Get Familiar: Ral Duke

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!

Artwork by Ral Duke | Interview by Passion Dzenga From the graffiti-splashed streets of Barry Town to the vinyl shelves of hip-hop collectors worldwide, Ral Duke—born Sam Jones—has built a career out of merging worlds that shouldn’t fit but somehow do. Once an MC in a gritty South Wales crew, he swapped bars for blades, cutting together surreal collages that feel as cinematic as a 1970s Scorsese frame. His work has graced the covers of Westside Gunn, Ghostface Killah, The Alchemist, and countless underground heavyweights, cementing him as a quiet architect of the modern independent hip-hop aesthetic.Rooted in a DIY ethic learned in the Squid Ninjas days, Duke approaches each piece like a beatmaker—layering textures, flipping images, and knowing exactly when to stop before the magic is lost. Influenced as much by Wu-Tang and drum & bass as by Kubrick and boutique film restorations, he thrives in contrast: soulful samples over street grit, dream logic over hard reality.In this conversation, we talk about his Cardiff come-up, the social media leap that connected him to Griselda, the challenge of designing for both streaming thumbnails and 12-inch vinyl, and why surrealism is more than just an aesthetic choice—it’s a way of warping reality without losing the truth.  You’re known creatively as Ral Duke, but also as Sam Jones. How did that alias come about, and how does it connect to your artistic identity?It started when I was an MC with my friends under the collective moniker Squid Ninjaz. The name came from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas—Hunter S. Thompson’s alter ego was Raoul Duke. I liked the idea of warping reality with words, so it fit. With my Cardiff accent, “Raoul Duke” became “Ral Duke” for a sharper punch. It stuck ever since. You grew up in Barry Town, near Cardiff. What was the scene like when you started, and how did it shape your vision? Barry had its own gritty, raw style—very Wu-Tang inspired. The local music was dark and atmospheric, graffiti was everywhere, and all four pillars of hip-hop—MCing, DJing, breakdancing, graffiti—were alive. Drum and bass was also big in the area too. That environment influenced my taste, visuals, and even how I produce—keeping things true to the textures around me. Before designing album covers, what did your early art look like? Was collage always your thing?My art came out of necessity. In my crew Squid Ninjaz, we were very DIY with all aspects of our craft—we made the beats, the raps, and the artwork ourselves. Collage came naturally, and I see it a lot like making beats—layering pieces to create something new. I started with physical collage from old magazines, but shifted to digital as tech got better. I still collect magazines for texture and want to return to more hands-on work. How is making a collage similar to making music, and how do you know when it’s finished? Both are about taking separate parts and combining them to tell a new story. I love contrast—like soulful samples with heavy street lyrics, or luxury images with real-life grit. As for knowing when it’s done, it’s instinct, like cooking. You stop before you overdo it. Sometimes the simplest ideas hit hardest. How did you branch out from the Cardiff scene into working with US artists like Westside Gunn and Ghostface Killah?Social media. I was a fan of Westside Gunn early on and responded to his open call for an album cover. He didn’t use my first submissions, but a few days later, he DM’d me for a specific track cover. That led to work with Conway, Benny the Butcher, Alchemist, and Ghostface. Do you approach each project the same way, and how is it different working locally with friends like Earl Jeffers versus US artists? I go off the vibe of the project—sometimes highly detailed and layered, other times stripped down. With Earl, we work in person, bouncing ideas in real time. With US artists, it’s all remote, so the brief is usually clearer from the start. Your work blends music culture, photography, and surrealism. Why is surrealism important to you, and what inspires your visuals outside of music? Surrealism lets me show alternate versions of reality, making unlikely elements work together to tell a story. Outside of music, I’m heavily inspired by 70s cinema—directors like Scorsese and Kubrick. I collect boutique 4K restorations of cult films from labels like Arrow Video and Second Sight.  How has the shift from physical album covers to small digital thumbnails changed your work, especially in the independent hip-hop scene? On streaming, simplified images read better at small sizes, but I still design with vinyl in mind. Hip-hop vinyl collecting is huge again, and with independent artists, covers are now treated as art rather than just marketing. Working directly with artists—no middleman—means the visuals stay true to the music. Would you like to take your art beyond album covers?Definitely. I’d love to do a concept gallery show in my hometown, like a conceptual exhibition with a unified story. Are there concepts you’ve wanted to make but couldn’t, and do you ever revisit old pieces? Some client ideas are too ambitious for collage and need illustration. For my own work, I push until I’m happy—if not, I start over. I don’t revisit old pieces; they’re time capsules of who I was then.Have you included unexpected elements in your work, and how does meme culture play into it? Once I put a dog with three eyes in an Alchemist cover. My search history is full of weird finds. People have turned my covers into memes—like edits of Benny the Butcher covers—but while memes are quick hits, I aim for lasting aesthetic impact.  How does it feel to be seen as part of Griselda’s aesthetic?Proud and humbled—especially when Alchemist asked me to do the Hall & Nash 2 cover because he saw me as part of that era.Should people experience your work with the music or separately? Both together is ideal—like when you buy a record because the cover grabs you.What’s next for you? I want to keep cooking in the street wear world working with brands that fit that hip hop aesthetic. I feel like I am bringing a unique take in that area. I’m working with my brother and local actor Lloyd Everitt (as seen in Alien Earth!) on poster design for his directorial debut. Keep cooking these album covers up! And me and my brother Mickey Diamond been cooking some new music together.  Finally, what advice would you give younger artists blending music and visuals?Keep going. Do it because you love it. Consistency is everything—most people drop off, but if you stick with it, opportunities come. 

Words by Nicolas-Tyrell Scott | Photo curation by Angela Phillips The beam of a late summer's sunshine on the body as soca rouses the spirit, the jubilance of West Indians chanting, whistling, wining and in laughter across the carnival route, the unexpected and familiar embraces with any and everyone across the day — the British summer’s finale, and yearly celebration of Caribbean culture is Notting Hill Carnival. Photo by Giles MoberlyCelebrated yearly — for the most part — since its 1966 inception, Notting Hill Carnival lays its roots in West Indian solidarity, lineage, resistance, and celebration. Manifested in the wake of Kelso Cochrane’s death, the Windrush generation were promised ease, work, and refuge in a post-war United Kingdom; instead, racial tensions fuelled the Antiguan’s tragic murder in Notting Hill. Resistance in its thousands erupted not just at his funeral but in post-intra and intercommunal relations between Notting Hill’s West Indian, African, Irish, and English demographics, leading to the activist feminist and journalist Claudia Jones’ idea of erecting an indoor Caribbean Carnival in Notting Hill. Conceived as a concept taken from the Caribbean, and carnival’s origins in the 17th and 18th century eastern and southern Caribbean islands, carnival unites West Indian, African and Creole practice, in its most traditional form, platforming soca and calypso. Francophone islands, including Guadeloupe, Dominica, St Lucia, Martinique, and Grenada, as well as Spanish-owned Trinidad and Tobago at the time, would come to influence the first iterations of carnival.In 1966, following multiple Jones-led carnivals indoors, the country gained its first outdoor festival, infusing Notting Hill with not just music, but coteries yearning for a taste of home. Pan-Caribbean in its evolution, carnival expanded in meaning, infusion and context across the 1970s, when soundsystems would usher themselves into the festivities. Referencing the impact that reggae had had on the country and Jamaican culture at large, soundsystems were debuted through Carnival organiser Leslie Palmer. Cultural expansion at the time was necessary to re-centre West Indians who had become curious and immersed in sound system culture. Palmer recalled “Carnival couldn’t be one band’. There were no stalls, no costumes. I thought, ‘this cyah work’”. Simply put, the variety of music genres and quality of sound system production would distinguish Notting Hill Carnival from West Indian carnivals worldwide.  Photo by Giles MoberlyCarnival is so much more than a frivolous excuse to get intoxicated and celebrate the Bank Holiday; the bacchanal is a form of cultural production, a spiritual embrace with ancestors and thanks to their courage, liberation and reclamation of our autonomy. J'Ouvert, a practice formally observed on the Sunday morning of day one of Notting Hill’s two-day celebration, inaugurates carnival, but also lays its roots in Trinidad, as part of a wider practice of Canboulay — mockery and reclamation from slave masters. J'Ouvert in a Notting Hill context has come to inaugurate the festival, but its true roots are never forgotten. In Spicemas, Grenadian culture, Jab Jab forms part of their J’Ouvert — which is orchestrated using horns, black paint across the body, chains, and other provocative elements. Participating in Jab Jab in Grenada two years ago, changed me forever and was a transcendent, deeply intricate experience that enlightened me. Grenadians in London routinely honour their tradition in Notting Hill year-on-year, highlighting diaspora practice weaved into contemporary culture. Photo by Ethan ParkerIn my years at Notting Hill Carnival, I’ve seen intergenerational exchanges build bridges between multiple generations of West Indians. Even in my own experience, it’s helped me to see the fun my great-grandmother must’ve had in her days. As a child, I remember a year she came, walking stick in tow, to catch a glimpse of ‘the road’ in action. A strong, stubborn, and determined lady in her time, she made it, getting her hour or two immersed in the action a stone's throw away from Westbourne Park station. Having lived in Shepherd's Bush most of her life with my late great-grandfather, West London was often my stomping ground a few weekends a month. From the long-gone Roti Hut on a Friday with my grandmother — I still can’t find a roti in the city as good — to walking past the plot of land that would eventually become Westfield, I remember an older era of West, and the community tied to it, both old and young. Like most things, time evolves areas, terrains, street corners, families, but Notting Hill Carnival to me is a reminder to keep fighting for the traditions and exchanges between old and young that matter.As we enter the second-half of the decade, it is imperative that Carnival is protected.In my years playing in bands like Island Mas, the stark difference between carnival with a band and carnival as a civilian is day and night. In 2024, four bands were removed for failing to adhere to the Notting Hill Carnival bands' music policy. “I see our role as preserving the culture – calypso and soca do not enjoy the same commercial impact as other forms,” Matthew Phillips, Notting Hill Carnival’s current chief executive explained to Soca News. Cultural preservation is what allows for meaning, identity and understanding in a world that exists in a diversely rich fashion — anchoring and continuing to protect the likes of soca and even more so calypso is paramount.In a country that’s benefited from West Indian communities in tailoring, music genres — including grime, jungle, drum and bass, afro-swing — sport and food, respect for the road is important too. Masqueraders often bear the brunt of entitled attendees who, at times, interfere with and directly enter the rope that partitions band members and patrons, and the general populace. It's instances like this that ruin the heritage and festivities for all. Like any form of cultural practice, remembering to respect an area, community, or space, as a guest is paramount, as the beauty in cultural exchange is found first, with respect.  Photo by Adrian BootCarnival has been, and will continue to be, exuberant in the best of ways. An experience one feels in the days, weeks, and months following — an experience we West Indians refer to as tanbanca. As it dawns on west London once more, we remember the sacrifice, meaning, and context forever more. From Trinidad and Tobago to Notting Hill, our ancestors paved the way for our expression; they are the reason behind our meaning, and we are the reason and heartbeat behind its evolution, fortified in West Indian tradition. See you on the road. 

Interview by Passion DzengaIn just a few years, T.NO has gone from quietly uploading beats on SoundCloud to becoming one of the most exciting names shaping the global electronic scene. His tracks — a hypnotic blend of gqom, Brazilian funk, bubbling, and bass-heavy club sounds — are now being played at Lowlands, at Glastonbury, and underground dance floors from Brazil to South Korea. Yet for T.NO, the journey began long before any festival stage or club setting.Raised in a house filled with R&B, soul, and hip-hop, music was stitched into his daily life. His father, a bassist in the band .nuClarity and a djembe teacher, filled their home with instruments and rhythms that naturally seeped into T.NO’s DNA. By 13, he was mixing drum & bass and dubstep with friends, and by 16, he was producing beats on FL Studio — though back then, he had no plans of turning music into a career; it was already a passion.It wasn’t until 2022, after witnessing a transformative DJ Weslee set at Lowlands, that everything shifted. T.NO dove headfirst into electronic music, crafting a sound that refuses to be boxed into any single genre. His edits on SoundCloud caught attention quickly, but recently, he’s been making a bold transition into original productions — carving out a sonic space entirely his own.Now, as he gears up to release his explosive new single “NO VAI” — a track built on deep basslines, chopped Brazilian vocals, and infectious energy — T.NO is entering a new chapter. We sat down to talk about his roots, his creative process, and how his globally inspired sound is reshaping club culture. Can you tell us a little bit about how you first got into music and what kind of sounds you grew up around?Growing up, there was a lot of R&B, soul, and hip-hop in my household — those were the main three genres. My dad was in a band called .nuClarity. He played bass guitar, and they did hip-hop, jazz, and soul, so music was always present.On top of that, he gave djembe lessons at AMP, so my environment was always full of instruments. On Wednesdays, I’d join him and my brother at his classes, soaking up rhythms and melodies from a young age. Music was part of everyday life.With all that early exposure, when did you realise that music wasn’t just something you loved, but something you wanted to pursue seriously?At first, I didn’t see it as a career — it was pure passion. In high school, when I was around 13, a friend and I would make drum & bass and dubstep mixes on Virtual DJ. By 16 or 17, one of my friends installed FL Studio for me on my birthday and said, “You’ve got to make beats too.” From that point, I was hooked — constantly producing, but only for myself.Things shifted in 2022 when I saw DJ Weslee perform at Lowlands. His set opened my eyes to what electronic music could be. I’d been making mostly hip-hop, R&B, and trap beats, but after that night, I made a full 180 and dove into electronic music. That’s when I first felt, “This is what I want the world to hear.”Before that transition, were you mostly making and collecting R&B and hip-hop?Yeah, that’s where my head was at musically. It’s what I listened to and what I produced.Rhythm clearly plays a big role in your artistry. You were also dancing at the time, right?Kind of. I never danced professionally, but it’s always been in my blood. I can watch someone do a move and instantly copy it. Being surrounded by rhythm growing up made it easy to catch the beat naturally.I remember when you first started releasing music, and you shared quite a lot via SoundCloud. What was that era like for you?Some of those early tracks are still on SoundCloud from like seven years ago. Back then, I wasn’t trying to build a brand or tell my story — I just wanted something online so people could hear what I was working on. I was heavily inspired by Soulection Radio. My main goal at the time was to get one of my tracks played there.Did you know how to make that happen back then?Not at all. I’d just upload tracks and hope for the best. I even once DM’d Joe Kay a track, but he never saw itNow your music is played at Lowlands, Glastonbury and highly respected dance floors all over the world. From Brazil to South Korea. How does that feel?It’s surreal. I make these tracks alone in my room — just me, my laptop, and headphones. To hear them booming through massive sound systems at festivals is still hard to process. It hasn’t fully landed for me yet.Are there any standout moments — big names who’ve supported your tracks?A few, yeah. Seeing RHR from Brazil play one of my tracks was huge. Then I noticed a purchase on Bandcamp and I kinda recognised the name, and it turned out to be Ben UFO! That blew my mind, especially because it wasn’t even the track I would’ve guessed he’d pick. Also, Toma Kamii, whose music I’ve loved for ages, asked me recently to do an official remix for one of his tracks. That was a full-circle moment.Over the past two years, you’ve moved from edits into original productions. What drove that shift?When I first got into electronic music, I dropped a lot of edits on SoundCloud, and they performed really well. But releasing originals is different — it’s more complex because you have to handle proper distribution across streaming platforms.Once I released my first original track, though, the feeling was unmatched. Hearing DJs play something I built entirely from scratch feels way more rewarding than edits. Edits are fun, but you’re kind of riding the wave of an existing track. Originals feel like me.Let’s talk about your creative process. How do you typically start a track?There isn’t one formula. Sometimes I’ll hear a rhythm or texture in a mix that sparks an idea. Other times, it starts with drums, a bassline, or a vocal chop.For my new single NO VAI, it began with a deep bassline. Then I found these Brazilian vocals in an old folder and chopped them up. I treat vocals like instruments — it’s more about their texture than their meaning. The goal was to make something that hits hard on the dance floor, where the bass literally shakes your body.Your sound pulls from so many global influences — South African gqom, Brazilian funk, bubbling, and more. How did that come together?Seeing DJ Weslee play Gqom at Lowlands opened the door for me. I started experimenting with gqom but didn’t stick strictly to the genre. I’d blend Brazilian vocals, gqom basslines, and rhythms from other styles. I’m not trying to replicate existing genres — I’m creating a grey area where all my influences coexist. It’s about taking pieces of what inspires me and making something new.Do you think this evolution in sound is also reshaping club culture?Definitely. Hearing sounds like bubbling, gqom, reggaeton, or baile funk makes a lot of people feel at home on the dance floor. That draws in more diverse DJs and crowds, which is beautiful.At the same time, it’s introducing new audiences to genres they’ve never experienced before. It’s opening minds and pushing culture forward.You’ve just shot your first music video for NO VAI. What was that like?Stressful but amazing. I quickly realised I’m a music guy, not a production guy. Luckily, I worked with Patta and brought my brother on board as director, which made me comfortable. He took my ideas and turned them into a proper story.I wanted the video to capture the sweaty energy of a club, so I invited my friends, brought in Yacht Private Club — an incredible dance group — and shot it in a dark, atmospheric space. There were dancers, trampolines, explosive shots… it was chaotic but so fun. We shot for over 12 hours, well past midnight. It was intense, but it paid off.The single drops this Friday, right?Yep — NO VAI will be self-released on Bandcamp alongside all other streaming services.And you’re celebrating with a release party?Yeah, Thursday night at Radio Radio in Amsterdam. The lineup includes me, Kwin, YENTZYZ, and Sia Sierra. Everyone from the video will be there, plus the Patta crew. It’ll be a proper celebration — and of course, we’ll be blasting NO VAI. It feels full circle, too, since I grew up around Westerpark. To release my next big single and celebrate it here is special.Get ready for a night of celebration as we come together for the latest release from T.NOI by bringing together some of his favourite DJs at Radio Radio. Don’t miss out on this epic summer night. Tickets are available now, and a limited amount will be available at the door. Mark your calendars, bring your crew, and let’s get the party started.

Patta x Awake NY x Marshall took over the Oroko Radio for Fête de la Musique at Chop Chop, broadcasting live from the heart of Paris. We amplified not just the sound, but the spirit of our community: bringing music, energy and connection straight to the streets and beyond. From sunup to sundown, the beats flowed through our all-day radio takeover, uniting listeners and passersby in a celebration of culture, community and sound. Big love to everyone who tuned in, pulled up and kept it alive. Until next time.T.NO x YENTZYZHajarCho RoomAlissa ZaddiAQWEANinafterdark

Since its inception, Echobox has become a haven for boundary-pushing broadcasters, giving space to voices that move through the shadows of sound. Among them is REGE SATANAS, a long-standing presence on the station and a name whispered with reverence by those drawn to the esoteric side of radio.From the very beginning, REGE SATANAS has stood for freedom in its most omnipotent form, a guiding force behind every broadcast. His shows are more than curated sets; they’re sonic rituals where Ennio Morricone collides with Dead Can Dance and spacey soundtracks bleed into psychedelic dreamscapes.After four years with Echobox and even more with Red Light Radio, REGE SATANAS is now waving goodbye. There’s nearly a week’s worth of original transmissions archived on his Echobox page.What does "freedom in its most omnipotent form" mean to you, and how does this guide the REGE SATANAS show?Freedom in its most omnipotent form, to me, is just an esoteric way to express that I'm doing exactly and only what feels good for me. That might sound egocentric, but it fits my way of life. For the show, it means that I can touch anything soundwise or choose any theme.Your show ties in a lot of inspirations from mysticism, rituals and magic. Do you think there's something magic about radio making?Of course, there is something magical about making radio. You're taking other people into your reality or realm. There is nothing so good as losing yourself to music.You're leaving almost a week of original radio in the Echobox archive. Are there any moments or episodes that stand out to you?After almost 4 years of Echobox and 10 at Red Light Radio, it's hard to choose one. I have to mention, however, that episodes about favorite composers always stuck most to me. Moments are countless, as I have met a lot of beautiful people while making radio. This goes for fellow radiomakers and listeners.What's next for REGE SATANAS?For now, I'm always open to play somewhere. Music will always be a motivator for me, especially if I'm asked to play soundtracks or spaced-out sets.What are some typical REGE SATANAS musicians?Wow, that's a tough one. But if I have to mention 5 artists, it would be as follows:The Devil's BloodEnnio MorriconeTangerine DreamDead Can DanceDeath In JuneNeedless to say, these are also in random order. And furthermore, I have a shelf full of weird and esoteric records that always speak to my imagination.As I did weekly shows at Echobox, I probably had the most encounters with other radio makers. To be honest, I like every single one of them for being themselves. But Stricktly Tapes has a special place in my heart.As far as evolution during my years of radio making, there are no major changes or shifts regarding my approach to creating shows. It only changed because my collection changed. And of course, life dictates my choices. So to sum it all up: REGE SATANAS, eternally moving and shifting through the vast sea of time, creating magick and chaos in the sonic structures of mankind…So stay free and stay pagan. REGE SATANAS out.