Vancouver Canada's MFÒ talks new EP 'Haunted City' on his own Third Landscapes imprint

Vancouver-based MFÒ returns to his Third Landscapes imprint with ‘Haunted City’, a four-track collection of bumping rhythms, brooding synth work and plaintive atmospherics. Following ‘Terminal Ave’ and ‘Marine Layer’, the EP continues the label’s focus on vinyl and Bandcamp releases, allowing the music to find its way through record shops, DJ sets and exchanges between friends. We caught up with MFÒ to discuss the release, the thinking behind Third Landscapes and the connections formed through the dancefloor.

‍‘Haunted City’ centres on those moments when a dancefloor feels like somewhere you belong. Can you tell us about an experience that shaped that feeling for you, and how it found its way into this record?

I’m really always trying to channel those moments you just have no choice but to put your whole body into dancing. I want to make something that’s deep and interesting, but also simple and highly danceable as well. There’s a kind of tension between those two targets, which can sometimes feel like opposing poles. Often it feels impossible to strike that balance perfectly, but the challenge is also exactly what keeps it interesting.

Following ‘Terminal Ave’ and ‘Marine Layer’, where did you want to take your sound with this EP? Was there anything you found yourself approaching differently during the writing process?

I had a bunch of tracks signed and released 10 to 15 years ago when I was pretty young, under a different name. I had some early success, I guess you could call it, with making music - the first bunch of stuff I ever finished got put out. After that I went through a long period of doubting myself, second-guessing every decision, overcooking everything and struggling to finish tracks. It’s something I know now a lot of other electronic music producers I speak to have dealt with, but back then I wasn’t really able to deal with it well or really resolve it. I took some time off from trying to finish music at all but kept noodling. Then something changed in 2025 and I was finally able to start finishing music, and get that monkey off my back. I guess what changed is I decided to say “fuck it”, stop worrying, and stop taking the whole thing as seriously. A wise person once told me, “the way to get good at finishing music is finishing music”. It sounds kinda dumb, but there’s really a deep truth to it about practice and repetition. Anyway, it’s like a flywheel: finishing tracks, putting them out and getting nice reactions has given me a ton of energy, and I have this totally renewed drive to make and release music. In a way I’m now expressing 15 years’ worth of pent-up ideas I wasn’t able to get out before.

There’s a lovely tension in the title track between its firm, metronomic rhythm and the more plaintive pads. How do you approach bringing emotion into music that has such a physical function?

It’s what I want to hear when I go out. I want to dance hard and get locked in the groove but I also want to be taken somewhere interesting emotionally too. I get bored in a club when the music feels too monochromatic. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking to be slapped in the face with huge trance breakdown moments (at least not all the time - ha), but there needs to be some different flashes of colour happening in order to feel some contrast and ultimately like we’re going somewhere interesting.

From the darker atmosphere of ‘Knopfmond’ to the introspective drive of ‘Pinch Hitter’ and the swing of ‘Trix’, each track seems to offer a different possibility for the dancefloor. Did you have particular moments in a night in mind when making them?

Yeah, definitely. While I don’t usually have a specific place and time in mind when I start to experiment with ideas, once the core of a track reveals itself I try to picture a spot I’ve been where it fits and remember the feeling of the dancers around me. Then it’s about trying to channel that energy into the music. When I’m at a crossroads making a decision I try to imagine myself on that dancefloor, and picture which option would work best.

‘Haunted City’ is an evocative title, particularly alongside the urban and coastal references of your previous releases. What does it mean to you, and how much does living in Vancouver influence the atmosphere of your music?

So Vancouver is a huge inspiration for sure. I’m really interested in this meeting point between the organic and man-made worlds in music and Vancouver represents that physically…we’re a city hemmed in by the Pacific Ocean on one side and pushed up against endless forest and mountain wilderness on the other.

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It’s funny you ask about the title of ‘Haunted City’ though, because that’s actually a reference to an experience in Detroit when I visited for Movement weekend, right when I was making this EP. The clubs and music were great but the highlight of the trip by far was renting some bikes and going for a meandering ride through the city one afternoon after a storm…there’s all these huge vacant blocks that have become overgrown meadows, but right in the middle of the city. Such an interesting and beautiful vibe but also a kind of eerie and haunted feeling for what was there before. I’d never experienced nature taking back the urban before at that scale anywhere else. It’s the perfect example of the “Third Landscape” concept I named the label after.

You’ve spoken about wanting a few deep connections rather than broad but shallow engagement. How has that thinking shaped Third Landscapes, and what have you learnt from releasing through vinyl and Bandcamp without wider digital distribution?

I’m still learning, it might turn out to be a stupid idea in 2026! But I see signs everywhere that folks are trying to disconnect from being online so much and pushing back on what the algorithms are pushing down our throats. Everyone I talk to with any real interest in music, art or culture is rightly sick of its homogenisation on tech platforms, and looking for real-world connection. I want to be a part of the revolution that I think and hope is happening!

With little social media presence and no artist photos, you leave a lot of space for the music to speak for itself. What does stepping back in that way give you creatively, and are there challenges to sustaining a label on those terms?

It’s been fine so far because I’ve only been putting out my own music on the label. But the next release is from someone else, plus we’re organizing a remix from another artist too. I’m really excited about it because it feels like it actually becomes a proper label at that point, but I’m also interested to see if this way of working is actually viable when other folks’ work is on the line. It’s fine if the current approach fails when it’s my own music, but if other artists aren’t getting the support they need I’ll have to rethink it.

You’ve described a record travelling from a shop into a DJ’s bag, onto a dancefloor and eventually into a friend’s hands. Is there a record that took a similar journey into your own life, and what would you hope someone carries away from discovering ‘Haunted City’?

Yeah, there’s this specific record that comes to mind by The Emperor Machine called ‘Pro Mars’. I later came to learn it was by Andy Meecham, who was behind a load of huge records under names like Bizarre Inc and Chicken Lips, but at the time it was just some random 12” I’d stumbled on while listening to new releases at the local record shop. Hearing it now, I’m immediately transported back to a specific after party - the neighbours had complained so we’d moved the decks out of the bedroom and onto the floor of the living room and we were lying around spinning records and talking shite while the sun came up. That record is now my personal time machine back to that night and a feeling of connection between friends and music.

With all due respect to Mr Meecham, the person who made the record was pretty far from our minds during that magical moment. We felt like it belonged to us and that’s exactly the way it should be. That was partly possible because it was a real physical record from an artist we had no connection to at the time. It gave us the potential to form a deep connection with that time and place in our memories. I think if the listener can hold something in their hands, and it doesn’t immediately bring to mind a parasocial relationship, it opens up the opportunity for their relationship with the music and connection with the humans around them to take centre stage.

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