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Few acts in electronic music embody both evolution and resilience quite like Krewella. After a three-year hiatus, sisters Jahan and Yasmine Yousaf made their much-anticipated return in June with “Crying On The Dancefloor”, their first original release since 2022’s The Body Never Lies. The track feels like a rebirth: pulsing with hypnotic techno beats, layered synths, and an emotional weight that reflects their growth both as artists and as women navigating the ever-shifting landscape of dance music.
Since first breaking onto the scene in 2012 with their chart-topping self-released debut Play Hard and the platinum-selling hit “Alive,” Krewella have carved out a singular path in EDM. From topping festival bills at Coachella, Ultra, and Tomorrowland, to launching their own independent label Mixed Kids Records in 2017, the duo have consistently balanced mainstream success with artistic independence. Their multicultural roots—born in Houston to a Pakistani father and German-Lithuanian-American mother, and raised in Chicago—have deeply shaped their music, visuals, and unapologetic storytelling.
Over a decade in, their influence on the EDM world remains undeniable. Pioneers during the genre’s early 2010s peak, they were among the first women to achieve major milestones in a male-dominated scene, opening doors for a new generation of female producers, DJs, and vocalists. With billions of streams and a fiercely loyal global fanbase, Krewella continue to prove that their artistry transcends trends, evolving while staying true to the raw, emotional energy that has always defined them.
Now, with “Crying On The Dancefloor” setting the tone for an ambitious new chapter, the Yousaf sisters are ready to usher fans into their next era. House of Solo sat down with Jahan and Yasmine to talk about their time away, their return, and what lies ahead.
You’ve been away from releasing new music for a few years. What have you both been doing during that time?
Jahan: Besides playing and experimenting in the studio, we’ve been doing wholesome things like family meals, frolicking in nature, staying active by lifting and hiking. There’s also been some exploration of other creative outlets, like deepening studies with the voice and music, taking various workshops related to creative expression and somatic work, and spending time with the local music/creative community in Los Angeles.
How has spending that time away helped prepare you for this new chapter?
Jahan: Having some separation from Krewella and giving our energy to other simple joys of life, as well as creative pursuits that fulfil us, has actually been really healthy. It allows us to approach music-making and our career with more ease and less pressure on Krewella’s success, being what makes us feel whole. This new chapter of releasing upcoming music and touring feels more fun and less stressful because of that balance now. We can enjoy and trust the process more.
“Crying On The Dancefloor” marks your first original release in three years. What was the turning point that made you feel now was the right time to return?
Yasmine: “COTD” isn’t the first song we wrote as part of the new era — but it was the first that made us feel like we could step back out into the world after being away for three years. In truth, I’m not sure there ever would have been a right time to come out of our beautiful cocoon. The music we make and how we feel making it is the heartbeat of what we do, so that leads the way for any and all decisions.
The track has that classic Krewella intensity but with a moody, techno-driven edge. How did the sonic direction evolve during the writing process?
Yasmine: We’ve been inspired by heavy, emotional, intense dance music since day one. You can hear certain elements of “Crying on the Dancefloor” in our past songs: the break of “No Control”, the guitars on “Be There”, the mood of “Overboard”. This felt like a leap into a more mysterious and refined place, but I’m also very aware that when we make music, we don’t always necessarily set out with the intention of making anything specific. Some things truly just fall together in a stream of consciousness, like this particular song, and once we have the main ideas down, it’s like coming out of a dream that the muse leads us through. Afterwards, we revel in where she took us, then tackling the creative process with more of a logical mindset.
You’ve hinted that “Crying On The Dancefloor” is just the beginning. What can you tease about the new music in the works this year?
Yasmine: In the past, I’ve been so impatient and haven’t been very good at holding in secrets of what’s to come. As I get older, I’m enjoying holding things closer to my chest until we’re ready for the world to know as well. In saying this, what I will give you is that we have been consistently and incessantly writing new music for about a year and a half, so if you can guess how much that is; how many songs, albums, etc., that is, let your imagination run wild 🙂
Is there a particular theme or narrative you’re building into this next chapter of Krewella?
Jahan: “Crying On The Dancefloor” is a theme we’re really enjoying sinking our teeth into. We’re letting it unfold as we write the music. But right now, I find meaning in this theme in the way that the container of the dancefloor or a musical experience can be a way to be with our feelings, rather than numb or escape it, and move through it in a non-destructive way. To be with the sadness or loneliness or collective despair we feel about the state of the world, and let the music support and hold you as you process those emotions.
You were among the first women to break huge milestones in the EDM world back in its early 2010s peak. Looking back, how do you feel about the doors you helped open for other women in electronic music?
Yasmine: I’m honoured even reading this question. I’m honoured to be part of the long legacy of women who have come and conquered, who are being given a seat at the table that at one point only men were, who are being respected as artists, musicians, producers, songwriters, business women, and DJs. It’s hard to see myself as someone who has helped open doors while I still feel like I’m banging on closed ones, and it may be something I always grapple with during my time in this industry, but if mine and my sister’s one small drop in the massive ocean of electronic music space makes a difference, I’m at peace with that.
The scene has evolved massively since those “OG days”. What’s one change you love, and one thing you miss from the early era?
Jahan: I love how more artists are taking better care of themselves: mental, physical, and spiritual health. I love how there’s less gatekeeping, and now there’s more access to resources, education, and promotional tools, so people of different backgrounds, including those without the corporate backing or massive infrastructure, can have visibility and success in the genre. I miss the nostalgia of the early days. I think many people in the collective are feeling that longing for an older era right now.
Your music has often touched on identity and cultural duality. How do your Pakistani and German-Lithuanian-American roots show up in your sound and visuals?
Yasmine: Having chewed on this question many, many times in our nearly 20 year career, I used to think I had to always be deeply intentional about how I infused the parts of my identity into our art. We’ve gone through phases where we tried to assimilate, not put any emphasis on what makes us different, perhaps hide in plain sight. We’ve gone through phases where the Pakistani influence showed up in every facet of our music and styling, on purpose. I would say that now in our early to mid 30s, we’ve realized there is no hiding or putting on what we are. It is in everything we do, whether we try or not. It is a beautiful, terrifying, and powerful thing to understand that you cannot truly hide from who you are, and so the dichotomy of what our make up is — it is and has always been in everything we do, inherently.
In an industry still heavily male-dominated, how have your perspectives as half-Pakistani women shaped your creative and professional decisions?
Jahan: Having a mixed cultural heritage has allowed us to hold space for a lot of contrasting beliefs and views, and to have fluidity with our identity. It’s actually been very liberating and expansive as artists, because we don’t feel limited or tied down to one musical style or blueprint for how we think we should be creatively expressing ourselves in the world. Being half-Pakistani also excites us because there is so much potential in Pakistan for touring and fostering creative community within the diaspora, and we plan on building upon this over the years. As far as being a woman goes, it is powerful on so many levels, especially when you start to tune into your cyclical nature. Being with our physical and emotional ebbs and flows and waves each month has helped us accept the natural cycles, the dips and peaks, of our own creative process, and career.
When you step onto a festival stage like Tomorrowland or Ultra, what’s the first thing that goes through your mind before the drop hits?
Yasmine: Nothing is guaranteed, and so my first thought is: I hope people showed up to see us. And second, once the fear wears off from the first, my second thought is: these kids better be ready to fucking throw down.
You’ve run your own label, Mixed Kids Records, since 2017. How has owning your creative platform changed the way you approach music-making?
Jahan: Creating and releasing independently is ideal for us because we can create whatever we want and release it on our own timeline, without being influenced by the label expecting a product that will garner commercial success. There’s nothing wrong with commercial success or creating with that intention, however at this point in our career, we want to tap into what excites us musically and truly feels authentic to us. Putting time and energy into creative exploration, and releasing on our own terms, was how Krewella was birthed in the first place. The spirit of Krewella has always been based in letting ourselves experiment and not limiting or confining ourselves to one style or genre.
Across albums like zer0 and The Body Never Lies, we’ve seen you experiment with genre and storytelling. Do you feel more fearless in your artistry now than you did in the beginning?
Yasmine: I appreciate this question so much and the observance our listeners have for our journey — yes, 100% we feel more fearless — and I can speak for both of us because we’ve had this exact conversation. This has not only come with time building that confidence, but going indie after being in the major label pipeline for five years of our career. It’s the responsibility of being your own bank but it’s also, and more importantly, the blissful freedom of making creative decisions purely from your soul.
If “Crying On The Dancefloor” was a cocktail, what would be in it?
Jahan: Mezcal with masala chai spices like cardamom, cinnamon, and ginger. Just enough kick to make some people sweat, and maybe make them slightly uncomfortable.
You’ve toured all over the world. What’s the weirdest, most unexpected thing that’s happened mid-set?
Jahan: I wouldn’t say this is weird, but rather unexpected and totally awesome, was seeing a guy in a wheelchair chair crowd surfing during a festival set in Europe. It was such a badass moment.
Imagine your teenage selves could see you headlining Coachella. What would they say?
Jahan: Jahan in the post 9/11 era says: “You’re wearing a ‘Hug Me I’m Paki’ shirt?? Wait, so we can own our Pakistani identity?? And you’re all sweaty and raw and primal raging up there on stage, so that means we don’t have to be perfect and pretty?? And you’re doing this shit with your sister?? This is a really dope dream.”
You’ve been sisters your whole lives, bandmates for nearly two decades. What’s one thing you still can’t agree on in the studio?
Yasmine: People would be surprised with how much we DO agree on in the studio. We are wildly in sync, and also are getting more and more comfortable with honesty and clarity in creative pursuits and emotions. I’m not trying to say our workflow is a 100% problem-free utopia, but I’m actually pretty overjoyed that I can’t answer this question properly because it means all the work we’ve done on our relationship is expressing itself in reality.
