Choosing to use "Ronis" at first felt natural — it is my real name. It carried authenticity, something personal and direct. I believed that building my artistic identity around my own name would make sense.
But in practice, it became a problem.
When I searched for "Ronis", the results were flooded with countless other people using the same name. My work was buried at the bottom, lost in a sea of unrelated results. In Brazil, there were names like Ronis Paixão, and many others simply known as Ronis. Internationally, there was also the inevitable proximity to names like Roni Size, which created even more confusion in perception and recognition.
Instead of identity, there was noise.
A name in music is not only about how it sounds — it is about visibility, distinction, and territory. If people cannot find you, the name works against you.
That is where NETSPLIT came from.
When I found NETSPLIT, everything aligned.
The name carried history, tension, and meaning. It came from a real memory — the IRC era, Brasnet, BrasIRC, the early internet culture I lived through. "Netsplit" was a sudden rupture in the network, a fragmentation that disconnected everything for a moment. At first, nobody fully understood what was happening, only that the structure had broken.
That image stayed with me.
There is something powerful in that idea: tension, fracture, interruption, and reconstruction. It connects naturally with how I think about sound and Drum & Bass itself — pressure, silence, impact, and controlled chaos.
Unlike before, this name felt like territory. Something distinct. Something that could exist without competing with noise.
RONIS was personal.
NETSPLIT is personal, strategic, and precise.
It carries memory, identity, and a place of its own.
This was not just a name change.
It was choosing the correct form.
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