The Stomach Before the Sound: Notes on Vulnerability and the Console
An intimate conversation with Angelo Calvi (aka Misterflip)
By Blend London
On the eve of a London Fashion Week set in Shoreditch, we sat down with Angelo Calvi — also known as Misterflip — to talk about something rarely discussed in club culture: vulnerability. Not the curated kind, but the quiet, physical tension that lives in the body just before the first track drops
On the eve of a London Fashion Week set in Shoreditch, we sat down with Angelo Calvi — also known as Misterflip — to talk about something rarely discussed in club culture: vulnerability. Not the curated kind, but the quiet, physical tension that lives in the body just before the first track drops.
Blend London: You’ve said before that what happens before you step into the booth isn’t fear — it’s respect. What does that moment feel like in your body?
Angelo Calvi:
It’s physical. It lives in the stomach. It tightens.
Not because I’m afraid of failing, but because I respect the room.
There’s something sacred about a space full of people who have given you their attention. That tightening is my body acknowledging that this moment matters. If I didn’t feel it, I would worry more.
It’s not panic. It’s presence.
Blend London: Some artists describe pre-performance anxiety as something they try to overcome. You seem to embrace it. Why?
Angelo Calvi:
Because it isn’t the enemy.
What people call anxiety is often just heightened perception. Before I play, my senses amplify. Sound becomes sharper. Movement becomes slower. It’s almost as if a third eye opens — not in a mystical way, but in an intuitive one.
When I lived in Thailand, I once spoke to a Thai Chi master about meditation. He listened to me describe what happens when I’m in the booth and said, “You are already in deep meditation — you just never noticed.”
That stayed with me.
In the console, I’m not thinking about past or future. I’m listening. That’s meditation.
Blend London: And yet, that moment before the first track can feel overwhelming.
Angelo Calvi:
Of course. It’s the crossing point.
You’re about to move from being a person in a room to becoming the current that runs through it. That transition is intense.
But I’ve learned something: the body knows what to do. The hands know what to do. The ears know what to do.
The mind tries to control. The body follows rhythm.
Blend London: You’re opening your Fashion Week set with a refined, soulful piece featuring a Miles Davis vocal sample. Why start there?
Angelo Calvi:
Because you don’t enter a room like that shouting. You enter with intention.
A voice like Miles’ carries history. It slows the air down. It signals that what’s about to happen isn’t just background noise.
Soulful and rare grooves aren’t nostalgia — they’re grounding. They remind people that music has depth. That it breathes.
Blend London: There’s a line from B.B. King you’ve carried with you: “Close your eyes and follow the blues — they will guide you.”
Angelo Calvi:
Yes. And I do that every time.
The blues aren’t just a genre. They’re an emotional compass. When I close my eyes in the booth, I’m not escaping — I’m listening.
If you trust the groove, it carries you. If you try to dominate it, you lose the room.
Blend London: You’ve experienced extreme highs and unpredictable downturns in life — tsunami, pandemic, financial instability. Has that changed how you approach the booth?
Angelo Calvi:
It’s made me more inclusive.
There’s a phrase I once heard: “Behind every great fortune, someone is crying.” I never believed that had to be true.
When I play now, I don’t want dominance. I want inclusion. I want a room where people feel part of something, not conquered by it.
Music, at its best, isn’t power. It’s connection.
Blend London: What would you say to artists who mistake vulnerability for weakness?
Angelo Calvi:
If you don’t feel your stomach tighten before you begin, you’re probably not fully present.
Vulnerability is not fragility. It’s awareness.
The crowd can sense authenticity immediately. You cannot fake depth.
If you enter the booth with ego, the room resists.
If you enter with respect, it opens.
Blend London: Finally — what happens after the first mix lands?
Angelo Calvi:
Silence in the head.
The Ferrari engine stops.
And then there’s only pulse.