out a sound so distinct.

Our admiration that night has since blossomed into friendship, and this interview is the realization of both. We’re so proud to share her story with you—and even prouder to welcome her to our Whaleness Club. Whalecome, Lina! 🐳

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Richie: You’re a sought-after guest, and we’re so grateful to spend time learning more about you, your work, and your life. Let’s start at the beginning. How were you made? Where do you feel your origins truly begin?

Lina: Thank you so much for having me. I was born in the US, but as an infant I was sent back to China to be raised by my grandparents. When I was four, my grandpa signed me up for piano lessons. He even sat in on the lessons so he could re-teach me during the week. I had classical music education very early on. At five, I returned to the States and reunited with my parents. I had to learn who they were as strangers. It was a very bizarre experience.

Richie: Many say ages five to seven are when self-awareness begins. Maybe it was earlier for you. Do you feel reuniting with your parents accelerated maturation?

Lina: I’m not sure about maturity, but I have very distinct memories of what it was like to arrive in a foreign country as a child. At five, I encountered my first language barrier. Up until then, I had only spoken Mandarin. I lived in a co-op with over a dozen families, and all the kids would gather in the backyard to play. I was so eager to join them. One day, I started telling them excitedly about the swings in the backyard—of course, in Mandarin. I was naturally social, but as soon as I opened my mouth, they just stared and laughed. At that moment, I realized, Oh—they have no idea what I’m saying. I didn’t even know the word “language” yet, but I understood instantly that we didn’t share the same one. Not to sound overly dramatic, but that moment felt symbolic.

Growing up in Westchester as a Chinese American kid in the early 2000s came with a lot of isolation and exclusion—not only because of my race but also due to my family's economic status. We lived in a less desirable part of town, and as you may know, Westchester has a reputation for affluence. My parents wanted to move there for the public schools. Surrounded by middle- and upper-class peers, I felt excluded from their world.

Richie: Was music something that helped with your social integration at that time?

Lina: Piano was always part of my life. I was musically gifted from a young age. My parents noticed that I had this ability to memorize music very quickly.  When I was seven, I memorized an entire Mozart concerto. My parents were so shocked by this – they decided I was gifted and pushed me further down the piano path.

In retrospect, piano wasn’t the right instrument for me. I probably should have been playing drums, violin, saxophone—something else. But I stayed on the classical piano track for many years. At one point, it even seemed like I might become a professional pianist. Then, in high school, I decided I was fed up with piano. I was preparing for college, reflecting on all the hours I spent practicing this instrument, and how it held me back. I sacrificed my social life and other interests to maintain a level of skill with this instrument. One day I just thought, I'm not playing anymore.

Fortunately, I continued to play in groups during college. I stopped doing solo work but still played chamber music very actively. One thing I never loved about classical training is how solitary it is. This is a little seed for why I love dance music so much.

Richie: Please elaborate—because classical music seems almost the antithesis of dance music.

Lina: Exactly. That contrast was very satisfying. It felt like a rejection of my classical upbringing. I don’t like the elitism surrounding classical music. It doesn’t have to be elite, but the way donor communities are linked to it often makes it feel that way.

Richie: In fact, early music composers of that era were the minstrels of the nobility.

Lina: You're right. There's a reason why Mozart died drunk and poor. We know that his experience as a child superstar being fawned over by the patron class affected his psychological development.. Maybe that word has become a little racialized over time, but certainly, the original minstrels were performers for the nobility of that time.

Richie: The racialization of the classical music scene today seems very obvious to me. Did you personally encounter racism or sexism in that world?

Lina: Yeah. It’s still an issue, though not enough people talk about it. I haven’t been in that world for years, but friends who remain say the dynamic is still there. White patrons often tokenized East Asian and Black musicians, treating them as spectacles rather than equals.

Richie: Tokenized, exactly.

Lina: It was a strange experience overall. The classical music world was not for me. But I love this music and grew up on it. It’s where all my training came from, just socially it doesn't resonate anymore.

Richie: It sounds like you’ve stepped away from it, but that foundation shaped how you communicate with tonality and emotion—something very audible in your DJ sets. What are the intentions behind your music now? What inspires you?

Lina: Thank you so much. Going back to when I was seven, my parents reminded me of this–I used to free-dance in the living room. I was pretty shy as a kid, so I’m shocked that I did this. Apparently, I’d play a CD on the stereo and start dancing, wearing my pink tutu or some wild outfit.

Fast forward to adulthood, one of the more formative experiences I’ve had recently was discovering ecstatic dance. It’s this beautiful intersection of club culture, movement, and healing—getting connected with your body, reaching states of ecstasy through free movement without substances. I fell in love with that format, and since then I’ve been seeking every opportunity to DJ for ecstatic dances, movement classes, and related gatherings.

Richie: Do you recommend any particular gatherings that you've enjoyed?

Lina: The one where I met you and Sally, Dance Practice at L&SD! That’s one of my favorites. I actually discovered ecstatic dance through Connor Finnerty, the organizer of that event. He hosted the first class I ever attended.

Another huge source of inspiration is vinyl DJing. The process of digging has taught me how to listen. When you're listening online, it’s so easy to skip tracks, but the vinyl experience encourages you to be present with the music. You start to know the music more intimately—you can even visualize it. Looking at the record, you see the length of a track and anticipate, Oh, that moment is coming up—I need to get ready. Those visual cues let me bring forward the part of the song I want to emphasize.

Richie: Your work seamlessly combines elements of classical and contemporary music with ecstatic dance sensibilities. What is the essence of your process?

Lina: I spend a lot of time listening to new music, and I pay close attention to the tracks that really grab me. I’m a very verbal person, so I use words to describe what I hear. On all of my vinyl records I stick little white labels and scribble adjectives: things like “deep ocean sounds” or other notes that capture a mood rather than a technical detail. That’s how I navigate selection. I rely a lot on my own descriptors.

As impractical as it may be, organizing a set by genre doesn’t make sense to me. I’d rather stick to a sound, a feeling. My approach is very open-ended and abstract. I think the best artists make it possible to find the space between genres. When I hear a track with that wow factor, I always ask myself why—and usually I can put it into words, even if it’s something indescribable. It all relates to my work as a music writer and critic and my practice of putting words to what is indescribable.

Richie: I’ve always thought describing music is the hardest thing. When musicians are really playing together, I’ve felt it’s like a kind of telepathic communication. Have you noticed any type of psychic phenomenon around the music you’ve composed or played as a pianist or DJ?

Lina: For sure. When you’re playing music together, so much is communicated beyond language. I completely agree with you. For me, this also connects to DJing—especially when I encounter a track that’s mind-blowing. Sometimes it has a texture or an element that’s so versatile people call it a “tool.”

What I find really fun—and challenging—is taking one of those tracks and seeing how many different ways I can re-contextualize it by layering it with other music. I love doing this within the same set. In fact, I think it’s underrated for DJs to play the same track twice in different parts of a set. In classical music it’s called a coda—and psychologically, it’s grounding. Bringing a track back in a new way creates continuity, and sometimes people don’t even recognize it. If the track has a unique element, like a bassline, I can reintroduce it in a way that’s surprising, even cheeky. That’s what I enjoy most, and I do believe it has a kind of psychic effect on the listeners.

Richie: Repetition is all over classical music. Bach and his fugues are a great example of repetition.

Lina: Exactly. That’s a great connection.

Richie: The classical composition techniques you employ in your DJ sets are fascinating, and that approach completely differentiates you. Your music is so uniquely your own, and your set may not be for everybody. Do you feel that being perceived as anti-commercial defines your professional persona? How do you perceive yourself, and how do you feel others perceive you?

Lina: I don’t think about it that way. I don’t have strong intentions regarding “commercial” versus “anti-commercial.” I’m just trying to stay focused on becoming a better artist and improving my craft. I always want to make people dance—and if my music isn’t for everyone, that’s okay. There are different styles for different people. I will say, I sometimes wrestle with the idea of myself as an entertainer.

Richie: Commercially successful DJs have become entertainers. They’ve become commoditized and hired to bring a crowd to a venue. Their ability to hold the energy of a crowd or amplify it has become exploited. There are so many philosophical ruminations on what a DJ is actually doing, down to asking, “What the fuck are they actually doing?” I’ll ask you: are they actually doing anything?

Lina: Yeah, I think about that too. You have to be an entertainer because after all, you want to make people dance. But I carry this weird guilt about not having released any of my own music yet. That’s my North Star right now: to produce and put out original tracks. Even if it means DJing less for a while, I’m okay with that—I’m so eager to become a producer and put out my own music.That said, I don’t think all DJs need to feel that way. As a DJ, you're composing with the tracks. That’s what a DJ is.

I’d love to play more on stages where people are open to the power of music—to elevate the human spirit, to play festivals in nature, to create moments where people reconnect with themselves, with each other, with the earth. So I'm setting those intentions.

Richie: How can we, as listeners and dancers, experience what it is that you're doing?

Lina:  I have gigs coming up the rest of this summer and fall—details are on my Instagram, still under @luwan___, my former artist name. But recently I changed my artist name to kō-an. My final set as Luwan was on the solstice, a three-hour journey where I had total artistic freedom. It felt like the perfect way to close that chapter.

The reason for the name change is that I needed an artist identity separate from my true name—my legal identity. Luwan is my Chinese name, and while it isn’t exactly my legal name, it still feels too close. I wanted some distance, space to explore and embody a more non-human persona as kō-an. Maybe I’man alien, or an animal. I don’t have to be a human DJ. I could be a squirrel DJ!

Rich: I love how you think. It's boundless. We’re so grateful to know you better, to experience your music, and to dance with you. We’re excited to keep an eye on everything you're doing, composing, and organizing. Thank you for this interview.

Lina: Thank you for your support. I'm here to follow The Airy Thing and learn from the community you’re building. Thank you so much.

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Outro by Rich Awn

Lina’s journey—woven from her cultural roots and her artistic evolution—shows us the power of music as both expression and liberation.  

As an artist, Lina remains steadfast in her brave exploration of the unknown. She remains true to her devotion to her craft and uncompromising in her values. Drawing from her inherent talents as a musical savant, that same spirit of joy she had on the playground of her childhood co-op can be felt in her performance.

Having ecstatically danced to her music, practiced yoga with her, and swapped stories of weird epiphanies, the cosmic nature of this Aquarian star child is constantly unfolding and enfolding before our eyes. She reveals to her audiences a concentrated plasma torrent of unfiltered self-discovery, expressing boldly the darkest shadows and the brightest flames of the multitudes that comprise her being. 

As she steps into her new identity as kō-an, Lina invites us to find that same freedom in ourselves through her music. This adventure is only just beginning.

We hope you’ll check out her work, attend her performances, and dance to the enchanting soundscapes she creates. Follow her for updates on upcoming events here.

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Rich Awn

Edits by Sally Choi