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Words: Passion Dzenga | Photography: AkadreVicky R is wearing the Patta Peace Canvas Hooded Jacket. Born in Gabon and raised between Libreville and Lille, Vicky R has spent more than a decade carving out her own path. Long before becoming one of the most recognisable voices to emerge from Gabon's contemporary music scene, she was a curious teenager teaching herself FL Studio, sending beats to artists she admired and building connections across continents from her bedroom.Over the years, that determination has carried her through multiple reinventions. First as a producer, then as a rapper, and now as an artist whose work extends beyond music into advocacy, cultural exchange and creating opportunities for the next generation of Gabonese creatives. Whether collaborating with legends such as MC Solaar, breaking through in France via La Relève, or working with institutions to strengthen artist rights in Gabon, Vicky has consistently followed her own instincts rather than industry expectations.Ahead of the release of her new project Latitude Zéro, we spoke with Vicky about migration, identity, self-belief, artistic growth and why she's always preferred creating opportunities to waiting for them.Vicky R is wearing Patta Embro Classic Zip Up Hooded Sweater. You were born in Gabon before moving to Lille at a young age. What do you remember most about that transition?It was very complicated at first because I was still very young. My sister was already living in Lille and my parents travelled a lot for work, so there had always been a connection between Gabon and France. We regularly spent time in France during holidays because my father, who was in the military, spent several years studying in Paris.But when I was around eleven years old, I genuinely thought I was only going to France for the summer. I remember reaching the end of the holidays and asking my mother when we were going back to Gabon because school was about to start. That's when she told me I wasn't going back.I was completely shocked. At that age, all I could think about were my friends, my family and the life I was leaving behind. I didn't understand the decision. It felt like everything had changed overnight.As I got older, though, I began to understand my parents' perspective. They wanted me to have opportunities they felt I couldn't access in the same way back home. They wanted me to experience different cultures, meet different people and build a future with more possibilities available to me. At the time it felt difficult. Today I understand it was an act of love.Even after moving to France, you've always maintained a strong connection to Gabon. How important has that been to your identity?It's essential. I've lived in France for many years now, but Gabon is still home. It's where I was born, where my family is, where many of my earliest memories come from and where my relationship with music really began.What's interesting is that I never felt like moving meant leaving one place behind entirely. I've always existed between both worlds. France gave me opportunities and helped shape me into the person I am today, but Gabon gave me my foundation. That dual identity has influenced everything I've done creatively.Even now, when I'm working on projects or thinking about the future, I naturally find myself asking how I can create stronger connections between the two places. That's something that has become increasingly important to me.Music runs through your family. What were some of your earliest musical influences?There was music everywhere in our house. My mother listened to a lot of gospel music, so I grew up hearing choirs and vocal harmonies all the time. My siblings were more interested in R&B and rap, so I was exposed to artists like Brandy, Timbaland and a lot of French rap very early on.I also spent a lot of time in church. Every Sunday I was singing in the choir. Looking back, I think all of those influences blended together naturally. The gospel taught me about emotion and vocals. Rap introduced me to storytelling. African music connected me to my culture. At the time I wasn't analysing any of it. I was simply absorbing everything around me.Before becoming known as a rapper, you were actually making beats. How did that journey begin?Completely by accident. A friend of my sister invited me to a studio session when I was around twelve years old. It wasn't my first time in a studio, but it was the first time I really paid attention to what was happening. I remember seeing someone making music on a computer and becoming fascinated. I asked what software they were using and they told me it was FL Studio 7. I wanted it immediately.They gave me a copy on a USB stick and when I got home I installed it on my computer. My cousins taught me a few basics, but after that I was mostly teaching myself through YouTube videos and experimentation.I became obsessed. I would spend hours figuring things out, making mistakes, starting again and gradually learning how everything worked. I didn't realise it at the time, but those years taught me independence. Nobody was telling me what to do. If I wanted to learn something, I had to figure it out myself.Vicky R is wearing the Patta Loopback Logo Zip Hooded Sweater.You've often spoken about your willingness to reach out to people. Was that already part of your personality back then?Absolutely. Even as a teenager, I understood that nobody was going to discover me if I kept everything to myself. I started finding artists from Gabon online and sending them messages directly. I would introduce myself, tell them I was making beats and ask if I could send them some music. Sometimes people replied. Sometimes they didn't. But I never spent too much time worrying about rejection.That's still how I operate today. If I want to work with someone, I send a message. I don't spend time wondering whether they'll respond or whether I'm important enough. The worst thing that can happen is they don't answer.I've always believed that creating opportunities is better than waiting for them. That mindset led to one of the most remarkable stories from your early career. It really did. A couple of years after moving to France, I returned to Gabon for a holiday. During a concert, someone recognised me as the young producer who had been sending beats to artists online.A few days later, they showed up at my family's house with a camera crew from Gabon's national television station. Suddenly, I was giving interviews, explaining how I made beats and demonstrating my process on camera. I remember thinking it was completely surreal. That broadcast introduced a lot of people in Gabon to my work and helped establish my name before I'd even released much music myself.It's funny looking back because I was just a kid making beats in my bedroom. I never imagined people were paying attention.Eventually, you transitioned from producing to rapping yourself. What sparked that change?I had always been writing. Even while producing, I was writing lyrics and experimenting creatively. When I met my longtime producer, he already knew I was writing but had never really heard me rap properly. One day he encouraged me to try recording something and we started working on songs together.The reaction surprised me. People seemed genuinely interested in hearing my voice and my perspective. That gave me confidence to take it more seriously. The first release was well received, but it was really Lego that changed everything. The story behind Lego has become almost legendary. It's one of those stories that only makes sense looking back. I originally recorded the song while I was in Gabon visiting my father. Everything seemed fine, but after I returned to France the studio contacted me and told me they'd lost my vocals. The entire recording was gone. So I had to re-record the song from scratch.At the same time, somebody else ended up using the original instrumental and releasing music over it, which created a lot of confusion. We eventually had to make changes to the production to clarify everything.Then suddenly people started messaging me. Every week someone would tell me they had heard the song somewhere else. A club. A party. A radio station. When I returned to Gabon, it felt like the song was everywhere. Even today, years later, people still play it. That's something I'm incredibly grateful for because songs rarely have that kind of lifespan. After Lego, many artists would simply repeat the formula. Vicky R is wearing the Patta Hearted Jumper. You chose a different path. Because I was changing. People often want artists to stay exactly the same, especially after a successful record. But I was living in a different environment. I was discovering different music. My inspirations were evolving. The version of me that made Lego wasn't the same person a few years later. Some people around me weren't always happy about those changes. They preferred the sound that had already worked. But I knew that if I wanted a long career, I had to keep growing.For me, artistic development is more important than staying comfortable. One of the biggest turning points came through La Relève and your connection with Mehdi Maïzi. Definitely. That moment changed everything. I remember receiving a message from Mehdi saying he had seen one of my videos and wanted to speak with me about a project. Everybody in France knows who Mehdi is, so I was immediately excited. Being selected for La Relève introduced me to a much wider audience and completely changed the scale of my career. For the first time, major labels were paying attention. Industry people wanted meetings. There was real momentum around what I was doing. It felt like the beginning of a new chapter.Today, you're not only focused on your own career but also on helping artists in Gabon. Why has that become such an important part of your work?Because I know how difficult things can be. There are so many talented artists in Gabon who deserve more opportunities, better infrastructure and stronger protection for their work. Right now I'm involved in projects that aim to strengthen artist rights and build stronger cultural connections between Gabon and France. I think success becomes much more meaningful when you can use it to help other people. I've benefited from people opening doors for me throughout my career. Now I want to do the same for others.Finally, you're preparing to release Latitude Zéro. What does this project represent?A return and a new beginning at the same time. I've spent years exploring different sounds and different versions of myself as an artist. But at the end of the day, I'm still African. That's something I wanted to embrace more openly on this project. Latitude Zéro feels very connected to who I am today. It's influenced by where I come from, but it's also looking forward. More than anything, it feels honest. And that's always what I'm trying to achieve.Now that you got to know the girl behind the music, head down to our radio broadcast in Paris for Fete de la Musique, where Vicky R will be part of the cypher and stick around for our party that will go well into the night. 

As 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.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.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.You’re about to head out on a European tour as well. What excites you most about that?The challenge. Europe is so multicultural. 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.Dope Caeser will be back in Amsterdam on Friday, June 5th at Club Noir, tickets are almost sold out, so head over to their website to get your hands on them now or follow her on socials to find out whereelse she will be in Europe. 

Words by Passion DzengaWith the release of his debut album Never Thought I Could (Part 1), South African singer-songwriter Lloyiso is starting to tell his own story. Before sold-out European shows and collaborations with global artists, Lloyiso was teaching himself production in his mother’s house, busking to get by, and building his career from the ground up. That journey from independence to international recognition sits at the heart of Never Thought I Could (Part 1). Lloyiso touches on building his own team from scratch, the struggles behind releasing the album, and why independence gave him the confidence to trust his instincts. He also reflects on self-belief, burnout, and what it means to finally feel seen by audiences around the world.You’ve recently released Never Thought I Could (Part 1), how does this moment feel for you,  and when you listen back to the album now, what emotions come up?Man, it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I’ve been making this album for a couple of years now, and it’s been a tough time putting it out because some people don’t believe in it. There was a sound that was envisioned for me, but I created my own identity. This identity is truly who I am inside, and I’m just happy that I get to put it out into the world. It sounds like it was quite an uphill battle to get this record together. Why was now the right time to release your debut album?I had to build my own team. I had to build it from scratch. I had to find the people to stand up for what’s right, stand up for artist rights, stand up for real, authentic, raw talent, and not just follow the trends.I needed to find a group of people who are fearlessly unapologetic about expressing themselves in this music industry. So I started from the beginning. I found a label partner, EMPIRE. I put together my management team from all over the world. Everyone I work with is international, which was quite exciting, putting the team together that I have right now. We keep on growing and growing. The Lloyiso “empire”, if you get it, you get it. It’s expanding and becoming like a global partnership, a global-citizen type of thing. I needed to be comfortable in the team that I have to be able to put out this music.You’ve come from busking to self-producing, and now you’re working with major teams globally. Can you talk about that transition and what changed internally for you?It’s been a slow journey. Frustrating at times, because I always knew that I was destined to be on stage and hopefully not having to worry about carrying my own speakers, mixing my own voice, engineering, doing my own sound and managing myself.So I always knew that I needed to do that first before I could get into this place. And I’ve had to be tough. People speak about how dreams can make you harder than you want to be and I’ve had to be harder sometimes. As soft as I can be, I can also be a beast and those moments had to come out.I had to fight for myself. I had to feed myself. Moving out from home, living in a different city - I moved eight hours away from home to Johannesburg, and I basically paid for everything and lived by myself when I was 18 years old. So I’ve had to make those sacrifices of struggle to be able to tell the story. And I think it all comes together. The music is the story and it is the journey of what I was born to do. I had to go through that. I think if I had it easy, I would not have this much insight and depth and understanding of what it is to live for something.It feels like you prioritised independence before collaboration, can you tell us what did that independence give you that traditional systems don’t?It gave me confidence, man. It gave me the confidence that I don’t need anybody. I was doing numbers on YouTube before I got signed. I was basically Lloyiso before the other “L” was taken away. There was something that was trying to be taken away, but I never gave it. I never gave away that control. Never sold my soul. Now they talk about it in the music industry - “don’t sell your soul.” I haven’t sold my soul. I’m not going to sell my soul.I’ve had to be relentless in it. I’ve always fought for what I believe is right. Maybe it’s how I was raised, but being independent is something I’ve always done. I did everything by myself growing up. I walked to school, figured out transport and figured out how to get stationery or a uniform. I was always that kid who wanted better for myself. If I wanted to go to a new school, I’d find a way to get in so it’s always been in me to be independent.You taught yourself how to produce, what is it like being self-taught and what are the challenges that come with that?So I started producing on FL Studio. I played piano when I was like 12 years old, so that made it easier. I wanted a sound that was tailored to me. I felt like I was the only one who understood how my voice should sit in a song. I used to get frustrated going into the studio and producers would cancel on the day, in the morning. I was like, you know what - I’m tired of waiting for these guys. I’m tired of waiting for this moment. So I’m going to go get this moment.I took my mom’s old laptop, I figured it out, and I bought a mic. I plugged it into my old keyboard that I got when I was 12, and I started making music. It got better and better. Ever since then, I’ve been making my own music. That’s where it starts - at home. This album started at home, in my mom’s house, before it got out into the world, before LA. That production needed to happen for me to be fully comfortable in saying the things that I say and singing the way that I do.There’s a cinematic quality to your music. Can you talk about the sonic world you built on this album?It was definitely inspired by growing up listening to pop music – Sam Smith, Westlife, Jennifer Hudson, Beyoncé, Labrinth, Emily Sandé. I also drew inspiration from musicals like Camp Rock and High School Musical. I’m a ’99 baby, so I grew up on that. And gospel too. On this album, I put all of that together with a big inspiration - Kanye West. If you listen closely, you’ll hear it.When I started making the album, he had just put out his documentary, and I was like, you know what – I’m going to figure this out myself. I was inspired by that sound.What’s your process when starting a song? Is it melody, lyrics, or feeling first?It’s always a feeling. I let the feeling drive me. I don’t go into the studio unless I’m feeling really inspired or I have an idea. I’m a quality guy, not quantity. I don’t need to make a thousand songs to find the best one. The best ones come when you’re most inspired.And inspiration comes from life – being present, being outside, not always fixating on music. Watching sports, running when I can. It’s definitely from experiences.Is taking that space part of how you avoid burnout?Yeah, I could definitely be avoiding burnout without even knowing. Right now, I haven’t been in a making music space because I’ve got so much music waiting to come out. Part two is coming out! These songs have been sitting for two to three years, and I haven’t been in the studio since finishing them.Now I’m starting to think about what the next sound is going to be. I’m excited to explore, travel the world, and see where my voice sits best.Can you talk about your collaborations with artists like Martin Garrix and Clean Bandit?It started with me being inspired by their music. I messaged Martin Garrix back in 2016, saying I wanted to work with him. He didn’t see it at the time. Later, after my voice got shared around, he reached out and said he couldn’t believe he missed it. Same with Clean Bandit - I met them in South Africa, got into a writing room, started singing, and they went crazy.We were sending music back and forth across time zones, building the track in real time. It was meant to be. And I think my sound naturally fits within that time zone and space.Your European tour sold out. What was that experience like?Man, it was crazy. We sold out London, Amsterdam. Amsterdam was my favourite show. I didn’t expect people to come out like that. I thought I didn’t have a fanbase there. But it was incredible. I can’t wait to come back.You spent time running in Amsterdam with the community. What did that moment mean to you?It was incredible. I almost cried. To think about where I come from and what it took to get here, and to have a community that trusts me - it made me emotional. I felt seen. And that’s been a theme in my life - not always feeling appreciated or valued. So when that appreciation comes, it feels like finally someone gets it. It was beautiful to experience that.If you finish the sentence “I never thought I could…”, what would you say now?I never thought I could have more self-belief than I did before. I thought it was a phase, but I’ve been able to carry it through. I’ve been consistently appreciating myself and showing up for myself. I’ve realised I can do this. I’m capable of maintaining myself and being kind to myself.Do you still have fears?We’ll have to find out in part two. The story continues. It’s a rollercoaster. Part two will give more insight into what it feels like to be me - or what it might feel like for you too.Was this always planned as a two-part project?Yeah, it was always meant to be connected but not released at the same time. The title came later. After going through all the struggles and finally getting the green light to release the music, I realised - I never thought I could. I remember when I heard the news, I cried for like three days.Is faith important to you?I believe in the universe. I believe there’s something that connects us and gives purpose to everyone’s life.What advice would you give young creatives trying to stay consistent?For me, it was covers. But for someone else, it’s whatever your thing is. You can’t really put it into words. I wouldn’t want to tell someone how to be a superstar. Everyone becomes one in their own way. Trust your intuition. Your first idea is usually 95% right. The world speaks – you just need to listen.Listen to Lloyiso’s new album Never Thought I Could (Part 1) here. 

Words by Passion Dzenga | Photography by SPYDERAt a time when so much music feels engineered for algorithms, Reuben Aziz is building something far more difficult: a world people can emotionally live inside. Raised in Southampton, the 23-year-old artist has quietly built a world of his own — one shaped by emotional honesty, DIY creativity and a refusal to be boxed into genre. His latest mixtape mind the gap feels less like a sophomore mixtape and more like a statement of intent: a project that bridges vulnerability and ambition, faith and self-expression, melody and chaos. Having originally pursued basketball at a serious level before pivoting fully into music, Reuben approaches his artistry with the mindset of an athlete: disciplined, obsessive and constantly evolving. Over the past three years, he has steadily developed a sound that fuses pitched-up melodic vocals, hyperpop textures, alternative R&B and hard-hitting hip-hop production — often self-produced from his bedroom studio. Tracks like “shotgun,” which quickly gained traction online and earned co-signs from artists including Potter Payper and 4batz, have positioned him at the forefront of a new generation of UK artists creating emotionally raw music without sacrificing experimentation or edge. But beyond the viral moments and growing industry attention, mind the gap is rooted in something deeper. Throughout our conversation, Reuben speaks openly about masculinity, vulnerability, faith, purpose and the pressure of modern life. Where earlier music came from sadness and emotional confusion, this new chapter reflects a clearer sense of self — one grounded in his relationship with God and his desire to make music that genuinely uplifts people. Whether discussing the emotional complexity of modern relationships, building an intimate Discord community with fans, or touring Europe while still finding ways to stay spiritually grounded, Reuben carries himself with a level of self-awareness that feels increasingly rare in contemporary music culture.From my research, it seems like you were originally on a serious basketball journey before music became your focus. Looking back, what did that sport teach you that still applies to your music career?Discipline and consistency, for sure. The more I grow in music, the more I realise you have to treat it like a sport. Even though it’s creative, if you want longevity, you have to keep going no matter what’s happening around you. You have to keep creating, whether things are going well or not. Basketball taught me that mindset. It’s about constantly getting shots up, for lack of a better term.So when you talk about discipline, you mean talent alone isn’t enough — it’s really about putting the work in every day?Exactly. If you truly love something, you’re willing to work at it. Anyone who thinks talent alone is enough probably doesn’t love it deeply enough. Greatness comes from pushing yourself consistently. That doesn’t mean making ten songs every session, but it does mean trying to move the needle creatively every time. That’s what I tried to do with this project sonically.Let’s talk about the new project, Mind the Gap. What “gap” are you trying to bridge here?There are a few different gaps in my life that I’m trying to bridge — relationships, my relationship with God, my relationship with music and even my relationship with ambition. There’s also confidence in the title. I feel like I’ve reached a level where there’s a gap between certain people and me in the scene. This project is me showing that I’m ready to fully commit myself to this for the long run.The title also references the UK transport system, which makes it symbolic too. It feels like a journey — making sure you get off at the right stops in life.Exactly. Sonically, I wanted it to feel very London too. Even though people might label me as R&B, I wanted to break that genre barrier. A lot of the production was inspired by the UK underground scene and what’s happening culturally right now. I wanted to put my own stamp on it because I think what’s happening in the UK musically is really special.When I was describing your music to our music director, I genuinely struggled to define it. I called it something like “hyperpop, hyphy alt-rap, futuristic R&B.” It feels new.That’s important to me. If I hear a new artist and they just sound like someone I already know, I struggle to buy into it because I can just go listen to the original. If someone makes R&B that sounds exactly like early 2000s R&B, I’d rather just listen to Aaliyah or Boyz II Men. I want to make something people can’t get anywhere else.Your mixtape jumps across multiple sounds — R&B, hyperpop, and alternative music. Are you consciously trying to create something new?A bit of both. I’m chasing emotion, but production is what creates the atmosphere for those emotions to exist. When I’m thinking sonically, I’m not thinking about genres. I’m asking myself: “How can I make something that hasn’t been made before?” I started as a rapper, so even when I’m making these more melodic songs, the beats still come from a hip-hop mindset — the drums, the 808s, the energy. Everything else layered on top is just whatever the music needs. I genuinely think we don’t have enough artists trying to push R&B forward right now.Your music feels emotional, but also very controlled and intentional. What’s your creative process like? Is recording therapeutic for you?It’s definitely therapeutic. The first song I made for the project was actually the final track, “We’ll Get Married.” After that came “Shotgun,” and once I had those songs, I understood the world I wanted to build sonically. I’m intentional about the sound and direction of the project as a whole, but when it comes to writing, I try to be as emotionally vulnerable as possible. Especially as a man, I think there’s a lack of male singers speaking openly from that space. That’s something I really miss in music.“shotgun” has been everywhere lately. Can you talk about the songwriting process behind that record?It definitely gave me confidence and confirmed the direction I needed to take with this project. I made it at home — I produce everything in my room. I already knew what genres and influences I wanted to blend together for the track. Once I made the beat, I knew the lyrics had to hit emotionally. I went for a walk and wrote the opening lines there. I was being more intentional rather than just casually making another song.“shotgun” is a really beautiful love song — a modern take on romance. What inspired the lyrics?I think love today is complicated. My generation has a strange relationship with it — things can feel toxic and emotionally dishonest sometimes. Personally, I’ve always had a more wholesome or even “Disney” view of love. I think my music reflects me trying to navigate what that kind of love looks like in modern life.I think that honesty is exactly why your music resonates. A lot of people are scared to express what they truly want emotionally because nobody wants to look vulnerable anymore.Especially for men, there’s still stigma around vulnerability. It feels like people think you either have to be completely obsessed with someone or completely detached and reckless. But there’s a healthy middle ground between those extremes.A lot of young artists emotionally exhaust themselves chasing attention. How do you protect your peace while remaining vulnerable in your music?Religion is really important to me. Reading the Bible, going to church, speaking to my friends from church — all of that keeps me grounded. Social media makes comparison very easy, and that can distort how you see yourself. My relationship with God gives me humility and perspective. Without that, I’d probably be a lot more all over the place mentally.Has faith changed how you approach success and ambition?Definitely. There’s a song on the tape called “Ego Death,” and that’s a huge part of my journey. As I’ve grown closer to God, I’ve realised how much pride needs to die inside me. I’ve had to understand that this isn’t just about me. It’s about the music, about making people feel heard, feel joy, feel connection. Ironically, that mindset also pushes me to work even harder because I want the work to live up to that purpose.You’ve built a Discord community where you speak to fans daily. Was that an intentional move away from the superficiality of social media?Definitely. Discord has become a safe space — not just for me, but for the people in there too. Some of them have become real friends with each other. Social media can feel very surface-level. Discord creates intimacy around the music. I can play unreleased songs, get honest feedback and actually have conversations. I don’t even really think of them as “fans.” That word feels too distant. . Especially now, with AI and everything becoming more digital, people are craving physical experiences again — live shows, vinyl, CDs, real talent, real connection.You recently announced a train pop-up show. It’s such a DIY concept. What can people expect?We found this old underground train station-type location and we’re just going to perform there. I’ll bring my guitar, my friend’s DJing and we’ll play songs from the tape and older material too. I think the location helps build the world of Mind the Gap. I want everything around the project to feel intentional — not just the music itself. I don’t want to be lazy with any of this. I want people to feel like they’re stepping into a real world.You’ve also been touring around the UK and Europe with Artemas recently. What was that experience like?It was crazy. One of the most interesting things was performing for audiences who didn’t necessarily speak English, but still connected emotionally to the music. There were definitely moments where people didn’t know who I was yet, so I had to win them over. But songs like “Magic” always connected instantly.That tour taught me a lot about performing and about the importance of having a proper live setup. Artemas’ band was incredible and it made me realise how important a strong team is for building a show properly.There’s such a DIY spirit throughout your journey — bedroom production, self-built communities, self-produced records. Does that independence strengthen your creative identity?Definitely. For a long time, I thought working alone was the only way to create. But now that this tape is finished, I’ve realised I actually want to collaborate more moving forward. I needed these first two tapes to fully prove my own vision to myself and to the world. Now I feel ready to open things up and work with other producers and artists. I’m excited for what comes next.You recently spent time in New York and Atlanta too. What were you working on over there?We did On The Radar, which I’m excited about, and another live session called Red Couch with a full band setup. Because this project is so alternative and processed sonically, I also want people to hear the raw musicality behind it — the live instruments, my natural singing voice, all of that. Outside of that, we were mostly recording new music.Reuben Aziz's new mixtape "mind the gap" is out now! 

Words by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Louis Oomes and Luca Wehneskruzer does not make music that feels accidental. Even when he describes his creative process as organic, there is a clear emotional world running through everything he creates: nostalgic synths inspired by childhood memories, cinematic songwriting rooted in real experiences, and huge melodic hooks designed to be screamed back in crowded venues. Born in Mogadishu and raised in the Netherlands, the Somali-Dutch artist has quietly become one of the most exciting new voices emerging from the Dutch alternative scene, building a sound that sits somewhere between hip-hop, pop, rock and emotional rap music without fully belonging to any of them.PhoHis latest project, VOORBIJ DE ZON (Beyond the Sun), feels like the clearest expression of that vision so far. Built alongside close collaborators and friends, the album blends raw vulnerability with widescreen ambition, pulling influence from Somali music, Kanye West, Kid Cudi, 80s synth music and films like Interstellar. But underneath the experimentation is something deeply personal. kruzer speaks about music less like entertainment and more like documentation — every song capturing a specific moment, relationship or emotional state in his life.You’ve been making music for quite a long time already, but this feels like the beginning of a new chapter creatively. Can you take us back to the start a little bit? What first made you want to become an artist?I started making music when I was around 17, around 2017. I’d always been curious about music and really fascinated by it. Then one of my friends started making music himself, so I asked him if he could teach me how to do it. At first, I was just downloading beats from YouTube, writing songs in my room and going to the engineers to record them. That was really the beginning. Eventually, I started meeting producers and building from there, but honestly, I still hadn’t found my sound yet.Around 2019, I started experimenting much more seriously and trying to figure out what I actually wanted my music to feel like emotionally. That was around the time I met a producer called Big Cam in Rotterdam, and through working with him, I really started shaping my sound. From the beginning, I always wanted to make what I call “stadium status music.” Music that feels emotional but also massive — the kind of music people can sing together live.That ambition is interesting because your music does feel very timeless and echoes the past through its references to 80s synth-heavy music, even when it’s vulnerable. Where does that sound come from?A lot of it comes from my upbringing. I was born in Mogadishu, Somalia, and when we lived in a refugee camp, my mom used to play a lot of Somali music, but also a lot of 80s music. That’s where my love for synths and nostalgic melodies really comes from. Then later, I became obsessed with Kanye West and Kid Cudi. Those are probably my biggest inspirations musically. Especially albums like 808s & Heartbreak and Man on the Moon: The End of Day. I love music that feels emotional and cinematic at the same time.The producer I worked with on VOORBIJ DE ZON, Strayed Saint, is also a huge Kanye fan, so we both wanted the album to feel nostalgic, emotional and immersive. I kept telling him, “This album needs to hit people in the heart.”The project definitely feels cinematic. If VOORBIJ DE ZON was a movie, what would it be?Interstellar. During the time we were making the album, I rewatched Interstellar again, and it really affected me emotionally. One of the hooks on the project was literally inspired by the movie. It’s my favourite film ever. The atmosphere, the emotion, the feeling of space and loneliness and hope — all of that influenced the music a lot.Did you know from the beginning that VOORBIJ DE ZON was going to become a full album?Not at all. It actually started as a small EP with maybe four songs. But we kept making more music and realised we had too much material we loved. At one point, Straight Saint literally looked at me and said, “Why aren’t we just making this an album?” So honestly, the album happened naturally. Every song was worked on heavily, too. Some tracks probably have fifty versions. We were really obsessed over details.And everybody involved in the project is somebody I’m genuinely close with in real life. Nothing was random. GRGY jumped onto one of the songs naturally during the process and made it way better. Vjeze Fur also happened almost accidentally. Everything about the album came together organically.That word keeps coming up when you speak, "organic".Because that’s genuinely how everything in my career has happened. Nothing was forced. Even the relationships I built around music happened naturally.You’ve mentioned before that Ray Fuego played an important role in your development creatively.Definitely. Around the time I was still figuring out my sound, Ray really took me under his wing creatively for a couple of years. He gave me advice, helped me think differently and pushed me creatively. I’m super grateful to him for that.A lot of my connection with the wider SMIB world also happened naturally because my best friend, Bokoedro, already knew people from there. I started going to shows and parties with him, and eventually we all became friends naturally.You also worked with BNYX pretty early on, before he became the huge producer he is now.Yeah, this was around 2019. I was in the studio with a producer friend who had some loops from BNYX. I heard one and immediately asked, “Who made this sample? This is crazy.” Then I checked his work and saw he’d already worked with people like Lancey Foux and Ty Dolla $ign. So I just DM’d him directly and told him I had a song using one of his loops. He replied within fifteen minutes and from there we just stayed connected. We still talk now.Your previous project Elke Koning Heeft Pijn (Every King Has Pain) felt much darker emotionally. Looking back now, what does that project represent to you?That project means a lot to me because at that time, I didn’t really have the resources or people around me that I have now. I didn’t have proper engineers or proper setups. Everything was raw. I was also really depressed during that period in my life.The title came from this idea that everybody is hurting in some way underneath the surface. People only see the bigger picture or the outside image, but they never really know what someone is carrying internally. So for me, the project was about understanding that pain exists in everybody’s life and that you can’t judge people based only on appearances.Your music feels very autobiographical too. Almost like every song documents a specific memory or emotional state.Because every song really is based on real life. My music is basically my diary. Even my biggest song, “Me hart is op,” is literally about my love life. Every track captures a specific moment in my life, so when I listen back to older songs, it feels like revisiting old chapters of myself.There still aren’t many Somali artists visible in alternative music spaces like this. What has that experience been like for you?At first, it felt strange because I wondered if I was the only Somali-Dutch artist making this kind of music. But eventually, I made peace with it. Now I actually hope I can become an example for younger Somali kids so they feel freer creatively. I think it’s important to represent where you come from and not hide it.I heard you sampled one of your mother’s favourite song on your EP Rezurk as well.Yeah. I always wanted to sample that song. The lyrics are very poetic in Somali so it’s difficult to translate properly, but it’s basically about a boy chasing his vision. When I told my mom I used it in the album, she was really happy because she felt like I was honouring my roots.Is there anything creative you still want to explore further?I’m already working on the next album, actually. This next project is going to be way more festival-focused. I want to make music that people can scream together live. I also want to lean further into rock & synth pop influences. Artists like David Bowie and Pet Shop Boys inspire me creatively a lot.You’ve already received support from artists like Ronnie Flex, Ray Fuego and Vjeze Fur pretty early in your journey. What do those co-signs mean to you?It reassures me that I’m on the right path. All those artists make completely different kinds of music, so the fact they all connect with what I’m doing makes me feel like maybe I’m creating something unique. What becomes clear when speaking to kruzer is that his music is less about genre and more about feeling. Every project feels carefully constructed emotionally, even when he insists much of it happened accidentally. Beneath the synth-heavy production, huge hooks and alternative textures is someone trying to document his life honestly while building something larger than himself at the same time. And maybe that is what makes VOORBIJ DE ZON resonate so strongly. It does not sound like an artist chasing trends or trying to fit neatly into a scene. Not because it tries to sound like the future, but because it sounds like someone becoming fully comfortable with who they already are. 

Interview by Passion Dzenga and Liesje VerhaveAs part of our collaboration with the Dutch Sickle Cell Foundation, we spoke to Professor Marjon Cnossen, pediatric haematologist, researcher and one of the driving forces behind the foundation, to better understand the realities of sickle cell disease, why awareness remains so low, and why community-led support matters more than ever. From the outside, sickle cell disease is still widely misunderstood. For many families living with it, that lack of recognition can feel almost as difficult as the illness itself. Through research, advocacy, fundraising and events like the Bijlmer Run, the Sickle Cell Foundation is helping to change that — building not just visibility, but real support for patients and their families.Could you briefly explain what sickle cell disease is for people who may never have heard of it?Sickle cell disease is a hereditary blood disease that mainly affects people of colour, although that includes many different communities. Most patients have ancestors from Africa, but we also see a lot of patients from the Middle East and India. Those are also regions where the disease is very common.The disease developed through something that was originally protective. Thousands of years ago, a mutation in the DNA emerged that helped protect people against malaria, which is common in regions around the equator. If you carried that mutation, you were better protected against malaria, and because of that, many carriers lived longer and passed this genetic trait on to their children. Over time, more and more people became carriers. If two carriers have a child together, there is a one-in-four chance that the child will be born with sickle cell disease.In practical terms, sickle cell disease affects the red blood cells. Normally, they are round, but in sickle cell disease, they become crescent or moon-shaped. These cells can stick together and block the blood flow. Red blood cells carry oxygen, so when blood flow is blocked, parts of the body don’t get enough oxygen. That causes pain, and over time, it can also cause serious damage to organs.What does that mean for daily life?The impact is huge. Patients live with severe anaemia. A healthy person in the Netherlands might have a haemoglobin level around seven or eight, but many sickle cell patients have half of that — around three-and-a-half or four. That means they are tired all the time. They struggle to concentrate. They may not be able to participate in sports or activities like their peers.That’s one of the things I find emotional as a doctor. Sometimes people see these children and say they are lazy or not trying hard enough. But if your haemoglobin level is half of what it should be, of course, you are exhausted. There is a very real reason a child might fall asleep in class.Then there are the extremely painful episodes, called sickle cell crises. These can be triggered by very normal things: cold weather, changes in temperature, stress, fever, infection, dehydration, tiredness. In the Netherlands, that means winter can be especially difficult. Patients often live in anticipation of the next sickle cell crisis.When a severe crisis happens, they may need to come into the hospital for strong pain medication such as morphine, ketamine and other treatments. Sometimes they are admitted for one or even two weeks.And beyond that, there is progressive organ damage. Because blood flow is repeatedly blocked and oxygen supply is reduced, organs can slowly start to fail. We see complications in the kidneys, liver, heart and brain. Patients can have strokes or other very serious long-term consequences.So although it’s a blood disorder, it really affects the whole body.Exactly. It is a systemic disease. It not only affects the blood. It affects the whole life of a patient — physically, mentally and socially. And there is another part people often forget: loneliness. Sickle cell disease is often invisible. If someone has childhood cancer, people understand immediately that something is wrong. They may look visibly ill. But with sickle cell disease, a patient can look “fine” to the outside world, even while living with constant fatigue, recurring pain and serious complications. That invisibility means many people do not understand the disease, and patients often feel very alone.Is that lack of awareness one of the biggest problems?Yes, absolutely. That is one of the biggest issues. Sickle cell disease is not rare globally — around 300,000 babies are born with it every year, and there are millions of people affected worldwide — but in the Netherlands, it is still treated like a rare disease. And even among rare diseases, it receives far too little attention.I also treat haemophilia, and everybody knows what haemophilia is. That shows you something important: awareness is not only about how severe a disease is. It is also about who gets seen, who gets heard, and who has access to influential networks.Patients with sickle cell disease are often too unwell to advocate for themselves. Their families are often working very hard and may not have access to the kinds of systems or connections that help bring national attention. So the disease remains invisible in places where visibility matters.That is exactly why the Sickle Cell Foundation is so important. We want to create a voice for patients and families. We want to make sure sickle cell disease is recognised as the severe and progressive disease that it is.What does treatment look like right now?We provide what we call comprehensive care. Patients are seen regularly, at least twice a year and more often if needed. In childhood, they receive antibiotics because their spleen does not function properly, which means they are more vulnerable to severe infections.From around nine months of age, many children also start a medication called hydroxycarbamide. That can help increase the amount of fetal haemoglobin in the blood, which reduces complications by modifying disease symptoms, making the disease less severe.Some patients also need regular blood transfusions. In more severe cases, especially when there are major complications, we use chronic transfusion programmes or exchange transfusions, where sickle blood is removed and donor blood is given.At the moment, the only curative treatment is stem cell transplantation, which is the same as a bone marrow transplant. The idea is that you replace the patient’s bone marrow — which is producing the sickle cells — with healthy donor bone marrow.That sounds incredibly intense.It is. It can cure the disease, and I have many patients who have been cured this way, but it is also a risky procedure. To do it, you first have to destroy the patient’s own bone marrow with chemotherapy. That makes them very vulnerable. They can get severe infections. The donor bone marrow can also interact with the host (graft versus host disease), causing severe complications. There is also a small but real risk of death. So, although the intervention is very promising, there is also a lot that can be improved.The difficult thing with sickle cell disease is that, ideally, you want to do this treatment when children are still young — before organ damage becomes severe — because the outcomes are better. But at that point, the child is still relatively healthy. It is often very hard for families to decide to put a young child through such an impactful. We as doctors know the disease is progressive, but we cannot predict exactly how severely it will develop in each person. That makes decision-making very difficult.A major part of care also depends on blood and donor systems. Is donor diversity a big issue?Yes, very much so. We need more blood donors from diverse cultural backgrounds. That is incredibly important. The Dutch blood bank Sanquin is actively working on this now, because many of our patients have blood types or blood characteristics that are less common in the current donor pool. The more diverse the donor bank becomes, the better we can care for patients with sickle cell disease and thalassemia. Not everyone is in a position to donate blood regularly, of course, but if you can, it is a very meaningful way to help.So if people want to help in a tangible way, becoming a donor is one step. What else can they do?Talk about sickle cell disease. That is really one of the most important things. Talk about it if you know someone with the disease. Talk about it if you have learned something about it. Share information. Raise awareness. That really matters.People can also support the foundation directly, donate money, support collaborations like this wonderful Patta t-shirt project, and come to events like the Bijlmer Run. These moments are important not only for fundraising but also because they create visibility and community.For us, being in Bijlmer feels very special. Many of our patients and families live there. When we are present there, people already know what sickle cell disease is. They know someone who has it. They come to the stand and say, “I know what this is about.” That feels very different from having to explain it from scratch every time. It feels like coming home.What role does the foundation play beyond raising awareness?We support research, raise funds for better treatment and better care, and help give patients and families a stronger voice. For me personally, the foundation came from frustration. There was simply too little funding, too little awareness, and too little urgency around the disease. We founded the Sickle Cell Foundation in 2017 because we felt something had to change. We started small, but we are becoming more meaningful, and that makes me very hopeful.Are there any key moments this year that people should look out for?Yes! World Sickle Cell Day on the 19th of June is very important. This year, we are organising an event in ITA in Amsterdam for scientists and of course, also for patients! I hope that in the future this event will bring more and more patients together from across the Netherlands. We are growing as a foundation. There is more programming coming. Patients are organising things too. Our new director, Inge, is fantastic. There is a real sense that the foundation is building momentum.Finally, if someone remembers one thing from this conversation, what would you want it to be?Sickle cell disease is serious. It is progressive. It is painful. And it deserves much more awareness than it currently receives. And also: talk about it. Support where you can. Whether that means donating blood, supporting the foundation, buying the t-shirt, coming to the Bijlmer Run, or simply helping spread the word, it all matters. These kinds of collaborations, as we have with the wonderful Team Bijlmer Run and Team Patta, are so powerful because they feel organic. They feel logical. They come from people recognising a shared purpose. And those are always the strongest collaborations.Patta x nijntje T-Shirt available Saturday, May 16th, exclusively at the Bijmer Run.

Interview by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Cody (333visuals) and Adam BrocklesbyAfter more than a decade of bars, radio sets, side quests and underground graft, Window Kid has finally hit the kind of moment that looks sudden from the outside — even though it’s been years in the making. Long before the nominations, sold-out tours and breakout singles, Greg was building his name the old way: on local radio, in club smoking areas, on pirate-energy sets and alongside some of the most vital names in UK rave culture. What makes his rise feel so deserved is that none of it sounds manufactured. Whether he’s shelling a grime beat, fronting a garage anthem or filming YouTube content, there’s still something unmistakably DIY about the way he moves.Now, with a DJ Mag Best MC/Vocalist win under his belt, a huge Sir Spyro link-up in motion and a new chapter shaped by sobriety, self-reflection and sharper songwriting, Window Kid feels more open-ended than ever. In this conversation, he reflects on ten years in the underground, the reality of building a career out of chaos, and why getting sober didn’t close the door on his creativity — it opened the whole house.You’ve had a monumental year already — tours, Australia, awards, nonstop shows. How have you been holding up through it all?Yeah, it’s been non-stop, but in a good way. We’ve had the UK tours, then Australia, then the awards, then more shows straight after. So it’s definitely busy, but it’s the kind of busy you can’t really complain about. It’s a blessing.A lot of people are only just now catching on, but you’ve really put your time in. Before all of this, before the awards and the bigger stages, what was Window Kid when it first began?Window Kid originally was just a lad spitting bars on his lunch break instead of playing football. Then it became me spitting in people’s ears in smoking areas outside clubs and bars — just doing what everyone was doing, getting mashed up and chatting bars. At the same time, I was DJing and producing as well, mostly because I thought girls didn’t like MCs. I’d be on the radio or on the decks somewhere and people would start telling me, “Window, spit a bar.” Then I’d spit, and people clocked that I was actually alright. From there, it just slowly built. The lads around me in Nottingham kept telling me, “You need to get on a tune. You need to make a track.” That’s when it started becoming more serious.So before Window Kid became a recording artist, you were already building inside DJ and radio culture?Yeah, definitely. I used to run a radio show in Nottingham called The Window Show. I didn’t really know loads of MCs or producers in Nottingham at the time — I just liked the idea of creating somewhere people could come and practice, really. I’d be on the decks and MCs could pull up and spray bars.It was on a station called Local Motive at the time, and once I started doing it, loads of Nottingham MCs began jumping on. Snowy, Kyeza, Mez — all them lot. That was really when I started becoming part of the scene properly. Then I started taking it outside the station, doing events around it, and because I was so involved, people began realising I could actually spit myself. That’s kind of when it all started taking shape.It sounds like you were building your own infrastructure in Nottingham, rather than waiting for someone to give you one.Yeah, kind of. There probably were other people doing their thing, but I wasn’t really deeply tapped into the old scene like that. I wasn’t jumping on JDZ Media or Grime Daily or SBTV early on. I was more in the background, more of a fan of the music than someone moving around in those circles. So I kind of had to start my own thing.When does it shift from bars on sets and freestyles into proper songs — actual records with structure, hooks, ideas bigger than a 16?That really started with Snowy, to be honest. He was the one who wouldn’t leave me alone about it. He kept saying, “You need to get on a track.” He basically forced me into the studio and made me record something. I made a tune called “Ben Stiller” that never actually came out, but it gave me confidence.Then Brucey reached out and said he wanted to make a tune with me. Bru-C had a buzz already, and we ended up making tunes like “5 Bet” and “Hide the Ting.” Once those started getting some numbers, that’s when I realised I could actually make songs — not just spit bars, but make actual records people connected with.I never really overthought it, though. I just spat whatever was on my mind. Grime, garage, bassline, dubstep — whatever I was feeling that day.And after that comes the touring period — Crewcast, Bru-C, Darkzy, Skepsis. That chapter really put you on the road.Yeah, exactly. I toured with Crucast, Bru-C and Darkzy, and I hosted for Darkzy for years. We were constantly on the road — six, maybe seven years of that kind of lifestyle. But I always knew I’d eventually have to step out on my own, because I always wanted to release my own music and build something as my own artist.I loved hosting for Darkzy, but over time my own songs started getting traction, my socials started growing, and I got to a point where I had enough music for a live set and enough people listening for that to actually make sense. So I broke away and started touring as myself.That’s quite a leap though — going from host and hype man energy into carrying a full show on your own.Yeah, but it felt natural by then. It didn’t feel like jumping off a cliff. I’d already built up the songs, the crowd, the confidence. Once everything lined up, it was just time.Your sound has always sat in an interesting middle ground — grime, garage, bassline, dubstep, rap, internet culture, all of it. Where do you feel like you fit now?The fun thing is, I don’t really feel boxed into one place now. I’ve shown enough respect to all the different sides of it, and I genuinely love all of them. I can go do a grime show with Novelist and Flirta D, then roll into a drum & bass rave and shell a tune like “Put That Kettle On” with Bou, then go film some YouTube content with joke YouTube guys.I’ve always just stayed in my own lane, had a laugh, and made sure I never disrespected anyone or forced myself into a scene I didn’t belong in. So now I can kind of pop in and out of all these worlds and it still makes sense.And that probably explains why people don’t just see you as “a genre act” anymore — they just see you as an MC.Yeah, maybe. I think that’s fair. I don’t really know where I fit exactly, but I know I can move about now, and that feels good.Do you think your sound matured naturally, or did sobriety really change the way you write and think about music?Sobriety definitely changed it. Before that, I was partying too heavily and drinking too much, and I got to a point where I was basically forcing myself into the studio every few months trying to make another “Boozy.” Because that tune was streaming well, I started thinking in a very narrow way — like, how do I make another party song?And I lost myself a bit, if I’m honest. When I first had to go sober, I actually panicked because I thought, “What am I going to write about now?” So much of what I’d written before was about drinking, taking gear, being off my head. I genuinely thought the whole thing might be over. But it turned out to be the opposite. It opened way more doors. Suddenly, I could write about anything.That’s a huge shift — because before, a lot of your records had that humour and chaos to them, but now you’re making songs with real emotional weight.Yeah, exactly. After Christmas I wasn’t seeing my boys much because a lot of them were out drinking and I still had to avoid that. So I wrote this tune just sitting on my sofa about not seeing my mates enough. It had this bittersweet feeling to it — happy because I love them, sad because I missed them. And Jason Williamson from Sleaford Mods heard it and said he wanted to jump on it.That kind of thing proved to me that I could write in a totally different way now. And really, it started with “Lost Myself” with Nathan Dawe & Shapes — that was the first time I made something that felt very different emotionally, and it ended up being my first charting record. So that told me a lot.When you go into the studio now, how do you know whether you’re making something funny, something introspective, something for the rave?I genuinely don’t know until I’m there. I never really plan it. In normal life, that can be a bit of a problem because I can doss about and not do much, but in the studio, it works in my favour because I’ll just go in and something will happen. JJ and Gaz, who record me a lot, always say I’m so creative with the stuff I come up with in the room.One day I’ll make a grime tune, the next I’ll make something sad, the next it’ll be pure chaos for the rave. It literally depends on how I feel on the day. I just go to the studio and see what happens.That brings us nicely to the new tune with Sir Spyro, “Badboy Sound.” How did that one come together?Spyro and I have been good mates for years now, ever since I did the Sounds of the Verse thing where I had that “lots and lots and lots” lyric. We always stayed in contact. He’s in my top three producers of all time, easy.We’d linked before, years back — me, Spyro and Champion were in the studio once — but that was during the period when I was drinking too much and trying too hard to make party music, so nothing really happened. This time was different. I was so excited to work with him properly. We went into the Sony studio in London and I was basically egging him on like, “Do that Spyro shit. Put some Spyro noises in there.” He started going one way with it and I was like, “No, bro, do the mad Spyro thing.” Then within minutes, he built this absolutely stupid beat.The mad thing is, I’d already written some grime bars a couple of months before, and I deliberately kept them aside because I thought, “These are for Spyro.” So the second that beat was there, I knew exactly what I was doing. I’d heard him making all these dubstep bits too — which were cold — but I always wanted that proper Spyro grime beat from him. That was a dream from way back.When you collaborate with people from very specific corners of UK music — grime, garage, dubstep, drum & bass — does your process change depending on who you’re with?Yeah and no. It’s different every time. Sometimes I hear the beat first and write to it, sometimes I write first and then swap the beat later. Like with “Cardigan,” I must have changed the beat about five times. Management was sick of me. They kept saying, “Please just make something else,” and I kept saying, “Trust me.” Then it became one of my biggest songs.So there’s no fixed formula. But yeah, when it’s someone like Spyro, there’s definitely more pressure because you really want to leave with something sick. If I go in with a random producer and don’t like what comes out, whatever. But if I’m in with Spyro and don’t leave with a banger, I’m going home pissed off.Over the past few years, what do you feel you’ve improved at most as an artist?Definitely the live show. Weirdly, I’ve taken a lot of inspiration from Robbie Williams. He’s one of my pals and I’ve seen him live a few times now. The way he works a crowd, tells stories between songs, plants little lines that lead into the next tune — I love that. He’ll start saying something and mention a lyric, and the crowd starts clocking what’s coming next before the tune even drops. That stuff is genius to me.So I’ve been putting loads of thought into how my live show flows — how I speak between records, how I create little moments, how the crowd helps shape the energy. And doing all that sober has changed everything. I can actually see what’s going on now. I can feel the moment, remember the show, and make decisions in real time. I think my live set is the best it’s ever been.Do you actually rehearse a lot or is it more trial and error on stage?We never rehearse. Ever. We just try things live. If we’ve got an idea, we say, “Let’s test it tonight.” If it works, it stays. If it doesn’t, we change it next week. Because I’m doing at least one show a week at the minute, the show is kind of constantly evolving anyway.You recently took that show to Australia and New Zealand too. How did it feel outside the UK?Honestly, it was unbelievable. They appreciate UK culture and UK music so much over there that it means a lot when you actually go. The crowds were just so warm and excited. Every venue felt different too — one felt like a jazz bar, another felt like a uni club, another felt more like a theatre — but the energy was amazing every night.We sold the whole tour out and it ended up being one of the best months of my life. I can’t wait to go back.And that trip happened while you were still very new into sobriety. Were you worried about that?Massively. I was genuinely panicking for about two months before we went. I thought I’d land and just want to drink the entire time. I thought I’d be craving it every day and it would ruin the trip. But it didn’t happen like that at all.We were getting up early, getting juices, going on walks, going to the beach, having naps, seeing animals, just actually living. If I was still drinking, I would’ve done none of that. I’d have just been getting smashed and wasting the whole experience. So it was actually one of those moments where I really realised the change had already happened in me.And that seems to connect to that trip you took with Marshall as well — which felt very human online, not forced at all.Yeah, that was a special one. Marshall’s more of a social media guy, but we followed each other and I knew his story. His wife had died, Faye, and a lot of his content was about grief and living through that. He asked if I’d get involved in a fundraiser for the charity connected to the cancer she had, and I said yes straight away. Then I just said, “Do you want to go on holiday?” and he said yeah.We ended up going to Slovenia, to Lake Bled, and just filmed some stuff together. It kind of blew up online, but what it really was, was just two blokes both trying to figure out life in different ways. His grief was obviously much heavier than anything I was going through, but there was still this shared feeling of trying to navigate a new chapter. It was emotional, funny, sad, uplifting — all of it. And we came back proper mates.That’s probably why it resonated. It felt real. Nothing about it felt manufactured.Yeah, because it was real. That’s all it was.Do you ever feel like you’re “performing” online or in your music, or is it all just Greg?It’s just me. Honestly. I get why people ask because one minute I’m making an aggressive grime tune and the next I’m on YouTube eating Easter eggs or whatever. But that’s just how I am. I’ve always been like that. I’m not this mad badman, so obviously some of the bars come off funny as well, but none of it’s an act. It’s all just Greggy Boy.And maybe that authenticity is exactly why you’ve managed to build a real independent career. What do people underestimate about doing it this way?Maybe they underestimate how much you’ve actually got to live through to write like that. Like, if you’re writing party songs, you’ve actually got to be in that world. If you’re writing about missing your friends or losing yourself or figuring out sobriety, you’ve got to actually be going through that. None of it’s fake.And now life’s changing all the time anyway. I’m getting stopped in the street constantly. The shows are bigger. Everything is shifting. So the music is naturally changing with it. That’s just how it works.Over the next few months, what can people expect from you?The YouTube channel is fully back. I’ve just put out the UK tour vlog, the Australia vlogs are coming, and I’m doing more content with some massive YouTube names as well. I feel like the live show is in a really strong place now — I’ve got enough songs, enough bangers — so I can let that breathe a bit while still going studio.And the tune I’m most excited about right now is one I’ve made with P Money, Local and Kruz Leone. It’s called “Levitate,” produced by Frost, and it is absolutely mental. Proper old-school grime-dubstep energy, all of us just going psycho on it. We’ve played it out twice already and it’s getting the biggest reaction of the set, and no one even knows it yet. So that one I’m really gassed about.And longer-term, are we looking at a full project?Yeah, definitely. I’m working on the album now. It’s actually not far off because I’ve got too many songs at this point. It’s more about quality control than output. I’m not even someone who goes to the studio all the time — I’m actually terrible for it — but over the years I’ve built up enough music from the party era, the emotional shift, and where I’m at now, that I can really see the shape of an album.I want it to be a proper concept too. Like that OutKast Speakerboxxx feeling — one side is getting fucked up, one side is not getting fucked up anymore. That’s the idea.That feels like a very Window Kid way to make a concept record — honest, funny, but still heavy.Yeah, exactly. That’s the plan.Last one. If you could go back and speak to young Greg — before all of this, before the tours, before the blow-up — what would you tell him?I’d tell him: you always knew you had it in you, so keep going. But also, for God’s sake, don’t drink so much. And if you feel like you’ve got demons, really look at them. Ask for help if you need it. Don’t think you’ve got to do everything alone. This life isn’t exactly standard. Being in the public eye, constantly touring, constantly moving — it can get strange. So if you need a helping hand, just ask for it. Don’t overthink that bit.“Badboy Sound,” produced by Sir Spyro, feels like the meeting point between everything Window Kid has built over the years and where he’s heading now. It’s sharp, direct and built for the moment. Listen to the track now.

Interview by Passion Dzenga & Liesje Verhave | Photography by Dorian Day With BLUEBOY, Finn Askew sounds like an artist stepping into sharper focus. The Somerset-born songwriter has always known how to bottle emotion, but this latest mixtape feels broader in scope and more deliberate in its storytelling, pulling as much from cinema, made-up worlds and other people’s lives as it does from his own. Still rooted in intimacy, but no longer confined by autobiography, the project marks a clear shift in both confidence and craft.Ahead of his Patta London in-store performance, we caught up with Finn to talk about building BLUEBOY alongside Ezra Skys, learning to trust his own instincts again, finding clarity after a period of self-doubt, and why he’s more interested in telling universal stories than simply retelling his own. From Somerset to Soho, and from bedroom writing sessions to major co-signs and growing international attention, Finn Askew is moving with the kind of quiet certainty that suggests this is only the beginning.What keeps you busy when you’re not making music?Music is basically all I do, even when I’m not trying to. I’m always humming something or thinking about melodies. But outside of that, I’m with my friends a lot, I game a fair bit, and right now cinema is probably my biggest influence. If I’m not in the studio, I’m either in the cinema or in my bedroom making music.So there’s a lot outside of music feeding the music?Definitely. Especially with this mixtape, cinema was probably the biggest influence. I feel really inspired by other people’s stories. A lot of artists talk about writing from the heart, and I get that, but I don’t think that should be the only way to make music. If you only ever write from your own life, you limit yourself. I can’t relate to every single person in the world just through my own stories, and I want the music to reach everyone. So sometimes it’s about making up new stories, or stepping into somebody else’s world.That’s what cinema gives me. You watch a film and suddenly you’re inside a whole different emotional universe. I could write a song about Darth Vader and betrayal if I wanted to. That’s the fun of it.That’s interesting, because in the past your music felt a lot more autobiographical. This tape feels like it opens outwards. Were there any films in particular that fed into BLUEBOY?Yeah, weirdly enough, The Amazing Spider-Man 2. I watched it recently and Peter Parker and Gwen’s relationship, that whole romantic tragedy, really stayed with me. That idea of love and loss definitely influenced some of the songs. There’s a rom-com element to parts of the tape, that sort of dramatic romance.Let’s talk about the mixtape itself. You worked closely with Ezra Skys on this one. How did that relationship come together?I met Ezra about a year ago, and it all happened pretty naturally. We didn’t even release our first track together, which was “Vows”, until maybe six months ago, so in that sense it formed quite quickly. But it just clicked straight away. On our second session together we made “Vows”, and that ended up becoming the first track on the tape.I’d never really made a full project with one person before. That was always something I wanted. I’ve always said I’d love to find one producer I can really build a world with, because coherence and continuity were always things I struggled with in the past. When you’re bouncing between loads of people, it can get messy. But when you’ve got one person you trust, and you’re going back and forth together across every track, it becomes a much more unified thing. That’s what this tape gave me.What does that workflow look like in practice? Are you walking into sessions with finished ideas, or are you building everything from scratch?It changes every time, which is why it stayed fun. Sometimes I come in with an idea already. “Green Light” was something I started at home before bringing it in. Other times Ezra will just build something and I’ll trust it immediately because I know he makes sick beats.That trust is the main thing, really. There’s never any pressure in the room. It’s never like, “We have to finish this today” or “This needs to become a song now.” I can just tell him, “I’m not feeling this anymore, I’m going to take it home and write later.” That happened with “Vows”. We made the beat together, then I took it away and finished it at home because sometimes being on your own lets you try things you wouldn’t do in the studio. Not because you’re uncomfortable, but because the energy is different. You can sit with it more.Most of the melodies are freestyled, though. That’s usually where everything starts. But because the process kept shifting from song to song, it never felt stale.You’ve always sat in an interesting space sonically. There’s singer-songwriter DNA in your music, but you’ve also found a lot of support in more urban spaces, from London to Toronto and beyond. How do you think about your place in music now?I still don’t feel like I’ve fully broken out, to be honest. I feel like I’m breaking into spaces, but I’m not where I want to be yet. Coming from Somerset, there wasn’t really anyone for me to look at and think, “They did it, so I can too.” I didn’t have that local blueprint. A lot of people in bigger cities grow up with examples around them. I didn’t really have that.So for me, it’s been a bit surreal seeing the music travel and connect in different places. That’s always been the dream, though. To make something that goes beyond where I’m from.You’re still based in Somerset now, right?Yeah. I lived in London for about two years, but I moved back around a year ago. London just got a bit lonely for me. Where I’m from, not many people leave, so when I moved there I didn’t really have a built-in crew. Everyone else had their little circles and I was like, where’s mine? Then I realised my people were back home.Until life gets so busy that every day becomes madness, I’m happy being close to my friends and family and just travelling when I need to. London’s only about an hour and a half away anyway, so it’s not some crazy distance.There’s something healthy in knowing where your centre of gravity is. Has the increase in visibility changed your day-to-day much?Not massively, if I’m honest. When I first moved to London, that felt like the biggest lifestyle change. Now, even though the music’s doing really well, my day-to-day still feels pretty grounded. And sometimes that can mess with your head a bit, because you think, “If things are going up, when does life actually feel different?”But I’m also enjoying that not much has changed yet. It makes me stay hungry. I do want the lifestyle to change eventually. I want to tour more, fly more, do bigger shows, live a bigger life through the music. But right now I’m happy where I am in the journey.On “Save My Time”, you talk a lot about slowing down and realigning yourself. What inspired that song?That one came from a very real place. Growing up, and even later on, I spent loads of time in my room writing music, smoking weed, playing games, just kicking back. There was a point a few years ago where I kind of thought I’d already made it. Things were moving, people were paying attention, and I got too comfortable. That was the worst thing I could’ve done.I lost my drive a bit. I was wasting time, really. That’s where “Save My Time” came from. It was me looking at myself and realising nobody else is going to do this for me. I had to snap out of it and fix what wasn’t working. That song really was about seizing time and taking responsibility for my own momentum again.And then you’ve got a song like “London”, which sounds deeply personal, but you’ve said a lot of this project wasn’t necessarily written from your own life. How do you approach that line between personal and universal?That’s what I love about it. “London” sounds personal, and that’s great, but it’s not really my story. It’s more like fiction, or someone else’s perspective. I don’t even know whose story it is exactly, but I know people hear it and think, “That’s me.” That’s what I wanted.I like the idea that something can feel deeply intimate to the listener without literally being my autobiography. That’s the power of storytelling. It doesn’t have to come from me for someone else to feel it in a real way.Which song on the mixtape feels most vulnerable to you, then?Probably “Save My Time”. That’s the one where I really feel the emotion. It’s the one that cuts closest to something I actually had to work through. “Vows” is a real one too, because I wrote that about my girl, so there’s love in that one and that’s definitely personal. But “Save My Time” was me confronting something in myself, and I don’t usually write like that.I’m not really a sad person. I’m pretty upbeat, pretty energetic, so to have one song on the tape where I was like, “Nah, this one is really me,” that felt important.When you look back at the earlier releases, what do you think has changed most in your approach?I think I’ve finally found myself. That’s the biggest thing. For a long time, that was the real issue. I had good people around me, opportunities around me, a lot of things lined up, but I just wasn’t ready. If you haven’t fully figured yourself out, it doesn’t matter how much support you’ve got, people won’t connect with it properly.This tape is the first time I really feel like I know what I want to sound like, what sort of records I want to make, and how I want it to feel. That inner shift is the biggest change. The music changed because I changed.So what have the last few months taught you about yourself as an artist?That I can actually do this. There was a bit of self-doubt before this tape, and I’d never really had that before. I’ve always been confident. Maybe even cocky at times. But there was definitely a period where I questioned things. Then these songs started landing, people started reacting, and I was like, why did I ever doubt myself? I’m good at this. These songs are sick.So yeah, what I’ve learned is: don’t doubt yourself again. There’s no point.And for people going through that same kind of doubt, what would you say?Just trust yourself. If you didn’t doubt yourself before, there’s probably a reason for that. Chase that earlier feeling. That’s usually the real one.We’ve got you in-store this week at Patta London, performing your new EP. What can people expect from seeing you live in that sort of intimate setting?I’m really excited for it. It’s sick to work with a brand I genuinely mess with so heavily. That’s something I’m loving at the moment, being able to work with brands and spaces that actually make sense for me.As for the set, it’s going to be all acoustic. Six songs from the mixtape, stripped back. It’s a small space, very intimate, so I’m just going to let the voice and the guitar do the talking. Good vibes, good energy, proper personal. I’m excited.You mentioned gaming earlier. What are you playing right now?At the moment I’m playing Lord of the Rings: Return to Moria with my brother. It’s kind of like Minecraft, but Lord of the Rings. It’s sick. I also love Cuphead. I need games to challenge me, otherwise I get bored and never finish them, and Cuphead definitely does that. Then there’s Balatro as well, which has had me hooked. Dangerous game, that.You’ve also picked up some major co-signs over the years, from people like SZA, Kehlani and Justin Bieber. What does that kind of validation do for you?It’s mad. Justin Bieber is the big one. That will probably always be the biggest one. He was my idol growing up. There isn’t really anyone else on earth I’d rather have had a co-sign from, so I kind of hit the jackpot there.That sort of thing is crazy because if you told my younger self I’d be speaking to Justin Bieber one day, I wouldn’t have believed you. And yeah, obviously you shouldn’t rely on external validation, but in moments where you are doubting yourself, it helps. It’s nice. It reminds you the music is cutting through.A lot of people know you through different doorways now. Some know the songs, some know the visuals, some know the cosigns, some just know the mood. What keeps you grounded in all of that?Probably home, family, friends and just staying locked into the work. I’m not trying to become some mad version of myself. I’m just trying to get better, make stronger music, do bigger shows and keep evolving. I think if you stay focused on that, everything else becomes a bonus.What can people expect from you over the rest of the year?I already want to start the next tape. I love this mixtape and I’m grateful for what it’s doing, but I’m already onto the next. I miss writing when I’m not writing. So hopefully there’s another project by the end of the year if I can make that happen.We’ve also got a big headline show at coming up, which is at the biggest headline I’ve done so far. That’s going to be crazy. I’m nervous, but excited. Then there are some festivals too, Paris, Copenhagen, stuff like that, and hopefully a few more things land in between. It’s really just about getting busier than I’ve ever been before.So the pace is only picking up from here.That’s the plan. Join us at Patta London on Thursday 23rd April 2026 between 18:00 – 20:00 for a special evening with Finn Askew as he celebrates the release of his new EP.

Interview by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Charlotte van der GaagSpread across cities, schedules, and parallel lives, the Conrad Soundsystem only occasionally occupy the same room, but when they do, something immediate and unfiltered happens. Their music isn’t the result of endless iteration or remote file-sharing, but of short, concentrated bursts: weekends carved out of busy lives, where ideas collide and instinct leads.Formed during the stillness of lockdown in The Hague, the project grew out of living room sessions on Conradkade, a literal sound system between friends that quickly evolved into something more defined. Alongside their label and event series Fish Tapes, and a deep connection to the coastal energy of The Shore, they have built a world that feels both personal and communal, rooted in friendship, but outward-facing in its intent.That same tension runs through their music. There’s a push and pull between raw intuition and careful refinement, between high-pressure rhythmic tracks and more expansive, emotional compositions. Their latest release on United Identities, West End, captures that balance perfectly: a record built as much on restraint and tension as it is on release.At a time when electronic music can feel increasingly polished and predictable, Conrad Soundsystem lean into something more human — embracing imperfection, trusting the moment, and treating each track as a document of time spent together.You’re a three-man collective with a close personal connection. Can you talk a little bit about those relationships and how they play out when you’re in the studio?We’re very close, but in practice, it actually takes effort to come together. We don’t naturally bump into each other all the time anymore. Some of us are in different cities, some of us are working on projects abroad, and everyone has their own schedule, so being in the same room has to be planned very intentionally.That definitely shapes the music. When we do get together, there’s a certain pressure, but it’s a good pressure. We know the time is limited, so there’s a lot of energy in the room. We’re never short on ideas. It’s never like, “What should we make?” It’s more about how to use the time wisely and pour all the ideas we’ve been carrying individually into one session. Because we don’t see each other constantly, everyone comes in with fresh thoughts, and that creates this explosion when we finally link up.So it’s less about struggling for inspiration and more about maximizing the window you have together?Exactly. It’s always about time, never ideas. That’s why the sessions tend to be so intense and so focused. We just try to get as much as possible out of the time we have.From my understanding, the mixing and mastering also stays in-house. How does that help define the Conrad Soundsystem identity?The three of us are together for the core creative part, and then the final shaping also stays very close to home. What matters most to us is keeping the first impulse intact. We don’t want to overproduce the music or polish out the parts that made it exciting in the first place.There’s a nice tension in that process because technically, we all come from different places. Some of us are much more instinctive and rough with how we build things, and some of us are more trained and detail-oriented. So there’s always this back-and-forth between wanting to clean something up and wanting to leave it alone because it just feels right. Sometimes a snare is too hard or something isn’t technically perfect, but if it sounded sick in the room and all three of us felt it, then that becomes part of the character.That’s also why the music can sound a bit as if it exists in its own vacuum. Sometimes we wonder if we should sound more like one scene or another, but because of the way we work, it always ends up sounding like us. That can make things harder at first, because people don’t know where to place you, but it also becomes your strength over time.Speaking of interpersonal dynamics, there’s also family involved here. Did that make things smoother or more complicated?It honestly helps. Music is the basis of the connection anyway. Even outside the studio, that’s what pulls everything together. At family gatherings, we’ll end up in the corner talking about tracks while everyone else is having normal conversations. It probably looks a bit ridiculous, but that’s genuinely how we stay connected.That’s also the nice thing about having relationships outside of music — you understand each other beyond just the work. You don’t have to explain everything from scratch every time. There’s already a shared language there.One thing I really like about the project is that you move like a trio. Do you always build in the same room, or do you ever send ideas back and forth?We used to send projects around a lot more, especially during COVID. One person would start something, then another would work on it, and by the time we got together there was already quite a developed sketch. But that’s changed.Now we prefer going into the studio almost blank. We keep ideas in our heads and save them for when we’re together. Then everything happens in the room. That feels much better for us now because it keeps the process intuitive and immediate. Instead of continuing separate demos, we’re smashing all our ideas together in real time.It also makes the tracks feel tied to very specific moments. Some of the songs really hold the memory of the session inside them. That’s something we love. If you build a track over weeks by sending it back and forth, it can become more universal, but if you make it in one intense session, it captures a very particular feeling. For us, that makes it more fun and more real.It also feels like a way of documenting friendship. Like these records become time capsules.Yeah, definitely. As you get older, life gets busier and more fragmented, so being able to make music with people you actually love becomes more valuable. These tracks really do feel like little time capsules of where we were, what was happening, and how we were feeling when we made them.I was first exposed to your music through the United Identities compilation around the end of COVID. Was that when Conrad Soundsystem really started?Yeah, pretty much. The real kickoff was during COVID. One of us had just come back from Berlin and got re-energized musically. There had already been a shared love of music, shared listening, sending each other radio shows, jazz, strange club tracks, all of that. Then lockdown hit, and suddenly there was time and space to do something with it.We started playing records together at home, throwing little living room parties with our turntables, speakers, and record bags. The street we were on was Conradkade, and that’s basically where the name came from. It started as a very literal sound system in a house.At the same time, there was already someone in the orbit who understood music in a slightly different way — not just emotionally, but technically too. We’d play tunes and talk about why they hit, and he’d immediately hear how they were made, what was going on structurally. That made it feel natural to move into making our own music together.Around that same time, Fish Tapes also starts to take shape. What was the impetus there?Fish Tapes came out of necessity at first. We had made a lot of music early on and built up an EP, and we were sending it around to labels because we really believed in it. That didn’t lead anywhere that felt right, so we thought: let’s just do it ourselves.At the same time, we got access to a studio space and there was an opportunity through friends to start doing parties at The Shore. So suddenly the music, the events, the studio, the friendships — it all landed at once. Fish Tapes became the umbrella for that world.It’s basically our little playground. We release our own music there, release music by friends, do compilations, and use it as a platform to build events around the artists we love.And The Shore became a real key part of that world.For sure. The Shore gave us a space to build something without overthinking it. The early parties were free, really open, really mixed. We didn’t want them to feel too serious. It was just about good music, good people, and creating a vibe.Over time it grew way beyond that. Suddenly there were huge crowds, bigger stages, serious sound systems, and proper lineups. But the spirit stayed the same. It still feels like a place where we can book our favorite artists and try things out. That’s where we’ve brought people like Carista, Tash LC, T.No and a lot of others. It’s become a seasonal ritual for us, and also a place where we can test our own music on a real system.There really is a special energy to partying by the water in Scheveningen. It gives The Hague its own identity outside of the PIP ecosystem.Definitely. It’s a different energy. The Shore has its own character, and that’s part of what made it such a special place for Fish Tapes to grow.Let’s talk about the new release on United Identities, West End. It sounds built for big sound systems. What was the starting point for that record?We’d had United Identities in mind for quite a while. After the Modern Intimacy compilation, there was already a connection there, and Carista had basically told us: send over whatever you’ve got. So when we started making the EP, that label was very much in the back of our minds.There were definitely a few key reference points. Tracks like Rhyw’s Honey Badger and Joy Orbison’s Flight FM were in the air for us — those records that create this huge sense of momentum and tension without necessarily relying on the obvious drop. We love tracks that feel hectic, restless, a little bit unstable.A lot of West End came together in a weird studio space near an indoor beach volleyball place, which already had its own strange energy. We’d go outside to take a break and see people playing volleyball in the middle of winter, then go back in and make this tense, wired music. So the surroundings were bizarre, but that kind of fed into the record.The title also came from where it was made — part of our naming logic is very literal like that. But there’s also another layer to it, with one of us having moved west, so it held that too.One thing that really stands out on West End is that it never fully releases. It keeps stretching the tension.That was very conscious. We’re really drawn to that feeling — making something uneasy, but in a good way. We love tracks that don’t just build, drop, resolve, repeat. Sometimes, the most exciting thing is when a track keeps you on edge.One of the records that really shaped our thinking was III’s Front by Overmono. It doesn’t really “go” anywhere in the traditional sense, but it keeps shifting and pulling at you. That’s much more interesting to us than just hearing another familiar drop.On West End, a big part of that came from using one main lead sound and constantly evolving the rhythm. The sound itself stays similar, but the phrasing keeps changing, so you’re always being pulled slightly off balance. That was a really fun way of building tension without needing to throw in a huge, obvious payoff.And then the B-side, Lindo, opens up a much darker, more inward space. How did you balance those two records?That’s really the two sides of us. On one side, there’s rhythm, pressure, drums, tension. On the other hand, there’s harmony, big chords, emotional weight, and cinematic feeling. Lindo came out of us, leaning into that second side. It started with these huge synth chords that suddenly made the track feel almost like a score. That was exciting because it gave us a chance to break open the dancefloor a bit instead of constantly pushing it harder. We didn’t want it to be drenched in harmony the whole time though — it’s more about teasing that emotional side, letting those sounds appear and disappear so you really feel the space in between. That’s why the two tracks make sense together. They’re very different, but they need each other. One pushes outward, the other pulls inward.Funny enough, you’re getting almost a 50/50 split on the favorite track from the promo reactions.Yeah, which surprised us a bit, but it’s nice. It means both sides are landing.Before you were musicians, were you DJs first?In a way, yeah. DJing came very naturally out of obsession. Once you start collecting records, once you get deep enough into music, you’re going to want to play it somehow. That’s just what happens. There were different paths into that. Some of us were DJing around PIP very young, buying turntables, building collections, playing with friends. Some of us came from bands first, and then electronic music took over. Some of us have been producing for a long time already. But all of it comes back to the same thing: a deep obsession with music and the urge to share it.Vinyl was especially important in the beginning. It still is, really. There’s something about records that keeps you physically connected to the music. It slows you down in the right way. It makes digging feel meaningful.That’s also what makes electronic music such a self-sustaining culture. It’s its own ecosystem.Exactly. One of the beautiful things about electronic music is that the music itself matters more than the persona around it. Half the records we love, we barely know anything about the person who made them. Sometimes that’s the point. There’s this endless stream of anonymous or semi-anonymous music, and it becomes less about ego and more about contribution.That’s something we really love about the scene. It feels like a long, ongoing conversation where everyone adds something to the pile.Let’s close on what’s next. You have the West End release party coming up. What can people expect?The release party is really about bringing all the threads together. It’s happening in collaboration with Dooorp, who are doing some of the most exciting things in The Hague right now. They’ve got that same mentality we believe in — just doing what feels right, taking risks, making things happen for the love of it.So the party is going to be a full-circle moment: friends doing visuals, close collaborators on the lineup, another stage hosted by people we love, and a proper sound system. It’s not just a release party, it’s a celebration of the wider scene around us. It’s on Friday, April 17th at LAAK in The Hague, and yeah, it’s going to be special.And if someone is just discovering Conrad Soundsystem, where should they start?Anywhere, honestly. The catalog is still small enough that you can really dig through it properly. There are the early Fish Tapes releases, the compilation tracks like 38A and Saturn, and now the new EP. Every track holds a different part of the project. That said, West End probably feels like the clearest statement of where we are right now.West End lands as Conrad Soundsystem’s most defined statement to date: a tense, soundsystem-centric record designed to be felt as much as heard. Out now via United Identities, the release captures the trio at their most focused, balancing pressure, rhythm, and emotion across both sides of the EP. To mark the release, Conrad Soundsystem bring their world to life on Friday, April 17th at LAAK in The Hague, joining forces with Dooorp, Pip Radio and United Identities for a night that reflects the community around them. Expect a full-spectrum experience: heavyweight sound, close collaborators on the lineup, and a raw, unfiltered energy that mirrors the way their music is made. West End by Conrad Soundsystem 

Interview by Liesje Verhave | Photography by Brunei DeneumostierIn her directorial debut, Tra Fasi (2026), filmmaker Charity Charly steps into Suriname’s underground punk scene through the story of Shavero Ferrier. Shavero, a young cultural organiser, creates space for punk parties and self-expression in a society that often leans toward conformity. Charly, with a multidisciplinary background in film from camerawork and styling to set design, brings a personal and multifocal lens to her work.  Driven by a desire to reveal overlooked experiences and challenge dominant narratives. We spoke with her about her first steps into filmmaking, the making of Tra Fasi, and her vision for the visual stories still to be told. You’re quite a multidisciplinary creative. How did your journey from camerawoman to director, and this “jack-of-all-trades” path, begin?My journey started as a videographer. I worked at BNNVARA, where I was directing, editing, and doing camera work all at once for their YouTube platform. I always felt that I was good at what I was doing, but something felt a bit off. I just wanted to direct. I had so many stories in my head, and I just wanted to focus on directing only. So that is where my dream of becoming a director started. To make a film, I knew I needed experience on set, so I started as a production coordinator. Then I moved into costume styling, and after that into set dressing. After doing all of that, I finally had the courage to direct my own film. Tra Fasi is really the start of my directing journey, although I’ve been working in film for about four years now.So you tried out every possible role in the film industry first before directing?Exactly. But I always felt the urge to direct. Even when I was on set watching directors, I would think, “I would do this differently, or I would do that.” That feeling was always there.Do you think working in all those roles informs how you direct now?Yeah, definitely. All the departments I’ve worked in have helped me develop a clearer vision of what I want to see on screen.What first drew you to visual storytelling like film and visual art?I was always obsessed with films. I could watch the same movie eight times in a row and memorize the whole script. I would perform it and make my brother play the other roles with me.I also used to ask my mom to sign me up as an extra in films. But when I was on set, I wasn’t focused on being an extra; I was watching the crew. I was always distracted by how everything worked behind the scenes. Somehow, I always knew I wanted to make films. Even as a kid, I used to say my name would be in the credits one day.Are there any films you remember from that time?Yeah, Like Mike with Lil’ Bow Wow. That was one of my favorites. I knew it by heart and used to act it out with my brother while playing basketball.You’re largely self-taught. What challenges came with that?I used to study media studies, but didn’t finish. I ended up going to university for media and culture, but left after seven months. I was bored. I thought, “Do I really need to know this to work on sets?” So I was like, let me find out how I can do this on my own. The biggest challenge was insecurity. You hear a lot about people who went to film school and, after that, their careers just get a major boost. I struggled with representation. Not seeing people who look like me doing this work, there were times I felt like I didn’t belong.I remember wanting to become an actress and getting through the first round of auditions, but I got so insecure that I didn’t go to the second round. I started doubting whether there would even be roles for someone like me.But once I knew I wanted to direct, things started falling into place. I was very open about what I wanted to do, wrote scripts, and connected with people. I was really curious, and at some point, I just stopped letting rejection discourage me. Even though I heard a lot of no, I kept going. For me, this was a big milestone because this is what I wanted to do. Are there other art forms you still want to explore?Definitely, it’s actually funny because I never thought I’d make a documentary; it just happened. I’m still very obsessed with fictional stories and the way you can portray them. I would love to explore that more.I also acted on screen for the first time last year and really liked it, so I want to develop that further. And I make resin art, I love working with my hands. That’s something I’ll keep developing as well.Is the resin work more of a hobby or something you want to build professionally?It started as a hobby. Also, funny story, I made ashtrays and posted them on Instagram, and people wanted to buy them even though I wasn’t selling them yet. That made me realize I could turn it into something more. Now I make custom pieces for customers.How did the story of Tra Fasi come together? How did you meet Shavero?It started with the idea of making a documentary about Black punkers in the Netherlands. But I found that there were already projects about that.Then I realized I was going to Suriname soon and got curious about punk there. I started researching and discovered it actually existed. I found an article about Shavero and his band Mutha Flac, and something about him really stood out to me.I started following him on Instagram and noticed this whole alternative scene. I was like, “How did I not know this existed? I go to Suriname every year and never see this.”I messaged him, and he responded quickly. We had a call, and at first I planned to make a documentary about multiple bands, but none of them interested me as much as Shavero. So I told him I wanted to focus on him, and he said, “That’s dope, I’ll organize an event when you’re here.” So I was like, “Okay, let’s go. I’ll capture that.”That’s how it started. Once I got to Suriname, everything shifted. I had a plan, but after the first day, I realized I had to let go of it. The environment, the heat, not being able to film before 3 or 4 - it all required a different approach. I just went with the flow.What stood out to you about that scene?The energy. Because events aren’t as frequent there, people really go all out. The love and intensity are on another level. It’s a completely different energy.You also brought Shavero to the Netherlands. How was that experience?It wasn’t even the plan at first to do a tour here. My DOP Nadine Haselier and I just wanted to bring him here so he could connect with people. He does so much for the community, so we just wanted to do something for him. We started crowdfunding, and it gained so much attention that venues wanted him to perform.Seeing him perform here was emotional. The Garage Noord concert was crazy. I crowd surfed for the first time in my life. Watching his dream come true and seeing how people responded to him and his sound, it was special. It felt like two worlds colliding. The film centers on self-expression in a conformist society. How did you approach that visually?I didn’t overthink it. I used strong visuals of Suriname and contrasted that with Shavero’s self-expression. The editing style is very DIY. The whole film just screams self-expression.Did anything about the experience in Suriname change you?Completely. It changed how I see Suriname. I didn’t expect that scene to be there, and I felt both surprised and a bit guilty for thinking it didn’t exist there.Seeing people who look like me and share the same mindset, the same attitude in life, was such a beautiful enlightenment. But at the same time, I realized how much harder it is to express yourself there compared to here. I will still get that job even though I dye my eyebrows blonde; there, you have to be ten times bolder to be yourself.That experience really shifted my perspective and deepened my connection to my motherland.You’re working on a new project now. How are you approaching it differently?With every project, you learn and want to do things differently. I always try to give something nostalgic and to surprise people, to make people think differently about stereotypes and question themselves.  I’m currently working on a new film about the gabber/hardcore scene in the Netherlands, focusing on black youth within that scene.It’s a similar niche approach, highlighting something we haven’t really seen.What drew you to that scene?I don’t even listen to hardcore, and that’s what makes it interesting to me. I’m curious about what draws people to that scene. Hardcore never dies!I started researching and found a whole bunch of young black kids going hard to this music. Even though I don’t like the music, seeing them loving it so much fascinates me. I’m going to a hardcore party soon to experience it firsthand.What perspective do you want to bring to that story?I want to show it from the perspective of people of color, especially women. Most of what we’ve seen before is from a very white, male perspective. I want to do the complete opposite.For me, the reason to make something is simple: if we haven’t seen it yet, that’s exactly why it needs to be made.What can people expect from the upcoming Tra Fasi screenings?A good film and a new, refreshing perspective on Suriname! At the Melkweg, I’ll also be doing a Q&A, chit-chat about the movie and the process. I’m really excited to talk to people also afterwards. Upcoming Screenings: 4/04 Melkweg24/04 Paard Den Haag10/05 Humans of Film Festival22/05 Plantage Dok Amsterdam5/07 Down The Rabbit Hole

Interview by Liesje Verhave | Photography by nothing_._yetTYSON has always existed in a musical space of her own, one where alternative textures meet an R&B sensibility, and where collaboration feels as instinctive as solitude. We connect with her to discuss her featuring on Sam Akpro’s new single “Wayside”, The release follows a steady run of celebrated work, from her 2024 CHOAS EP to collaborations with artists such as Leon Vynehall, Dean Blunt and Coby Sey, as well as her recent appearance on Yazmin Lacey’s “Water.” Alongside her music, TYSON continues to build community through Ladies Music Pub, the London-based collective she co-founded to support women and gender-nonconforming people in the industry.In this conversation, TYSON reflects on the making of “Wayside”, the evolving nature of collaboration, and how her creative process is shifting, shaped by new environments, new experiences, and the realities of motherhood.We wanted to connect with you because of the release of the new single by Sam Akpro “Wayside” that you featured on. How was it working on that tune, and what was the process like when he first shared it with you?For me, it wasn’t an unusual process, but it was a different one. He had already started the song, not in its finished form, but enough to have an early version - and then he thought of me to feature on it. A lot of the features I’ve done have either been someone featuring on my work or us starting something from scratch together. So it was really nice that he had already begun something and thought I could add to it.I came down to the studio, heard the early version, and we just started trying things out. It ended up being quite an eventful day. I had sketched out some ideas and was about to record when the fire alarm went off. At first, there were sirens and lots of people everywhere, but both Sam and I were very chill and didn’t think it was serious. Then his friend, who was helping produce, was like, “No guys, I think something’s actually happening.” It turned out the building next door was really on fire. Everyone was okay, but we had to run down the stairs. I even had my coffee with me because I really thought it wasn’t a big deal. Then I looked over and saw flames coming out of the side of the building. So for quite a calm song, it was definitely a dramatic afternoon.Did the eventful afternoon influence how the song ended up? Definitely, it added to the energy, and it’s a good story. It’s funny because the song itself is so calm, but the day we made it was the complete opposite.You mentioned that Sam picked you for the tune and that this collaborative process was a bit different from how you usually work. Can you talk about how your collaborations usually come about, and what made this one unique?A lot of the people I’ve collaborated with are friends. I didn’t know Sam Akpro before we met to do this. Someone like Coby Sey is a long-term, consistent collaborator, and because we’re friends, the process usually starts there and then we make something from scratch. Working with Leon Vynehall was similar, we knew each other, but became closer while working together, and we made something from scratch for his project.Most of the people I’ve worked with, especially in London, I’ve met through music scenes, partying, and mutual friends. I like that process, because you get to feel someone’s vibe first. Usually, by the time we make something, there’s a sense of how it’s going to go because you’ve met each other beforehand.Since having my daughter in 2024, though, I’ve done more sessions that have been set up through my publisher and management. That means I’m often meeting people for the first time in the studio, which is very different. This song is part of that era, but it felt aligned with the way I’ve worked before because Sam and I come from a similar world, and our music fits well together. If we hadn’t met through the song, I think we would have met very soon anyway.How has meeting people for the first time in the studio and immediately working on a song influenced you as an artist?I’ve learned a lot from those sessions. I really wanted to write more for other artists, and it lets me use my creativity in a different way. I love lots of different styles of music, but I don’t necessarily want to perform all of them myself, so it’s a nice way to experiment with different genres and writing styles.I haven’t done many writing camps, but I did one in Sweden for women and non-binary artists, producers, and writers. I was there as a writer, and I think those spaces are a good exercise in just going into a room and making things. It’s less about ego and more about being open. Quite a lot of what we made had a bunch of people on it, and only later did you start thinking about who it was for.I think those sessions are a bit like blind dates. It’s always good to start by talking for a bit and listening to some music together if you’ve never met. Sometimes it’s nice to just see what happens, but sometimes it also helps if there’s some intention from the start — whether that’s for someone’s album, or for your own project — so you don’t get to the end and think, “I’m not actually sure I’d put this out.”How was your experience participating in the writing camp in Sweden, especially since you grew up there for part of your life? Do these different cultural experiences inform your work?Definitely. It was actually really interesting to go back there in that context. I lived in Sweden from age 15 to 20, and also spent quite a lot of time there in my early 20s. The last time I properly lived there, I was around 26, and I remember thinking, “That’s it — I know I don’t want to live here again.” I knew I wanted to spend time there, but I also knew my soul didn’t really belong there.So I stopped going as much, and a lot of my experiences there are rooted in youth. But in recent years, I’ve gone back more for work, and that’s been really interesting. There are so many amazing and inspiring artists there. I met people at the camp and then returned for more writing trips. I think the alternative music scenes in Stockholm and in Sweden generally are really exciting.It feels a bit like going home, but in a strange way. People often assume I’m just fully from London, but culturally a lot of my references are also Swedish, even if they’re not very current because I haven’t lived there since I was a teenager. So it still feels like home. I really admire the way writers and producers in Sweden approach music.What do you love about Sweden?I actually had an amazing time in Stockholm, and it was really important for me. I moved there when I was 15, which is kind of the worst age to move from London to a much smaller, colder, less diverse city, especially right when all your friends back home are discovering raves and nightlife. At the time, it felt terrible, but in many ways, it was the best thing my parents could have done for me.I made amazing friends there who became like family. But it’s not an easy place to live if you’re not white and Swedish. When you’re a teenager, I think you mould yourself in order to fit in and survive, and that’s what I did. I found ways to kind of “Swedify” myself to make it work. Now that I’m older, when I go back, I feel more friction because there are parts of me that aren’t really accepted there, and I’m less willing to adapt those parts of myself now.At the same time, I am also Swedish, so it’s not as simple as being a foreigner there. That’s why it’s complicated. But having a child has made me want to reconnect with that part of myself and share it with her, because she’s also Swedish. That’s made me find a new love for being there again. Going back there with purpose - going there to work, to connect with people, to make new memories — has been really helpful. And beyond that, I love the countryside. I could stay forever in our family house in the south of Sweden. The house my grandparents built feels like its own universe. So I think it’s really Stockholm that I’m still finding my place in — and music has helped with that.You also mentioned that the camp was for women and non-binary people, and of course you co-founded Ladies Music Pub, which focuses on diversity and supporting women and FLINTA people in the music industry. What inspired you to start that initiative?It was purely experience-based. I started it with my friend Hannah TW. At the moment, there are three of us involved. Hannah was on the label side of the industry, and I was on the artist side, and we realised we had a lot of the same frustrations. We’d go to the pub and talk about them, and then we started inviting more people. “Ladies Music Pub” was literally the title of Hannah’s first email inviting people. The word “ladies” is said with our eyes rolling, and people often misunderstand that.At its core, it’s about bringing people together to share experiences and learn from each other in a space that feels safe. For me, it was one of the first times in music that I felt I could ask any question freely. In male-dominated spaces, a lot of questions are treated as silly, but if knowledge isn’t shared, how are you meant to learn?Now we have meetings every month where around 20 to 30 people come together to talk, ask questions, and connect. People get jobs through it, and some attend because they want to get into music but haven’t started yet. Around 2019, when Nelly and Marina GB joined us, we also became a record label and released my first EP and other projects. Hannah and Marina also manage me now, so it grew into much more than just a meetup.It feels like you created a safe space for yourself, but also opened it up for others.Exactly. A lot of people say it feels unique because it’s not corporate. It’s very DIY, but it’s still serious. It’s not networking in suits. It’s people who genuinely want to work on their stuff and support each other.You mentioned that at one point, you had actually quit music. Did Ladies Music Pub help bring you back to it?Yeah, definitely. Both Hannah and I were at a point where we felt like we couldn’t go on in the way the industry was structured. I had quit music completely because of some of my experiences, as well as other personal things going on. I still loved making music, but I didn’t know if I could keep doing that job in that industry.So when I decided to make solo music and really commit to releasing it, I realised I needed LMP around me to survive in that space. It became essential - not just as a community, but as a record label and management structure too.You’ve released collaborations over the last few years, but you also mentioned that you’re starting to record your own music again. How has that been, and what are you working on currently?It’s been terrifying. I basically go to the studio, panic, and then go home. But I’m starting to feel more settled in it now.I went to New York in October to work with my friend Oscar Scheller, and Yazmin Lacy was there as well, which was so nice. We’d already released “Water” together, but we hadn’t had much time to make more music. We ended up in this amazing studio on our own for two days. I’d travelled there with my toddler on my own, and Yazmin was also there for sessions and a gig. So we just thought, let’s play around and see what happens.We were both joking that we don’t really play instruments, but then I came back from taking my daughter out for a nap and Yazmin had made a bassline and was playing drums. I was like, “You’ve literally produced a whole song — what do you mean you don’t do anything?” That kind of playful experimentation is really important for me right now. I need that to figure out what I want to do, without too much pressure.I’ve put a lot of pressure on making an album, like it has to be this elevated, separate thing from everything else I’ve done. So those playful sessions were beautiful because they helped me remember how to just make things.It sounds like you’re balancing playfulness with a more intentional approach now.Yeah, that’s true actually. I hadn’t thought about it like that. I keep saying this is the most intentional I’ve ever been, but then at the same time, Yazmin and I were just playing drums even though we don’t play drums. There are different types of intentions. It can also be intentional to be playful.You mentioned your daughter being around during these sessions. Has parenthood changed the way you approach music?That’s kind of what this whole process has been about since I started doing sessions for myself again in October. New York made me realise how much I’m still figuring that out. I structured that whole trip the way I would have worked before having a child, and it just didn’t work for me. She wasn’t even one and a half at that point, and I was working in a busy city for seven or eight days straight. At the beginning, I was on my own with her, so there was no break at all.Now I’m starting to feel some creativity come back, but I still need to work out how that fits with childcare and the way my life works now. Some people talk about having this huge creative surge after having a baby, but I haven’t really had that. Things in music are also often very last-minute — someone will ask if you can do a session tomorrow — and that kind of lack of structure is hard when you have a child. Children need continuity and routine, and both my partner and I have lives that are all over the place. So it’s definitely something I’m still learning.Is that also a topic discussed at Ladies Music Pub?Yes, definitely. We’ve even done a whole meeting focused on maternity and parenthood in music. A friend of ours helped restructure the maternity package at her record label, and we wanted to help because that’s exactly the kind of thing organisations can change. There were lots of parents there, and I think it’s something we’ll keep talking about as our lives evolve.I’m very lucky because my parents are amazing role models. They both do the same job, and I’ve moved into their house, so they help a lot. My mum said something really helpful to me: your schedule is always going to be the way it is, so you should still take the opportunities you want, but your daughter needs a constant point. So by living with them, she always has home as a stable base, even when I have to come and go. That’s been beautiful. I also grew up seeing my mum do this kind of thing, so it makes me feel like I can survive it too.That support network sounds incredibly important.It really is! A lot of people don’t grow up with parents who work in music, so for me, having seen this way of life since I was a child has made me feel like it would be possible to have kids and still do this. Just yesterday, my mum had been looking after my daughter a lot, and then I spent the whole afternoon with her and took her to the park. When I got back, my mum said, “Oh, that was nice, I got a break and wrote a song.” I was like, wow, we really are in this together. It was actually really cute.Your mother was a musician, and now you’re a musician too. Would you want the next generation in your family to become musicians as well?I want any of my children to do whatever they want to do. I’m kind of assuming she’ll do music because it seems to get everybody in my family. I definitely resisted it for a long time, but it catches up with you. She may be young, but she can already sing things back to me in tune, so I’m like, okay, she definitely has it. But honestly, I just want her to do whatever makes her happy. If she does go into music, I’d support her, but I’d probably also be like, “Are you sure?” It’s a wild ride.You’ve been remixed by people like Karen Nyame KG and James Massiah, and you’ve worked with a lot of artists from London’s underground music community. How do you stay so tapped into that world?It’s all just my peers, really. It all comes from friendships and from going out dancing for years and years. There’s something really beautiful about London and the way different people from different places come together in spaces and share music. When I moved back here at 20, that’s basically how I met everyone I know, through parties.Of course, part of it was about partying, but a lot of it was really about the music. Karen Nyame KG, for example, I didn’t know personally at first, but we had loads of mutual friends, so when we met up to work together, it felt very natural. James, I’ve known for years from going out and from nights like Work It. It’s all been very organic.I don’t go out as much now, but that’s definitely how those relationships started. And with anyone I didn’t know directly, a lot of those connections also came through Hannah and Marina from Ladies Music Pub. Hannah, especially, is really active in the club scene through Local Action and other things. Between the three of us, we’ve ended up connected to a lot of people. Being around your own people lets you really become yourself. I think that’s a big part of why I’ve flourished in London.Are there any new sounds you’re experimenting with for your new music?Yeah, I think so. Josette Joseph and I — who’s an amazing producer and engineer — have been talking a lot before the sessions about what I want to do. It’s been really helpful to work with more people alongside my longtime collaborator, Oscar Scheller, and invite different people into the process.Josette Joseph is also an engineer and mixer, so it’s been interesting to talk to her about vocal sound as well as production influences. I’ve joked about wanting this project to feel more “elevated,” but I do actually mean that in a positive way. I want it to feel like a step up from the things I’ve made before.One thing a lot of my music hasn’t had much of is live instrumentation, so I think that’s going to be a strong element this time. A lot of my work has been very program-based, and I’d like to bring instrumentalists into that world and add a different texture. Genre-wise, I don’t know exactly yet. I want to play with different sounds and see where it goes. But I think what stays consistent is my voice.Are you already doing sessions with live musicians in the room?That’s definitely something I want to do. A few of those sessions couldn’t happen in this first run, but they will soon. I feel inspired by Yazmin Lacey in that way too; she writes instrumentally, even if she doesn’t always literally play everything. I’m also learning over time that some melodies I write are actually instrumental parts in disguise. I’ll sing something and then realise maybe that’s actually a synth line, or a bass part. So I’d love to sit in a room with musicians and say, “What happens if you play this little thing I’m singing?”In 2025, you released a charity single with your family. Can you talk a bit about your activism and why it felt important to do that?It felt crucial. I don’t think there was any part of me that felt like not doing something was an option. I think you have to do what you can do. The concert and the single were really our way as musicians of trying to do something meaningful.Everyone was talking about trying to get it to number one, but for me, whether it did or didn’t was never really the point. It was still beautiful, meaningful, and important. Originally, it wasn’t even meant to be a recorded track; that only happened because there wasn’t enough time at the concert for us to perform it. In the end, I actually think that was a good thing.I think it reached people in this country who maybe hadn’t been engaged before, and that matters. Some people were upset it didn’t hit number one, but I think it still did what it was supposed to do. For me, speaking about what’s happening in the world is vital. I’ve actually been shocked by how many people with platforms aren’t talking about these things. Some people I’m not surprised by, but some really do surprise me. I just feel like I have to talk about it.While waiting patiently for new TYSON music, listen to the new single “Wayside” by Sam Akpro featuring TYSON.  

Order Tattoo Jam is back—and this year it’s levelling up in every direction. What started as a tight-knit gathering rooted in Amsterdam’s creative underground has grown into a global meeting point for tattoo culture, art, and music. For its latest edition, Order moves into its biggest venue yet, the iconic Kromhouthal in Amsterdam North, while reconnecting with its origins at Skatecafe for the after-hours program. With 200 artists flying in from across the world, a fully realised art market, large-scale installations, and a day-to-night format that stretches across the neighbourhood, the 2026 edition feels less like an event and more like a living ecosystem. We sat down with Order’s Etienne Memon to break down what’s new, what’s evolved, and why this year might be the most ambitious jam yet.This year, you're bringing back the Order Tattoo Jam. Can you tell us about the new location and what people can expect-both during the day and at night?Yeah, the location is completely new and actually the biggest we’ve had so far. It’s in Amsterdam North at the Kromhouthal—an old, beautiful industrial warehouse in a really accessible area. It’s close to a lot of our other spots, like my restaurant Sichuan Territory, Skatecafe, and other venues we work with, all in the same strip.What’s also new is that for the first time, the daytime event and the afterparty won’t be in the same room. The day program happens at Kromhouthal, and then we move to Skatecafe for the night. That’s special because that’s where the jam originally started, so there’s a lot of history and good energy there. It also gives people options—you can come just for the day, just for the night, or go all-in for the full weekend.That sounds like a big evolution. What can people expect from the actual event this year?We’ve got around 200 tattoo artists coming in from all over the world—Japan, Korea, Australia, the US, and across Europe. About 80% of the artists are international. A new addition this year is that a lot of tattoo shops are coming as full crews, not just individual artists. So you’ll see full shop booths from places like New York, Italy, and more. We’re also pushing them to really go all out with their booth setups and make them visually special.I also heard there’s a big market this year?Yeah, that’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time—a proper art market. This year, we’re finally doing it with 65 stands. There’s an art book fair with people like Atheneum, Name Books, and more. Then there’s a tattoo-focused section with antiques, rare memorabilia, machine builders, and supplies—like Krautz Irons from Germany. We also have a whole cosmetica area where you can get your hair done, nails, grills, and tooth gems. Then there’s vintage clothing—Duke’s Cupboard, Cream, Second Culture—and records, toys, everything. It’s basically its own world inside the event.What about installations and visuals?We’re going big on decoration this year. There’s a Ferris wheel coming back inside the venue. We’ve got a balloon artist creating huge floating installations across the ceiling—like flying creatures throughout the space.We also have an art crew from Lithuania decorating the market area. Plus, there’s a full exhibition happening all weekend at a new gallery space called Voorwaarts featuring nine tattoo artists who also work in fine art. That exhibition actually opens on Thursday, before the jam starts, so it’s a good moment for everyone to meet before the weekend kicks off.And the night program?Friday and Saturday nights are at Skatecafe, fully programmed. We’ve invited different crews to host stages. On Friday, Order hosts the main area, Tourist Trap runs D&D with live music and DJs, and Cinnaman hosts the 1900 room. On Saturday, we continue with Order in the main room, AK Soundsystem takes over D&D, and The Gang is Beautiful hosts 1900. Plus, we have our friends running music all day long at Kromhouthal too—around seven artists per day.I think a lot of people are excited to be back at Skatecafe.Can we talk about some of the new additions, like Sexyland?Yeah, Sexyland is doing something really fun—they’re hosting a tattoo daycare. So if you have kids between the ages of 4 and 10, you can drop them off there. They’ll have mocktails, drawing stations, sticker tattoos, iPads—it’s fully set up to entertain them. Then parents can just enjoy the event without worrying.That’s actually genius. What about the merch this year?The whole identity this year is designed by Alexander Heir, also known as Death Traitors—one of my favourite artists. We’ve got a zip hoodie for the first time, a camo tee, two caps, and the lineup tee we always do. Everything is produced by Obey, who’ve been supporting us for years. We’ll also have older Order merch available, plus a Deadly Prey Gallery booth from Chicago, showing Ghanaian movie posters—both originals and prints. It sounds like a lot of moving parts, but everything feels aligned this year. It all really came together.If people want to get involved—either this year or in the future—what’s the best way to reach you?The best way is through social media or email. That’s where we handle everything, but the best thing to do is just to pull up!If you’ve been watching from the sidelines, this is the year to step in. Whether you’re coming for the tattoos, the art, the music, or just the energy, Order Tattoo Jam isn’t something you fully understand until you’re inside it. Pull up for a few hours or commit to the full weekend—either way, show up. And if you can’t make it this time, tap in online, stay connected, and position yourself for the next one.

Interview by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Liesje Verhave and Pebbles BazurOver the past few years, Jerrau has quietly but confidently carved out his place as one of Amsterdam’s most versatile and forward-thinking DJs. Effortlessly moving between breakbeats, bass-heavy club sounds, alternative electronic hip-hop and soulful house, the Surinamese-Dutch selector has built a reputation for sets that are hard to categorise but impossible to ignore. Whether he’s closing at Lowlands, holding it down in the club at De School, performing at Down The Rabbit Hole with Erykah Badu on the mic or showing us the way during his Patta x Keep Hush session, Jerrau’s approach has always been rooted in curiosity, culture and an instinctive understanding of the dancefloor.Now, after years of refining his voice behind the decks, he steps into a new chapter with his debut EP, It All Starts With This, released on Who’s Susan. A project shaped by discipline, mentorship and a deep love for bass lineage — from Amsterdam to the UK and beyond — the record marks a deliberate beginning. Inspired as much by Sonic soundtracks as by sound system pressure, Jerrau’s move into production feels less like a pivot and more like a natural extension of the world he’s been building all along.We caught up with him to talk about finally committing to the studio, learning to let go during a month-long residency in Nicaragua, his unexpected place within the Black British music ecosystem, and why, whether DJing or producing, the room always comes first.Jerrau is wearing the Patta 3M Reflective Waterproof Rain JacketThis will be your first release after years behind the decks and you have mentioned that you have “flirted” with producing for years, what shifted for you to take it more seriously now?I’ve always been curious about producing and I’ve picked it up a few times over the years, but it never really stuck. I’d dive in, get excited, then I would feel overwhelmed by how many possibilities there are and then life or DJing would pull me back out of it. It was always there in the background though.What really shifted things was when Tsepo, offered to teach me. That felt different. There’s this “each one, teach one” mentality — almost like that Black Panther ethos — and when he reached out, it felt like a moment I wasn’t supposed to ignore. We only had a couple of sessions together but it was really a turning point for me. I took that as a sign that it was time to stop flirting with the idea and actually commit. So when starting this journey, next to the few sessions I had with Tsepo. My friend Tijn also just started making music and for the first few months we went to the studio together all the time just to try to get better and learn from each other.I sometimes think I should have started during the pandemic when there was more time and space to focus, but I’ve realised you don’t find time — you make it. Over the past 18 months, I’ve really treated it seriously: I got access to a studio here in Amsterdam, put in the hours, and approached it with the same discipline I’ve brought to DJing. That consistency is what’s made the difference.The title, It All Starts With This sounds very intentional. What does “this” represent in your musical journey right now?The title actually comes from one of my favourite games, Sonic Adventure 2. I basically have all the dialogue from that game burned into my head. I’m honestly not the best at naming things — even my DJ name is just my actual name — so titling tracks and projects has always been a bit of a challenge for me.When we were finalising the selection, the artwork and the sequencing for the record, that dialogue just kept coming back to me. It felt simple but loaded. It didn’t feel forced or overly conceptual — it just felt right.For me now, “this” represents the starting point. It’s the first proper step into producing, into putting something out that’s fully mine. It’s not necessarily about having all the answers — it’s more about committing to the beginning.Jerrau is wearing the Patta Track Top CardiganHow has your journey as a DJ influenced your approach to producing — and has producing changed the way you DJ?DJing has definitely influenced the production more than the other way around. Years of being on the dancefloor and in the booth teach you what actually works in a room — how tension builds, how long a groove needs to breathe, when to strip things back, when to push. That experience naturally informs how I approach making a track. I’m always thinking about how something will translate physically, not just how it sounds in the studio.Producing has influenced my DJing in a more subtle way. I’ve had to think more carefully about how my own tracks fit into my sets — where they make sense, what they sit next to. But I’m never going to brute-force my own music into a set just because it’s mine. DJing and producing are different practices, and they should be treated that way. For me, the room always comes first. If one of my tracks serves that moment, great. If not, that’s fine too.At the same time, I still feel like I’m learning, and there is a lot to learn. One area I really want to deepen my understanding of is mixing and mastering. I want to understand that final stage of the process properly — not just creatively, but technically — so I can have even more control over how the music translates, both in the club and beyond.Why did you choose to work with Who’s Susan?Who’s Susan is just a really dope label. Over the past few years, I’ve bought pretty much everything they’ve released. I’ve always respected their curation and the world they’ve built around the music.It actually happened quite organically. I was promoting one of my own nights and used one of my demos as the audio for a post. Willem from the label heard it and reached out to ask if I had more material. He connected with the direction I was exploring and felt it aligned with what Who’s Susan was doing. That meant a lot, because it didn’t feel forced — it felt like a natural fit on both sides.That alignment made the decision easy. And it feels full circle in a way — the one feature on the EP is from one of their legacy artists, DJ OSX, formerly known as DJ Windows XP. So to go from being a supporter of the label to releasing on it, and collaborating within that family, feels really special.The artwork for your debut EP aesthetically reminds me of one of your big inspirations, Sonic, was this intentional?Interestingly, the artwork was actually made before we fully put the record together. So it wasn’t a case of me saying, “Let’s make this look like Sonic.” It was more organic than that. Sjon de Baron, who does all the artwork for Who’s Susan, really understands me and what I’m about. He was able to translate the feeling of the music visually, while still keeping it consistent with the label’s wider art direction. I think that’s why it resonates in that way — it reflects my influences without being literal. There’s definitely a shared visual language there, but it came from mutual understanding rather than a direct reference.You traded Amsterdam for a month in Nicaragua at Popoyo’s Secret. What pulled you there, and how did a residency format change your approach compared to festivals or single-night gigs?What really appealed to me about Nicaragua was the idea of stepping outside my usual rhythm. Amsterdam can be intense — fast-paced, scene-driven, and very plugged in. Spending a month somewhere more remote, surrounded by nature and a different energy, felt like a chance to reset.I ended up loving it. I’d go back in a heartbeat. There was something really refreshing about being there — it stripped things back in a good way. The residency format was also very different from a festival or a one-off club set. I tend to approach DJing almost like programming — thinking carefully about structure, context, and what makes sense for a specific slot. During the residency, I played at different times of day, so each set required a different mindset. You can’t approach a sunset set the same way you approach a late-night peak-time slot.What I really enjoyed, though, was the freedom. Being in the same place for a month allowed me to build a relationship with the space and the people. I felt less pressure to prove something and more space to just have fun. I think I let go of a slightly more “pretentious” side of DJing — that idea of only playing very specific records to signal something. It became more about what felt good in the moment. That shift was probably the biggest takeaway.Being a devoted Chelsea supporter, do you feel your connection to the UK through football has influenced your relationship with UK music? And where are you hoping to head next?I was actually living in the UK for my first few years on this earth, Surrey to be exact. It’s funny — the last time I was in the UK for a show, I visited a museum exhibition about the history of Black British music. I was watching one of the video installations and saw this quick flash that looked like me. I kept watching and realised it actually was me — they had included footage from my Patta x Keep Hush set in the exhibition.That was a surreal moment. It made me realise that my connection to the UK scene isn’t just from a distance — in some small way and it was cool to be included in the Black British music ecosystem. I’ve always felt drawn to the UK, not just because I’m a Chelsea fan, but because of the depth of its bass music culture. There’s such a strong lineage of sound system energy and low-end pressure that really resonates with me. That influence definitely shapes how I think about rhythm and space in my own sets. I’d love to spend more time in places like London, Bristol and Manchester — cities with deep bass traditions and strong musical identities. And of course, making it to Stamford Bridge for a Chelsea game is still on the list too!Ready to hear the next step? is out now via Who’s Susan — press play and start the journey with Jerrau. It all starts with this by Jerrau

Interview by Passion Dzenga Nicole Blakk moves like someone who’s already lived three careers. In the space of a year, she’s gone from music being “just a hobby” to a full-time reality — powered by viral freestyles, a DJ Mag nomination, and the kind of co-sign that changes how a room listens. But the most telling parts of her story aren’t the headlines; it’s the grind underneath them: 33 jobs that never fit, a sister who kept paying for studio time when nothing was landing, and a leap from Birmingham to London with £60 and zero safety net.What comes through in conversation is how intentional she is about building: letting the beat decide whether she sings or raps, getting hands-on in collaborations, and insisting every song contains a left turn — a structure switch, a language flip, a new texture. That refusal to be boxed in is also how she navigates a male-dominated industry: she doesn’t argue for space, she takes it, and lets the bars do the talking.In this interview, she breaks down the real origins of her multilingual flow — from performing French so her grandmother could feel the music, to Punjabi “shop tours” that turned student survival into a viral moment — and reframes “Money On My Mind” as more than a catchy hook: a mantra for staying focused when feelings and pressure try to pull you off course. Grounded in faith, community, and a relentless belief in her own vision, she’s stepping into 2026 with momentum — and with a clear message: she’s not here to be “good for a girl.” She’s here to be undeniable.After having such a monumental 2025 — viral freestyles, bucket list collaborations, a DJ Mag nomination — when did it start to feel real to you?It started to feel real when I met my manager, Wez Saunders. Music had always been a hobby for me. I’ve loved making music since I was young, but I studied Digital Marketing at university, did my Masters degree and kept working. I never thought music would become “a thing,” even though I wanted it — I just didn’t know how to get into it.My older sister was paying for studio sessions and music videos, and even when it wasn’t going anywhere, she still believed in me and pushed me to keep going. Then I met Wez, and within a year I was on the Glastonbury guest list performing on Shangri-La main stage, did SXSW, had the Dave feature, and DJ Mag nominations… all of that happened within a year. That’s when it became a full-time job instead of me working random jobs.What kind of jobs were you doing before music became full-time?Honestly, I’ve had 33 jobs. It sounds terrible, but I was always working on something. Hospitality, even construction — nothing ever stuck. I’d leave a job and already be looking for the next one. I just could never settle because I knew music was what I really wanted.When you started making music as a teenager, were you already making the same kind of music we hear now? Or did your sound shift while you were finding your voice?I wasn’t rapping at all back then. I was singing. I was writing poetry and singing. Rapping was new — I only started rapping about two years before I met Wez.What made you start rapping?I started rapping because I was trying to make a diss track to my ex. He was a rapper. From there, I just kept going and didn’t stop.When you’re in the studio, do you approach a track more like a songwriter or like a rapper? What comes first?The beat comes first. I listen to the instrumental, and the type of beat tells me whether I’m going to rap or sing. A lot of producers, before they even hear my stuff, will approach it like a soft guitar vibe because they see a woman and assume I’m going to sing — melodic, not bars. But I get really involved on the production side. I want my music to feel different. I always make sure there’s something different in every song — adding a language, switching the structure, putting rap in the second verse instead of the first, whatever. I feel like I’m very unique as a person, and I try to reflect that in the music. And I don’t plan what I’m going to write before I get there. I get to the studio first, feel it out, and build it from there.So it’s not just “writing over beats” — it’s more like you’re building the record with the producer.Exactly. It’s collaborative. I’m not just jumping on anything — we’re making the music with intent.You mentioned expectations people bring into the room because you’re a woman — but you’re also unapologetic and empowered. What challenges have you faced navigating such a male-dominated industry, especially in studio sessions?A hundred percent. It’s frustrating, and I know I’m not the only woman who feels this. In male-dominated spaces, it feels like you have to prove a point. If I wrote the most basic bars and rapped them, people wouldn’t react — but if a man rapped the same basic lyrics, he’d get the craziest reaction. So I have to make sure I’m doing the most: punchlines, language switches, everything.Even performing — I feel like I have to have the best stage presence, otherwise people hit you with, “She’s alright for a girl.” I heard that once and I was like: no. Don’t add “for a girl.” If I’m next to men rapping, I’m clearly as good as them.The hardest part is trusting yourself. Trusting yourself as a woman in that space can get difficult, and it’s so easy to start thinking you’re not good enough. Men naturally carry this aura of dominance, so you have to put your foot down. Now, when men come with little comments, I let my music do the talking. I’m like, “Cool — put a beat on right now.”When I listen to your music, I hear you switching languages a lot. What’s the intention behind expressing yourself in French and Punjabi?French is actually my first language. It’s the language I grew up speaking. My grandma didn’t speak English — she passed away now — but she was one of my biggest supporters. When I was younger, I’d perform covers like Nina Simone or Ben E. King, and I’d switch some verses into French so she could understand and enjoy it too. I started doing that when I was like 13 or 14, so switching languages just became natural.Punjabi is a different story. I have Indian heritage, but not from a Punjabi-speaking part of India. Punjabi came from my close friend Sana — we’ve been friends 12, 13 years — I used to spend time at her house and we listened to Punjabi music a lot. Her grandparents would talk to me in Punjabi like I understood it, so I picked up little words and phrases. It became the same idea: putting language in for people to enjoy it too. And then the TikTok moment happened.What happened?I was at university, and I ran out of bread and milk. I went to the shop and the guy working there was Indian. I said, “If I sing to you in your language, can I have this bread and milk for free?” I was serious — I had student loan coming in four days, I just needed something to last me. He agreed. My friend recorded it. It went viral on TikTok — to the point I get paid from those videos now. Other shops started inviting me, and I started doing these “shop tours” — going to Indian shops and restaurants, singing, not charging them, helping small businesses with promo, and getting free groceries. It was a win-win.Your song “Money On My Mind” feels like an anthem for manifestation and shifting your mindset. What does “wealth” look like to you beyond money?For me, wealth is love and support. I live far from my family — they’re in Watford — and after uni I got used to loneliness. I’m close with my sister and my mum, but it’s different when people are physically there. My manager and his family became a huge part of that for me — and that was before the music even took off. Holidays together, dinners, group chats, song suggestions, encouragement. They live 15 minutes away. That kind of support is richness.And my older sister has always been that. When I felt like it was pointless, she told me results don’t come straight away. I started at 13 and started seeing results at 22 — that’s 11 years of effort without much back. That was hard. But I’ve always been rich in the sense that I’ve had people who care about me. Now it’s also people online — messages every day, positive energy. I try to give that back too. My real name is Blessing-Nicole, so I try to live up to that — to be what my name says.Let’s talk about the record itself. When you made “Money On My Mind,” what were you trying to capture?I’m very empathetic — I feel what other people feel. If I see someone upset, I’ll carry it all day. And before, that could throw me off what I was doing. “Money On My Mind” captures the shift from dreaming to actually doing — when it becomes a career, not a hobby. It’s me telling myself and listeners: it’s fine to be in your feelings, but don’t let it block your bag, your goals. Stay focused even when it’s heavy.You kicked off 2026 strong — Red Bull Cypher, DJ Mag, everything. What keeps you focused as a young creative?My faith is a big one. I’m Christian, and without that… I don’t know where I’d be. Things can get hard. I left uni, lived in Birmingham because it was cheaper, then I literally had a dream I lived in London. The next day I moved to London with nothing — like £60 in my account. I lived in a shared house with seven women, didn’t unpack my bags, kept telling myself: I’m not going to live here for long. And now I’m in my own apartment.It was faith, prayer, and people around me motivating me — my sister, my manager’s family. They let me stay with them when I was struggling, took me out of the country. I didn’t even realise how weird my situation was until I got out of it. And honestly, I had tunnel vision because I had no other choice. I moved with nothing — I had to make it work.You grew up in Watford, but still made a huge push to live in London. Why was that move so necessary?I left home at 18 for uni. After my master's, I stayed in Birmingham because the rent was cheaper — I had my own apartment for about £600 a month. It was a simpler life. But I didn’t want to move back home, so I took it as a sign and moved straight to London. At the time, I regretted it — crying in the middle of the night like, why did I do this? I had an apartment and now I’m in a tiny room with strangers. But I don’t regret it. I’m glad I did it when I did. And Watford isn’t London at all. Even the transport costs show it — getting into London from Watford can cost you way more than moving around inside London.You featured on Dave’s album — that’s a huge cultural moment. What did that experience teach you about yourself as an artist?That whole experience was transformative. Even getting the call — “Dave wants you on a song” — was crazy. I grew up listening to him, and I was one of those people speculating about his album like everyone else. I didn’t think I’d be on it. That song — “Fairchild” — it felt like the full weight of the story. You can even hear me crying at one point. It’s not just a song — it’s lived reality for so many women. Dave is a master at turning self-analysis into commentary. Stepping into that perspective felt like truth.And the studio experience wasn’t just recording — the first session was three hours of talking about my journey and the music. That showed me he really cared. He didn’t just want a voice — he was intentional. It made me reflect on myself like… the fact Dave is considering me? That’s mad. It taught me that hustling has purpose — you can create something that lasts. That song feels like it could be used in schools, like it’s bigger than music. Even now, it still doesn’t feel real that I’m on a song with Dave.Did that collaboration change how people treat you in rap spaces?Yes. I’m seen differently. I get more respect now in rap spaces. I never bring it up — other people do — but it changed perception. I wish it didn’t take that to make people take me seriously, because I’ve worked hard for a long time. But I’m grateful for the opportunity to showcase myself on such an important project.Your Red Bull Cypher moments went viral — especially the Punjabi one. Did you expect that level of reaction?I expected a reaction to the Punjabi one because I was rapping “Heer” by Jags Klimax — a proper old-school Punjabi classic. It’s one of those songs you only really know if you grew up around it. As soon as I heard a Punjabi beat, I knew I had to do it. It went crazy viral — still going.And the best part is, after that video blew up, I actually went into the studio with Jags Klimax and we recorded a remix together. That was a full-circle moment.But seeing people react to me beyond the Punjabi stuff — just me as an artist — that surprised me. Red Bull really pushed me out of my comfort zone: time constraints, briefs with specific words, and freestyling about objects in front of you. I’d never done that. I started rapping to diss my ex — I didn’t think I’d be rapping about objects on camera.They also choose the beats — you don’t. So you’re forced to adapt. I loved that. It made me a better rapper and a better artist. Now if I’m given a brief, it’s not scary — I’ve done it. It boosted my confidence too. My first episode I was the only girl, so I was nervous — but in the comments, people were calling me the standout, the MVP. I’m grateful to even be picked.You’ve built momentum through platforms like DJ AG, Red Bull, and viral content. How important is radio to you — is it still something you want to pursue?I’m open to everything. Anything helps. Even if something has three listeners — you don’t know who those three people are. I didn’t know Dave was watching my Instagram; he told me he’d been looking for a while. You never know who’s watching.So I’m never closed off. If someone wants me on their platform, I’m grateful — they’ve taken time to support me and push me as an artist.Do you want to do more women-only cyphers too?Yes. I’ve done all-female cyphers — like the Steeze Factory International Women’s Day cypher coming out soon. I love working with women. Even if we get the same brief as men, we’ll write completely differently. And I feel like I bounce better with women because we have similar experiences — it feels good. I’m not closed off to rapping with men — it’s inevitable — I just have to make sure I’m better than them.Whilst Defected traditionally is associated with House Music, you are Published by Defected; how does that relationship work?My manager (Wez Saunders) is the Chairman-CEO-and-co-owner. The Publishing team help with sessions and Wez never puts me in a box. He tells me to create what I’m comfortable with. Some days I’m singing the whole time or writing ballads, some days I’m rapping on a grimy beat. We found a balance and my sound, and I wasn’t rushed.Defected Music Publishing also partners with Warner Chappell, so I’ve been to writing camps and met R&B artists, grime artists, and producers. Through this, as well as opportunities through Sony Music, I have written with house producers too. I’ve done some house toplines, but it’s unlikely I will make house music. But I’m not closed off, you never know what the future may bring.After everything you did last year — Glastonbury, SXSW, DJ AGl — are there plans for more live shows in 2026? Europe maybe?I hope so, but I don’t even know yet. I’ve mostly been recording. But I’m hoping for a similar summer to last year — probably better, because now I actually have music out. Last summer I did Shangri-La with no listeners, no releases — nothing. If I did that then, I have no doubt this summer can be big. I’ve got an amazing team.Can we expect more music in 2026?A hundred percent. I’m releasing this whole year. My first release is actually coming out tomorrow.Before we wrap, what’s the most full-circle “bucket list” moment you’ve had recently?Opening for Lady Leshurr. I grew up on her — I knew her Queen’s Speech word for word. There’s even an old video of me doing it when my mum was in hospital behind me. My whole family went to see her at a festival, and then the next year I was opening for her. She didn’t know who I was at first, but later she told me she’d been trying to find me — she kept seeing my videos but didn’t know my name. Then she asked me to open her London show and I was like… what? We have each other’s numbers now, she texts me encouragement all the time, and I still scream when she messages me. I’m still fan-girling. I keep it real.One last curveball: Arsenal. Where does that love come from?My biological dad supported Arsenal, so I had Arsenal bed sheets, pillowcases, curtains — everything. I played football for about five years — went to a school where Watford scouts footballers. After lockdown, I gained weight and stopped playing, but I’m getting back into it now — training with some girls, planning to find a team in my area.I love Arsenal, but my favourite player is Cole Palmer — which is strange because he’s not Arsenal. I hope one day he signs. I even wrote a song called “Cole Palmer” and the next day he scored a hat-trick. So… you’re welcome.With Money (On My Mind) out in the world, Nicole Blakk isn’t just building momentum — she’s setting the pace. Sharp, self-assured and completely in control of her narrative, she’s proving she belongs at the front of the UK rap conversation. And if this is the focus she’s moving with now, understand one thing: she’s only getting started. 

Interview by Passion DzengaAnysia Kym moves like someone who grew up inside rhythm. Bronx-born and now Brooklyn-based, she’s a drummer, producer, singer, and songwriter whose work refuses the neat genre categories the industry loves to sell back to Black femmes—especially those who are multi-instrumentalists. Kym’s music is a living archive of the sounds that raised her: the radio-fuelled hip-hop and R&B household, the mixtape culture that shaped uptown New York, and the deep Black musical lineage embedded in sampling. “Aside from a heavy percussive element, my production almost always involves sampling,” she explains, framing it not as a production trick but as an art form with roots that stretch far beyond any single era of rap. That history is audible in the technical language of her tracks—blues and funk residue, breakbeat architecture, jagged drum patterns, and time signatures that shift the ground beneath you, sometimes landing in 6/4 like a deliberate refusal to be easily consumed.If her production work is maximal in texture—built from self-arranged compositions, samples, live drums, or all three—her songwriting practice often moves in the opposite direction. In demos, she leans into minimalism: lyrics first, guitar-led sketches, a quieter space where voice and intention can sit in the foreground. This two-lane approach is not indecision; it’s a method. Each project becomes a different solution to the same problem: how to deconstruct the limitations placed on her body and her talent by choosing which of her abilities to centre, and refusing to let any single lane define the whole story.That rapid evolution has been visible for years, from her drumming period with the emo-tinged indie band Blair to solo releases that slide between hip-hop and electronica with a producer’s precision—most notably Truest (2024). There’s also an undeniable pull toward UK continuum energy in her work: jungle and drum’n’bass DNA as a spiritual cousin to London’s scene, made tangible on Pressure Sensitive (2023), her collaboration with British rapper and 10k label-mate Jadasea. But it’s her recent project Purity—made with producer Tony Seltzer—that distils Kym’s current language into something sharp, compact, and strangely intimate: a suite of short tracks engineered with clocklike exactness, where pitched-up vocals become percussion, and songs end before they over-explain themselves. In our conversation, Kym describes the process as deliberately organic—less “let’s make a genre record” and more a studio dialogue that kept getting weirder, freer, and more honest the longer it went on. What emerges is an artist learning, in real time, how to protect her curiosity—how to collaborate without compromise, how to let desire and longing live in the music without turning it into performance, and how to stay in control of the narrative when visibility arrives. We caught up with Kym to talk about sampling as lineage, drums as instinct, minimalism as discipline, and why, sometimes, the strongest statement a song can make is knowing exactly when to stop.For those who might be discovering you for the first time, can you introduce yourself and where you’re from?I’m from the Bronx, New York — specifically Co-op City. I live in Flatbush now, in Brooklyn. I’m a producer, songwriter, and singer. I used to play drums in a band, and over the last few years I’ve been focusing more on production and songwriting.Growing up in the Bronx comes with a lot of musical history. What were you surrounded by early on?I wouldn’t say I had specific artists I consciously thought of as influences back then, but music was always present. Both my parents are from uptown — Harlem and the Bronx — and they listened to a lot of Hot 97 back when it was very different from what it is now. My mom loved artists like The Lost Boyz and Slick Rick. My older brother was really into mixtape culture — buying tapes, bootlegs, the whole thing. That culture was everywhere: barbershops, hair salons, people selling tapes out of backpacks. Music felt communal and accessible.Hip-hop and R&B were the backbone of our household. And in New York, especially uptown, musicians didn’t feel distant. You might see someone on TV, but you might also see them at a family barbecue. That closeness definitely shaped my curiosity, even though the music I make now is more experimental than what was on the radio.Would you say those sounds raised you?Absolutely. It was a community thing. My parents only really knew uptown New York culture, but they were open-minded. I’m one of four siblings, all very different people, so they kind of had to be. That openness let us explore freely.Were you digging through your parents’ CDs and mixtapes as a kid?For sure. And my older brother babysat me a lot — we’re ten years apart — so I was exposed to everything he listened to. There wasn’t much censorship. I heard the curse words, watched whatever was on TV. My parents trusted us, and that freedom mattered.What was the first music you bought with your own money?The first CD I ever bought was What the Game’s Been Missing by Juelz Santana — from Walmart. I didn’t realise at the time that Walmart didn’t sell explicit music, so I ended up with the clean version. Meanwhile, my brother had the gritty mixtape versions. I was confused listening to all the bleeps. Alongside that, I loved Raven-Symoné, Bow Wow, The Cheetah Girls, Aaliyah, and Amerie — a wide mix. But Juelz was technically my first.Your music today leans heavily into percussion, breakbeats, and unconventional rhythms. How did that develop?Before I played drums, I actually started producing — very badly — on FL Studio. That was my first taste of making music myself. From there, I became obsessed with drums and wanted to understand the instruments behind the sounds I was sampling. I bounce back and forth between live music and production constantly. I don’t think you can really separate the two, especially in hip-hop.A lot of it came from hip-hop and R&B, pulling from everywhere — jazz, gospel, Latin music, Brazilian and  West African music. All of it eventually gets shaped into something rhythmic. Being in bands also exposed me to odd time signatures and math-rock ideas. And honestly, a lot of it is trial and error. I don’t always know what I’m doing — happy accidents are a huge part of my process.Your tracks often feel loop-driven but very intentional. How do you know when a musical idea is finished?It’s very feeling-based. When I was only making instrumentals, the beat was the song, so it could just live in a loop. Writing vocals changed that. If it’s something I plan to sing or have someone else write to, I leave space. I treat instrumental tracks differently from songwriting tracks. What “finished” means depends on the purpose of the song.You moved from FL Studio to Ableton fairly early on. What shifted for you there?Ableton felt more intuitive, especially coming from a band context. It allows you to think like a performer, not just a beat-maker. There’s so much depth to it — I probably use only a fraction of what’s possible — but it opened things up in a way FL didn’t for me.You’ve collaborated with artists like Tony Seltzer and Loraine James. What do collaborations reveal to you about yourself?I need to feel safe creatively. Collaboration works best when it’s not a one-off moment, but something you’d want to return to. With Tony and Loraine, there’s a shared openness to getting weird. There’s no pressure to hit a specific genre or outcome. We stopped trying to say “let’s make this kind of track” because it killed the fun. The best moments came from conversation, not intention.Loraine, especially, has been producing longer than I have, and she’s a real nerd about sound — in the best way. She listens to everything, plays with time signatures, and still has a very clear identity. That inspires me because I’m still discovering my sound, and I don’t think that’s something you can plan. It develops naturally.On Purity, there’s a lot of sped-up vocals. What does that choice mean to you?Sped-up vocals take the focus away from identity and put it on movement and feeling. The voice becomes another instrument. It’s less about who’s singing and more about how it hits. That anonymity is freeing. It connects to jungle and garage traditions too — vocals as texture, not centre stage.Many tracks on the record are under two minutes. Why that restraint?It was intentional. The first song we made was longer and more traditional, but once we started making shorter songs, they just felt right. Even though we’re in a maximalist era, not every idea needs to be stretched. Some songs hit harder because they end where they do. Short doesn’t mean incomplete.You’re no longer in a band and are working more as a solo artist. What does that shift give you emotionally?It feels childlike again — like a one-woman band. I’m experimenting more, playing guitar, producing, writing, all from home. I want music-making to feel playful. If it stops feeling that way, it loses its appeal.You don’t seem to set many technical limitations in your process. Where do you draw boundaries?The main limitation I set is who I work with. Visibility brings opportunities, but not all collaborations are about the music. I’m careful about that. I want to avoid being boxed in — especially as a Black woman — whether that’s hypersexualisation or aesthetic over substance. Controlling my narrative matters.You danced on camera in the “Speedrun” video. Do you see the body as another instrument?In performance, yes. For that video, I wanted to dance specifically because I’m not a dancer. I worked with a choreographer so it felt intentional, not lazy. It wasn’t about perfection — it was about awkwardness, discomfort, beauty, and movement. That’s how life feels to me, and the song captured that.Are there any scenes or sounds you’re exploring right now?I’m inspired by younger producers like Step Team from New Jersey — really wild, unquantized drum patterns. Baby Osama too. But honestly, I also live in the past. I’ve been stuck on Teena Marie for years because that’s what my mom played nonstop. Looking back is just as important as looking forward.DJing has also entered your practice. How does that inform your music?I respect DJing deeply. It’s a craft. I only DJ occasionally because I know how demanding it is — physically, mentally, emotionally. DJs shape spaces for hours at a time, regardless of crowd size. That seriousness inspires me, even though my main practice is still producing and songwriting.Finally, where are you heading next?Early 2026 is hermit mode. I’m working on my next solo project, mostly at home — getting weird, experimenting, writing. I might play a couple of shows in the spring, but the focus is on making the next record feel honest and expansive. I’m excited about that.

Photography by Antoine | Interview by Passion DzengaComing out of Bordeaux rather than Paris has shaped $ouley’s music in subtle but important ways. Growing up in a second city, far from the expectations and infrastructure of the capital, he learned early to trust his own instincts and build without permission. Skate spots, bedrooms, video games, and the internet became his classrooms, allowing a sound to form that feels unforced and unconcerned with tradition for tradition’s sake.$ouley’s music draws from a wide emotional and cultural archive—hip-hop and French rap sit alongside Senegalese influences, soul records, video game soundtracks, and the quiet intensity of films like The Wire. Instead of leaning into boom bap or chasing familiar formulas, he moves toward something looser and more future-facing, where feeling leads and genre lines blur.What emerges is an artist driven by intuition and connection: beats that “speak,” visuals shaped through friendship, and live shows that prioritise presence over polish. In this conversation, $ouley reflects on finding his voice outside the spotlight and staying grounded while his world continues to expand.You’re based in Paris now, but you’re originally from Bordeaux. What did it mean to come up in a second city—somewhere that isn’t the capital?Bordeaux is special, but it’s not Paris. It’s not a place where you feel like the industry is waiting for you. If you want to make art there, you have to be strong enough to accept your creativity by yourself first—nobody is going to bring it to you. I grew up in the hood in Bordeaux, and for a long time I was hiding the fact that I even made music.When you say “hiding,” what do you mean?I wasn’t telling people like that. I had my brothers, and they were doing their own thing, and I felt like I had to create my own world. There wasn’t this big city feeling where you can just go somewhere and find a scene instantly. So I kept it private until it started to become real.What was the moment where it started to become real?When I realised people outside my circle were listening. Someone would tell me, “Older people in the city know your name,” or “Somebody’s little brother is a fan.” Then I got invited to perform, and I didn’t even believe it—because I was still figuring myself out. But once you see people really show up, you understand it’s bigger than your bedroom or your phone.With regards to your early influences: family, video games, and building a personal library. What kind of music were you raised on?In the house, it was hip-hop, French rap, US music, and also music from Senegal and Guinea-Bissau like Americo Gomes, because my family is Senegalese. My brothers showed me a lot. My sister too—different things. And I was curious, so I absorbed everything.You also mentioned video games being important.Huge. Video game music helped me build my own library. It’s not just what your family plays—games give you sounds you wouldn’t hear anywhere else. Midnight Club, Gran Turismo, Rockstar games… those soundtracks stayed in my head.Were films part of that education too?Yeah. Old gangster movies, French movies, Disney Channel, The warriors and shows like The Wire. That’s how I discovered Nina Simone. It was like mature music, grown-up music, and it expanded my taste early.From private worlds to publishing music, how did you actually start recording?Skateboarding was a big part of it. I was into Tyler, The Creator and Odd Future, that internet energy. I saw him making music on a MacBook and it made it feel possible. So me and my friends would go downtown and I’d record ideas wherever I could—sometimes even in places like the Apple Store. Before that, I’d already be writing my words down before i even thought about putting it on beats.And then you just started uploading?Exactly. I didn’t overthink it. I uploaded and slowly a small community formed around it. I started on SoundCloud When did you start feeling like you had something to say?It started with writing. I was in private school, but I’m from the hood, so I was seeing different worlds at the same time. I was hearing too much, seeing too much, and it made me want to speak. I did poetry first. Then I started reading my poetry over instrumentals. That’s when I realised I had something—like I wasn’t alone.When did you find your real creative circle?When I met people who had a similar musical education—people who didn’t judge you for doing something new. That’s when studios and sessions started happening more naturally.What’s your writing process now—words first or beat first?Beat first most of the time. Every beat makes me write differently. Sometimes life gives me words first—I write something down, then later a beat matches it. But usually the music speaks to me, and I follow it.Who are the key people around you musically?MH is important—he’s in Paris now but we’re both from Bordeaux. CTP, Deejay Sammy, Gustavio Topman and Yuri Online. We talk music all the time. Then there are people outside France too. I like working across scenes and countries.Do you mess with TTC?Yeah, TTC are legends. They were early with different instrumentals and voice effects in France.Your music is very future-facing. Why did you go that direction instead of classic boom bap?I like new sounds. Artists like Lil B, SGP, Tyler the Creator and the whole internet era showed me you can create a new sound and still be yourself. Hip-hop can have rules—like you have to look a certain way, sound a certain way. Electronic music is more about feeling. I wanted to sound like me. Not like an American version of someone else.What was your first live show like?I was stressed. I couldn’t believe people would pay to see me perform songs I made in such a DIY way. I thought it would be a small crowd, then it was packed. I was nervous and a little too aggressive at first—my friends had to tell me to relax. But now I enjoy it. Now it’s fun.Do you have any pre-show rituals?I check the sound, drink water, listen to my beats. I’m grateful. I close my eyes and just focus.What feels like the next step for you?Travel more, shoot more videos, collaborate more. I have listeners all over the world and I want to meet people in real life, bring the music outside France, and not be afraid of new places.Any dream collaborations?Babyfather would be crazy. And I’d love to do more with people I respect, but timing matters. I want to build real connections, not just chase names.What’s the song that always gets a reaction live?“SUPERFLY (Criminel).” Every time that beat drops, people scream.Why does it have two names?Because in the lyrics I say the way she looks at me is criminal—like she’s sniping me with her eyes. But “Superfly” is the feeling: I’m fly, it’s cinematic, it connects to that movie energy.What’s a more personal record for you?Fever FM is very personal. Songs like “Memory Terio.” And “Party!” too— with the Gran Turismo 4 OST sample. It’s fun but it’s also my real world. Fans told me they played the same game, so it connected deeper than I expected.Your visuals are strong. How do you build that world—covers, videos, the whole language?I have ideas, but it’s also community. I work with friends like Antoine and with people around me. For covers like the Summer Tape artwork, I worked with Julien Marmar—he’s a real artist. For videos, sometimes it’s simple: we see a location, we go, we shoot. We don’t overthink it. When it’s real, people feel it.Can we expect another Summer Tape soon?Maybe later. Right now I want to do something new.Where can people support you?Most of it is on streaming. But I like experimenting with physical drops too—keeping some songs off streaming so the people who really care can find them in a different way.