Get Familiar: Ruff Sqwad

Interview by Passion Dzenga and Liesje Verhave | Imagery courtesy spazioSERRAMost galleries ask people to come to them. spazioSERRA asks something different. Hidden inside Milan's Lancetti railway station, the independent exhibition space exists in a place designed for movement rather than contemplation. Every day, commuters, students, families and local residents pass through its doors, often encountering contemporary art entirely by accident.That tension has shaped the collective's practice since its founding. Rather than treating the station as simply another venue, spazioSERRA has embraced it as both subject and collaborator. Here, exhibitions are conceived specifically for a public in transit, where artworks compete with train announcements, morning routines and the constant rhythm of the city itself. There is no white cube, no controlled viewing experience and no expectation that visitors arrive already interested in contemporary art. Instead, every exhibition begins with a simple question: what happens when art interrupts everyday life?We spoke with the spazioSERRA collective about nearly a decade of working inside a railway station, developing a curatorial practice rooted in site-specificity, and why they believe public art should never be neutral.spazioSERRA has always existed inside a railway station rather than a traditional gallery. Why was that important from the beginning?The station has never simply been a venue for us. From the very beginning, it was the starting point for the entire project. Rather than asking how we could fit contemporary art into a railway station, we were interested in understanding what kind of exhibitions could only exist in a place like this. The context changes everything. A station is designed for movement, transition and routine. People aren't there because they've decided to spend an afternoon looking at contemporary art. They're commuting to work, heading home, meeting friends or simply passing through.That completely transforms the relationship between the artwork and its audience. In a traditional gallery, visitors have already made a conscious decision to engage with an exhibition before they even walk through the door. They arrive prepared to spend time looking, reading and reflecting. Here, that expectation disappears. Most people encounter the exhibitions unexpectedly. Some only glance at them while waiting for a train. Others return every day as part of their commute and slowly build a relationship with the work over weeks or months without even realising they're doing so.For us, that's incredibly exciting because it means the exhibitions become part of everyday life rather than something separate from it. During the pandemic, for example, many museums and galleries were closed, but because our exhibitions were visible from the station itself, people could continue experiencing contemporary art simply by moving through the city. That reinforced something we'd always believed: art doesn't need to exist inside isolated cultural institutions. It can become another layer of the urban landscape, living alongside the rhythms and routines of the people who pass through it every day.Your audience is often accidental rather than intentional. How does that change the way you think about curating exhibitions?It influences almost every curatorial decision we make. Unlike a museum or commercial gallery, we can't assume that our audience already has an interest in contemporary art or even knows who the exhibiting artist is. Most visitors didn't wake up planning to see an exhibition. They're simply moving through the station as part of their daily routine. That means we have to think very carefully about how somebody encounters the work for the first time.Accessibility is important to us, but we don't think of accessibility as simplifying ideas. Instead, it's about creating multiple points of entry. Someone who only has thirty seconds before their train arrives should still be able to connect with something visually or emotionally. At the same time, somebody who returns every day for a month should continue discovering new layers, new references and new meanings each time they encounter the work.That creates a very different kind of exhibition design. We think about sightlines, movement through the station, how the architecture frames the work and how people experience it from different distances. The audience isn't standing still. They're constantly in motion. The exhibitions have to acknowledge that movement rather than resist it.What's particularly interesting is that people begin creating their own relationships with the exhibitions over time. Some commuters see the same installation every morning on their way to work and every evening on their way home. Without necessarily intending to, they become long-term spectators. Their understanding develops gradually through repetition rather than through a single dedicated visit. Site-specificity seems to be central to your programme.How do artists respond differently when they know their work will exist in a public space?That's one of the reasons artists are often excited to work with us. We don't invite people to simply install an existing body of work inside the station. We ask them to begin with the station itself. The architecture, the movement of people, the visibility of the space and the surrounding neighbourhood all become part of the conversation before a single artwork is made.That process often changes the work dramatically. Instead of treating the exhibition as something independent from its surroundings, artists begin responding directly to the environment. Sometimes the architecture becomes part of the installation. Sometimes the public becomes part of the work. Sometimes the exhibition only makes sense because it's happening in that precise location.Over the years, we've realised that there isn't really a clear boundary between the artwork and the station anymore. The two continuously influence one another. The work transforms the space, but the space also transforms the work. The audience completes that relationship because every person experiences the exhibition differently depending on where they're coming from, how much time they have, and what they're bringing with them emotionally that day. For us, that's what site-specific practice really means. It's not simply adapting something to fit a location. It's allowing the location itself to become an active collaborator in the exhibition.This year's programme is titled Co-presence Is a Passing Gesture. What does that phrase mean to you?The title emerged quite naturally once we began looking at all of the selected projects together. Originally, we approached this season differently from previous years. Rather than establishing a broad curatorial theme and asking artists to respond to it, we opened the call without prescribing a subject. We wanted to understand what artists themselves were already thinking about and what kinds of questions felt urgent to them.After selecting the projects, we started noticing unexpected connections. Again and again, artists were exploring ideas around spectatorship, participation, waiting, public space and the different ways people occupy environments together without necessarily interacting.A railway station became the perfect place to think about those ideas because it is fundamentally a place of co-presence. Thousands of people share the same physical environment every day. They're together, but they're rarely connected. They're passing one another constantly without necessarily acknowledging one another's existence.The exhibitions each approach that condition differently. Some invite participation. Others ask people to observe. Some explore waiting as a political condition, while others think about performance, intimacy or memory. What connects them all is this idea that relationships can exist even if they're brief, temporary or almost invisible.In many ways, that's exactly what happens inside the station every single day. It shows that these ideas are being tested through the exhibitions themselves.The exhibitions this season all seem to approach co-presence from different perspectives. Could you tell us about some of the recent projects and how they connect to the wider programme?One of the things we've been interested in throughout this season is how each artist approaches the idea of co-presence differently. Rather than illustrating the concept directly, every exhibition has explored a different relationship between the artwork, the audience and the public space of the station.Joan Horrach's installation was a good example of that. The work centred on waiting, but it wasn't simply about representing waiting as a theme. Instead, it mirrored what was already happening inside the station. The installation resembled a waiting room that could easily have belonged to the railway station itself, blurring the boundary between the exhibition and everyday life. People waiting for trains became part of the work without necessarily realising it, while the work itself reflected the rhythms, routines and temporary encounters that already define the station. In many ways, it asked visitors to recognise that waiting isn't an interruption to public life but one of its fundamental conditions.Valerio Torrisi's exhibition approached waiting from a much more personal and political perspective. Through a long-duration performance, he explored the ongoing struggle for LGBTQ+ rights in Italy, particularly the fact that same-sex couples are still denied full marriage equality. Rather than presenting this through explicit political messaging, he built the work around the poetic image of a partner waiting for a wedding that never arrives. Throughout the exhibition, the flowers within the installation slowly decayed, becoming a physical measure of time passing without resolution. That gradual transformation reflected both the emotional exhaustion of waiting and the reality that progress, while happening, often feels painfully slow for the communities directly affected.What interested us most about Valerio Torrisi's project was the way it embodied these ideas rather than illustrating them. Visitors didn't necessarily arrive knowing when the performer would appear or even exactly what they were waiting for. They found themselves sharing that uncertainty with the work itself. The performance resisted fixed identities and clear definitions, allowing the body, language and duration of the piece to communicate experiences that couldn't easily be reduced to a single statement or slogan. In that sense, it became less about explaining LGBTQ+ rights and more about allowing people to inhabit, even briefly, the emotional condition of waiting for recognition.The unpredictability of public space makes these encounters especially meaningful. We can carefully consider how an exhibition is installed, how it addresses the architecture and how people might move through it, but we never truly know how the public will respond. Sometimes an installation encourages immediate participation. Other times people simply walk straight past. With Fidaty Collective's football field installation, for example, we initially thought the project wasn't working because nobody wanted to engage with it. Then, unexpectedly, a group of visitors stayed for almost an hour playing together. Those moments remind us that public space always resists complete control. The audience ultimately completes the work in ways that can't be anticipated.Looking ahead, the final exhibitions continue expanding these ideas in new directions. What can visitors expect from the remainder of the programme?The next projects continue exploring spectatorship and participation, but each approaches those ideas through very different forms. The next exhibition is by Elisi’s collective, whose practice sits somewhere between design, research and installation. Their project introduces the idea of the "mnemosphere," a term they developed to describe the relationship between atmosphere and memory. Rather than presenting a series of individual snow globes, the installation transforms the entire space into a boule à neige. What makes the work particularly interesting is that it only becomes active through the movement of visitors passing by the space.Hidden sensors respond to the presence of commuters, generating bursts of movement that cause the snow throughout the space to swirl. Most visitors won't even realise they've activated the installation. They're simply walking through the station as they always would. That invisible participation perfectly reflects the wider theme of the season. Whether intentionally or not, people continuously shape the exhibition simply through their presence. We hope that for those who stop to spend more time with the work, these moments of activation begin to open up more personal reflections around memory, atmosphere and the ways our environments quietly influence our emotional lives.The final project, by Sveva Crisafulli, moves in a completely different direction. Through a performance and accompanying editorial publication, she investigates the practice of cake sitting—a subject that initially surprised us because none of us were familiar with its history. As we began researching the project together, we realised it opened up much broader conversations around the body, sexuality, food, spectacle and feminist theory.Rather than treating cake sitting as an isolated or sensational act, Sveva traces its cultural history from the Renaissance through to contemporary internet culture, asking what this unusual practice reveals about desire, consumption, performance and the ways bodies are viewed in public. Unlike many of our previous exhibitions, this project invites audiences directly into the exhibition space itself, creating a shared encounter rather than one experienced solely through the station windows.Although the two exhibitions are formally very different, they continue the same conversation that has shaped the entire season. Both ask how people participate in artworks, whether consciously or unconsciously. Both question the relationship between spectatorship and embodiment. And both remind us that contemporary art doesn't simply exist to be looked at. It creates situations where audiences become active participants, sometimes without even realising it.After nearly a decade, spazioSERRA has demonstrated that contemporary art doesn't need the neutrality of the white cube to have an impact. If anything, its power is amplified by the unpredictability of public life. Within the constant movement of Milan's Lancetti station, exhibitions become part of the city's rhythm rather than an escape from it. They ask commuters to pause, if only briefly, and reconsider the spaces they move through every day.Throughout our conversation, one idea surfaced repeatedly: relationships. Relationships between artworks and architecture, artists and audiences, strangers sharing the same space, and the fleeting moments of attention that connect them. Whether through Joan Horrach's reflections on waiting, Valerio Torrisi's meditation on queer recognition, Elisi’s collective’s invisible interactions with memory or Sveva Crisafulli's exploration of bodies, intimacy and spectatorship, every exhibition extends the same conversation. Rather than presenting finished conclusions, they create situations where meaning emerges through encounter.In a city that often prioritises speed, efficiency and constant movement, spazioSERRA offers something increasingly rare: permission to linger. Even if that pause lasts no longer than the time it takes for a train to arrive, the collective hopes that moment of interruption is enough to shift someone's perspective. The station remains a place of transit, but for a few seconds, it also becomes a place of reflection.Ultimately, that's what spazioSERRA has been building all along. Not simply an exhibition space inside a railway station, but a cultural landmark embedded within everyday life, one that reminds us that art doesn't always ask us to step outside the city. Sometimes, it simply asks us to see it differently.

This Sunday, August 9th, we’re welcoming Tiwa Savage to Patta Amsterdam for an exclusive meet & greet.A global Afrobeats icon and the first woman to win the MTV EMA for Best African Act, Tiwa Savage has helped shape the sound of a generation. This is your chance to meet one of Nigeria’s most influential artists, so come join us this weekend in our Amsterdam store.🗓 Sunday, August 9🕠 17:30–19:00📍 Patta AmsterdamSee you there.

Patta London welcomes namesbliss and Elijah for an intimate panel talk on Thursday, August 6th. Entry is free and first come, first served, with drinks provided by Mirchi.Fresh from the release of his new album, where’s bliss?, namesbliss joins London-based DJ and writer Elijah for a conversation exploring music, creativity, community and the realities of building a career within the UK underground.namesbliss has developed a sound that brings together jazz, grime and East Coast hip-hop storytelling. Following the breakthrough success of “Iniesta Flow” and his debut album Lively Experience, where’s bliss? marks the next chapter in his journey. Elijah has spent more than a decade helping shape UK music culture through Butterz, Rinse FM and his Yellow Squares project, creating new ways to think about independent creativity and sustainable artistic careers.Thursday, August 6thPatta London18:00 

Bokke8 released his new track Op Me Best under the Hella Cash label. The track, produced by Whiteboy does not disappoint. The official music video, directed by Luuk Sieben, gives an extra level of visual understanding of the strong storytelling Bokke8 is known for. 

The visual for the brand new single Vliegveld from Nnelg, Yung Felix, and Rits is out now.  

Thank you for taking on the #Patta153 with us. 153 km of cycling to commemorate and honour the abolition of slavery in Suriname and the Dutch Caribbean, while acknowledging the generations who endured its violence and the lasting impact it continues to have today. Whether you joined us physically or took on the distance on your own, wherever you are in the world, we see you.Some bagged the 51k, others the 102k, and many rode the full 153k. No matter the distance, we did it as a collective on an important day of remembrance.Big up Rapha Amsterdam for the much-needed support station and Lazer Sport for keeping our heads safe. Thanks to De Regenboog Groep, Streetwise Cycle Team and Chroma Cycling for showing up with your crews and bringing the best energy. Until next time.💚Who’s going to be there for the #Patta154 next year?

Interview by Passion Dzenga and Liesje VerhaveAs Afrobeats continues its global rise, Dope Caesar is emerging as one of the most exciting DJs shaping its sound and culture, but her success didn’t happen overnight. Long before the viral transitions, international bookings and sold-out shows, there were years spent studying other DJs, practising endlessly at home, learning technical precision at Vibes DJ Academy, and grinding through weekly club residencies in Lagos, one of the most demanding nightlife scenes in the world.For nearly a decade, Dope Caesar has been refining her craft in real time: playing four-night-a-week residencies, learning how to read impatient Lagos crowds, testing risky transitions live in clubs, and developing the instinct required to control a room rather than simply play songs. The viral moments people see online today are often ideas she’s been quietly sitting on for years, waiting for the right crowd and the right moment to finally understand them.Get familiar as Dope Caesar reflects on the unseen hours behind her rise, the discipline required to survive Lagos nightlife, balancing technical skill with crowd control, and why boldness matters more than perfection. As she prepares for a new chapter of global touring, she speaks on staying grounded, navigating a male-dominated industry, and understanding that true success is built long before the world starts paying attention.Recently, you’ve really broken through online. Your sets are going viral and your name is travelling globally. Does it feel like you’re in your “I’ve made it” era now, or do you still feel like you’re just getting started?Well, it’s in between. I approach life from the perspective that you don’t really know how far you’ve come until the journey has ended. Someone else is going to write that story eventually. I don’t even know myself yet. So I feel like I’ve made it because obviously I’ve grown, but at the same time I’m also just getting started because I don’t know where the story ends. It sits somewhere between those two things.And you’ve been doing this for almost a decade now, right?Nine years.Congratulations. Maybe we can go back to the beginning a little bit. What did those early days at Vibes DJ Academy look like for you?Honestly, those days felt like, “Do you even know what you’re doing?” — but you kind of do. I was already DJing before I got there, but I didn’t fully know whether I was doing things correctly. Going to Vibes DJ Academy validated everything I had taught myself through research and practice.But then another challenge came up: how do you present technical skill in a way that regular people can connect to? Because people can easily box you in as “a DJ’s DJ” or someone who should just do competitions, but that doesn’t always work on a dance floor. So it became about translating technical ability into something people can actually feel in a party environment.So it was a transition from technical skill into learning how to control a room?Exactly.What was it about the academy environment that created that shift?The tutors. They had very technical DJs there, like DJ Massive and DJ Consequence, who are some of the best party DJs in Nigeria. So you had both worlds in one space: technical precision and crowd control. You could learn different things from each person and merge them into your own style.Dope Caesar is wearing the Patta Track Top Cardigan, the Patta Acid Wash Fuchsia Purple Denim Pants, and the Patta Boxing T-Shirt.Lagos nightlife is famously intense and competitive. Did growing within that environment shape your identity as a DJ?Definitely. The real leap happened in 2022 when I started working in a club. That became my platform to really show myself. But Lagos crowds are already used to certain things. You can’t just come in and say, “This is what I do now.”So it forced me to think differently. You can do all the hard technical stuff, but how do you make simple things exciting? Nigerians are impatient — everything has to hit immediately. Timing matters. Precision matters. Lagos keeps you on your toes constantly.Were you performing for yourself at that stage, or for the crowd?At first, definitely for the club. But I also have to put myself into it because that’s why I DJ. I have a piece of myself to give people. If I remove myself completely, then something is missing. But DJing is still for the dance floor too. You can’t make it entirely about yourself. It’s about balance.How did you first enter the Lagos nightlife scene?It’s actually the craziest story. I got a random WhatsApp message from someone saying he wanted to open a club and believed in me. I genuinely thought it was a scam because I wasn’t popular at all. But it turned out to be real.The funniest part is that at the time, I had barely even been to clubs myself. I’d probably only gone out three times in my life. But I still said yes. Then I started calling my DJ friends asking what songs they played. I studied other DJs constantly, recorded sets, watched how they controlled rooms, and practiced from there.And what did that residency look like?Four nights a week. Full-time job energy.And now you’re resident at two places, right?Yeah, now I’m a resident at Mr Panther and Guest List every Saturday. The sound, the drinks, the people - everything is amazing there and it’s for the few only, you just have to be there!One thing people really associate with you now is transitions. Your sets feel very fluid and unexpected. How do you approach building them?Chaotically, honestly. Ideas just come to me and I test them out. But over time I’ve developed rules for myself: musicality, timing, key, energy. A lot of my transitions are personal challenges. Sometimes I’m literally trying things just to prove to myself that I can do them. Transitions are risky. When they work, it’s incredible. When they fail, it’s disastrous. But I enjoy that risk.Do you test those ideas beforehand or live in the club?It depends on the crowd and the environment. You have to earn certain moments. Some transitions I’ve had for years and never played because the environment wasn’t right yet. That viral transition everyone knows? I’d already been doing it long before people saw it online. It just finally reached the right audience at the right moment.What separates a DJ who simply plays songs from someone who actually controls a room?Being bold. I don’t even think DJing itself is my talent. I know how much work it took to learn. The difference is being willing to take risks. If you take risks, you gain power over the room. You can’t play safe forever. No single moment defines you anyway. You learn from the good moments and the bad ones.Dope Caesar is wearing the Patta Track Top Cardigan, the Patta Acid Wash Fuchsia Purple Denim Pants, and the Patta Boxing T-Shirt.Your career is becoming increasingly global now. How has that changed your life?It’s crazy because I’ve been to countries where I genuinely wonder how people even know me there. But at the same time, my life is still normal. I still play with kids in my neighbourhood. It’s not that deep to me. What I appreciate most is experiencing different cultures while sharing mine too. It’s very symbiotic. What excites you most about touring? The challenge. Certain regions are so multicultural. For instance, my  Amsterdam show at Melkweg had the most diverse crowd I’ve ever seen. That really challenged me because you can’t rely only on what works in Lagos anymore. You have to understand different cultures and figure things out in real time. That excites me.What’s the difference between Dope Caesar online and Dope Caesar in real life?I honestly don’t know how people perceive me online. I think people assume I’m mysterious because I wear glasses and don’t speak too much. But I’m actually very playful. Everybody around me knows I joke constantly. I’m very minimal in how I dress and move, and I think people build a perception around that. But I’m not trying to create some fake persona. I’m just myself.Your image has become very recognisable too — the shaved head, the minimal styling. How did that become part of your identity?It happened naturally. I used to grow my hair before, but during a certain period in my life I kept telling my friends I wanted to shave it off. Everyone said I’d never actually do it. Then one day I looked in the mirror and decided to do it. My sister shaved it off for me. Some people loved it, some people hated it, but I liked it, so I kept it. I never planned for it to become part of my identity. Same with the way I dress. I like comfortable clothes and sneakers. I’m not overly fashion-focused. It just became associated with me naturally.Are original productions the next step for you musically?Yeah, definitely. I want to explore it and see where it takes me creatively.The DJ space — especially in Nigeria — has historically been very male-dominated. What has your experience been like as a woman entering that space?The ecosystem has changed a lot. More women are entering DJ culture now and I love seeing it.I always tell female DJs: just do you. People are going to talk regardless. Come with your nails done. Come feminine. Come however you want and still destroy the set. DJing isn’t about physical strength. It’s mental. It’s rhythm. It’s energy. And honestly, for a long time — controversial or not — the best DJ in Nigeria was DJ Switch. But because the industry was so male-dominated, she didn’t always receive the visibility she deserved. Now things are changing. Female DJs are finally part of the main conversation.What advice would you give to young women trying to enter that world now?Practice. Practice. Practice. Stay humble. Virality is not professionalism. When hype disappears, skill is what remains. So you need to actually know what you’re doing. And don’t just follow trends because they worked for someone else. Know yourself first. Beyoncé still rehearses constantly, so what excuse does anyone else really have?Before we wrap, what’s one song that always works in the club?“All I Do Is Win.” Every single time. People complain online about DJs always playing it, but the second it comes on, everybody’s hands go up. It’s hilarious. So that makes it funny. So that’s a track that always works multiculturally, but personally? “Ozeba” by Rema. Anytime I hear that song, I lose my mind.Check out Dope Caesar's upcoming shows or music releases here.  

Interview by Liesje Verhave | Photography by Joël stay away from dante!, is one of the most vibrant sounds currently emerging from Amsterdam-Zuidoost. Since the release of his EP Duizend Volle Manen and his participation in Popronde 2025, it has become increasingly difficult to stay away from him, with a busy festival season and a headline tour now on the horizon.His dedication to his creative practice is evident in the way he expands his musical releases into larger visual and narrative worlds, as seen in the short film that accompanied Duizend Volle Manen. Literary references, endless curiosity, and a self-proclaimed nerdy fascination with storytelling are woven throughout both his work and personality.We spoke with him about the beginnings of his musical journey, his recent performance at Lentekabinet, and what lies ahead this summer.You've been releasing music since 2022, but what made you decide to create such a conceptual and narrative-driven project with Duizend Volle Manen?I've actually been making music since I was sixteen. Back then, I looked up to artists like Kanye West and Tyler, The Creator, who were incredible storytellers. Their music was about building worlds. At first, making music was more of a joke. Then, a few years later, I started learning piano and producing my own songs. That's when I began working on Duizend Volle Manen.I wanted my first major project to feel like a complete story. I was inspired by artists who built worlds through their music and wanted my debut project to feel like a world of its own.Alongside the project, you also released a short film. What was it like translating the music into a visual story?It was a completely different process. I spent years working on the music itself, but I also spent years developing the story behind it. Once the music was finished, I had to figure out how to translate those ideas into visuals. I created a detailed mood board and outlined the entire narrative before presenting it to the video team. Together, we refined the story and assembled a production team to bring it to life.The biggest challenge was making sure the visuals communicated what I already understood through the music. In my head, the songs made perfect sense, but they also had to make sense on screen. The team at Time Code Productions helped me bring that vision to life. It was a lot of work, but it was also an incredible experience.You perform under the name stay away from dante! Where did that name come from?The name comes from the Italian writer Dante Alighieri.I was reading about him and learned more about his life, particularly the fact that he wrote The Divine Comedy while living in exile from Florence. That book went on to influence literature, religion, and culture in a massive way.I found that incredibly inspiring. I wanted to incorporate his name into my artistry somehow. The "Stay Away" part is a reference to his exile from Florence, while "Dante" comes directly from him. The name became a way of acknowledging both his influence and the idea of creating something meaningful despite being pushed away from familiar spaces.You seem deeply interested in storytelling and world-building. What were you like growing up? Were you already creating imaginary worlds as a child?Definitely, my mother always tells me that when I was young, I spent hours looking through atlases and maps. I was fascinated by geography, pirate stories, space, and anything that suggested a larger world beyond what I knew.I've always been drawn to imagination and discovery. As I got older, that fascination expanded through anime. Shows like Avatar: The Last Airbender, Dragon Ball Z, and Naruto had a huge impact on me because they created these rich, fully realised worlds.At the same time, I was discovering music. I naturally gravitated towards albums that told stories and felt cinematic. That's why projects like The College Dropout and The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill resonated with me so strongly; they felt like complete experiences. I've always been attracted to worlds that don't quite exist in reality but feel real through imagination.You grew up in the Bijlmer, and it seems to play an important role in both your life and your work. What is it about the Bijlmer that continues to inspire you, and why do you think it has produced so many artists and storytellers?The Bijlmer is, in my opinion, the warmest and most colourful neighbourhood in Amsterdam. That warmth and colour are still present in everything I do. You can hear it in my music, see it in my videos, and even notice it in the way I dress and communicate. The energy of where I grew up has stayed with me.I think what makes the Bijlmer so inspiring is a combination of the environment and the people. It's incredibly green. There are parks, trees, and open spaces everywhere. Whenever I need inspiration or simply want to clear my head, I go for a walk or a bike ride through the area. There's a place near where I live called the Bijlmerweide, and every time I'm there I'm reminded of how unique it is to live somewhere that feels both urban and connected to nature at the same time.The other thing is the culture. Growing up, everyone wanted to create something. People were freestyling, dancing, acting, making music, playing football, or dreaming about performing on bigger stages. I honestly can't think of a single friend from my childhood who didn't have some kind of creative ambition. When you're surrounded by that energy from such a young age, it becomes normal. You grow up believing that creating something is possible because everyone around you is trying to do it too. More than anything, it's that warmth, creativity, and sense of possibility that continue to shape my work.You taught yourself piano and production. What drove that obsession with sound and learning instruments?It's actually a funny story because when I first started making music, I only saw myself as a rapper.I started writing raps when I was sixteen and spent about three years focusing entirely on lyrics. Then, when I was around nineteen, a friend of mine—someone a few years older—gave me some advice that completely changed my perspective, "You're unique. You tell stories in a way that feels different. If you really want to do this, you need to understand music."If I wanted to become the best version of myself as an artist and truly build worlds through my music, I needed to learn an instrument and understand how songs were constructed.Eventually I took his advice seriously and started studying the artists I admired. I realised they all had a deep understanding of music beyond simply writing lyrics. That inspired me to start learning piano and producing my own material. Looking back, that advice changed everything.Last year you participated in the Popronde and performed at the final showcase in Amsterdam. What was that experience like?It was an incredible experience. For the first time, I was performing almost every weekend. The schedule could start on Thursday and continue through Sunday, so there was a constant rhythm of travelling, performing, and adapting.Not every venue was ideal. Sometimes you'd find yourself playing in a small bar that didn't seem suited for a hip-hop show at all. But that's exactly what made it valuable.You learn how to make something work regardless of the circumstances. You learn how to create energy in a room, connect with people, and build a performance no matter where you are. Earlier that year, I had been supporting Sef during his tour. During that run, we worked with a live performance coach who taught me and the band how to be more present on stage and engage more effectively with an audience.By the time Popronde came around, I had already released the EP, so I went into the tour with a clear objective: tell the story of the project live while applying everything we'd learned.By the end of the tour, we were performing a completely different version of the show than the one we started with. When we eventually played our headline show at Paradiso, it stood above everything else. The show sold out. The audience showed so much love. We were finally able to present the complete version of the live concept we'd been developing all year. That was a very special moment.You're heading out on your first proper headline tour later this year. Will audiences see the same show, or are you building something new?We're building something new. By the time the tour starts, the next project will be out as well, which means there will be a lot of new music to work with. Because of that, the show needs to evolve.I always want the live experience to reflect where I am creatively at that particular moment. So while some elements will carry over from the previous performances, we're definitely creating something fresh for this tour.Your tour is called the “FREE SANTI”, and the character of Santiago plays a major role throughout the EP. Who is Santiago?Santiago is essentially a character based on my personality between the ages of nineteen and twenty-four. That period of your life is a strange transition. You're moving from being a teenager into adulthood, and suddenly everything becomes more serious. You're learning new lessons, taking on more responsibilities, and figuring out who you are.I think all of us have a fight-or-flight response when life becomes challenging. You can either let circumstances overwhelm you, or you can confront them and try to become a better version of yourself. In the story, Santiago chooses to run. But that escape is really a metaphor. He's trying to escape unhealthy patterns, old habits, and parts of himself that no longer serve him.Ultimately, he's searching for growth. In many ways, Santiago is me during that chapter of my life.The next project is arriving later this year. Is it a continuation of Santiago's story?Not exactly. It's not “Santiago 2.0” or a direct sequel. What it is, though, is another chapter in the larger story of my life. The new project focuses much more on love, relationships, and the lessons that come with them.It's a different theme and a different stage of personal growth, but it's still rooted in storytelling.I see it as another chapter in the same book rather than a continuation of the exact same narrative.Aside from the new project, are there any performances you're particularly excited about this summer?Absolutely. I'm really looking forward to Down The Rabbit Hole. That's a huge one.I'm also excited for Into The Great Wide Open, Solar Festival, and Wildeburg. Those are all festivals I've wanted to play for a long time. It's going to be a busy summer, but in the best possible way.There are some great collaborations on the EP, including IGOR, Nnelg, and more. How did those collaborations come about?The collaboration with IGOR happened very naturally. We've known each other since around 2023. He first reached out after hearing one of my singles and suggested we make some music together. We ended up spending a lot of time in the studio and actually made enough material for an entire collaborative EP.While I was working on Duizen Volle Manen, it felt obvious to involve him. He immediately connected with "Santiago Zei" and ended up becoming the final addition to the project.He wrote his verse, added some string arrangements, and helped elevate the track. It all happened very organically.The collaborations with Nnelg and Ray Fuego came from admiration. I grew up listening to SMIB and always imagined having at least one SMIB feature on my first major project. When I was working on the song, I sent it to them and explained the vision. As someone who grew up listening to their music, having them involved felt very special.How do songs usually begin for you? Does a project start with a story, a visual idea, a melody, or something else entirely?Most songs begin with an emotion. I'll experience something, watch a film, hear a story, or connect with a character, and that creates a feeling. Once I identify that feeling, I start asking myself what its soundtrack would sound like. Then I'll sit behind the piano, find the right chords, and start building from there with melodies, drums, and rough ideas.Most songs begin as simple 30-second loops with placeholder lyrics and unfinished production. I'll listen to those ideas for days or even weeks, gradually refining them while making sure I never lose sight of the original emotion. I keep adjusting and rebuilding until the music captures exactly the feeling I imagined.Your music blends hip-hop, soul, pop, and more experimental influences. Are there any new sounds you're excited to explore in the future?Definitely. The new project already pushes me into some new territory while also going deeper into the sounds I've explored before. There's still a lot of soul music in it. There's funk, and a strong influence from the late '70s and early '80s. You'll also hear touches of reggae and dub throughout the project. More generally, though, I'm always discovering new music.If in a few years I decide I want to make a full reggae album, I'll do it. I've never wanted to limit myself to one genre. I want to follow my curiosity and let the music lead me wherever it wants to  go.People know you through your music, your visuals, and your performances, but what's something people often misunderstand about you?That's a great question. One thing I hear a lot is that people expect me to be very quiet and extremely introverted when they meet me for the first time. I understand why they think that. A lot of my work is reflective and thoughtful, and I'm definitely a nerd in many ways. I love stories, books, films, and world-building. But at the same time, I'm also very extroverted.I'm still a Bijlmer kid. I enjoy football, going to the gym, hanging out with friends, joking around, and being social. I think people sometimes assume that creative people only exist inside their creative identities. But I'm not just a musician or storyteller. I'm also just a regular person with ordinary interests and experiences.Maybe that's what surprises people the most.Finally, is there anything you'd like people to know before the tour and the next chapter of your journey begins?More than anything, I hope people come out and experience the live show.I've spent years building these stories, creating the music, and developing the world around the project. The live performance is all those pieces coming together. Between the upcoming festivals, the new music, and the tour, this feels like the beginning of a new chapter. I'm excited to share it with people and see where the journey goes next.Catch stay away from dante! live this summer at Down The Rabbit Hole, Into The Great Wide Open, Solar Festival, and Wildeburg or later this year when he takes his world on the road with the FREE SANTI TOUR.

Interview by Passion DEEZSixteen years after their last full-length release, Roll Deep return not as a nostalgia act, but as a living institution. Through generations of artists, changing line-ups and shifting eras of grime, the crew never really disappeared. Now, with Best in the Game arriving via FABRICLIVE., they're reminding everyone why their influence remains woven into the DNA of British music.For many artists, a comeback implies a period of absence. For Roll Deep, the story is different. The founding grime crew may not have released a full project together in sixteen years, but the collective never stopped moving. Members continued building careers across music, fashion, business and broadcasting, while the wider Roll Deep legacy continued to echo through every generation of grime that followed. "We never really left," says Breeze. "It wasn't like we ever sat down and said, 'We're not doing this anymore.' We've always been in contact. We've always been around each other. Making music together again just felt natural."That sense of continuity runs throughout Best in the Game. Rather than attempting to recreate a past moment or chase contemporary trends, the project feels like a reaffirmation of what Roll Deep has always represented: raw energy, brotherhood and the collective spirit that helped define grime from its earliest days. For Manga St Hilare, the return is less about nostalgia and more about perspective. "We've been here for so long," he explains. "The sound has gone through different generations, different stages, different artists. People said grime was alive, then dead, then alive again. So to still be here making music and enjoying it after all that is a blessing."That perspective comes naturally when your alumni network includes some of the most influential names in British music. Wiley, Skepta, JME, Flowdan, Tinchey Stryder, Trim and countless others all passed through Roll Deep's ranks at different points, making the crew less of a group and more of an ecosystem. Yet none of the members speak about that legacy with surprise. "This is all we know," says Breeze. "We've always been great. Everyone's always had their own thing going on individually, and then when we come together, it just works." Karnage agrees, comparing Roll Deep to a giant machine whose individual parts never stopped moving. "Everyone's got their own path," he says. "Flowdan's doing his thing. J2K's got his trainer brand. Everybody's always been active. Then, when we come together, like Voltron, it becomes something bigger."Ask any member what truly defines Roll Deep and none of them mention chart positions or records sold. Instead, they talk about brotherhood. "It's not a boy band," Breeze laughs. "Nobody put us together. We grew up together. This is family." That family dynamic remains central to how Roll Deep operate creatively. There are no complicated formulas when it comes to writing music. No calculations around who should appear on a particular track. No strategic discussions about streaming numbers. Instead, songs emerge organically. "We'll hear a rhythm and whoever wants to jump on it jumps on it," Breeze explains. "Some people might suit one track more than others. Some people might not want to be on it at all. We just want whatever's best for the team."Manga describes the process even more simply. "It's not a business decision," he says. "It's just vibes. If everyone wants to be on a track, cool. If only two people want to do it, that's cool too. We're brothers first." That spirit has allowed Roll Deep to survive where many other collectives disappeared. Individual success was never viewed as a threat to the group. Instead, it strengthened it. Roachee believes that being part of Roll Deep creates a standard of quality that members carry throughout their lives. "When you're around people constantly achieving things, it pushes you," he says. "Everybody who came through Roll Deep has gone on to do something. Music, business, fashion, whatever it is. Being around that energy keeps you accountable."Despite grime's journey into arenas, fashion campaigns and global culture, the crew remain adamant that everything starts with pirate radio. For Karnage, the pirate era remains the single most important part of Roll Deep's identity. "It was the foundation," he says. "Before social media, before streaming, before any of that. Pirate radio was where people heard us. It was where we developed."As Roll Deep describe it, pirate radio functioned as both training ground and proving ground. It taught timing, chemistry, crowd control and the instinctive understanding that still defines their music today. "Everything comes from radio," Manga explains. "The way we write songs. The way we perform. Even knowing when it's someone else's turn to come in. All of that comes from radio."Breeze agrees. "You always go back to what you know," he says. "That's the roots."That rawness remains central to Roll Deep's philosophy today. While many artists spend years polishing records for streaming platforms, the crew still think about music through the lens of performance. For Manga, grime loses something when it becomes too clean. "The songs are one thing," he says. "But when you see grime live, it's completely different. That's where the energy is." He believes this is why grime can sometimes be misunderstood by audiences unfamiliar with its live culture. "When people watch a clip online, they think they're watching rappers perform. But we're not just rappers. The energy is different. You have to be there." Breeze is even more direct. "It's called grime for a reason," he says. "It's not supposed to be polished."The crew's return arrives through FABRICLIVE., a partnership that feels almost inevitable given the shared history between grime and London's most iconic club space. Interestingly, the collaboration only happened after the music was already finished. "We had the project done," Manga explains. "The music, artwork, everything. We just needed the right home for it." That home turned out to be fabric. "They understand what we're trying to do," he says. "Some places don't always understand where grime belongs or how to position it. fabric gets it." Beyond the label itself, the venue carries symbolic weight."fabric is grime's club," Manga says. "When people around the world talk about clubs in London, they talk about fabric. Roll Deep is a London institution and fabric is a London institution. It just makes sense."Leading the campaign is B.U.N, a track built around one of the most iconic lyrics in grime history. For the crew, choosing it as the first single was an easy decision. "We wanted people to hear something instantly recognisable," says Manga. "When you hear that lyric, you know exactly what it is." The track also serves as a showcase for Scratchy, whose contributions as a producer are often overlooked. "A lot of people don't realise how good Scratchy is as a producer," Manga says. "So it felt right to come back with one of his beats and one of his most famous lyrics." The result acts as both a reminder and a statement: Roll Deep's foundations remain intact, but their creative energy remains firmly rooted in the present.Perhaps the most striking aspect of Roll Deep's return is their relationship with younger artists. Rather than viewing new generations through the lens of competition, the crew speak about them with admiration and curiosity. Manga points to emerging artists carrying the torch in their own way. "The new generation have their own energy," he says. "They respect the history but they're not trying to recreate 2003. They're trying to make their own history."Roachee has experienced the generational shift firsthand. "I get voice notes from young artists all the time," he says. "One kid told me he felt blessed just to be born and know Roll Deep. That's crazy to hear." For him, those interactions provide motivation. "The young generation give me energy," he says. "Being around them makes me want to keep writing and keep going." The influence now stretches across multiple generations. Some of the artists inspired by Roll Deep weren't even born when the crew first emerged. "It's surreal," Breeze admits. "Seeing kids who weren't alive when we started looking up to us—that's surreal."The title of Roll Deep's forthcoming mixtape carries a certain weight. Yet after speaking with the crew, it doesn't feel like arrogance. Instead, it feels like confidence built over decades of consistency. The members know exactly what they are, where they came from and what made them important in the first place. They are not interested in reinventing themselves for algorithms or chasing whatever sound happens to be trending. Instead, Best in the Game serves as a reminder that some foundations never disappear.Sixteen years after their last full-length release, Roll Deep are still operating according to the same principles that built grime in the first place: community, competition, creativity and collective energy. The format may evolve. The generations may change. But the essence remains the same. As Breeze puts it: "We wanted to keep it raw. We wanted to keep it Roll Deep."Roll Deep's influence is written into the DNA of British music. With Best in the Game on the horizon, now is the perfect time to reconnect with the crew that helped shape grime as we know it. Check out B.U.N and follow the journey via FABRICLIVE.

Interview by Liesje Verhave | Photography by Nick HeldermanFor most people, a debut novel would be enough of a creative milestone. For Xillan Macrooy, it became one part of a much larger transformation. Over the past year, the Surinamese-born multidisciplinary artist has expanded beyond the role of musician with an ambitious three-part project spanning literature, theatre and music. Beginning with a debut novel recently nominated for the Hebban Debuutprijs, continuing through an award-nominated theatre production and culminating in an upcoming album, the work traces a deeply personal journey through queerness, memory, identity and self-invention.Xillan Macrooy doesn't see these projects as separate disciplines. They're different manifestations of the same impulse: storytelling. Long before studying music at conservatory level, before performing on stages across the Netherlands, and before writing songs from a queer perspective, he was a child drawing pictures inspired by books and inventing stories to accompany them. Somewhere along the way, music became the dominant medium. The last few years have been about remembering that it never had to be the only one.At the centre of this creative expansion sits a question that has followed him throughout his life: what becomes possible when you allow yourself to be more than one thing? We caught up with Xillan to discuss storytelling, Suriname, language, queer representation, artistic transformation and why his latest body of work is ultimately about learning to let go.You recently published your debut novel, Mensen als zonnen en mensen als manen, but writing seems to have been part of your creative life long before that. When did you realise you wanted to be a storyteller rather than simply a musician?Music has been my main focus since I was a teenager. I moved to the Netherlands to study at the conservatory, and over time, music became such a central part of my identity that I almost forgot how I worked as a child. When I was younger, I moved naturally between different forms of creativity. If I read a book, I would draw something inspired by it. If I painted something, there was usually a story attached to it. I wasn't separating disciplines in the way we often do as adults. Everything was connected.At some point, I realised there was something that still felt incomplete. I love music and I always will, but when I started asking myself why I make songs in the first place, the answer wasn't that I wanted to sing. It wasn't even that I wanted to make records. The answer was that I wanted to tell stories.Once I started saying that out loud, things began to happen. People started responding to that idea. The publisher who eventually released my novel heard me talk about storytelling during a podcast and asked if I'd ever considered writing a book. It was a question I'd secretly wanted someone to ask my entire life.Writing a novel always felt like one of those dreams reserved for a very small group of people. It seemed distant. Unrealistic. But by that point I was already beginning to accept that I didn't want to be limited to a single artistic identity. I wanted to experiment. I wanted to move between worlds. I wanted to be a shape shifter.The novel began as a memoir before becoming fiction. Why did that change?Initially, I thought I was writing a coming-of-age memoir. I spent months creating timelines and mapping significant moments from my life. But the deeper I went into that process, the more I realised it was triggering things I wasn't ready to relive exactly as they happened. What I discovered was that I needed control. As a child and teenager, there were many moments where I felt powerless. Through fiction, I could become the director for once. I could decide what happened. I could alter reality without abandoning it entirely. The book became an alternate version of my life rather than a direct recreation of it.I'm very inspired by Afro-surrealism and shows like Atlanta, where the world appears familiar but something is slightly different. The rules are bent rather than completely broken. That's how I approached the novel. It's not only a story about what happened. It's also a story about what could have happened. About the versions of myself I might have become, the versions I never became, and the versions I'm still trying to become.That's why I didn't give the main character my own name. I wanted readers to understand that this was connected to my life without pretending it was a documentary. It's an alternate reality. And in some ways, that's closer to how memory works anyway. Two people can experience the exact same event and carry entirely different stories about it for the rest of their lives.Queerness sits at the heart of the novel. Why was it important to make that impossible to ignore?When I started writing, I was thinking about the stories I needed as a child growing up in Suriname. For a long time, I believed those stories didn't exist. I thought there were no books written from an openly queer Surinamese perspective. Later, while researching both the novel and my theatre work, I discovered that wasn't entirely true. There are writers who came before me. There is a queer legacy. There are people whose shoulders I can stand on. Finding that legacy made me happy, but it also made me angry.Because if those stories existed, why didn't I know about them? How different would my life have been if I'd encountered them earlier? How much confusion, loneliness and shame could have been avoided? That realisation gave me courage.I didn't want readers to wonder whether the story was queer. I didn't want the central relationships to be interpreted as friendships or hidden beneath layers of implication. The queerness is the heart of the book. It's not a subplot. I felt a responsibility to make that visible in a way I didn't always encounter growing up.The novel centres around twins. Why was that dynamic so important?Partly because I'm a twin myself. But more importantly, twins allowed me to explore the idea that there is no single way to experience queerness. We often focus on outcomes. We celebrate the moment someone comes out, finds love, becomes successful or arrives at some version of themselves. But the journey there is rarely straightforward. There is no blueprint for growing up queer in Suriname. There isn't really a blueprint for growing up queer anywhere. The twins allowed me to explore different responses to the same circumstances. Different ways of processing trauma. Different ways of finding joy. Different ways of surviving. I hope readers recognise themselves in both characters. Not because they're identical, but because they're not. That's the point. There isn't one correct way to be queer. There isn't one correct way to heal. There isn't one correct way to live a meaningful life. I think that's a lesson we still struggle with as societies. We want things to fit neatly into categories. We want a single version of the truth. But there are always multiple truths existing at the same time.Language plays a huge role in the novel. Why was it important to include Dutch, Sranan Tongo and Surinamese Dutch?That was one of the first conversations I had with my publisher. I said that if I'm writing a story about a boy growing up in Suriname, then the book needs to sound like Suriname. I wasn't interested in simplifying that experience for a Dutch audience. When I was growing up, I read books from all over the world and often had to work to understand them. Sometimes I didn't know the references. Sometimes I didn't know the words. But I still entered those worlds. I wanted readers here to experience something similar.What I love about Suriname is the fluidity of language. People move between languages constantly. Within a single sentence, someone might switch from Dutch to Sranan Tongo and back again depending on what they're trying to express.Language isn't just communication. It's culture. It's history. It's rhythm. In Suriname, multilingualism feels natural. It's alive. I wanted to celebrate that. I was also inspired by writers like Edgar Cairo, who challenged traditional ideas about how Dutch should be written and whose work embraced the reality of how people actually speak. That gave me permission to do the same.You describe language almost like music.Because for me, it is. The writing process felt surprisingly musical. I realised very quickly that language has melody. It has rhythm. It has tempo. A lot of the time, I knew a sentence was right because I could hear it. I wasn't analysing grammar or structure in those moments. I was listening. The same instincts I use when writing songs became part of the writing process. I would hear the cadence of a conversation, the flow of dialogue, the rhythm of a scene. In that sense, writing the novel didn't feel like leaving music behind at all. It felt like discovering another version of it.The novel, theatre production and upcoming album all form part of a larger three-part project. What have you learned from working across different mediums?The biggest lesson was realising how much I could trust my writing. Whether I'm writing a song, a play or a novel, storytelling remains the foundation. What changes is the medium. Theatre taught me about presence. About using the body as an instrument. About creating a moment that only exists for the people in the room that night. The novel taught me patience and depth. It gave me the space to explore things I didn't yet have the courage to write about in songs. And the album became something different because of both experiences.What's been fascinating is seeing how each project keeps influencing the others. The book inspired songs. The theatre production changed how I think about performance and even got nominated for the BNG Theaterprijs. Certain scenes in the novel gave me access to emotions I hadn't been able to reach musically before. The projects have been in constant conversation with one another.You've described this entire body of work as an act of shedding.Very much so. I had to write about a lot of things that I needed to let go of. That's one reason why I've decided to end the theatre production this year, even though there are opportunities to continue performing it. I need to move on. The project has served its purpose. Of course, there are moments of joy throughout the work, but much of it required me to revisit difficult experiences. I've learned what I needed to learn from that process.Now I'm interested in exploring joy more deliberately. Not because darkness isn't valuable, but because I've spent a lot of time there already. I want to see what happens when I direct the same level of curiosity toward joy.The album, ACT III: Time Traveler and Graver, arrives later this year. How does it fit into that journey?The album feels like a return, but not a return to who I was before. Music has been my primary medium for so long that it feels natural to end the project there. But I'm returning to it as a changed artist. I'm not going back to being a musician. I'm still a storyteller. The challenge now is bringing everything I've learned from theatre and literature back into music. Making sure those experiences remain part of the work. The album is probably the most shape-shifting project I've ever made. It moves between languages, sounds and perspectives. It's deliberately resistant to being placed in a single box. That feels important to me. For a long time, people wanted clear definitions. They wanted to know exactly what kind of artist I was. This project is my way of saying I don't want to choose.What excites you most about the future?Change. I've always been fascinated by transformation. Being a shape shifter isn't about abandoning previous versions of yourself. It's about carrying them forward while continuing to evolve. I think people are often afraid of change, both individually and collectively. We want certainty. We want stability. But I find change exciting. This project feels less like an arrival and more like a beginning. For the first time, I feel like my vision and its execution are aligned. The work looks the way I imagined it. It feels the way I imagined it. Now I want to see what happens next. I want to keep experimenting. I want to keep surprising myself. And most of all, I want to keep telling stories.Mensen als zonnen en mensen als manen is available now. The final chapter of Xillan Macrooy's three-part project continues later this year with the release of his debut album ACT III: SON. To introduce the final chapter of his project, Time Traveler and Graver will release a double single. Before that, audiences have one last chance to experience the award-nominated theatre production "A coming of (r)age ritual" live during its final performance.