Pata Milano Sale

Words: Shawn Alexander AllenYou may be wondering, ‘but Shawn! There’s a list of - counts fingers - one, two … TEN great characters I can list! Miles Morales, Franklin from GTA, the NPCs in Horizon Zero Dawn, Travis Scott in Fortnite, and the Carlton dance and… and… I mean, I could go on!’ And you’re absolutely right. Those characters do exist. Some of them are good, great even. But here’s the thing: how many Black people were involved in bringing those characters to life? How many were in charge of those teams? And why does the “Killmonger” haircut have the games industry in a chokehold? The key answer to these questions, and more, is what I said, that Black representation in games is bullshit.First, let me introduce myself. I run an independent game development company that pushes culture forward in games. I’ve worked at Rockstar Games and Major League Baseball, and I’ve released all manner of games, from tiny story-based games to VR home run derbies and, of course, some of the biggest games in the world. The first game I shipped at Rockstar was GTA (ed. Grand Theft Auto, among the best-selling video games ever) IV, after all.  Now that that’s out of the way let me give you a brief history of how we got here. Most early games with Black characters in them were sports games, and that representation was all over the place, with characters ranging from pixelated abstractions of the visages of athletes and sports-adjacent celebrities to straight-up racist stereotypes. Sure, there was Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!!! (where he was the bad guy?), but there was also Frank Bruno’s Boxing with a character called “Tribal Trouble” who looks like the worst stereotype. He even had a bone through his nose. Sometimes there’s a Black character who was “2P”, as in 2nd Player. Like in the Taito game Crime City, where the first character looks like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon (aka Martin Riggs), the Black “2P” character looked like… a random Black guy in a suit. While they got Gibson’s looks down pretty well, they couldn’t even bother infringing on Danny Glover’s likeness a little bit.For a while, the Black character was always the 2nd Player, and/or a sports player, and/or a celebrity. There was M.C. Kids, an official (and batshit insane) McDonalds game, where the Black kid on the cover is … the 2nd player. At least he’s on the cover? There’s a whole host of basketball games, and even Will Smith and Jazzy Jeff were in NBA Jam. And then there’s fighting games and the beat ‘em up sub-genre where Black folks were once again, the 2nd or 3rd tier character, usually with the white guy up front and center. In fact beyond white characters, the 2nd most prevalent beat ‘em up characters were the Ninja Turtles. Are the Ninja Turtles Black?For me, the first really great Black character in a game was Micheal Leroi from Shadowman on the N64 in 1999. He was a Blaxploitation character who had to travel to hell and kill a bunch of white serial killers to save the world, which I was completely on board with. A Black dude IRL at least voiced him. His co-star, “Agnetta” had the worst wannabe voodoo accent, and with the help of IMDB many, many years later, I found out she was a VERY white woman.  Fast-forward and Black characters have definitely gotten better. But not because the industry wanted them to. It took some very key people to move the culture forward and bring about the best Black characters, and it was only the independent games uprising of the 2010s that we really saw a change in WHO makes the games. This is even more egregious when you look at how games REALLY got their start. I found out, with much of the world in the 2000s that Jerry Lawson, a Black programmer and technological innovator, was key in advancing the tech that allowed the games industry to exist as it does today. He was part of the team that made the Fairchild Channel F, the first game console to use cartridges, which paved the way for everything since. He also founded his own company and developed some games, but he saw his company destroyed by the video game market crash in the ‘80s. It seems only fitting that a Black man who innovated in a mostly white industry would get lost in the shuffle because that is the story of the games industry and representation. The fact that the industry made billions on cartridges, and Jerry Lawson’s name only began popping up decades later, is basically the story of American business. (Look up Uncle Nearest) Why does this even matter, right? ‘They’re just games!’ They’re for recreation! Maybe you don’t even pay attention to your character's appearance in the games you play, which is obviously a lie, but you do you. These are popular refrains from folks who claim to be fans of games while being fine with the cultural stagnation of the medium. I’ve even seen supposed Black folks proudly beat their chest about how they are “gamers” and don’t care about representation on message boards and social media, often trying to refute a Black person asking, ‘Where the Black people at?’ I’m not sure who they are trying to gain brownie points with, but that ain’t it.  Games are a cultural art form like film, music, comics, animation, you name it. In fact, games, video games specifically, can encapsulate ALL other art forms, which is super special and should be celebrated. For me, as a Black kid who had aspirations as a musician, a comic artist, an animator, and a film director at one point in time, when push came to shove, video games, with their unique interactive elements was the one true artform that could satisfy what I wanted to do with my own art. That's what I do. I make cool art, as I am an artist and writer first and foremost, and I work with dope musicians, including some of the biggest and best indie Hip-Hop artists including Open Mike Eagle, Mega Ran and AIRCREDITS, to make my games even cooler. But beyond me, there’s a small but mighty contingent of independent Black game developers who are bringing the representation to games but not through tokenism or “forced diversity” (I mean, all fiction is “forced” to exist, ya dig?) but through sheer force of will in making their art. A few years back, a budding developer by the name of Derrick Fields reached out to me. They wanted to know the ins and outs of game dev. We had a great conversation, and now, Derrick has their own studio Waking Oni Studio, making games with a fusion of Japanese and Black art. The first release was the very fun Onsen Master across multiple platforms.  Very recently I met C.Bedford who is a relatively new face to games. They are an amazing illustrator with a poppin’ instagram and they took their talents to work with their partner on their first game, Sorry We’re Closed, a neon, queer reenvisioning of Silent Hill, and they worked with Okumura, an amazing rap duo with an energizing flow, to make their soundtrack pop. Someone who always seems like a fresh face, even if he’s been around for a minute, is Xalavier Nelson Jr. who is a powerhouse writer and design director (who got his start writing about games at the age of 12 by tricking websites into thinking he was an adult). Between himself and his label Strange Scaffold he’s put out a staggering number of games, with my favorite being El Paso, Elsewhere, a neo noir horror love story where you slow down time and blow away werewolves, vampire mummies and biblically accurate angels as the coolest low polygon Black protagonist this side of Shadow Man. It can be a bit daunting seeing the new talent coming through, because I often wish I had been able to make my own games decades ago. It’s weird to accept that I’m sort of an “elder” in the space, but I am comforted by knowing Justin Woodward, a fellow OG in the games industry, who I met about a decade ago at EVO, the world’s biggest fighting game tournament. He was demoing Super Comboman, an offbeat fighting platformer which had such an amazing art style. But Justin had a lot more going on. Beyond his company Interabang Entertainment, he has his other brands, including the MIX games, where he’s put out some dope retro inspired games including Jay and Silent Bob: Mall Brawl, and Rugrats. Speaking of the MIX, it’s also an event, serving as the premiere way to get indie games in front of the press, and has been for over a decade. The year after I met Justin he was running the indie space at EVO.I could go on and on, because even if we’re a small group, I know and love so many of the Black folks who are sticking around despite the difficulties of our industry. I’ve worked in the nonprofit mentorship/accelerator space for almost a decade now, and the success of Black folks means a lot to me.Something very telling is how several of these titles have this raw, visceral creativity behind them. I’d say directly, my game, Treachery In Beatdown City, as well as El Paso, Elsewhere, and Sorry We’re Closed have this unflinching “Blaxploitation” era style of eschewing the norms of the industry, taking existing genres and making them very Black, where we can fight power structures and win, just like in Blaxploitation films. One day I got a text from a few colleagues telling me that TreaAndrea Russworm, a professor at University of Southern California, was lecturing about Treachery in Beatdown City and its direct connections to Blaxploitation. I felt a very warm feeling that day.This representation, the full spectrum of Blackness on display through writing, directing, art direction, music composition, and more - is how you achieve real, transformation in the industry that has no way of just being turned off because we are here to stay. There was a time where we (the collective Black people in games) were being asked by those in the press, “Will video games have their Black Panther moment” reacting to the massive cultural success of the movie. The answer is complex, and requires a mapping of history. In short, Black Panther was a confluence of many different cultural forms coming together that simply wouldn’t exist without the Blaxploitation era of film. I wager video games are just now hitting their Blaxploitation era. But as we’ve seen with the history of games, they grow quick and fast as a culture, so maybe we’ll see it sooner than later.

Interview by Passion Dzenga | Photography by James Gallagher | Artworks by James LaceyToday we sit down with James Lacey, the creative force behind Pointless Illustrations and founder of Handy Records. Originally from Cardiff, Wales, and now based in Amsterdam, Lacey’s journey as an artist and music curator is marked by a spirit of collaboration and community. He’s got love for both visual art and music, blending the two worlds seamlessly while staying true to his raw, distinctive style.  From humble beginnings as a mechanic to becoming a celebrated illustrator, Lacey launched Pointless Illustrations and founded Handy—initially a skateboarding-themed apparel brand that later evolved into a dynamic music label. With the label about to drop its seventh release and the Natural Frequencies digital sublabel making waves, it’s time to get familiar with how Lacey’s passion for music and visual art drives his creative vision. Lacey’s got love for collaboration, working with like-minded artists to foster a tight-knit community rooted in personal connections and mutual respect. His creative journey also led to a standout contribution to our SS25 collection and as an Artist in Residence in Patta Magazine Volume One.Beyond the label and fashion projects, Lacey co-runs Lost Groove alongside Retromigration, an underground club night that will return Amsterdam’s Doka for a fresh series of events in 2025. With a focus on sound quality, community vibes, and music over profit, Lost Groove is a celebration of the underground scene. Whether it’s through the decks or the sketchpad, Lacey’s always pushing creative boundaries and making sure real connections stay at the heart of it all.  Get familiar with James Lacey as we dive into his creative process, his journey from Cardiff to Amsterdam via London, and how he balances art, music, and community in unexpected and inspiring ways.How have Cardiff, London, and Amsterdam influenced your personality and what you do?Growing up in Cardiff, it’s not as bustling as metropolitan places like London or Bristol. You develop a sense of community and a mindset of working with your friends to help grow their vision. That mentality stayed with me when I moved to London, which made me approach clients and parties in a way where I wanted to be involved, not just profit from it. In Cardiff and Wales in general, people tend to help each other out more because it’s a smaller scene.Were there any artists or movements in Cardiff that inspired you?I was inspired by local event posters—I used to rip them down off the wall and take them home with me. Ben Arfur, Alexander Sullivan, and Sam Jones were designing for Blue Honey, City Bass, and Rotary Club—local dance events I was a regular at. It inspired me to realize I could do it myself, as it was so accessible. Thankfully, after pestering Ben, he showed me some tips to get me going. Your journey started with a hands-on approach. Can you talk about what you used to do and how that led to founding Handy?I’ve always been hands-on, working in builders’ merchants and eventually becoming a mechanic. I worked for Range Rover and Jaguar, and I was pretty good at it. But after my best friend, who was also a mechanic, passed away, I just couldn’t stay in that world anymore. For escapism, I started drawing for fun as a way to cope and launched an Instagram page called Pointless Illustrations as these drawings I was making didn't mean anything, especially when I began. Eventually, I started Handy as a way to put my art on t-shirts and other skate gear.How did you make your first t-shirts?I was working at a screen printer to make ends meet, so I had access to the equipment. I designed everything in Adobe Illustrator and printed the shirts myself. I was selling them by hand at skate parks like LSP and Spit and Sawdust in Cardiff. It was all done by me—from designing, to printing and even selling.How did you start getting commissions from other people?I reached out to places in my community that I was already connected with. One of the first was Gwdihw, a small jazz bar in Cardiff, where my flyer journey began. I also approached Cardiff Skateboard Club, who started selling my Handy merch. That was a big deal for me—seeing my stuff alongside brands like Independent and Spitfire. I also worked with Freestyle Newport and did posters for club nights like Talk to Frank and Polymer in Swansea. I just wanted to support local places that mattered to me. Working with people who I came from my worlds made the most sense as we understood each other without being lost in translation.Why did you move to London, and how was that experience?My partner at the time lost her job as a fashion designer in Cardiff, and there weren’t many opportunities there, so she wanted to move to London. I saw it as an opportunity to grow and be around more creativity, even though I wasn’t making much money at the time. I just took the leap, worked hard, and eventually made it sustainable. Looking back, it still blows my mind that I managed to pull it off.How did music influence your journey?Music has always been a massive part of my life. Growing up, I was always in bands with friends, playing local gigs at places like TJ’s in Newport. I was an emo kid, always in the mosh pit if not down at the skatepark. Later, I joined a band called Astroid Boys, which was more like a nu-metal/rap crossover. My parents were big into funk and soul, and that shaped my taste too. Music gave me a sense of community and connection that I carried into my creative work. I really think their passion for that music early on resonated with me and lead to my appreciation for music also.Did Cardiff’s music scene influence you in any way?Cardiff had a incredibly strong live music scene when I was growing up. There were also local spots like Clwb Ifor Bach and Bar Fly that fostered a tight-knit music community. Sadly, a lot of those places are gone now, but they were crucial to my journey.What inspired Handy to transition from being a skate-focused brand to a music-centered project?After moving from Cardiff to London, I made a skate video that featured an original track from Earl Jeffers. Although I was still selling to skate shops, the skate community around me began to thin out, and my interests shifted more toward music. My record collection was growing and I was mixing more and more and I was finding myself around the music community more often. Managing a skate brand by myself became tough, whereas music felt more manageable with a small team. It just naturally progressed that way.How did the first music release on Handy come about and how did the first few releases with artists like Adam Curtain, Bobby Casanova, and Retromigration come about?Handy001 started as a passion project with a friend I was living with at the time. I had been doing artwork for labels and collecting records, so I thought of trying it myself. The idea was to keep releases close to friends or music I genuinely loved. It felt like a fun project to work on and see where it could go. Most of the collaborations were with people I already knew through working on artwork or being part of the community. I was doing artwork for Adam Curtain's label, Troublemaker, and we became friends. I loved Bobby Casanova’s track and just reached out to him directly. As for Retromigration, I was doing artwork for his breakthrough EP with another label (Healthy Scratch Records). We connected after I moved to Amsterdam, and it turned out we had similar vibes.What's the concept behind the "naughty and nice" sides of Handy Records releases?It’s about giving artists a platform to explore their full range. Many EPs tend to stick to one sound, but I felt artists often had more to offer. So, we have the “naughty” side for club-focused tracks and the “nice” side for something softer or more experimental. It’s about allowing producers to showcase different shades of their creativity.What led to the creation of the sub-imprint Natural Frequencies, and how does it differ from Handy Records?Handy mainly leans toward house music, but I wanted something more club-focused and accessible after lockdown, which was a time of heavy music saturation and pressing plant issues. Natural Frequencies is more digital and club-ready, not meant to be as precious as vinyl but more functional for DJs. It has an abstract art direction inspired by natural aesthetics. The music itself feels more electronic but with a visual style that evokes something organic and earthy.How do you choose the artists for Natural Frequencies?Natural Frequencies has a broader scope compared to Handy. The first release was from Boulderhead, whose sound felt like a natural extension of Handy's style. Retromigration’s EP showed a different, more electronic side of his production. Marma is a friend from Amsterdam, and Kyra Khladi caught my attention after I attended one of DJ sets and was very impressed. The focus is on pushing fresh, club-ready sounds while still staying true to my taste and community.How did the latest V/A project "Keep It in the Family Volume Two" come together?The first "Keep It in the Family" was a collaboration with Shall Not Fade, combining both labels’ artists. For the second one, I wanted to make it more purely Handy. It features label regulars like Earl Jeffers, Retromigration and Cem Mo, as well as new connections like Zoeplar and Monty DJ. It’s all about working with friends and keeping the community vibe strong because that’s what makes it feel safe and supportive in the music industry.Can you tell us about your passion for collaborating, particularly your recent contributions to Patta’s SS25 collection and your role as an artist in residence in Patta Magazine Volume One? How did these collaborations come about, and what was your creative process like?My first connection with Patta was through Lee Stuart, the former brand director, when I was living in London. In 2021, he messaged me on Christmas Eve, asking if I’d like to work on an upcoming collection themed around ska music. I created some graphics for it, but they didn’t make the final cut. Later, when I moved to the Netherlands, I got back in touch with Lee, and he was super supportive. He even helped me out with some trainers from the shop and introduced me to the right people, which really helped me get established in Amsterdam.After that initial collaboration, how did your relationship with Patta develop?After the ska collection didn’t come out, I became the artist-in-residence for Patta Magazine Volume One. That opened up more opportunities, like making posters for Patta x Nike collaborations and further partnerships with the Amsterdam based brand. Around the same time, Lee also involved me in an exhibition called "We All Need Rest" at OSCAM, where I presented two pieces focused on burnout and self-care. One piece was called "Burning the Candle at Both Ends" and the other was a depiction of self-care, with a bonsai tree and a watering can symbolizing nurturing oneself.How did it feel to be a part of that exhibition at OSCAM?It was an honor, especially as an expat in Amsterdam, where it's not easy to build connections. OSCAM is a community-driven space, and being able to showcase my work there was amazing. The exhibition wasn’t just about art on walls—it was an immersive experience, with live meditation sessions and a real sense of community.Your work has also made its way into fashion through your brand Handy and collaborations with Patta and other brands.How do you approach fashion projects differently compared to your illustrative work?I approach these projects differently because fashion is a physical medium. Seeing my artwork on clothes, windows, or even keyrings feels more tangible than digital art, which often just lives on a screen. I love working with big and small brands alike, as long as they believe in my vision. It’s about creating something lasting that people can wear and experience in real life.You mentioned feeling frustrated with the relationship between art and algorithms. Can you explain that a bit more?Art has become so tied to digital spaces that it feels like we’re creating just to feed algorithms. It’s exhausting and takes away from the essence of making something meaningful. I’m drawn to physical mediums because they feel more genuine. This year, I’m hoping to do more graffiti, painting, and workshops—just getting out there and creating real connections with people.How do you see fashion as a medium for art compared to digital spaces?Designing for print is rooted in authenticity because it’s tangible. You’re not just fighting for attention on a screen. Instead, people choose to wear your art and support you directly. I respect how PA does it—they turn their store into an art space, showcasing work on windows, clothes, and even inside the shop itself. It’s like stepping into a world that represents your art.You’ve also been involved in events like Lost Groove. Can you tell us about that project and what makes it special?Lost Groove is a club night I started, and it’s all about creating a space where people can come together, enjoy music, and just vibe. It’s a reflection of my love for music and community. I’m really excited to bring it back in 2025 and keep building that atmosphere where people can feel at home and just be themselves. Lost Groove actually began as a collective of four people, including myself and Retromigration. It wasn’t about making money—we just wanted a platform to share the music Retromigration makes and Handy releases, and to invite friends to play. We still don’t take money from it; we just reinvest in the party when we can afford it. We split from the original collective and carried on with the name, sticking to our vision of honest parties with good music, good people, and good vibes. What can we expect from the next Lost Groove event?The next one is going to be really special—probably as big as our legendary New Year’s party. This time, we’re collaborating with Suckerpunch Records, run by Papa Nugs, who’s killing it right now with his fun, party-centric sound. We’re also bringing in A for Alpha from Bristol, who’s not only an incredible DJ but also a passionate vinyl digger who never gatekeeps music. She’s someone who truly loves and respects the scene, and I couldn’t be more excited to have her on board. It’s happening on King’s Night, April 25th, at Doka—a venue known for its iconic 4-point sound system.  You mentioned earlier that Lost Groove isn’t about making money. How do you balance passion with financial sustainability?It’s tough, but we stick to our principles. We’re not in it to make a profit; we’re in it to build community and celebrate the music we love. If I walk out of a night and haven’t made money but had a good time, that’s fine by me. It’s about creating a space for people to enjoy music without the pressure of commercial gain.  Its important to me to have a space which champions sharing music. I think gatekeeping is selfish. If someone comes up to me asking for a track, I’ll take their phone and snap a pic of the track title. It’s not my music to hoard—it belongs to the artists who made it. Sharing track names could even help get those artists paid someday. Gatekeeping stops the wheel from turning and keeps music from being appreciated and enjoyed by a wider audience.  You’re a multidisciplinary creative—art, music, and more. How do you see these different creative expressions connecting, if at all?  To me, art dresses music, but they’re separate. There’s a blurred line between them, and it really depends on how much the creator values the visual aspect of their work. I think visual language is crucial, whether it’s music, food, or anything else. It gives identity and context, but not everyone sees it that way.  Looking back, what advice would you give your younger self, skateboarding at 17 and dreaming big?Chill out. Seriously, nothing is as deep as you think it is. Keep your head down, stay true to yourself, and don’t worry about what other people say. Everyone deserves a space at the table—it’s just about finding yours. Don’t chase trends or other people’s approval. Focus on what you love, and the right people will find you.  Finally, is there anything exciting coming up that you’d like to share? Definitely. I’m working on a collaboration with Wax Poetics called the Collector’s Edition, which is about creating collectible items—not just editorial pieces but physical, tangible things. I’m really excited because it’s something I’ve never done before. It’s a new challenge, and I think people are going to love it.It’s clear that James Lacey is driven by more than just creative ambition—he’s fueled by a love for community and genuine connection. Whether he’s screen-printing t-shirts, spinning records at Lost Groove, or crafting album art that tells a story, Lacey’s work is grounded in passion and purpose. His journey from Cardiff to Amsterdam isn’t just about getting caught up in the rat race—it’s about people, friendships, and staying true to what matters. Lacey’s story is a reminder that creativity isn’t just about making things—it’s about making spaces for people to come together and share what they love. Whether through music, art, or the simple act of putting on a great party, he’s all about fostering a sense of belonging. So next time you’re at a Lost Groove night or rocking a Handy tee, know that there’s more to it than meets the eye—it’s built on heart, hustle, and a whole lot of love. 

Unknown T has officially dropped Time Flies—the track that’s had the streets buzzing since last year. Fans have been eagerly awaiting this moment, as the song was making waves long before its official release. The wait is finally over, thanks to Janet Jackson clearing the iconic sample that took the track to another level.  2025 is proving to be another landmark year for UK rap, with artists like Unknown T continuing to push boundaries and gain recognition on a global scale. As the genre keeps evolving and thriving, it’s clear that UK rap’s influence is only getting stronger. Time Flies is just the latest example of how the scene keeps leveling up, and we are here for every second of it.

When PARDON returns to Paradiso, it brings with it the unmistakable pulse of big-room energy that has become its signature. This time, the lineup is nothing short of monumental. At the forefront stands UK rap royalty Novelist, a titan of the grime scene whose journey through sound has seen him evolve from a breakout star to a genre-defying innovator. It’s been over a decade since he burst onto the scene with the Mumdance-produced classic Take Time on Rinse, followed by his explosive partnership with XL Recordings. Now, as he steps into self-production, he fuses the influences of G-Funk, Grime, Soul, and Techno, proving once again why he’s one of Lewisham’s most versatile and visionary talents. On March 28th, when he steps up to the mic at Paradiso’s grand main room, expect nothing less than pure fire. Joining him is none other than Pangaea, a founding figure of Hessle Audio and a relentless force behind the decks. His sets are an odyssey through UK dance music culture, stitched together with the precision and flair that only a true pioneer can deliver. When Pangaea commanded the Parallel stage during PARDON’s first post-lockdown event in 2022, he left the room spellbound—a sonic sermon that lingered long after the music stopped. Now, he’s back to unleash another round of his rhythmic sorcery, drawing on decades of low-end ingenuity. And then there’s AliA—Belgium’s finest connector of sounds and scenes. A regular at the revered Horst festival, she has honed a mixing craft that seamlessly links genres, pushing the boundaries of club music with fearless passion. Her presence is a vital thread in PARDON’s tapestry, bridging the raw and the refined with a sound that’s distinctly her own.Rounding out the main room lineup are PARDON’s trusted selectors, EYCEE and Insulinde—torchbearers of the signature PARDON energy, whose sets are known for leaving no soul unmoved. Down in the BASSment, Rinse FM’s Reek0 and FELIXCW arrive hot off the back of their Dancers Road EP, ready to unleash their trademark bass-heavy blend. They’re joined by Pelanoir, a selector with a taste for the unexpected, while Amsterdam’s own styn teams up with percussive prodigy T.NO for a b2b session that promises groove and grit in equal measure. Closing the night is Mallaury, whose bold, bass-driven selections will push the crowd to its limit, while Jan Koster and STIPP deliver their raw, high-octane energy. Expect nothing less than sweat-soaked ceilings, relentless rhythms, and a night where the passion never lets up. PARDON at Paradiso—it’s about to go off.Tickets available now

Interview by Joe Leonard-Walters | Edited by Passion Dzenga Launching in 2021, Echobox has been forging a path for community radio by showcasing the diverse characters and concepts that surround them. In this feature, we will be looking into a few of the broadcasts that you can tune into so get locked in and don’t touch that dial. Today, we're diving into the world of experimental electronics with Oneven, the creator and host of PITCH SHIFT on Echobox. Known for its spontaneous and raw approach to live electronic music, PITCH SHIFT has become a staple for boundary-pushing sounds and thought-provoking conversations in Amsterdam’s electronic scene.   Oneven’s show is about community, collaboration and celebrating artistry over clout. Since its inception, the show has showcased both local and international artists, offering a platform where creative minds break down their sounds, setups, and stories. Whether it’s DJ Beukeboom’s live Baile Funk set or Stefhanja’s seismic-inspired soundscapes, Oneven’s open format invites the unexpected.   It’s not just about genres or trends - it’s about diving into the essence of sound and discovering what drives each artist to create. From exploring groundbreaking music gear to hosting icons like Chase Bliss, Oneven’s unprepared, organic style has made PITCH SHIFT a space where authenticity reigns.   We’ll be talking to Oneven about his love for music tech, why live electronic performances deserve more attention in Amsterdam, and his dream guests, from Aphex Twin to Madlib. Plus, we’ll touch on his views of the city’s evolving music scene and why he believes in staying rebellious and raw. Let’s shift some pitches and get into it! You can catch up with this show now on Echobox Radio. Your show has turned into a real touch-point for experimental electronics in Amsterdam. Why was it important to do something so collaborative?I think the show has a healthy mixture of experimental and more traditional electronic music. My first ever guest was DJ Beukeboom who did a live Baile Funk show, but yeah we do also occasionally dive into the more abstract areas of electronic music. It depends on the artist I invite. I never think of genres when finding guests, but rather about what motivates someone to pursue a certain sound, is the sound representative of their background, etcetera. This is important to me as it helps me filter out artists in it for clout vs. Artistry. Anyhow, in terms of collaboration it depends on the guest, some shows go down like that, others don’t. The behind Pitch Shift is simple: an artist comes over, plays some tracks and we talk about how they made it and how they translate their ideas from a studio setting into a live show. But since the show is called Pitch Shift it occasionally goes in a completely different direction. Sort of like when you pitch shift a sample: you have the source material, but what you do with it can change the outcome completely. This also means I never prepare for any of my shows. This works best for me cause it allows the interviewing part to be spontaneous and authentic. I could write down some fictional backstory about why I do this, but honestly it just happened organically. I love it because when the pressure is on your brain starts coming up with some nice questions on the spot. As to the importance of the show: It was and is still important to me to shine a light on artists that perform live. Amsterdam is flooded with DJ’s which is cool, but there are not enough opportunities for live electronic music. To my knowledge bookers are a bit afraid about someone turning up with a whole studio worth of equipment, but really it can be done with just one or two pieces of gear. All in all I just wanted to be selfless and give something back to the community. In my own past experiences I noticed a lot of shows were done to promote the host, that was my inspiration to do things differently. You also talk a lot about technology in music, where did the obsession with music gear start?Growing up in the 90’s there was a lot good electronic music being shared on a commercial level on the TV so it was fairly easy to get exposed to the works of, for example, Aphex Twin. Also video games had a ton of great soundtracks that peaked my interest in the tech. I was always opening up electronics and fucking around with circuits trying to make sense of all those alien components. It’s just so happened I’m naturally attracted to technology that is also used to make electronic instruments. Perhaps I would have been into trains or planes if I hadn’t been exposed to electronic music. That said, I’m still quite into watching videos on how a cockpit works. I like gear a lot, but these days it’s a more a novelty. Like yes a 5K euro 8 voice poly synth sounds good, but there are 15 year old kids out there making absolute bangers on a shitty old laptop. Ultimately it’s all about being able to create and express yourself with as little latency between your idea and output so whatever works best is what you should go for. I am now mostly using a laptop with Ableton and Max/MSP to produce and in the mixing stage run things through hardware. Computers are so powerful and you can basically do anything you want once you become proficient with the software. In my opinion it is a far more exciting place to be than in a studio with tons of analog subtractive synths. Also not being dependant on a physical space is amazing for your creativity. All you need for electronic music these days is to be interested in learning, some software and a pair of decent headphones. Only thing that sucks about computers is that they are built to become obsolete, near impossible to repair as a consumer and some software becomes outdated. What have been particular highlights of your show?My recent ones with Tyler and Liz from Chase Bliss and the one with Stefhanja are my current faves. Chase Bliss was personally amazing to me cause I love the pedals they make. They are really pushing the limits of what you can do with guitar pedals so I was very happy to learn they have a European office in Amsterdam and that they were down to come to the studio and talk. My show with Stefhanja was really fun to do too. She has a device called the Geofón which is made by LOM Audio. It’s like a microphone, but made to detect seismic activity. We ran the signal through a bunch of equipment and made some beautiful soundscapes and textures. It was pure expression and it turned out so nice. We both had no preparation so it could have gone horribly wrong, but in the end I think our honest enjoyment is what kept it going in a good direction. Dream guest?Oh there are multiple ones. Autechre, Aphex Twin and BoC are obvious ones, right? Would be a very autistic show in the best way possible. But also would love to have Madlib or The Alchemist on. I listen to their music more than electronic music(it is technically also electronic though) to be honest. It’s so raw, organic and inspiring to me. Big fan of the Freddie Gibbs records they both did. Actually I know The Alchemist is a fan of Patta and visits Amsterdam often so maybe someone should make this happen. Live beat making on the Echobox airwaves… lets fucking go. Also dead ones would be Florian Schneider of Kraftwerk. Kraftwerk’s influence on music is unparalleled. Computer World laid the foundation for most of the stuff you hear now. What's most exciting to you in the Amsterdam music scene right now?I’m a bit of a hermit and this is probably not the answer people want to read but honestly, compared to The Hague and Rotterdam I think in general Amsterdam is lacking rawness and rebelliousness in the electronic scene so there’s not much for me personally to get excited about.I’m generalising of course as places like Bar San Francisco and events such as Weather Report at Bar Theo are great and resonate with me on a personal level. In the end I think that’s what counts, having a few places that you like to visit. Weather Report always surprises me as I go in blind. To me It’s not even about liking all the music, but seeing people use music as a tool to express themselves will always get me excited.I don’t have much interest in most clubs as they feel too image driven. Would much rather see someone unknown play amazing and unexpected shit they love than another Instagram famous DJ play whatever is trending if you know what I mean. I think Amsterdam clubs have a lot of potential, but we need to remember what made electronic music special in the first place: fuck playing it safe and fuck status. Be rebellious and treat every event like it’s your first and last and don’t worry too much about opinions. Next up we’re diving into the world of Het Kan Wel with Sara Liz and Wies, hosts of the most eclectic and spontaneous breakfast radio show on Echobox. It’s a potpourri of music, conversations, and unfiltered thoughts - where everything is possible. The name itself, Het Kan Wel (It Is Possible), was born from a wild King’s Day party in a bathtub, a playful declaration that nothing is truly impossible - though some things are better left undone (like moving to Mars). Sara Liz and Wies are the kind of duo who embrace the unexpected, bouncing from obscure beats and electronic sounds to slow and soulful vibes all before lunch. Their musical tastes may clash at times - Sara Liz loves starting the day with high-energy beats, while Wies prefers a more gradual wake-up - but that’s exactly what makes their dynamic work. Over the years, their friendship and music tastes have intertwined, creating a show that’s as unpredictable as it is refreshing. Inspired by the casual and humorous format of Charlie Bones’ Do!! You!! radio show, Het Kan Wel feels like an open invitation to just exist, be playful, and let whatever happens, happen. From bird sounds to bold musical statements, the duo’s chemistry keeps listeners guessing and makes space for serendipitous moments. We're gonna take a turn with this week's edition, switching to Dutch so we can  properly champion Het Kan Wel (if you want to get familiar but are not a Dutch speaker feel free to ask your favourite search engine to translate the following chapter). You can catch up with their show now on Echobox Radio.Wat is het verhaal achter de naam van jullie show, Het Kan Wel? W: Het verhaal is ontstaan op een vrij liederlijke en uitzinnige nacht na koningsdag, in een badkuip tijdens een diepte interview in het huis waar wij destijds samen woonden. Tijdens het interview kwamen we allen tot het inzicht dat vrijwel niets niet onmogelijk is.Verder (en nuchter) daarover nadenkend kom je er achter dat alles wel kán, maar je sommige dingen beter kan laten. Zoals bijvoorbeeld naar Mars reizen.  SL: “Wies en ik woonden lang samen, acht jaar in een huis in de Vogelbuurt, ook met Veer en Daaf en Boontje, het hondje. We grepen momenten voor een feestje vaak met velen handen aan. Op een van deze feestjes op Koningsdag dus,  begon een vriendin ons te interviewen in bad en wij vertelden dat we een band waren begonnen (lees; dit is dus fictief, wij hadden verzonnen dat we een band waren). Er werd doorgevraagd en wij gaven een heel interview over onze hit “Het Kan Wel”. De tekst van het liedje was niet bijster intelligent, mede door het tijdstip en alles. Maar wij vonden onze ‘hit’ bij het huis passen en zo is ons huis steeds meer Het Kan Wel gaan heten. Het Kan Wel is een mooie zin om in verschillende gemoedstoestanden te zeggen: overmatig enthousiast, verdrietig, schuldbewust of teleurgesteld. Als je de klemtoon van de zin verandert, krijgt het ook een andere betekenis. Of als je een liedje opzet dat niet ‘in tune’ is met het vorige (het wordt voor mij snel erg zalvig), dan zeg ik vaak tegen Wies: ‘Het kan ook weer wel’.” Tijdens de pandemie waren het vrienden in Antwerpen die een online radioshow begonnen genaamd Tijden van Nood. Alle makers konden vanuit hun woonkamer inpluggen en via muziek op de hoogte blijven van elkaar. Toen is de show officieel zo begonnen te heten.  Is er een andere ontbijt-radioshow die jullie qua format heeft geïnspireerd? W: Natuurlijk Charlie Bones met de Do!! You!! radioshow. Toch wel een soort grondlegger van de ongedwongen radioshow, met veel humor, een breed scala aan muziek en lekker erdoor heen praten.  SL: “Ik heb veel naar Do!! You!! van Charley Bones geluisterd en ik denk dat ik wel elke maand een vogel laat horen, dus ook; “Vroege Vogels.” Hebben jullie een favoriete show tot nu toe? SL: “Moeilijke vraag, want er is zoveel niche en zoveel talent! Donnies Dreamshow, 1.06SS was een poosje na ons, ook echt heerlijk. Joy die nu na ons is, Friday is a Sunday, Recovery Chanel, BSS, Loma Doom… te veel om op te noemen.” W: Vind het ook moeilijk om te zeggen, het is zo leuk om te zien hoe iedereen in die opnamestudio zijn eigen wereld creëert. Het is heel grappig, want je wisselt elkaar natuurlijk af aan het einde van de show, maar dan treedt de volgende persoon altijd echt even jouw wereld binnen of jij in de wereld van de DJ voor je. Ik vind dat zo mooi om te zien, en horen. Maar als ik het moet zeggen: Friday is a sunday, recovery channel, BSS, Joygail.   Hoe vind je het presenteren als duo tot nu toe? Waar zijn jullie het nou echt over oneens? W: Voor we bij echobox begonnen, maakte we tijdens Corona al een show op Tijden van Nood. Een soort piratenzender opgezet door vrienden zodat we allemaal een beetje in contact konden blijven met elkaar. Dat was heel leuk, maar tussen mij en Sara Liz ging dat niet echt zonder slag of stoot haha. We maakte echt live ruzie op de radio soms, wat ook wel heel grappig is achteraf.  We hebben gewoon een vrij uiteenlopende muzieksmaak die soms een beetje botst op sommige punten. Sara Liz is soms vrijwillig bereid om keihard te knallen om 11 uur ‘smorgens, waar ik persoonlijk ook nog even wakker moet worden. Dat kan wel eens in het verkeerde oorgat schieten. Maar Sara Liz vind dat ik soms te sloom draai, wat ik echt complete nonsens vindt.  Ik vind het wel leuk om te merken dat hoe langer we bevriend zijn onze smaken naar elkaar toegroeien, en we tegenwoordig echt vaak dezelfde dingen heel vet vinden. SL: “Wij zijn er rijkelijk vaak oneens geweest over muziek. Beiden komen we uit een andere muzikale interesse en huishouden. Bij mij stond thuis altijd muziek aan van Kink Radio (techno-uurtjes op zaterdag), Moloko, veel elektronische muziek, beats, Burial, Prince en ik maakte bandjes van Afrikaanse obscure radio. In mijn wereld kan dit allemaal door elkaar heen en naast elkaar. Veel bewegen op muziek, het kan me echt even omsluiten, ahh ik hou zo van beats! Wies weet ook veel van muziek, maar kent meer instrumentale bandjes. Dus als ik plots de boel opschud… krijg ik wel een diepe zucht of scheve blik. Maar het laatste jaar heb ik wel steeds meer het gevoel dat we naar elkaar groeien of elkaars input kunnen waarderen.  Bij wat denken jullie nou: “Het kan niet”? Oorlog, Trump, Elon Musk, de anti-abortus beweging, te harde techno om 11 uur smorgens (lul niet Wies!), te veel witte mannen in 1 ruimte, eten met weinig vet en zout, naar mars gaan, de verkoop van sociale huurwoningen, fabel friet, grote Ego’s, dat alles een restaurant moet worden, veel vlees eten, niet nederig zijn, geen humor hebben laat staan zelfspot en enkelsokken bij mannen bij -3, niet zingen op de fiets en niet lachen om een scheet. Tune in to Echobox - broadcasting from below sea level every week, Thursday until Sunday.

Interview by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Kala CitéFor filmmaker, photographer, and multidisciplinary artist Thaniel Owusu Agyemang, creativity is about more than just expression - it’s about connection. With Home: Where It All Begins, his first official film release, he takes audiences on a deeply personal journey back to Ghana, exploring themes of heritage, identity, and belonging.Thaniel’s work spans filmmaking, DJing, and photography, allowing him to move fluidly between disciplines while staying rooted in community. He’s got love for all - collaborating with artists and using  the platform Sankofa Archives to create spaces where stories of the African diaspora can thrive.As he gears up for his film screening and the Onyx Vision exhibition at OSCAM, Thaniel invites people to get familiar with his vision - one that’s about archiving, storytelling, and reclaiming narratives through art.    How did you first get into film, and what does it mean to you?Film is a powerful medium of expression. My love for it started in childhood when I watched Nollywood and Ghanaian movies with my parents. I’d always try to predict what would happen next and even create my own plots in my head. Later, as I got into photography, I wanted to bring my photos to life, and film became a way to add new dimensions to my storytelling. You work across multiple disciplines - filmmaking, DJing, photography, and directing. How do these different roles influence each other?Being multidisciplinary allows me to collaborate with a variety of artists and communities. For example, alongside my film event, I’m part of an exhibition, Onyx Vision at OSCAM, featuring artists Lenny Pharrell and Hamilton Chango Harris. Engaging in different mediums broadens my connections, keeps me inspired, and lets me create in different ways.With an exhibition and a film screening happening in the same week, how do you see this film shaping the conversation around your work?This is actually my first official film release. I’ve done short projects before, but nothing on this scale. It marks an important step in my journey, blending all the creative elements I’ve worked with into one larger vision.What inspired the title Home: Where It All Begins?The title reflects my journey of returning to Ghana for the first time. It represents the idea that my journey truly begins now that I have reconnected with my homeland. I want people to feel the importance of returning to their roots, learning from the past, and building for the future. This idea is also tied to the philosophy of Sankofa, which means "return, bring it back"What was the main motivation behind your trip to Ghana?I had always wanted to go back to Ghana, but financial constraints made it difficult. My mother, who has many children, often went alone. When I finally had the opportunity, I decided it was the right time. I wanted my mother to be with me for my first visit, so I paid for her ticket. Later, my friend Ian Bodo, a director of photography, joined me. We started filming spontaneously without planning to make a movie—it just happened organically.Why did you choose to release the film on the same week as Ghana’s Independence Day?It felt symbolic. Ghana’s Independence Day represents freedom and reclaiming identity, which aligns with the film’s theme of reconnecting with one’s roots.What were your expectations before visiting Ghana?My expectations were shaped by stories from my mother and friends, but experiencing it firsthand was completely different. People had always asked if I had ever been to my homeland, and I hadn’t. When I finally went, I realized that stories can only tell so much—you have to feel it yourself.What was the most powerful moment for you during the trip?Seeing an entire space filled with only Black people for the first time in my life. In Europe, I had never experienced that before. It was a profound moment of reflection and belonging. The warmth I felt from the moment I arrived at the airport was overwhelming.How did meeting your family in Ghana impact you?It was deeply emotional. I met many family members for the first time, including my grandmother, whom I hadn’t seen in 15 years. I had talked to my relatives over video calls, but meeting them in person was completely different. You can’t fully understand someone’s presence through a screen—it’s something you have to experience.What was the biggest lesson you learned from your trip?I realized that in Africa, people don’t overthink problems like we do in the West. In Europe, we tend to pile problems on top of problems, but in Ghana, people just go with the flow. They accept that some things are beyond their control and trust in God. This mindset shift was one of the most powerful takeaways for me.What can audiences expect to see in the film?The film captures raw moments of reflection, like me standing in Independence Square in the rain, simply taking in the view. It’s about embracing stillness, something that’s rare in the fast-paced Western world. In Ghana, I felt like I could truly reset and breathe. That’s what I want audiences to experience through the film.How did your trip to Ghana change your sense of identity and connection to your roots?I wouldn’t say I feel more Ghanaian because I already felt Ghanaian. But I do feel more connected to the core—to my great-grandparents, to the land they walked on, and to my ancestors. That deeper connection is what changed for me.Do you see this film as the beginning of a larger project, or is it a standalone adventure?Initially, it was just an adventure I wanted to share with family and friends. I held a small private screening at the Black Activation Month in Amsterdam curated by Bamba Al Mansour, but after that, many people told me it could grow into something bigger—maybe a series or even an exhibition. Right now, I’m still weighing my options, but the message is powerful, and it has the potential to expand in different ways.How does your film differ from other narratives about African heritage and the diaspora?Many African films, like Touki Bouki from 1973, focus on people leaving Africa for Europe. That’s also the story of my parents, so I understand why those narratives exist. But I wanted to do something different—something about going back home and centralizing African countries in the story. The new generation needs to archive our heritage and encourage future generations to return, rather than always seeing Africa as a place to leave.Why is it important to tell stories about returning to Africa, rather than just leaving?Migration stories usually highlight Africans moving to Europe or America, reinforcing the idea that success is found elsewhere. But we also need stories about Afro-Europeans and people in the diaspora going back to Africa - reconnecting with the land, culture, and history. It’s about shifting the narrative and showing that home has value, too.What made this trip particularly special for you?Going with my mother was important because she’s from Ghana, and I wanted to experience it with her first. Then, having my friend join later allowed me to experience Ghana both as a son and as a young man in my early 20s, navigating my own journey. That mix of perspectives made it even more meaningful.Can you tell us about your collaboration with Sankofa Archives and Free the Art? How did it all come together?As the founder of Sankofa Archives, my events always align with building out the archive. My connection with Free the Art happened organically - I’ve known Tim and Berano from Free The Art for a long time. We always talked about supporting each other's projects, and when I did a small, private film screening last October, I wanted to do something bigger. I reached out to Berano about hosting a screening at the Eye Film Museum and expanding it into a full experience. He was on board, and from there, everything came together.Why did you choose the Eye Film Museum as the venue?Growing up, I visited the Eye Film Museum during school trips, and it always inspired me. School wasn’t as creative as I wanted, so these visits felt like an artistic escape. Over time, I kept the idea in my mind that one day, I would screen my film there. Now, it feels like I’m fulfilling a childhood dream.How does the film connect with the exhibition?The exhibition, Onyx Vision by Free The Art, features my photo series Home, which includes pieces made in Ghana. It connects with the film because it visually expresses moments from the film through photography. I took all the pictures myself and some of the pictures from the series also appear in the film. The film is called Home: Where It All Begins, and the photo series is also titled Home. Both capture different aspects of Ghana - the city, the beach, and the people. You often collaborate with Lenny Pharrel. What is it like standing next to your friends in creative spaces?It’s a beautiful moment because we’ve been friends for a long time, and in the beginning, we were both figuring out our paths. Seeing everything come together now feels like a full-circle moment. Exhibiting together in my own neighborhood, Amsterdam Southeast, at OSCAM, alongside Lenny, is really special. We are part of a community - Sankofa Archives - that aligns so well with what we do, so being able to share this moment is incredible.Being able to grow and experience it with friends is a blessing. Creating isn’t just about putting work out into the world - it’s about the act of creating itself. And when you do that alongside your friends, it makes the process even more meaningful. It becomes more of a family affair rather than just work.We've seen Sankofa Archives do their own thing, partner with Patta and provide creative opportunities for people already. What’s next for Sankofa Archives? Sankofa Archives is more of a community platform than a collective. The next goal is to collaborate more while making it clear that it's not just about the people running it - it’s for anyone who has ideas but finds the barriers too high. We want to create opportunities for young and emerging artists.For example, with the Sankofa Archives community, we created an exhibition alongside our film screening to showcase diaspora talent in the Netherlands. Artists like Rarri Jackson, Nora Sofie and Gabriela Akyea, who are incredibly talented but may not always get the platform, are being featured. Our goal is to provide these opportunities through exhibitions, community events, screenings and more.It sounds like you're building something bigger than just an art platform. What’s your long-term vision?Yes, we want to establish a space - both physical and digital - where we archive art, music, film, and culture. We want to document not just the past but also the present, creating an archive for future generations. The next step is expanding our reach, bringing in more people, and forming new connections.If you could take this film and your work anywhere in the world, where would it be?I’m actually traveling to Senegal in March—not for work, but to explore Africa, gather inspiration, and exchange stories. I see a new wave of Afro-European artists reconnecting with their roots, and I want to be part of that. Learning more about where I come from is a big part of my creative journey. My work and my philosophy are deeply rooted in African ways of thinking, and I want to continue developing that perspective.On March 5, the second edition of MovieZone’s: KinoTalk will take place at Eye Filmmuseum, presented by Sankofa Archives and Free The Art. This special edition is led by Thaniel Owusu Agyemang and will feature his film Home: Where It All Begins, a personal account of his journey to Ghana—a deeply meaningful experience that allowed him to explore his identity, connect with his ancestral homeland, and embrace the Sankofa philosophy. Following the film, a panel discussion will take place with Thaniel and other artists, delving into themes of identity, heritage, and cultural connection. To conclude the night, Eye Bar & Restaurant will host a celebratory gathering with drinks and music inspired by the film’s themes. Doors open at 7:15 PM. Admission is free, but registration is required via this RSVP link.

Photography by Kristin Lee Moolman | Words by Candy Reding Baloji is a Congolese-born director, art director, and musician who defies labels and transcends boundaries in music, film, and fashion. His layered journey—from receiving an order to leave Belgium to representing the country at the Oscars with his Cannes-winning debut feature—offers powerful lessons on resilience, identity, and the transformative power of art.For Baloji, identity has always been a dual-edged sword, both a question to navigate and a declaration to uphold. His name, translating to “man of science” in Swahili, originally held a sense of pride and purpose. Yet under colonial Christian evangelism, the name morphed into something far darker, twisted into meaning “sorcerer” or “man of occult sciences.” In a world deeply rooted in spiritual traditions and Christian beliefs, his name became a stigma, a provocation, and a challenge. “It’s like calling yourself the devil or a demon in Europe,” he explains. Growing up as a young boy in Belgium, the misunderstanding of his name led to a sense of displacement and alienation. It made people uneasy, forcing him inwards to find ease. “It wasn’t about embodying silence; it was about breaking it,” he reflects, offering a glimpse into the resilience that has since become his signature.Baloji’s path as an artist has been defined by his refusal to accept the limits placed on him. A self-taught creator who built his craft through exploration and persistence, he shaped his artistic identity within the resourceful and rebellious culture of 90s hip-hop. “Hip-hop is the real DIY,” he says, recalling how it taught him creativity and self-reliance. “You’re making your own flyers, photos, fanzines. My specialization was rap, but that naturally evolved into graffiti, graphic design, and architecture. Dance taught me about the movement of damaged Black bodies. DJing and sampling opened my ears to the music of other cultures; Caribbean, Latin American, and even my Congolese heritage.” This constant expansion of his creative field allowed him to embrace his roots while beating the expectations often placed upon them.Baloji’s journey as an artist began with a leap into the unknown when he joined the Belgian hip-hop group Starflam in 1998. It was a transformative moment, “Starflam taught me about life,” he reflects because “I was an undocumented, illegal teenager. I had an order to leave the country and was far from my family.” This disconnection from the familiar, paired with the hardships of his undocumented status, could have stifled his potential. Instead, it fueled his artistry. Through Starflam, Baloji learned to channel his inner world, turning his emotions, struggles, and dreams into powerful lyrical narratives. The collective gave him the tools to survive and thrive, crafting an identity rooted in self-expression and rebellion against societal constraints. This period laid the groundwork for his multifaceted career.While Baloji’s creative independence is unmistakable, collaborators and mentors who believed in his vision have also shaped his journey. Among them was the late Virgil Abloh, whose innovative spirit left a lasting impression. “I learned so much from Virgil”, Baloji shares. “He could move from one project to another without losing focus and was always open to other designers. He supported the Augure film project because it aligned with his mission to uplift Black women and, by extension, Black-owned businesses.” Abloh’s spirit of collaboration and cultural pride resonates deeply with Baloji. His excursion into fashion marks yet another exciting chapter: "I'm working a lot on the fashion and art direction aspect at the moment because I've gained confidence in my skills and aesthetic choices by working with professors at the Fashion Academy in Antwerp.” For Baloji, fashion is about garments and storytelling, how costumes, art direction, and narration create a cohesive and transformative visual language.Fashion, however, is not a newfound interest but a natural extension of his lifelong appreciation for craftsmanship. As he excitedly explains, "I've got a few fashion projects coming up, and I'm working passionately on the crafts that I've discovered by being a great aficionado of Belgian designers.” From Martin Margiela to Anthony Vaccarello, Baloji draws inspiration from the greats. He also admires icons like Karl Lagerfeld, particularly his work with Métiers d'Art, which combines tradition and modernity in high fashion.For an artist whose work resists labels, the interplay of cultural traditions is central to his creative process. Whether in music, film, or fashion, Baloji treats symbols and narratives with a curiosity that invites exploration and connection. “I read the newspaper, I listen to author podcasts, I read biographies, even 50 Cent's is a gold mine, full of knowledge. Culture is about reaching out, stepping out of your comfort zone, and learning from others,” he says. This philosophy extends into his personal life, where he immerses his young daughter in a broad spectrum of experiences. From waacking events - waacking is a street dance style - to art galleries, Congolese snack bars to Korean neighborhoods, opera houses, and street basketball courts, Baloji ensures that she grows up understanding the value of diversity. He says that different opinions and perspectives build character, and that’s something “I want her to carry forward.”The turning point in Baloji’s career came with his evolution from music to filmmaking. This shift, while natural in hindsight, was filled with challenges. He reveals that he went to the European Cinema Commission (the non-profit association that supports filmmaking in Europe) “26 times between 2012 and 2022, and they only gave me the green light once.” Despite the promises of diversity and meritocracy often preached in the industry, the experience disillusioned him. They make you believe in the idea of “when you want it, you can (get funding), but it’s a lie. It’s about knowing who has the power to make it happen.” Despite these barriers, Baloji’s persistence paid off. His film Omen (known locally as Augure) received international acclaim, showcasing his ability to tell deeply resonant stories across mediums. Yet he remains grounded, crediting much of his success to the support of his family. “I owe so much to my daughter’s mother, who supported me through four years of filmmaking without income or certainty. She’s my luck.”Freedom, strength, and rebellion run like threads through Baloji’s work, but these qualities did not come without struggle. He speaks candidly about the sacrifices he has made for his art, describing a pivotal moment when he poured 25k of his own money into a film project. “My cinematographer told me: ‘25K is what I pay for my house mortgage.’ I don’t have a house; I’m still renting. But I see that sum as an investment in my art, in fighting for it to exist despite the obstacles.” For Baloji, creation is a form of resistance and determination. His projects are not simply about aesthetics but about narrative, depth and meaning. “People misunderstand my work; they think it’s just about images. But the visuals tell a story. They look easy to imitate, but it’s the flow of ideas that counts. Execution changes over time, but the narrative is what endures.”Strangely, Baloji’s recognition in the film world solidified his broader reputation. As the president of the Camera d’Or at Cannes, he found himself in a position of respect within an industry that had long resisted his inclusion. “I think I’m one of the first self-taught filmmakers to win a prize at Cannes and represent a country at the Oscars.” His film Augure (known as Omen internationally) was the Belgian entry for Best International Feature Film at the Oscars in 2023. But there’s still a long way to go in breaking glass ceilings for creative minorities and Black men. However groundbreaking, Baloji’s achievements are only one step in a larger journey toward systemic change.Despite the seriousness of his work, Baloji finds ways to invite lightness into his life. “There’s a lot of humor in my films and my work in general, but it’s secondary at first sight”, he explains. Humor is the politeness of despair, but so is poetry. When it’s time to decompress, he turns to simple pleasures: traveling, cooking, watching soccer (his beloved Real Madrid), or indulging in the freedom of not setting the alarm. These moments of lightness, however small, are vital to his sense of balance.Peace, for Baloji, remains an evolving concept. “I don’t know if I’m at peace with my past, but not having all the answers keeps me alert. It inspires me to keep fighting for myself, my loved ones, and for change.” Through his art, he challenges certain ideologies and redefines what it means to belong. “Art shapes how we view identity and culture, but curiosity drives creativity,” he says. With this insatiable curiosity and a refusal to accept limits, Baloji continues to transcend boundaries, inspiring others to embrace their roots while daring to create something entirely their own. Baloji is not just a symbol of resilience; he invites us to dream bigger and create fearlessly.The Patta Magazine Volume 4 will be included for free with each online order of the Patta Angelwings T-shirt while stock lasts. 

David Kane, author of What Do You Call It? From Grass Roots To The Golden Era Of UK Rap, is coming to All My Friends on Thursday 27 February for a special book launch. What Do You Call It? charts the journey of UK rap music over four decades, exploring the origin stories of classic albums and the artists that made them, and changed the course of British music and culture despite the systemic racism and infrastructural challenges faced. David will be in conversation with music journalist Nicolas Tyrell Scott with Logan Sama playing a special history of grime set afterwards.Get Familiar with David Kane

While AntsLive & YS Sainté were in town to visit Patta Amsterdam for a meet and greet, the North London rapper took to the streets and filmed a music video for his single Crew Love in and around our beloved Zeedijk area which is home to our Amsterdam chapter store.Get familiar with AntsLive here.

Words by David KaneWhat Do You Call It? From Grassroots to the Golden Era of UK Rap took me over three years to write. It wasn’t supposed to. Deadlines came and went, and nine months before it was finally finished, I decided to rip it up and start again. Or at least start the start again. Part of that was driven by a change of start date, at first the book begins at the turn of the century a time fraught with tension (remember the ‘millennium bug’?), political machinations, and creative possibilities, where technology and culture were changing faster than it had for decades. But as I dug deeper, I realised I had to go further back, extending the scope to the start of the 1980s, when rap music landed on our odd little island, imported through the electro-driven hip-hop of Afrika Bambaataa, shaped by sound system culture, inspired by punk and accelerated by rave. And one name kept coming up. Thirty years ago, Tricky released Maxinquaye, and that album changed everything.By the early 90s, the excitement and promise of the UK hip-hop 1.0 had almost fizzled out. Dismissed by the media, denied by music industry gatekeepers, and only the most hardcore fans continued to show interest while the US was going through its golden into the gangsta era, attracting a broader—read, white suburban—rap music fan. There was friction within UK hip-hop, as Trevor Jackson, a.k.a Underdog and head of Bite It! Recordings, one of the few labels releasing consistently challenging hip-hop at the time, put it; “Everyone wanted to get a piece of a very small pie. Some UK foundational figures felt they owned everything and were entitled to success.” The energy in the UK had to come from somewhere and sound like something else.Adrian Nicholas Matthews Thaws grew up in Knowle West, a tough, predominantly white working-class area in South Bristol. Thaws was born to a Jamaican father and a Ghanaian-English mother, a poet named Maxine Quaye, who committed suicide when he was just four years old. His grandmother and various aunties brought him up. It was a happy, if unconventional, childhood despite being surrounded by violence;  “Where I come from, a lot of people are either on drugs, in prison or dead,” he later recalled. Fortunately, Thaws found solace in music. First, he was known as Tricky Kid, a rapper and sometime member of The Wild Bunch, a loose collective of musicians and artists who were so hip it hurt. They formed in the early 1980s and played at warehouse parties and Bristol institutions like St Paul’s Carnival, Special K’s cafe and the dingy Dug Out club. The influence of reggae sound system culture, punk, jazz, soul, and hip-hop were all present, but there was an unhurried melancholy to the music that was unique to a notoriously laid-back and diverse city.The Bristol music scene is a storied one, but The Wild Bunch — including Miles Johnson (a.k.a. DJ Milo), producer Nelle Hooper, Robert Del Naja (a.k.a. 3D), Grant Marshall (a.k.a. Daddy G), and Andrew Vowles (Mushroom) — were arguably the inception point and ruled the roost. Confident aesthetes, rolling around town on hi-tech mountain bikes decked out in Stüssy jeans and Vivienne Westwood shirts with an uncanny knack for sound. Milo introduced Tricky to the crew. He was a shy and sensitive teenager, but he had a supernatural talent for lyrics–sounding like a troubadour of darkness who had toked his way through a maze of marijuana. The collective dissolved in 1987, with Hooper joining Soul II Soul and Milo moving to New York, which left 3D, Daddy G, and Mushroom to form Massive Attack. Tricky appeared in three singles — “Daydreaming”, “Five Man Army” and “Blue Lines” — from the group's seminal debut album, Blue Lines (1991). A broody, epic sounding and insular feeling masterpiece, it helped redefine dance music and coin a new subgenre, trip-hop–a name almost every artist associated with it utterly detests, particularly Tricky. Both Tricky and, to a lesser extent, 3D rap with regional British accents, which was unheard of at the time, but the intention behind Blue Lines was to “Create dance music for the head, rather than the feet”, explained Daddy G. Yet Tricky was more interested in hip-hop. Tensions within Massive Attack (and The Wild Bunch before that) always seemed to be brimming close to the surface. While working on Blue Lines, Tricky produced the demo for “Aftermath”, a bluesy, smoky single with esoteric wood pipe samples featuring the dulcet tones of Martina Topley-Bird and Tricky’s haunting vocals. Tricky offered the track to Massive Attack as they were finalising their debut album, but 3D dismissed it, telling Tricky he’s “Never going to make it as a producer”. The single remained moored to tape, unreleased for a further three years. Shortly after the release of Blue Lines, Tricky departed the group and began working on solo material at a stoned snail's pace. Although ‘Aftermath’ laid the blueprint for what would eventually become his 1995 masterpiece, Maxinquaye (named after Thaws’ mother), a strikingly original body of work “Which acknowledged and accelerated what was new in the 90s, technology, cultural pluralism, and genre innovations.” As adroitly proposed by author Mark Fisher, a stark counter to the “reactionary pantomime of Britpop,” with its refuge in the past.That Tricky was even prepared to take centre stage was partly thanks to the mentorship of Mark Stewart, ex-frontman of legendary new-wave outfit The Pop Group and Bristol sound linchpin, who met Tricky via The Wild Bunch. Stewart is credited as ‘executive producer’ for Maxinquaye. If Stewart were the mentor, Martina Topley-Bird would often be framed as the muse (Tricky went on to have a romantic relationship with Topley-Bird). But in reality, Topley-Bird, who came from a well-off family with experience in the music business, helped influence as well as inspire the music for Maxiquaye, conceiving the jingle jangle melody of “Ponderosa” and provided an unexpected new take on the lyrics from Public Enemy’s “Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos” in “Black Steel”. The legend goes that Tricky met 15-year-old schoolgirl Topley-Bird outside his house, waiting for a bus and invited her to make a song on an impulse. That impulse continued in the eventual studio sessions, where all the vocals were recorded in the first take. Alongside the expected hip-hop, dub and soul influences, there is an art-rock weirdness to the sound, a sludgy filter over the percussion and, of course, that famed dark atmosphere with cracks of piercing light courtesy of Topley-Bird’s soothing vocal. “Let me take you down the corridors of my life.” Tricky beckons on “Hell Is Round The Corner”. Tricky was still in his early twenties when he wrote and recorded Maxinquaye. Yet, he had a pool of life experience to draw from, with no shortage of trauma and complexity, having grown up around gangsters with limited familial affection and often went looking for fights in Bristol’s nightclubs, wearing makeup and a dress. Drugs, sex, dysfunctional relationships, and a broader pre-millennium tension are subjects broached in the record. Despite this heaviness, he appears sensitive as he is streetwise and raw. Two things stand out from Maxinquaye and much of the music Tricky has made since. The first is how quietly Tricky raps, a silently disciplined zig to everyone else's clamorous zag, which demands the listeners' attention. The second is his androgyny as a lyricist; in “Suffocated Love”, a seemingly straightforward track on the inner dialogue of a couple where the man gets the sex, and the woman gets the money, isn't quite what it seems with sexual violence and man's dread of intimacy playing the background; “I keep her warm, but we never kiss / She cuts my slender wrists”. “I think ahead of you, I think instead of you”, Topley-Bird’ teases in response. It’s worth remembering that Tricky is responsible for nearly all the lyrics on Maxinquaye, a morass of gender-bending adventure and sonic contortion. In an interview with Mark Fisher for The Wire, Tricky admits his “Lyrics are written from a female perspective a lot of the time.” This takes us to the fourth significant collaborator on the album—there were others, including The Cure producer Mark Stewart and DJ Howie B, who got burned by the experience, but that’s another story—in the voodoo homage to the mother he never knew, claiming that she channelled his lyrics through him and Martina Topley-Bird. The album prompted universal and hyperbolic critical acclaim, perhaps the most memorable of which was David Bowie's 2,000-word paean in Q magazine. In this, Bowie, in typically Bowie-esc glossolalia, acknowledged the arrival of an heir to his shape-shifting crown (or tiara?) and also recognised that his own game might be up. “Here come the horses to drag me to bed,” Bowie concluded. “Here comes Tricky to fuck up my head.”Despite the success of Maxinquaye—the record proved a completely unexpected commercial triumph, reaching number 3 in the UK album chart, selling over half a million copies since, and regularly appearing in ‘best of’ lists—Tricky’s life didn’t get any easier. There have been battles with mental health, problems with guns (his cleaner’s young son accidentally set off a Uzi in his New Jersey apartment), and a hedonistic lifestyle that almost left him in financial ruin. Most tragically, Mazy, his daughter with Topley-Bird, took her own life in 2019.  Like all great minds, Tricky reminds us how noble, tortured, and downright absurd a creature humans can be. And he writes raps as hard as hell. What Do You Call It? From Grassroots to the Golden Era of UK Rap is out now on Velocity Press. The book is available directly from the publisher, all good book and record stores. It’s a book about the evolution of rap music in the UK, when hip-hop landed on our odd little island in the early 1980s. Shaped by sound system culture, inspired by punk, and accelerated by rave, A sound that has evolved from Britcore, UK hip-hop, and trip-hop of the late twentieth century to garage, grime, and drill. What Do You Call It? is also a story about what it means to be seen and to belong to this country. Get familiar with David Kane or head to your local Patta store to get your copy of Patta Magazine Volume 4 now.