What I’ve Learnt: Andy Chia

I was always fascinated by sounds in general as a kid. Most of us had piano lessons as children, but what called out to me was my primary instrument, the Chinese flute.

I’d never seen it before; I just heard its sound, and something in me just clicked. I sought it out—it was a very interesting journey. When I travelled to Tibet in my early teens, I was also inspired by the monks in the monastery performing their chants.

Later, around 2017 or 2018, I worked with Hanggai, the Mongolian rock band. One of them specialised in Mongolian throat singing, and that’s where I picked up little things here and there.

It's always been about the kind of sounds that we can make as humans, where we draw on different cultural roots as well.

When I first started doing this, I was looking for a different kind of sound—something distinct from the singer-songwriter style of singing. Something more primitive, I was drawn to that.

I don’t think there is a line [between noise and music]. It is always moving because it’s a matter of perception.

What some perceive as music, others perceive as noise—and that changes with time. Rock music, for example, was once called the devil’s sound.

I think what defines it is the intentionality behind the creation of sound.

The biggest artistic challenge I face is defining sound’s place in the current sphere, especially in an era dominated by visuals—Netflix, social media, and TikTok videos.

Visual elements have taken over as a stronger narrative force. But I think it’s important to get people to understand that sound is something very prevalent in everything we do.