After sold-out Shrine runs, Subtronics brings dubstep to Coachella’s biggest stage

After six sold-out runs at L.A.’s Shrine Auditorium in December, Subtronics is stepping into what feels like a different universe at Coachella. The 33-year-old DJ and producer—real name Jesse Kardon, formerly a teenager tinkering with Ableton in his bedroom—is now heading to the festival’s biggest stage, the Sahara Tent, on Sunday and April 19.

Back in 2022, he did a surprise set at Coachella’s intimate electronic-focused Do Lab stage. This time, though, is his proper Indio, Calif., debut, and he’s arriving as the highest-billed dubstep-rooted artist. Alongside the Sunday set, he’ll also play two Southland shows between his Coachella performances: at the Fox Theater in Pomona on Tuesday, and at the GV Surf Club in Palm Springs on April 18.

EDM has taken over much of the festival’s energy over the years—nearly 45% of this year’s lineup—but the dubstep/riddim corner of the scene still doesn’t often get this kind of spotlight. Subtronics knows that. His sound has also moved around in recent years, even as the core stays heavy. His remix of John Summit’s “Crystallized feat. Inéz” has drawn praise, and “Fibonacci Pt. 2,” from his latest math-inspired releases, blends melodic hooks with the punch. Tracks like “Infinity,” featuring fellow EDM DJ Grabbitz, and “Contour,” featuring vocalist Lyrah, show he’s widening the palette, not abandoning it.

In a remote conversation from his new home in Laurel Canyon, he keeps coming back to purpose—less about proving something, more about opening a door. “I’m really hopeful to introduce bass music to a lot of new people, because I believe the rising tide raises all ships,” he said. He also talks about his early understanding of rhythm—playing drums as a kid—and how Philadelphia grit, the gritty sounds of hip-hop and trap, still sits inside the way he builds tracks today.

The weekend, he says, has been mostly work. He’s been “really super hyper focused on Coachella” since the tour finished a couple weeks ago, and there’s a kind of frantic, practical focus in how he describes it—hands-on-deck, nonstop. When the booking finally came, he frames it like an almost several-year plan: the Shrine was part of the strategy, too. “The hope was like, if we can sell out three [nights at Shrine], we’ve got a pretty good chance of getting a booking,” he said, and then—somehow—the math worked. Both me and my inner child are completely freaking out, he adds, and that’s the closest thing to a spontaneous moment in the interview.

He doesn’t pretend the pressure is one thing. There’s pressure from the core fans to stick to a certain style, and then there’s the DJ-producer pressure too—read the room, play like a DJ, figure out their energy. He says it pulls in two directions, and his answer is to have faith in his own taste and trust what got him here in the first place. “I’ve been really super hyper focused,” he repeats earlier—different thought, same intensity—before getting into what he wants mainstream audiences to miss and then reconsider.

For him, it starts with historical context. He points to the original wave of dubstep in the U.K. from 2004 through 2008, when it was on the radio, melodic and musical, not nearly as polarizing. He also brings up the riddim confusion he experienced when touring: he was once labeled incorrectly, a mix-up tied to how people use the word “riddim” versus what it actually refers to—dancehall already existing as something separate. He describes himself

as a translator, aiming to “express myself authentically and honestly,” playing original music in a way that makes sense to both mainstream listeners and insiders. And the first time he felt real fandom, he remembers it like a flashbulb moment—standing by the front door at an after party in one of the worst neighborhoods in Philadelphia, smelling something sharp from the street while a stranger walked in asking whether Subtronics was really playing that night.

“It exploded my brain,” he said, and he’ll never forget it, not ever.

By Sunday, the goal stays simple even if the stage is not: introduce bass music to people who might not consider themselves “100% EDM festival attendees,” lean into the livestream responsibility, and show dubstep as more than just a niche label. He doesn’t say exactly how it all lands, not fully. He just keeps circling the same idea: the scene is bigger than any one set, and the umbrella gets larger when more people can fit under it—pay their rent, make music, live off what they love, and maybe, finally, hear it the way he hears it.

Coco Gauff hits back at natural-hair criticism in Miu Miu shoot

A24’s “Tony” to undergo reshoots starting April 22

How Luke Kennard became the Lakers’ emergency late-season point guard