Andrew Emil’s latest single, Can’t Stop, carries extra weight. Built around a dusty disco loop from longtime collaborator DJ Red Eye and elevated by the unmistakable voice of Ron Carroll, it’s a track that bridges generations of Chicago house with the warmth and precision Emil is known for.

But as the record was being released, news broke that Ron Carroll had passed away—transforming what began as a joyful collaboration into a final, unplanned tribute to one of the genre’s most commanding voices.

In this conversation, Emil reflects on how Can’t Stop came together, the craft behind its production, and the deep Chicago lineage that continues to inform his work.

You’ve said Red Eye brought in a loop that set the vibe for Can’t Stop. What was it about that starting point that made you want to build further with him and Ron Carroll?

Scottie, also known as DJ Red Eye, had been holding onto this beautiful sample for quite a while and approached me about collaborating on it. The core of it was an eight-bar section that we looped and manipulated in different ways, pulling out individual elements to build layers. It had everything that makes for a classic Chicago 90s-style disco-loop house record: keys, bass, guitar, strings, and vocal chops.

He brought the idea to me knowing how much I enjoy crafting these types of records, and because I have the production and arrangement background to make the source material really come alive. Once we built the foundation and added new elements, I immediately knew Ron needed to be at the center of it.

Ron and I had been friends for years, and I’d always admired his work. We had often talked about collaborating, as he often used to refer to me as “The Mad Scientist”, and when this track reached that special point, it just felt like the right moment. I sent it to him, and “Can’t Stop” is what he wrote, none of us realizing it would become the first and only original project we’d ever complete together. Rest In Power, Ron.

Ron’s voice is such a commanding presence. How did you shape the production around it without overpowering or underplaying his delivery?

When you’re working with someone like Ron, the first thing you learn is to get out of the way. His voice is not just commanding, it’s an iconic sound of an entire genre, and it doesn’t need dressing. It carries authority, emotion, and that unmistakable Chicago church-meets-club resonance. So, my job as a producer was really about creating space around his performance, not stacking things on top of it.

I approached it like scoring a scene, building the environment, but the story has to come from the lead actor. Once Ron laid down his vocal, I started pulling elements back rather than adding more. I focused on balance, tone, and subtle movement. I made sure the bass and drums held the groove steady, while the strings, keys, and filters moved in conversation with his phrasing.

There’s a moment where you realize the production isn’t about flexing skill; it’s about serving the song’s emotion. With Ron’s voice, it was all about respect and letting his performance breathe and giving it the sonic warmth and depth it deserved. The goal wasn’t to match his power, but to frame it so that every word and inflection hit with intention.

In recent interviews, you talked about adding warmth through gear like the Avalon VT-737 and Omnipressor. What parts of “Can’t Stop” benefited most from that treatment?

Yeah, those pieces are part of my sonic fingerprint at this point. The Avalon VT-737 and the Eventide Omnipressor aren’t just tools, they’re characters in the room. I use as tactile tools to give tracks that human feel that’s so often missing in digital production.

On “Can’t Stop,” the Avalon did a lot of the heavy lifting on the bass and the vocals. It has this way of gluing warmth and sheen together without losing clarity. Ron’s voice in particular really came alive through it, as the tubes add a beautiful harmonic depth that made his performance feel like it was right in front of you, almost tangible.

The Omnipressor, on the other hand, I used in more creative, dynamic ways, especially on the rhythm guitar and percussion loops. It helped me shape the movement, add punch, and bring out that push-and-pull tension that’s so essential to house music’s swing. Those subtle fluctuations create energy and breathe life into the track.

So yeah, both pieces gave “Can’t Stop” that sense of warmth, motion, and human imperfection, the same qualities that make the record feel alive rather than engineered.

Looking back at Chicago in the 90s and early 00s, which clubs or nights do you remember as formative for you, and how do they still echo in your work?

Man, there were so many rooms in that era that shaped how I hear and feel music to this day. Zentra was a big one for me, as I had a residency there in the early 2000s, and it was this melting pot of dancers, DJs, and energy that felt both raw and sophisticated. The booth was close enough to feel every reaction from the floor, and it had a cool mirror above the booth, so that you could see what the DJ was doing from the dancefloor. That kind of feedback loop between DJ and crowd taught me how to listen, dance and program in a deeper way.

Spots like Smartbar, Madbar, Red Dog, Spybar, Zentra, Shelter, Lava Lounge, Big Wig, Darkroom, Crobar, Red No. 5, Neo, and Slicks Lounge were classrooms in their own right. You could catch Derrick Carter, Mark Farina, Heather, or Diz one night, and someone like Ron Carroll, Mark Grant, Boo Williams, Dajae, Johnny Fiasco, or Glenn Underground the next. Each of them brought their own interpretation of the Chicago sound, different textures of soul, jack, and funk, but it all came from the same spiritual root.

Those nights taught me the importance of narrative in a set: tension, release, surprise, restraint. It also taught me how to mix music in a highly focused way, how to ABM (Always Be Mixing) with beat tracks, accapellas, and weaving in and out of genre. I still carry those lessons into how I DJ and produce records today. Whether it’s building a four-minute club track or a conceptual Change Request piece, I’m always thinking about flow, the architecture of emotion. That era in Chicago gave me my foundation. It’s still in my DNA, every record I make, every room I play.

Through Viva Acid, you’ve been building bridges between generations of Chicago artists. How do you see younger producers re-interpreting soulful and disco-leaning house today?

What’s beautiful right now is seeing how younger producers are reinterpreting soulful and disco-leaning house with both reverence and rebellion. They’re not trying to recreate the past, they are inspired by it and they are remixing its essence. You can hear the The Future Sound of Chicago’s (a Cajual reference for those following along) golden eras in what they’re making, but they’re folding it into new textures, new production styles, and modern sound design that speaks to their own experience and tools.

A lot of these younger artists didn’t grow up in the same clubs we did, but they’ve absorbed the spirit, that blend of emotion, groove, and storytelling, and they’re expressing it through fresh mediums: analog sampling next to digital synths, chopping vocals through AI tools, and blending genres together. It’s evolution through understanding, I believe.

Through Viva Acid, I see that bridge forming every year, the OGs passing down not just records and experiences, but values: integrity, craftspersonship, intention. And in return, the younger generation is bringing new energy, new platforms, new lived experiences, and new ways of keeping culture visible and alive. That exchange is what keeps Chicago House Music in constant motion.

We’re very intentional with our programming at Viva Acid. It’s multi-generational, multi-cultural, multi-orientation, and multi-identity by design. That diversity isn’t just a checkbox for us; it’s the foundation. The summit and platform are meant to amplify those voices; to create a space where different perspectives, eras, and communities can come together, learn from each other, and be heard in ways that move the culture forward.

Your Change Request project explored constraints and mood-driven sketches. Did that mindset influence how you approached a bigger, vocal-led track like “Can’t Stop”?

Absolutely. The whole Change Request ethos has always been about working within intentional boundaries and letting limitations become part of the creative process. With earlier Change Request records, I was focused on tone, mood, and texture, creating sketches and etudes that captured a feeling rather than chasing a formula. That approach definitely shaped how I built “Can’t Stop.”

Even though it’s a bigger, vocal-led record, I treated it like an emotional etude first. It started from that 8-bar section Scottie had been holding onto and a vibe, and I built around it in layers, thinking about how each element could breathe and support the vocal without overcrowding it. The discipline of restraint I developed through my Change Request project helped me let the song evolve naturally instead of overproducing it.

When Ron came in with his vocal, it became about capturing that same immediacy and that human moment. So yeah, that mindset of minimalism and mood absolutely carried through. It’s still about translating feeling through sound, just on a more soulful and communal scale.

Thinking about soulful house as a global culture, what keeps it vital for you, and what risks do you see if it becomes too polished or trend-driven?

For me, soulful house has always been about people before polish, and it’s the human element that makes it timeless. It’s the imperfections, the grit, the sweat in the vocals and swing in the groove that connect you to something bigger than a trend. It’s Black Music, and at its core, this music was born from community and salvation, not by forecast. From church basements and dancefloors, to studios and small labels, these are the places where vernacular music is made as a spiritual ritural and sacred art.

What keeps it vital is that it still provides space for real emotion and storytelling in a world that’s often oversaturated with algorithmic sameness. When you strip away the soul or over-engineer it to fit a playlist, you lose that raw transmission of spirit that made the genre, and Black Music as a whole, revolutionary to begin with.

If it becomes too polished or trend-driven, the risk is that it turns into lifestyle wallpaper, background music, and something “aesthetic”, but an emotional wasteland. House Music survives when it stays rooted in authenticity, community, and that human exchange between artist, DJ, and dancer. That’s the heartbeat that can’t be automated.

You’ve said purpose matters more than ever when making music. Beyond your own studio, what signs do you see that the wider house community is staying true to that ethos?

Yeah, I really believe that purpose is the compass that keeps this culture moving in the right direction. What’s encouraging to me is seeing more artists and collectives putting intention back at the center of what they do. You’re seeing events being curated with care for community, not just clout, ones where smaller, sweatier rooms are the focus, and connection is the goal, not the spectacle. Labels are taking risks again, championing new voices and sounds that feel alive rather than formulaic.

There’s also a new generation of producers and DJs who genuinely study the lineage, they’re not just copying aesthetics, they’re understanding where this music comes from: gospel, jazz, disco, soul, and struggle. That reverence for history, paired with a desire to push it forward, shows me that people still care deeply about the “why,” not just the “what.”

And maybe most importantly, I see the purpose showing up in the way folks support each other. I love to see more mentorship, more collaboration, and inclusivity becoming paramount in many people’s process these days. When you lead with intention instead of ego, you create music, spaces, and events that feed the spirit, not just the algorithm. That’s how the culture stays alive.

Can’t Stop is out now on Salted Music