Daniel Fisher has always been a pretty light packer, because he’s known best for his work as a DJ—and that doesn’t require much gear. But after years of performing publicly under his Physical Therapy pseudonym, releasing mixes, and becoming a staple of the NTS roster, he’s stretching out a lesser-used limb again. That’s Car Culture, a semi-ambient electronic project he kicked off in the early 2020s. Last month, he dropped Rest Here, a spaced-out, sort of psychedelic trip of an LP. Listening to it feels a little like sleeping underneath your own mattress, all woozy and heavy and cool. (Versace even tapped him to score their Spring 2026 show.)
But to play it live, he now needs instruments. He’s bringing his friend Teryn on the road with their guitar, alongside his own bass guitar, pedalboards, and a pile of other equipment. “I also have to bring merch,” he reminds me—boxes of the stuff. “Suddenly I’m gonna be the heaviest, most difficult traveler, and I’m not excited about it.”
What he is excited about is the opportunity to give Rest Here an IRL existence. A few days after we talk, he heads to Miami and then Los Angeles, hauling all of this stuff with him, for some of the album’s first live outings. Here, Fisher tells us about the most beautiful sound on earth, the music-journalism trope he hates most, and shares some photographic memories from his trip.
Douglas Greenwood: You grew up in New Jersey. Where does New Jersey manifest in your music?
Daniel Fisher: New Jersey is an iconically suburban place, which is the inspiration for so much of that saccharine, melancholy indie-rock and emo sound. I think it comes through in that way. It’s not realistic, but there’s this kind of Garden State vision—even I have that of my childhood and teenage years. I feel that in my music.
What time do you wake up in the morning?
I go to bed late and wake up early. I’m a day-maxer.
Do you like crowds?
Crowds kind of freak me out. It’s like a lot of energy, and you’re picking up on everyone’s little vibes, and seeing all their little interactions. It can be overwhelming. My vision is really bad in the dark too.
What’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard?
Morning in nature. It’s a thing that I rarely get to experience. There’s that moment when you’re not in a city and you wake up to what sounds like silence, and then your ears adjust so you start hearing birds and water. I try to put those sounds into my music because of that.
What’s it like to feel known?
It’s weird, even in my case, where I’m barely a public figure. I’m constantly happy to post this semi-fictional narrative of my life and to have an identity as an artist. You go back and forth: you don’t want to reveal your true self, because that’s for you. But if you’re completely fake, people can tell. Sometimes as an artist you alternate between insane imposter syndrome and crazy narcissism.
Do you think you’re a diva?
I feel like I flip-flop between being the most chill person you could ever deal with and being completely insane, because I’m a perfectionist. I’d say 80% non-diva, 20% diva.
What’s something you recently discovered you’re capable of?
Playing the bass guitar. I learned it for the live show, and I’d never played before. I can do all the songs on the album on bass, but I still can’t play other things— except “Seven Nation Army.”
Is there a music-journalism cliché you think is overused?
There’s two tropes that are often used in writing about me. One is being “techno prankster,” because that used to be very odd—there weren’t many people in that serious dance-music world doing funny things at the time. Now that’s pretty standard. People also like to call me an enigma… unpredictable or mysterious. I’m probably the least mysterious person.
Name a dead person you’d like to hear your music.
There’s a few songs on the album that have a little more of a beat, and we’ve been going back and forth like—wouldn’t it be cool to make a more psychedelic dance version? Who makes that music? Andrew Weatherall.
