Tale from the Echobox 022

When Patta touches down, it’s never just an event — it’s a statement. For the Patta x Nike DN8 launch in Marseille, we brought that same energy to the south of France with a weekend that celebrated community, culture, and connection through motion.We kicked things off with a community run through the city — local crews, visiting runners, and Patta Fam all laced up to move as one. No medals, no finish lines — just rhythm, sweat, and unity on Marseille streets, powered by the DN8’s flow.As the sun dipped, we flipped the pace. The night belonged to the music — a club session that brought together Marseille’s finest selectors and international guests for a night that moved like the city itself: raw, unpredictable, and full of heat. Beats bounced off walls, basslines rolled like waves, and the DN8 spirit ran through every drop.All day long, the celebration continued live on air with a Oroko radio broadcast takeover, broadcasting from the heart of the city. DJs, artists, and local voices came together to share stories, sounds, and what it means to move with purpose — connecting scenes, bridging frequencies.Marseille showed us that when you move together, you move forward.

Photography by Axel Joseph | Interview by Passion DzengaFrom the streets of Luanda to the global stage, Pongo has turned movement into meaning. Once known as “M’Pongo Love,” a name given to her by her father during her recovery, she has carried that strength into a career defined by resilience, rhythm, and reinvention. As one of the most distinctive voices in Kuduro, Pongo embodies the duality of survival and celebration — transforming her personal story into an unstoppable force of sound and identity.In this conversation, she reflects on her journey from the train stations of Lisbon to international fame with Buraka Som Sistema, the creation of the anthemic “Kalemba (Wegue Wegue),” and the lessons learned about ownership, artistry, and self-worth. Speaking candidly about healing, independence, and the evolution of Kuduro, Pongo reveals how she’s balancing her Angolan roots with a global vision — and why her mission now is to inspire a new generation to move, dream, and express themselves unapologetically.Your father nicknamed you M’Pongo Love during your recovery. Do you feel that name and the story behind it still echoes in your identity as Pongo today?Partly, yes. Today I also identify with the strength of the artist M’Pongo Love. She deeply inspires me — not only through her resilience, but through her independence. She even created her own record label later in her career, and that motivates me to keep working toward having my own label one day too.Can you take me back to the moment you first saw Denon Squad performing on the street? What did that spark inside you?At the time, I used to make that journey twice a week, and I was always curious to see Denon Squad performing at the train station. On my way to physiotherapy, they would be dancing and singing Kuduro, and from the very first time I saw them, something powerful awoke inside me — a strong sense of belonging and identity.When you first began dancing and rapping, did you see it as escape, empowerment, or both?Both. I was already dancing at family events — it was always a competition between the kids! I also took part in neighborhood dance battles back in Angola. When I moved to Portugal, I started rapping in my teenage years, so for me, it was all connected: an escape from the challenges of growing up, and a source of empowerment from the very beginning.At just 16, you went from performing with friends in the street to sharing stages with Buraka Som Sistema. What was that transition like for you?When I joined Denon Squad, I was just a dancer. I ended up participating in a song they were recording, and that track was later shared with Buraka Som Sistema. That’s how they reached out to me — and for me, it felt surreal. Everything happened so fast.“Kalemba (Wegue Wegue)” became a global hit almost overnight. Did you realize, when you wrote it, how much impact it would have?Honestly, no. The entire composition of Kalemba (Wegue Wegue) was deeply personal for me. It was rooted in my story — in the way my parents, as immigrants in Portugal, kept our Angolan culture alive in our daily lives. The global impact was something I only realized later. Seeing the song cross borders and connect people around the world was a huge surprise, but also a confirmation that when art comes from an honest place, it finds its way. Kalemba was exactly that — a spontaneous celebration that grew into something much bigger than I ever imagined.Leaving Buraka Som Sistema must have been difficult. Looking back, what lessons did that chapter teach you about ownership and self-worth in the music industry?I didn’t choose to leave Buraka — the group made that decision for me. And because of that, I decided not to return. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. That project wasn’t just about music; it was a movement, a community, a family. Over time, though, I realized that even as we were breaking sonic and cultural boundaries, I already had a strong sense of control over my creative identity — especially within Kuduro. That experience taught me that if you don’t define your role and your value from the start, someone else will do it for you. Since then, I’ve become much more intentional about understanding contracts, royalties, and the business side of art. But most importantly, I learned that self-worth isn’t tied to the size of the platform or the volume of applause. Sometimes, stepping away is the most powerful thing you can do — especially when it means choosing yourself, your voice, and your future.Kuduro has often been misunderstood or pigeonholed in Europe. How do you describe it, and what makes it so powerful to you?For me, Kuduro is much more than a musical style — it’s an expression of resistance, energy, and identity. It was born on the streets of Angola as a form of liberation, driven by the Kazukuta and Hip-Hop cultural movement. Its force comes from both body and soul. What makes it powerful is its ability to bring people together — to turn pain into dance, and to tell stories that come from our African roots.Your work brings in influences from Angola, Portugal, and global club culture. How do you balance honoring tradition with pushing boundaries?For me, tradition and innovation are not opposites — they walk side by side and strengthen each other. Honoring tradition means keeping the spirit and truth of Kuduro alive, but it’s also about experimenting, mixing sounds, and taking that energy into new spaces.You often sing in Kimbundu and Portuguese. How important is it for you to weave language and cultural identity into your music?Language carries memory, history, and emotion. By weaving it into my music, I invite listeners into my cultural universe. It’s my way of saying that our languages belong in contemporary music — and that we can stay true to ourselves even when we’re speaking to the whole world.After everything you’ve lived through, do you see music more as a form of survival or a celebration?For me, music is both survival and celebration. It’s still my refuge during difficult times and gives me strength when I feel like giving up. But it’s also joy, freedom, and celebration. Each song is a way of honoring what I’ve been through while celebrating who I am and who I’m still becoming.Mental health and trauma are often taboo topics in immigrant communities. How have you learned to process yours, and does that healing appear in your songs?It’s true — talking about mental health and trauma is still taboo in many communities, not only among immigrants. In my case, I had to find the courage to look inward, to face my pain, and to transform it into art. Music became a space for healing. When I write and sing, I’m often processing those wounds, and I believe that energy reaches the people who listen.Winning the Music Moves Europe Talent Award in 2020 was huge. Did that feel like recognition not only for you, but for Kuduro as a whole?Winning that award was a huge milestone. It wasn’t just personal recognition — it felt like recognition for Kuduro and for Angolan culture. I was proud to represent that collective strength and show that our music belongs on the global stage.Your EPs Baia and Uwa felt like bold statements of independence. How do they differ in terms of your personal journey?Baia was a cry for independence — a moment where I affirmed my voice and said, “I have my own path.” Uwa is more mature and introspective; it speaks about healing, ancestry, and rebirth. Together, they trace my evolution — from liberation to deeper self-discovery and creative vision.Kuduro is now inspiring younger generations globally. Do you feel a responsibility to guide where it goes next?Yes, I do — and I carry that responsibility with love. Kuduro is a living movement, and seeing it inspire younger generations is beautiful. I want to help show that it can grow without losing its roots — that it can speak to the world while staying authentic. I see myself as a bridge between the past and the future, inspiring others to respect where Kuduro comes from while exploring where it can go.If a young Angolan girl living in Lisbon listens to your music, what do you hope she feels?I hope she feels seen and represented. I want her to know that her voice matters — that her origins are something to be proud of — and that she can achieve anything without ever having to apologize for who she is. I want her to feel pride, strength, and freedom, and to know that she belongs, just as she is.Finally — what’s next for Pongo? Where do you want this journey to take you in the coming years?What comes next is growth — exploring new sounds, collaborating with artists from different parts of the world, and bringing Kuduro to spaces it’s never reached before. I want this journey to be long and full of discovery. Most of all, I want to keep telling real stories — my own, those of my people, and those of the world — and continue inspiring others to do the same.Don’t miss it! During Amsterdam Dance Event, Pongo brings her explosive blend of Kuduro, Afrofunk, and global club energy to Paradiso for an unforgettable live show full of rhythm, power, and freedom. Expect pure adrenaline, unstoppable movement, and a performance as visually striking as it is emotional. Experience the voice of a new Kuduro generation live — get your tickets now for Pongo at Paradiso during ADE!

Interview by Passion DzengaNorthwest London’s own Kekoto, known musically as Keko, has steadily carved a lane at the crossroads of culture, experimentation, and self-made innovation. An artist, creative director, and self-described cultural innovator, he carries the dual identity of a grounded Londoner and a global-minded creator. From R&B and Gambian-Senegalese melodies in his childhood home to the late-night Channel U discoveries that shaped a generation, Keko’s sound is rooted in heritage yet driven by experimentation.Balancing raw emotion with cinematic vision, his evolution from the introspective in the meantime to the defiant 2L2Q (Too Legit to Quit) reflects both personal growth and perseverance through hardship. Across projects like Crimson and K-onenine, Keko fuses alternative rap with melody, texture, and storytelling—crafting immersive worlds as much as records.Through his creative umbrella Mismaf, he extends his artistry beyond music into visuals, fashion, and direction—building an ecosystem where every element speaks the same language of independence and innovation. Grounded in community and sharpened by honesty, Keko’s ethos is clear: live creatively, own your craft, and let the work speak louder than the hype.For people discovering you through now—who is Kekoto/Keko, and when do you use each?Kekoto/Keko are both me. I’m an artist, creative director, and cultural innovator. “Keko” is the music-side nickname—more informal, more personal. If someone uses “Kekoto,” they probably just found me. In short: Kekoto/Keko is a cultural innovator—overall, a wavy youth.You’re from Northwest London. How did NW shape your sound and stories?It shaped everything—sound, style, even how I carry myself. What I do connects worldwide—Amsterdam, Germany, Paris—but I know who I speak for and where I’m rooted. Northwest London is deep in the music and in me.Take us into your early musical moments. What was playing at home? First CDs? First discoveries?Born in ’98, the house was R&B and native sounds—Senegalese/Gambian music, jelis and kora traditions. My first rap memory is Nas—“I Can” really stuck with me. Discovery-wise, Channel U was huge. I’d stay up late for grime and UK garage—seeing people who looked and sounded like me, shooting videos where I lived, on TV. Mind-blowing.You also read a lot growing up—did that feed the ambition?Always. On the tube I’d read the music sections in the newspapers as well as all the magazines—Clash, NME, especially the award show write-ups. Even before I made music I thought, “I want to be at one of these. I want to win one of these.” That fueled a goal to do something culturally innovative the next generation can point back to.Press often mentions your smooth lyricism and melodic approach. Where does that come from?I’m a rap artist—alternative rap—but melodies pulled me early. R&B at home plus Senegalese/Gambian patterns are ingrained. Later I got into odd edits—people called it “trap,” but a lot of it was more dubstep/techno-adjacent SoundCloud energy. I like that experimental edge.When did you realize, “I can really do this”?2018. I booked my first studio—one hour, turned up 30 minutes late, spent 20 minutes hunting a beat. The producer said, “Punch something in.” I recorded my first released song in ten minutes. Hearing it back, I knew I could do this. Getting truly serious came around 2023 with in the meantime—the listening party, the turnout—then doing it bigger for 2L2Q at Peckham Audio. Watching the footage like, “All these people were here for me.” Since then we’ve done multiple headliner-style listening parties. It keeps building.Walk us through your creative process—what’s non-negotiable?The beat. If I don’t feel it, I’m onto the next—no matter who sent it. I love ethereal sounds that give goosebumps—close your eyes and see a world. I prefer beats being built live in the session. I’ll start writing, lay something, then punch in—very in-the-moment and experimental. A lot of first-thought honesty.Your music feels cinematic. If it were a film genre, what would it be?A thinker you rewatch for new interpretations—David Lynch vibes (Mulholland Drive), Eyes Wide Shut, The Matrix. Visually bold like Belly, Fallen Angels, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas—colorful, stylish, still fun and gripping. Spike Lee’s stylization too.You’ve mentioned DIY and struggle shaping innovation. How so?Innovation comes from constraint. We weren’t born with silver spoons—so we live creatively because we have to. That resourcefulness is part of the culture and the art.Early on, did you tell people you were making music?No. I kept my head down and did the work. It leaked eventually—my private Insta linked to Facebook, aunties back home seeing it. But I moved quiet until the craft could speak.Your first tape, in the meantime—what did it prove to you?It captured a transition: where I was vs. where I knew I could go. I could complain about what I needed—or act. in the meantime asked, “While I’m heading to the version of me I see, what am I doing right now?” Sonically and visually, it’s a timestamp—busy artwork, real-life energy. It started as a “side mission” before a bigger album… then became the main mission. That happens a lot with me.What did listeners miss that you heard instantly on that record?People had notes on the mixes. I wanted a raw, authentic, slightly rugged sound—2L2Q doubled down on that: somehow polished yet rugged. We even lost stems on “2L2Q” with KBO and released the mix we had. It worked—good audio with texture. The point wasn’t clinical perfection; it was feeling.Moving into the next era—what was the goal for the sound?2L2Q is exactly what it says—Too Legit to Quit. 2024 was testing—trials nonstop. In hindsight it made me stronger, but living it wasn’t fun. The tape says: I didn’t come this far just to get this far. You hear it—I was writing on my worst days, speaking directly. It’s bigger than me.So in the meantime was discovery. What’s the arc after that?in the meantime was figuring it out. 2L2Q is: I’ve discovered it, and I’m here to say it. Crimson keeps that energy but is more curated—more world-building and artistic direction.Your release rhythm feels like 2000s mixtape culture—dropping between albums to show resilience. Why keep that pace?People grow up and move on, so from early you need to know who you’re speaking to. If they truly relate, time won’t break that bond. A lot of folks quit. Staying power matters, but only if you’ve got something real to say.Tell us about K-onenine—concept and how it came together.K-onenine is a collaboration between me, A19, and MV (producer). We locked in for a few months and suddenly had a tape. We sequenced it, got the cover right, tested it—Amsterdam trip, a pre-listening party where attendees got USBs with the tape—then the release party on drop day. The response made us double down. It could’ve stayed a side project while we worked on other things, but we said, “The world needs to hear this now.”Who are your core collaborators?Not exhaustive, but: producers nv, mannydubbs, Proton, A19, Kibo; creative team Melo (photographer/director), Detroit (artist), MS, Sam Swervo; Chinua (DJ); Retita (hair stylist); Cojo, Oscar—and family in Amsterdam too. So many people believe in this and make it happen. That’s another reason it’s “too legit to quit”—it’s bigger than me.Hip-hop has that “pull each other up” ethic—iron sharpening iron. Is that your circle?100%. My people won’t let me slack. If a song isn’t it, they’ll say it. That honesty keeps the bar high. I’m for bringing back a bit of gatekeeping—once someone proves themselves, cool, but standards matter. When bars drop, sub-genres get watered down.Let’s talk visuals—cover art and videos. How do you approach them, and where does Mismaf fit?I start with a rough concept that evolves. I don’t like text on covers—I want the image to tell the story and leave room for interpretation. Mismaf is my creative umbrella; clothing is one medium. I put all my creative work—music included—through Mismaf. Sometimes there’s joint venture distribution with labels, but it’s my house for ideas.Ownership keeps coming up. Why is it important to you?Ownership is key. Chasing hits for money kills passion. I keep it fresh—even if I have to switch process or environment. Whatever it takes.Off socials—when you’re not making music or building Mismaf—what keeps you inspired?Life. I’ll ditch the phone, end up in a bookstore, read something that sparks a whole Mismaf collection. My deepest, longest-lasting inspiration comes from living—not the phone.As the beat of Amsterdam Dance Event 2025 builds, Patta and Keep Hush return for the third time — and you know what they say: three’s the magic number. This year, the partnership levels up, uniting three of the city’s most forward-thinking collectives — Sankofa Archives, Mosaiko, and Studio Strip — for a night that goes far beyond your standard ADE rave. This is community in motion: collectives linking up, sounds colliding, and energy multiplying into something bigger than the sum of its parts.From live sets by NoizBoiz and Kekoto, to stacked B2Bs, selectors, and special guests, it’s an all-Amsterdam celebration of sound system culture, experimentation, and underground connection. Tickets are live now — don’t sleep. Join the movement and secure your spot at Patta x Keep Hush: where the community takes centre stage.

For 2025, adidas brings back one of its most iconic lines — EQT — with a heavy drop of footwear and apparel that nods to its legacy while looking straight ahead. To mark the moment, Denzel Dumfries fronts the campaign — an athlete whose energy and presence embody what EQT has always stood for: performance, purpose, and authenticity.When the first adidas Equipment line dropped in 1991, it changed the game. Built with no shortcuts, no gimmicks — just the best of the best. That same spirit still runs deep. From archive-inspired silhouettes to modern reworks like the EQT Prototype and EQT CSG, every piece carries the DNA of a range that once eclipsed everything around it — and still holds that power today.Over three decades later, EQT continues to define what it means to blend heritage with innovation. This isn’t just a comeback — it’s a reminder that true quality never fades.To celebrate the return, we’re keeping things rooted in the community with an in-store panel talk and DJ event at Patta Milan on October 15th, exploring one central question: What does club culture mean in Italy today — and especially in Milan?We’ll be joined by three panellists shaping nightlife both locally and internationally, including Lina Giselle, resident DJ at trrrmoto, who brings her insight on how the scene has evolved and what makes the Italian sound distinct.

Interview by Monse Alvarado AlvarezFor the latest Tales From The Echobox, we sat down with Echobox resident, Kulumang at Café Warung PAS in Amsterdam Noord. We discuss his approach of constructing narratives through sounds, and his experience as part of Serumpun Kolektif. An Amsterdam-based collective that seeks to highlight the vitality and diversity of contemporary Indonesian and Southeast Asian creativity. Kulumang is the creator of the show, Suara Serumpun, a monthly program that explores the sounds of Nusantara. Keep reading to learn more about it as we prepare his next show. Remember to tune in on www.echobox.radioFor those who are not familiar with Serumpun Kolektif, could you briefly introduce the group and the projects you work on?The collective started out of a friend group. Today we’re about eleven people, and it came out of necessity. Most of us are Indonesian, mixed Indonesian or have Indonesian roots, and we live here in Amsterdam.We had a feeling that the representation of contemporary Indonesian culture, the voices of Indonesia today, were overshadowed in the Dutch context. As someone who is half Dutch, half Indonesian, and born in Indonesia, I missed the culture I knew from there. The discourse here was always overshadowed by the colonial past, Indonesia as a former colony, instead of focusing on what’s happening now and what people are saying today. Of course, it's important to talk about the complex history of Indonesia and the Netherlands, but we also want to share contemporary Indonesian culture: the creativity, the variety, and the talented people who often aren’t heard here.And what kind of projects does the collective represent? I read that Café Warung PAS was initiated by one of your members, Petra.Yes, that was done by Petra and it is now like a homebase for the collective. Food is such an important part of Indonesian culture, so we’re really happy that the restaurant became a place to connect.For example, on the 17th of August we celebrated Indonesian Independence Day. This was the third time we organized it. Four years ago, we were actually the first ones to celebrate outside of the embassy here in the Netherlands.Really?Yeah. And now, four or five other parties are organizing Independence Day events as well. Before, people didn’t really think it was possible to celebrate it here the way people do in Indonesia, like a King’s Day, with parties, games, fun, and of course, food. That was something we missed.Also, in the Netherlands, for a long time 17 August wasn’t even recognized as Indonesia’s Independence Day, from the Dutch perspective it was only two years later on the 27th of December, in 1949, after years of armed conflict and diplomatic negotiations. But in recent years, there’s been more discussion, remembrance days, and historical conversations that hadn’t been spoken about before. That’s important.After one year of hosting your Echobox show Suara Serumpun, can you walk us through your creative process, including how you choose and invite guests?Suara Serumpun is really an extension of the collective. It’s not only about Indonesia but also about Nusantara, a pre-colonial context for the broader maritime Southeast Asian region, including parts of Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand, and the Philippines. Culture isn’t defined by borders, so it feels natural to also play music connected culturally but from different countries.My creative process starts with curating music from the region. I discover new scenes, often from Indonesia, because that is my starting point, but also I started broadening out to Malaysia, for example. For example, we had a guest, rEmPiT g0dDe$$, a Malaysian artist, who came here and played a live set. Through her I learned a lot about music from other areas of Nusantara.We’ve had both live sets and pre-recorded ones. Some guests came to the studio. We had two live sets from Xin Lie and rEmPiT g0dDe$$ while she was performing at Rewire festival. While others connected with us remotely, like the set from Xin Lie that we broadcast as a pre-recorded set. I also try to include local guests from Amsterdam to add their perspective.The guest lineup is not random, it depends on timing, connections, and opportunities.The shows I play, though, follow a more cinematic kind of way. I try to create storytelling through sound, with emotional qualities and field recordings to make it flow. My aim is to capture the dense, humid mysticism that drifts through the Nusantara atmosphere.It can move from slow to fast, ambient to energetic and make it dynamic. I also tend to push toward the experimental side and the different scenes, because I think that’s where a lot of amazing, lesser-known sounds come from. I want to highlight those voices. At the same time, I’m aware that the curation also reflects my own taste, and I sometimes question how much space my taste should take up. But I think it’s important to find a balance to represent the culture.How do you engage in dialogue with the diaspora through the show? Has it sparked new projects, collaborations, or connections in Amsterdam and abroad?Yes, definitely. For example, through the show we connected with Half East Records, a collective in London that focuses on Southeast and East Asian music. They came here for Independence Day, which created a new link between us. Beyond these international ties, the show also sparked local initiatives, like Raung. Our first edition took place in 2024 at the Sun Studios in Rotterdam, where we invited Kuntari, a two-man band from Indonesia, to close their European tour. By coincidence, on 6 September we have an event at Felix Meritis, where they’ll also open their next tour. These kinds of connections keep growing.We also bring together traditional and experimental perspectives in music. For example, the Raung event at Murmur featured derozan, Mangruv, and Bintang Manira. We explored Indonesian tonal scales and percussion rhythms, blending them with more contemporary, experimental approaches. In this way, the show functions as a hub, connecting local and international artists and helping build a network of culture and creativity.That’s beautiful. Okay, and what can we look forward to in your next show? Could you give us a small sneak peek?For the one-year anniversary, I want to create a compilation of my favorite tracks from the past year, something that really represents the spirit of the show. For the future, I’d like to include more guests, go deeper conceptually, but still keep the spontaneity.Nice. So after a year of experimenting, you feel you’ve found the basics of what you want, and now you’re ready to expand.Exactly, I know what I like, what works, and what I want to develop further. The show really works as a meeting point, a place where artists can connect with each other and with the local scene. I hope it helps build a stronger network with like-mind artists around Indonesian and Southeast Asian culture.Tune in to Echobox - broadcasting from below sea level every week, Wednesday until Saturday.

Interview by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Akadre Studio | Styling by Sonia IhuomaIf you haven’t already tapped into the world of Black Sherif, now’s the time to get familiar. The Ghanaian genre-bender has come a long way since his First Sermon days, evolving from a hometown hero into a global voice with a message rooted in resilience, spirit, and raw emotion. With a sound that blurs the lines between drill, reggae, highlife, and rap—and a style just as genre-defying—Blacko is the kind of artist who makes you feel something, even if you don’t understand the language.It’s been a busy year for the 23-year-old, whose real name is Mohammed Ismail Sherif. We spoke days before the release of his sophomore album Iron Boy, and the start of an arena tour across the US and UK. Sherif is entering his Iron Boy era with the quiet confidence of someone who’s lived, learned, and levelled up. He’s got love for his roots, love for the journey, and love for the people who see power in vulnerability—because for Black Sherif, that’s the real flex. We caught up with him to talk about patience, performances, personal growth, and the power of staying true to your source. Let’s get into it.You’ve come a long way since your debut album. How do you reflect on your growth as an artist? How have you changed over time?It’s been quite a journey—from The First Sermon to where I am now, preparing to drop my sophomore album. A lot has changed, especially in terms of how the world receives me and how the business works. But one thing that hasn’t changed is where my creativity comes from. The source remains the same. What has changed is me—I’ve grown. I’ve learned patience, and I’ve learned acceptance. Two or three years ago, things that happen to me now would've broken me. Today, I handle them with a different mindset. I respect the journey. As kids, we think success will come instantly—we write goals in our notes and expect them to happen on our timeline. But life teaches you patience.Patience really does sound like the defining theme of your journey. Would you say that’s the biggest lesson so far?Absolutely. Patience. This album, for instance, was supposed to drop eight months ago, but life happened. If I didn’t have patience, I would’ve crashed out. Learning to sit back, be part of a team, and let things unfold—that’s been everything.Your sound is a unique mix of drill, rap, reggae, and highlife. How did you develop this blend? And what role do your Ghanaian roots play in that?I don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but confusion helped me find my sound. I know how to do so many things, and I used to judge myself a lot—I'd write something and wish it sounded like reggae or something else. But then I let go. I stopped fighting the flow and started letting whatever came out, come out. The result is this unique mix. It’s not forced. It’s just who I am and what I’ve been exposed to—from Ghanaian music to Caribbean influences.Highlife is such a traditional Ghanaian genre. How does it find its way into your music, especially when you’re blending so many Western sounds?I even get surprised sometimes. I’ll be working with my in-house producer, Joker, and he’ll make these futuristic beats—but the rhythms, man, they just scream highlife. It’s not about language or lyrics. It’s in the rhythm, the melodies. And somehow, that same beat my Jamaican friends will hear and say, "This sounds Caribbean!" It’s wild.Different things, but especially my mom. I remember being 10; that was the last time I was home with her. And the music that shaped me came from those early years. My dad came back from Greece when I was eight and introduced me to Don Carlos. “Harvest Time” was the first reggae song I learned. That shaped my idea of what music and art should be. Also, I still have friends from when I was six or seven; we’re still close, some of us even work together now. Those relationships keep me grounded.You’re known for being vulnerable in your music. How do you manage that vulnerability while still showing strength and power in your art?I find power in being vulnerable. Not everyone can do that. I see vulnerability as a superpower. There are so many people in the world who can’t speak or express what they’re feeling—but I can. And I have a space to do it through music.You’ve worked with big names—Burna Boy, Vic Mensa, Mabel, Fireboy DML. What do you look for in a collaborator, and how do those collabs shape your sound?Funny enough, I don’t think I’ve fully entered my collaborative phase yet. Most of the songs I’ve done came from relationships—someone sent me a track, and I vibed with it. But after this album, I want to travel, sit with artists, connect spiritually, and create. To me, music is spiritual. A perfect collaboration is when everyone’s spirit aligns on a track. That’s the kind of collab I’m chasing.What sort of themes, sound, and your evolution as an artist on this second album?It’s more elevated. Some of the beliefs I had two or three years ago—I’m challenging them now. I’ve found new ways to be personal and vulnerable. There’s a song called One that talks about something that happened to my father last year that changed everything in my family. It’s a spiritual album. You’ll have to listen to it to feel what I’m saying.The album is called Iron Boy. What does that title mean to you?The title is layered. First, it’s a tribute to a highlife legend from where I’m from—Iron Boy was his nickname. But also, "iron" represents being tough. The stuff I’ve been through recently? If it had happened three years ago, I would’ve stopped making music. But now, I’m iron. I’ve become that.You’ve been called the voice of the Ghanaian youth. How do you carry that responsibility, and how do you reflect your community’s struggles in your work?I've learned we all fight the system in different ways. For me, music is how I respond. I’m honest in how I reflect what’s around me. Where I’m from—Zongos—you don’t often see guys being this vulnerable. They’ll say, “Being soft gets you nowhere.” But I say it anyway. And that gives me power.You mentioned a track called “Victory Song”, where you open up about crying in a hotel in London. Why was that moment important to share?Because no one talks about that part of success. People see you on stage or travelling, but they don’t see the moments when the noise fades, and you’re alone with your thoughts. That moment reminded me that I’m still that kid from back home, feeling things deeply. I want people to hear that. That’s the kind of artist I want to be.You’ve played massive shows—MOBOs, Wireless Festival, City Splash. What’s that experience like, and what stands out to you?Every time I get on stage outside of Ghana, I tell myself, “Nobody here knows me. I’m here to sell them something I believe in.” At Wireless, the sound was so good I forgot I was performing to a huge crowd. It felt like a rehearsal. I just wanted two hours to sing.What makes a great performance to you?There are some things about performing that you have to learn, even if you're born with talent. When I watch people like Kendrick Lamar, their performances feel like an emotional roller coaster. Some songs don’t need dancing; they just need to be felt. You get more from watching the artist express it through gestures and facial expressions. I love all of that because I don’t think I’m a good speaker, but I’m super talented in nonverbal communication. That’s why I believe I’m one of the best performers from where I’m from.You mentioned Kendrick. Are you aiming for a stage show that feels more like a play or theatre performance than just a concert?Yeah. It’s more than just turning up. It’s about creating an experience. Like theatre, with costumes and pacing.You’re considered one of the best-dressed men from Ghana. What sparked your interest in fashion?It came from when I was young. My whole style started in a woman’s closet—my auntie's. When my mom left for Greece, I stayed with my auntie, and she had all kinds of stylish stuff. I’d sneak into her things, steal belts, and glasses. That’s when I got into appearances. I also tried different hairstyles, like one called “backbone,” and got beaten for it because it was too bold for where I was living. I’ve always been chasing freedom to dress how I want.Did your mom’s background as a seamstress influence your fashion sense?Definitely. I used to sew my buttons for school. Even in high school, I’d alter my clothes because I couldn’t afford a tailor. If I didn’t like something about a shirt or a pair of sneakers, I’d cut it and make it my own.Last September, you walked for Labrum at London Fashion Week. What’s your relationship with high fashion?I’m just getting into it. As a teenager, I couldn’t afford real designer clothes, so I wore replicas. But now, I get these things as gifts, and I feel like I have a fashion dream that will come true. After walking for Labrum, people told me I was natural at it. I thought I didn’t do a great job, but the reactions were strong. I’m still figuring out my way in fashion, but I believe in it.How do you see your style connecting with your music?Iron Boy is a supernatural being, and how he looks shouldn’t be relatable. The music and visuals are all extensions of each other. How I sing, how I dress, how I look—it’s about making people feel something, even if they don’t understand the words.Tell us about your music video for the song “So It Goes” with Fireboy DML.I loved the styling. I didn’t style Fireboy, but I was involved in my own styling. Some of the looks feel like video game characters. When I was a kid, I was really into gaming—GTA, Winning Eleven, and Sega. I don’t play as much now, even though I have a PS5, but those inspirations still show in my visuals.What’s the concept of the music video?It’s like a greeting from abroad. The character is on his way to war, like a traveller sending a postcard to a lover. You see him on a horse, surrounded by dead men—it’s poetic and emotional.As a Ghanaian artist gaining international recognition, how important is it to remain rooted in your language and culture while appealing to a global audience?I think my music speaks globally, even in a different language. Some people in Ghana don’t get what I’m saying, and people abroad do—emotionally. Emotions and melodies are universal languages. I’m still learning how to reach everyone, but I believe in the power of feelings.Find out more about Patta and the world around us through the Patta Magazine Volume 5, which is available now only at Patta Chapter stores in Amsterdam, London, Milan and Lagos.

Interview by Passion DzengaFew bands can claim to have shaped music history while defying every neat genre label, but ESG has been doing exactly that for over four decades. Formed in the South Bronx by the Scroggins sisters — Renee, Valerie, Deborah, and Marie — along with their friend Tito Libran, ESG took their name from three precious elements: emerald, sapphire, and gold. With their stripped-down blend of funk, punk, hip-hop, and Latin rhythms, they forged a sound so distinctive that LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy once called it “irreducible.”Discovered by 99 Records’ Ed Bahlman at a local talent show, ESG quickly caught the attention of the owner of Manchester’s infamous Hacienda nightclub and Factory Records, Tony Wilson, after a Manhattan club gig. Within days, they were recording with producer Martin Hannett, creating tracks like “Moody,” “You’re No Good,” and the now-legendary “UFO” — a song that would become one of the most sampled in music history. From the Beastie Boys to Wu-Tang Clan, TLC to MF Doom, generations of artists have built upon ESG’s minimal, bass-driven grooves.Over the years, the group has released influential EPs and albums, taken their music around the world, and kept it all in the family — with Renee’s children now joining the lineup. Their work has been praised by critics, revered by musicians across genres, and celebrated by fans who know that ESG’s music isn’t just to be listened to — it’s to be felt, moved to, and danced to.Few bands embody the raw intersection of funk, punk, and Latin rhythm quite like ESG. Emerging from the South Bronx in the late 1970s, the Scroggins sisters carved out an inimitable sound. As the band approaches its 49th year — and its final European show at Skatecafé in Amsterdam at VOID — founding member Renee Scroggins reflects on ESG’s beginnings, their impact, and the lessons she’s carrying into retirement and passing on to the next generation.It’s very exciting that you’re coming back to Amsterdam to play in Europe once again. ESG began as a family affair, and it still is. Can you share a little bit about what those earliest jam sessions were like?Well, we were learning, so it wasn’t the greatest thing at first. But as time went on, it got better and better. We weren’t just freestyling — from the beginning, we had the intention of being a band. We were going to do this together.The name ESG comes from Emerald, Sapphire, and Gold. Why did you choose it, and did you have any idea it would become so iconic?No, actually, my mother chose the name for us. Emerald was my sister Valerie’s birth sign, Sapphire is mine, and Gold… well, we wanted to get gold records. Manifesting greatness, I guess.It sounds like ESG has always been a matriarchy at its core. When you started out, were there many female-led bands you could look up to, or were you creating a path of your own?One group that really inspired me was Labelle—Patti LaBelle, Nona Hendryx, and Sarah Dash. They blended funk and rock in a way that blew my mind. Seeing women do that made me believe it was possible for us too. Beyond that, I was influenced by all sorts of artists—from the Supremes in Motown, who taught me the power of harmony, to Queen, who always had funk hidden in their rock songs. Inspiration comes from everywhere, but at the end of the day, you take those feelings and make them your own.Not long after, you were discovered at a talent show. How did that change your trajectory as a group?It definitely took us into a whole different atmosphere. We were coming from the South Bronx, where we were used to funk, Latin music, and gospel, and suddenly we were thrown into Manhattan’s punk scene. It was a shock — a whole other world.Can you explain what the South Bronx was like back then compared to the downtown scene?In the early ’70s, the Bronx was really a mess — gangs, drugs, violence. My mom didn’t want us hanging out in the streets. We stayed inside watching Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert and Soul on PBS, saying, “Yeah, we can do that.” Meanwhile, through our windows on the 13th floor, we’d hear Latin gentlemen in the park playing congas, timbales, cowbells, even Coca-Cola bottles. That sound came through every night. Growing up in the Bronx, Latin music was everywhere—you could hear it outside your window. But I also loved artists like Celia Cruz, Willie Colón, Eddie Palmieri, and later Marc Anthony. Even today, I enjoy Enrique Iglesias. Latin rhythms—the congas, the timbales—have always inspired me. It’s beautiful to see Latin music at the forefront of pop culture now. Add my mom blasting James Brown records — breaking the music down to raw funk and drums — and you get the foundation of ESG. We took James Brown’s breakdowns and made them the whole song.Beyond James Brown and Latin rhythms, what else shaped ESG?It was everything — James Brown funk, salsa rhythms, but also the songs from Queen and Led Zeppelin we heard on TV. We wanted the funky parts of all of it. Later, when Ed Bahlman brought us into 99 Records, that became our home base. Ed was one of the talent show judges, asked to manage us unofficially. He invited us down to 99 Records. It became a meeting space — lots of music around — and where we built that connection with Ed. We built a community with other bands like Liquid Liquid, Bush Tetras and Glenn Branca. The Bush Tetras were really cool. They’d loan us amps when we didn’t have much. There was a lot of camaraderie, helping each other out. And visually, you had the artwork from Gina Franklyn. Did you collaborate closely with her?Not really — she was Ed’s partner at 99 Records. The design was presented to us, but it reflected our colours, the emerald, the sapphire and the gold, so we were satisfied.Back in the beginning, you worked with producer Martin Hannett. He was known for creating atmosphere in sound. Do you think that’s what he brought to ESG, or did you already have it?We already had our sound. Martin didn’t really change it much—he just magnified what was already there. He added a few touches, but mostly he let us be ourselves. I even hung around the studio with him and learned how the board worked. That knowledge still serves me today.So who handles the production now? Is it all in-house?Yes, I do it myself now. Of course, sometimes I wish I had the budget to go into bigger studios, but those costs add up. So we make the most of what we can do at home, and we always aim to get the best sound possible.You speak a lot about the business side of music. Is that something you wish all artists understood before starting out?Absolutely. This is your work, and each song is like a child. You want to protect it the same way you’d protect your kids. It’s heartbreaking to see music chopped up, stolen, or misused. That’s why it’s so important to understand your rights and protect your art.Nearly five decades later, ESG is still going strong. What has it been like transitioning into a new lineup with your children?This year is 48 years, next year will be 49, and then we’re retiring. People ask, “Why not 50?” but 49 is enough. Now my daughter Nicole plays bass, my son Nicholas plays percussion, and we’ve got Cat Dorsch on drums. My sister Marie still plays percussion. It’s still family. And I’ve passed lessons down — like keeping control of your publishing and masters. Business first, then art. It’s not easy, but it’s necessary.What lessons have you passed on to your children in music?I tell my son, who writes music, to keep control of his publishing and masters. Always make sure contracts are in place before a show. Business first, then art. That’s hard for artists, but it’s necessary.What keeps drawing you back to making music after all these years?It’s a combination of things. Part of it is having my family involved in the band now. But it’s also knowing that we’re still creating original music. We’re not borrowing or copying—we’re writing fresh material that I know will eventually be sampled by future generations. Making music still brings me joy, and I believe when that joy disappears, that’s when you stop.One track, “UFO,” became one of the most sampled songs of all time. Did you have any sense of that when you recorded it?Not at all. Martin Hannett asked if we had a three-minute song because there were three minutes left on the tape. My family hated it — I loved it. It became our most sampled track. At first, I didn’t like it, especially when rappers were saying negative things about women, and we weren’t getting paid. I was working regular jobs to feed my kids, while people were sampling our music and making money. Eventually, sampling laws changed, and that helped. I can always tell it’s UFO. That sound is unmistakable. I mean, the funny thing is that we didn't know how to tune our instruments at that time. These are notes that don't even exist on the music scale. So, yeah, I can tell that thing anywhere.I wrote UFO because at the time I had just finished watching “Close Encounters of the Third Kind" and “Star Wars”. So I was thinking about space and aliens. You know, people are going to do what they do, you know, whether you like it or not. So, you learn to go with the flow, become a part of the system, and deal with it. It doesn't make it right, but that's just how it is.You even titled your 1992 record “Sample Credits Don’t Pay the Bills”. That was a bold statement.It was real. I was still living in the projects. Everyone kept asking about these artists — but they didn’t work with me, they stole my music. That’s why we called it that.After all these years, does it surprise you that songs written in your bedroom with your sisters are now celebrated worldwide?Yes. I never set out to inspire the world. I just wanted to buy my mom a house. But to see people all over — in Italy, Spain, Amsterdam, Norway — dancing to what I wrote in the projects… that touches my heart.Streaming and remix culture dominate now. Do you think artists are better or worse off today?If you’ve got a known song, you’ll usually get paid now. But smaller artists still get ripped off. That cycle hasn’t changed.Still, ESG’s music keeps inspiring new generations. How do you define your sound after all these years?Dance. Always dance. No matter what decade, ESG will make you move. And we kept it simple: bass, drums, percussion, and vocals used as instruments. That’s what makes our sound.Looking back, what moments stand out as the proudest or most unexpected?Playing Lincoln Center recently, at an event honouring the first women to sign a major label contract, that was special. Earlier, in 1981, we played a New York club during a snowstorm — I thought no one would show up, the streets were insane, it was no easy feat pushing through that weather. However, when we got to the show, it was packed wall to wall! And of course, Japan. They didn’t speak English, but they understood the music. That’s when you realise music is a universal language. Back to James Brown, I remember that one time we were asked to open for him, and it felt very full circle for me. However, unfortunately, he passed away before the show ever took place. “Take it to the bridge”—those words inspired us. It would have been a dream come true. Still, his spirit has always been with me.That would have been such a full-circle moment. If you could go back and meet a young Renee in the Bronx, what advice would you give her?I’d tell her not to be afraid and to just do it. Early on, I had terrible stage fright. Then I met Billy Idol, who used to hang around us. One day he asked me, “Did you give the best show you could?” I said yes, and he told me a few things that changed my outlook forever. The very next day, I stepped on stage without fear—and I’ve never been afraid since. Meeting people like that along the way can inspire you in ways you don’t expect.Does rehearsal play a big part in building that confidence on stage?Rehearsal is absolutely essential. If you want to be a good artist, you need to prepare. Even then, you have to be ready for unexpected challenges—like when the soundboard goes crazy mid-show. But the more you rehearse, the more comfortable you become. For us, rehearsals are like jam sessions. We sometimes jam about three times a week. Jamming energises us and sometimes even leads to new songs.Do you think kids growing up in the South Bronx today could still hear ESG and feel the same spark you felt back then?Definitely. I’ve met young people who tell me that our story inspires them—to see that we came out of the projects and did something. Of course, environment shapes you, but it’s the individual who decides whether to stay stuck or to strive for something better. Hopefully, our journey inspires them to do better.48 years of touring must have shown you so much; what do you remember about your first European shows? I  just finished reading The Haçienda: How Not to Run a Club by Peter Hook. What was it like for you to be there on opening night? We were brought in to open the club on its very first night. I still have the little sticker posters from that gig. But honestly, the place wasn’t fully ready—there was sawdust everywhere, and I remember coughing and gagging, thinking, “Wow, this isn’t good for my throat.” So when people ask me what I remember most about the Hacienda, I always say, “Sawdust.” That being said, it was still an amazing experience. It was opening night, so the place was full of dignitaries, musicians, and all sorts of people there to see this new chapter in nightlife unfold. Years later, around 2015 or 2016, I even went back for a Hacienda tribute show. Playing there again after so many decades felt surreal. On that same trip, the first time to Europe, we played for a magazine called Actual in Paris. Everywhere we went, even without speaking the same language, people connected with the music. That’s what the world needs — love, peace, and music.And now you’re returning to Amsterdam for your final European show at VOID. How does it feel to end this chapter here?Amsterdam has always held a special place in our hearts. The people dance, and the energy is positive. We were supposed to retire this year, but I’ve got contracts until June 2026. After that, I’m done. It’s not that I don’t enjoy performing — I do — but sometimes promoters make it difficult. The people at VOID, though, have been nothing but wonderful. The club is great, the people are professional, and I know the fans will bring beautiful energy.Amsterdam is ready. ESG alongside Mad Professor, Volition Immanent, and so much great talent — that’s a night to remember. What can fans expect?A great time. Just let loose and dance. That’s what ESG has always been about.And beyond VOID, what’s next for you?The first show of our farewell tour is in San Francisco at the Great American Music Hall on January 30th. That’s the beginning of the end. But until then, we’re going to enjoy every last dance.Before we wrap up, is there anything you’d like to leave with our readers?Yes. In these times, we need to learn to love and respect one another. Forget politics for a moment—people can still choose to treat each other with kindness. Music is a universal language, and that’s what we’re bringing to you. On the business side, I want young artists to protect their work. Own your masters, own your publishing, register your songs. That way your art will take care of you in the long run. Most importantly, love what you’re doing—because if you don’t love your art, it’s not worth it.If you’ve made it this far, you know this is one night you won’t want to miss. On September 26th, VOID takes over Skatecafé in Amsterdam to stage a festival that breaks all the rules—punk, dub, experimental, hip-hop—all in one raw, genre-bending night. With legends like ESG in their final European performance, Shawty Pimp’s Dutch debut, Mad Professor in dub mode, and Volition Immanent rocking out, it’s a lineup built for those who hunger for something real. Tickets are flying fast. If you believe in sweaty floors, heart-in-throat sets, and discovering something beyond the mainstream, this is your moment. Grab your ticket now here, bring everyone you know, and let’s make this a farewell Europe show for the books. See you on the dancefloor. 

Interview by Monse Alvarado AlvarezWe are back with another Tales From The Echobox! In this conversation, we sat down with resident and multi-disciplinary artist Mila V in her studio in the heart of Amsterdam. We discussed her evolving relationship with music and community, the role of radio as a space for experimentation, and the importance of discovery in nightlife as her event Burst City approaches soon.Your sonic and artistic practice consistently explores the unexplored and creates space for the unseen. When it comes to your radio shows, Altrd State (Operator Radio), and Witching Hour at Echobox, how do you approach the creation of them? Which possibilities of experimentation does this medium afford you? I think it’s actually quite personal. I was doing music seriously for five years, and  I noticed I was putting a lot of pressure on everything, almost killing the beauty of it. It became heavy; I wasn’t really enjoying it anymore because I was putting pressure on the projects and myself. Slowly, over the last year, I tried to find ways to regain joy.I learned to DJ when I was around 15, but at the time, the scene in Amsterdam wasn’t like it is now. It wasn’t as open to women or to things outside the box. I tried, but felt discouraged, then moved away and stopped. Still, it always stayed in the back of my head.The idea for Witching Hour was a way for me to delve into music and dedicate time to finding it, which is something I find so inspiring and sacred. When you spend time making your own music, you kind of forget to make time for discovery. It reminds me of the times when I was a teen, and I was always on my computer. Finding that back is very inspiring and allows me to not put as much pressure on it. Of course, there’s still a bit of pressure to do a good job, but Radio is soft in a way I can’t quite explain.Witching Hour does not have to fit in a club setting; it can go in all directions within all different genres, and it’s very fun to make it, even if you don’t get that physical feedback. It is more creative, and it gives me room to experiment. In the future, I want to speak more because I have always had this fantasy of being a radio host!For Altrd State at Operator Radio, it's more danceable and a bit more clubby. That is also inspiring because my own music is placed between those realms. It is another type of search which is also inspiring. Also, the vibe there is always super nice. Your upcoming show at Melkweg ‘Burst City’, which you co-created with Parrish Smith, is a testament to community and alternative expression. For this second edition, what can people expect in comparison to the first edition?This time we have more live bands, which was harder at Garage Noord because of the backline and infrastructure. Melkweg, being more pop-focused, makes that easier because it caters to more live acts. We wanted to mix bands in a clubbing setting. It is a podium, but it is also used as a club, so in a sense it’s perfect.For me, it is a reflection of history in current days because for me Garage Noord is one of my favourite clubs, since it opened. Melkweg is an iconic venue, and it is another venue I would go to since I was 15. I saw so many bands in the Oude Zaal, so for me it’s truly a full-circle moment.In terms of lineup, we kept the same spirit, mixing local talent with international headliners.What would you hope to see in the future of the scene? I hope people go to events to discover again, instead of only attending when they know exactly what to expect. For me, nightlife used to rely heavily on the element of surprise, of being overwhelmed by something unexpected.Since COVID, things feel safer, more in-between-the-lines. Understandably, venues need to sell tickets. But I’d love to see more risks taken, and audiences open to not necessarily knowing what they’ll get and be more open to discovery.What would you tell creatives trying to make space for their creative projects?I would tell them to not be afraid to show who you truly are. And don’t feel ashamed to take up space. Some creatives aren’t necessarily comfortable being in the spotlight, and nowadays it is so much about that. Some people get discourage by this, but it is really about finding your own way. In the beginning I was more insecure and tried to cater to what I thought people wanted from me, instead of what I really am.You often explore the raw, darker side of sound, art, and hence, of your own identity. How was your journey into embracing what people are often too afraid to face? What has it thought you throughout the years about your (artistic) projects and the communities you surround yourself with?It’s been a long journey. Everyone has their own timing, some find themselves early, others take longer. And that’s okay. It’s not easy. You have to be willing to make mistakes, learn from them, and not see them as failures. Also, making room for imperfection, because striving for perfection is not helpful. It is all a learning curve, some of it comes from age and some from life experience.What has it thought you throughout the years about your (artistic) projects and the communities you surround yourself with? The community is so important. For me, it feels like returning home. As a teenager, the alternative scene helped me form my identity and gave me my closest friends and like-minded people outside of school. It was a place I could develop myself and my interests.Now I see how much those influences still shape my work. Playing at Grauzone Festival last year was another reminder. It is such a sick place which represent all of this that I am talking about. It is nice to see the same people are still around, and so many new ones too.Tune in to Echobox - broadcasting from below sea level every week, Wednesday until Saturday.  

Interview by Passion DzengaAhead of the upcoming Void: Music Against the Grain event at Amsterdam's Skatecafe on Friday, September 26th, we sat down with Parrish Smith and Mark Knekelhuis, better known as Volition Immanent. Their formative collaborative moments can be traced back to a dimly lit attic somewhere in the Netherlands, surrounded by stacks of tapes, discarded drum machines and buzzing synths. When producer Parrish and vocalist Mark first crossed paths in Amsterdam’s underground scene, neither imagined their late-night jam sessions would evolve into one of the most boundary-pushing projects in contemporary electronic music. Rooted in DIY culture, informed by punk energy and shaped by a love of imperfection, their sound refuses easy categorisation — veering between industrial intensity, hypnotic techno and raw noise experimentation. Over the past decade, the duo has cultivated a reputation for visceral live performances that blur the line between chaos and control, drawing audiences into something closer to ritual than entertainment.Now, with a new album on the horizon and a run of live performances throughout the latter half of this year, Parrish and Mark reflect on their origins, their creative process and the ever-shifting landscapes of subculture and community.Let’s start with the basics: how did you two meet, and what made you start collaborating?Parrish Smith: It goes back more than 10 years, around 2014 or 2015. I was making music in my parents’ attic, sharing tracks on SoundCloud and going out to underground parties. That’s how I came across what Knekelhuis was doing — throwing these wild, raw parties at Doka.Mark Knekelhuis: I was throwing parties back then and we met at one of them, when we booked Veronica Vasicka (founder of Minimal Wave). Ron van de Kerkhof — was part of Knekelhuis for a little while — and he basically said, “You two need to work together.” He told us to bring our hardware, lock ourselves in the attic and see if there was a spark. And there was — immediately.Parrish Smith: I think we recorded Swarm Behaviour that same night. It just clicked.Mark, you come from a punk background. How did that play into your connection with Parrish?Mark Knekelhuis: I’d been singing in punk bands in the past and didn’t really play instruments. Meeting someone like Stefan [Parrish], who was deep into making music — synthesisers, drum machines, all of it — opened up a whole new world for me.You mentioned Doka. What was it about that space and the Amsterdam scene at the time that brought you together?Mark Knekelhuis: After the club Trouw closed, there was a bit of a gap in the city. A lack of cool clubs. There were only a few options. Studio 80 was still around, but leaned years more towards minimal techno. Then Tessa Nijdam started with a curate and re-brand the place with very adventurous lineups. Doka came in with this raw energy — dirty concrete floors, tiles falling off the walls, water dripping from the ceiling. It was unusual for Amsterdam, and it matched the music we were into: Chicago house, industrial, EBM, techno.Parrish Smith: Knekelhuis’ parties booked underground artists who were really pushing boundaries. It was small but intense — people showed up and it became this tight-knit community.When you first started working together, did you always intend to become Volition Immanent? How did it evolve from jamming to becoming a proper project?Mark Knekelhuis: At first, we were just jamming every week in Stefan’s attic. He was incredibly productive — shelves full of mini-discs and tapes. We made track after track and at some point, we thought, “People like these. Maybe we should release them.”Parrish Smith: Yeah, we actually played shows before releasing anything — our first one was at Studio 80 with Red Light Radio. I brought my entire studio setup, reprogrammed everything and performed the tracks live. The feedback was amazing and that gave us the confidence to take it further.You started out playing live quite a bit. Do you write with live performance in mind or do the tracks naturally evolve that way?Parrish Smith: Honestly, we never wrote music specifically for live shows. It started with us jamming and the songs just came out of that process. Later on, we became more conceptual but in the beginning, it was all about capturing the moment.Mark Knekelhuis: Yeah, the early recordings were raw and stripped down — very immediate. Later, after the first album, we spent more time refining things, layering sounds and being intentional about what we wanted to express.Has your approach changed since your debut album?Parrish Smith: Definitely. Over the years, we talked a lot about how to move forward. Our lives and tastes have changed. We didn’t want to lock ourselves into being just a “live band.” The new music is more conceptual and layered — it’s something you can listen to at home, not just in a club.Mark Knekelhuis: For me it feels more mature now, sonically and emotionally. It’s deeper. We embraced more influences — from hardcore punk to trap, spoken word, postpunk and poetry. It’s a more diverse album than our earlier work.Parrish, you work heavily with hardware and machines instead of traditional punk instruments. Why?Parrish Smith: For me, touching buttons and working with machines is a way to focus and channel energy. I was drawn to cheap “unwanted” devices with ugly sounds and tried to make them beautiful. I like imperfections and I like working with tools people reject. It became a personal mission — at one point, I even challenged myself to only make live music for two years straight.Mark, how do you channel your punk roots and personal energy into the collaboration?Mark Knekelhuis: Punk gave me an outlet for anger and frustration when I was younger. But over time, through therapy and growing older, I’ve found more peace and gentleness in my life. The new music reflects that. It’s less about pure aggression and more about depth, subtlety and collective experience.Do you see your work as a kind of catharsis or ritual?Mark Knekelhuis: Absolutely. The best live shows are when everything aligns — the crowd, the energy, the sound — and to lose yourself in it. It’s almost ritualistic when that synergy happens.Parrish Smith: For me, it’s also about experimentation. I’ve always been drawn to noise, industrial and other niche genres. I want to present something new, even if it fails. Growing up in a Surinamese household, listening to traditional music but being obsessed with noise and metal, I didn’t really see role models doing what I wanted to do. So I pushed further into the unknown. That’s still what drives me.With your multidisciplinary approach and planned ideas in the studio, how much of your live shows are chaos and how much are controlled?Mark Knekelhuis: It’s definitely not all chaos. In the early days, it was closer to pure jamming — messy, spontaneous, sometimes unpredictable — but now we’ve moved toward a more organised performance. That said, we always leave enough space to improvise, to stretch tracks, to play with the energy in the room. From the audience’s perspective, it might feel chaotic but for us, the way we present the work is deliberate.Parrish Smith: Yeah, though we’ve had our fair share of real chaos. One of the biggest examples was a festival show in Paris. I brought this old TR-707 drum machine — the backbone of our sound — and customs had opened it up during travel. When I got to soundcheck, all my drum patterns were gone. I rewrote the entire live set in my hotel room but when we got on stage, the programs disappeared again.Mark Knekelhuis: And this was in front of like 2,000 people on the same stage as Princess Nokia. Nervebreaking. Parrish Smith: Exactly. I ended up doing the entire one-hour show completely on the fly. Total improvisation. And somehow… it became one of our best shows ever.Mark Knekelhuis: Yeah, it was chaos but the good kind — the kind that pushes you to new places. Out of chaos comes order. Has there been a particular show recently that really stood out?Mark Knekelhuis: The Resident Advisor stage at Horst earlier this year was a special one. We made sure every technical detail was perfect — sound, monitoring, everything — so we could really let go during the set. When everything is in place, you can create a kind of storm in the room.The crowd was insane. People were hanging from the ceiling, screaming, completely losing themselves. When we came off stage, we looked at each other like: “This is why we still play live.”It sounds like the live component is essential for you. Could Volition Immanent exist without it?Mark Knekelhuis: No, I don’t think so. Writing in the studio is important but if we weren’t playing live, something vital would be missing. That interaction with the crowd, that energy exchange — it’s part of the essence of the project.Parrish Smith: Yeah. Even though we don’t want to play as much as we used to, the live element will always be fundamental.Your management mentioned you’re often compared to bands like Cabaret Voltaire and Throbbing Gristle. Do you embrace those comparisons?Mark Knekelhuis: Absolutely. Those bands broke rules and created new realities with their cut-and-paste techniques — sampling, collaging, reshaping sound, out of the box-thinking and pushing boundaries. That’s something we’ve embraced from the beginning.Parrish Smith: Richard H. Kirk from Cabaret Voltaire was especially inspiring. He was multidisciplinary, constantly blending genres and that openness shaped what later became techno and other forms of electronic music. We’re very much aligned with that spirit.Will people hear some of the new material at the upcoming Void event?Mark Knekelhuis: Definitely. We’ll play a mix of new tracks — especially the more energetic ones — alongside older material. Void is the perfect space for it because of how diverse the curation is.I’m proud we’ve brought together so many genres and scenes for this lineup — punk, funk, rap, electronic — and it feels like a melting pot. There’s a generational storytelling aspect to it too, with acts like ESG & Shawty Pimp alongside us.You both came up in a time when you could find your people at skate parks or punk shows. Where does someone find that kind of community now?Mark Knekelhuis: It changed a lot. Back then, subcultures had physical spaces. But the world changed for the worse after 9/11. Squatting culture got banned, the rise of ‘normalized’ racism, the loss of our privacy. Activism started to decline and globalisation exploded, plus the internet shifted everything. I felt there was some kind of a feeling of defeat among progressive cultures in those years.Now, with the state of the world — authoritarian leaders, wars, climate crisis, rising inequality — I see anger returning to youth culture. Punk is coming back. There’s a new wave of bands, collectives and venues where people are reconnecting. Go visit OCCII, Vrankrijk. Parrish Smith: You see it in the alternative nightlife scene too. These hybrid spaces — part club, part DIY venue — are where kids who don’t fit the mainstream are meeting. And it’s becoming more diverse, racially and gender-wise, than it ever was when we started.When someone sees you live for the first time, what do you want them to leave with?Mark Knekelhuis: I don’t want to dictate what they should feel — but I hope they feel something they won’t forget. It could be joy, discomfort, energy, catharsis — anything, as long as it moves them.Parrish Smith: Exactly. We want the crowd to activate something inside themselves. The shows work best when we’re improvising and reacting to the room — there’s this moment where everything locks in and the energy becomes mutual. That’s when it feels alive.On September 26th, VOID transforms Skatecafé Amsterdam into a nighttime festival celebrating music that defies boundaries — and Volition Immanent are at the heart of it. Known for their visceral, high-voltage live shows, the duo bring their raw, ritualistic energy to a lineup that bridges generations and genres.Headlined by legendary punk pioneers ESG in their final European performance, the night also features dub icon Mad Professor, Memphis rap visionary Shawty Pimp and a host of cutting-edge acts spanning post-punk, techno, garage-punk and experimental club sounds. Tickets are on sale now — don’t miss it.

This Saturday, it goes down. Westside Gunn — the visionary, the curator, the voice behind Griselda — lands in Amsterdam for his first-ever show in the Netherlands. Powered by Mad City and Patta Soundsystem, we’re bringing bars, bass, and pure energy under one roof. Summer’s almost done, but we’re closing it properly. Don’t sleep — this one’s for the heads. One night. One stage. One for the books. Tickets are moving so we fixed some for our community — grab yours now!