Get Familiar: Thaniel Owusu Agyemang

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maha Eljak Launches the Second Edition of Mahazine: Art as a Form of ResistanceMultidisciplinary artist Maha Eljak is set to launch the second edition of her self-published DIY zine on February 25, and it’s one you won’t want to miss. Titled Art as a Form of Resistance, this issue continues the journey of a project that started as an overblown school assignment in 2021, sparked by frustration with the one-dimensional portrayal of Black Muslim women. What began as an artistic protest against the mainstream narrative has evolved into a powerful platform for Maha to reclaim and center her own voice, presenting her identity on her own terms.The result is nothing short of a creative explosion—a zine packed with vibrant collages, stories, punk influences, poetry, interviews, and photography. Maha’s art challenges society’s assumptions, raises awareness, and, most importantly, encourages others to look beyond surface-level perspectives.From School Project to Creative MovementWhen Mahazine first launched, it took the world by storm. The first batch of Mahazine 1 sold out within two days, leaving readers hungry for more. Now, with Mahazine 2, Maha brings a more mature version, offering even greater depth, reflection, and insight. This edition dives deep into the themes of politics, identity, punk culture, and the fashion industry, all wrapped in the aesthetics of 70s and 80s punk zines, with a dose of her Sudanese roots.By blending these diverse elements, Mahazine becomes more than just a publication—it transforms into a tool of resistance, demonstrating how art can challenge the status quo and provide an authentic space for voices often excluded from mainstream narratives.Why Mahazine Matters: Reader ReactionsThe impact of Mahazine is palpable, with readers praising the zine for its power to break through societal bubbles and offer a fresh perspective. One reader shared:"What I feel after reading Mahazine is just how important your zine is and how much we need more zines like this in the Netherlands. Or rather, we need your voice; it’s invaluable in journalism and art because it enriches perspectives. It’s crucial because Mahazine breaks through bubbles. It brings stories to light that often go untold, offers perspectives outside the mainstream, and gives a voice to experiences overshadowed by dominant narratives."The zine is not only a source of information; it’s a bridge between two worlds—those who live in privilege and those fighting for more diversity and inclusion. Mahazine serves as a reminder that, through art, we can inspire change, challenge the norm, and find strength in authenticity.Another reader expressed the hope that Mahazine instills, saying:"It’s a reminder that change is possible and that every voice can make a difference. ‘Art as a Form of Resistance’ shows that not fitting into norms or conventions isn’t a weakness but a source of strength and authenticity."Join the Resistance: Release Party at ParadisoTo celebrate the launch of Mahazine 2, Maha Eljak will host a release party on February 25 in the Upstairs room of Paradiso. This is no ordinary event—it’s an immersive night of culture, entertainment, and resistance. Expect poetry readings, live bands, inspiring guest speakers, and, of course, delicious food and drinks.And here’s a spoiler: The evening will be filled with Sudanese culture, so get ready for an unforgettable experience. Whether you're an art lover, a punk enthusiast, or someone simply looking for an evening of inspiration, this release party promises to deliver.

Farida’s work doesn’t just engage; it rallies while exploring intersectionality and the influence of monetary economics, heritage, and politics on the future of globalism and community life. Hip-hop, punk activism and social care are all themes the acclaimed multi-disciplinary artist puts on wax via screen prints, textile art, murals and beyond. Her label HOSSELAER (est. 2008) has collaborated with Patta and Junya Watanabe, while her oeuvre includes a partnership with Emory Douglas, artist and former Minister of Culture for the Black Panther Party, in collaboration with HipHopHuis Rotterdam and work for Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam. Farida also recently designed a beautiful book and the visual identity for Our Colonial Inheritance at Wereldmuseum Amsterdam, where her art installation occupies an entire room. As the newly crowned winner of the Amsterdam Prize for the Arts - Work of the Year for her solo show and art market People’s Forum, Farida levelled the field, bum-rushed the show and won big. For those usually left looking up. For the underdog. For the arts. For the people.DOMINIQUE NZEYIMANA: Cover girl!FARIDA SEDOC: “A 44-year-old cover girl! Nice!” (laughs)

DM: Congratulations on your major Amsterdam Prize for the Arts win! I’d love to talk about the process behind People’s Forum, your now award-winning exhibition. I witnessed first-hand how fantastic it was. How did you land on wanting to do it and when did you start building it?

FS: “Some years ago, I had a conversation with Fadwa Naamna, an artist and curator living in Amsterdam. We’d worked together on an exhibition at the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam. During that time, we talked about W139 - the independent art space squatted in the ‘80s by artists looking for alternatives to the traditional art world. W139, much like major institutions such as the Rijksmuseum or the Stedelijk, is often debated in the Dutch art scene, especially when it comes to its funding and future. The Netherlands has this unique, discourse-driven subsidy system free from commercial influence that supports critical thinking. W139 was on shaky ground financially around then, as Fadwa and I discussed alternative ways to sustain such spaces. The concept of organising a bazaar came up and I suggested an art market where artists could sell anything they wanted, not just their work. The idea clicked, and Fadwa invited me to develop it further when she joined the artistic team at W139. Initially, we planned it for 2021, but the pandemic delayed everything. A couple of years on, we set a date for late 2023. Working with W139’s new team and co-curator Claudio Ritfeld, we started drafting budgets, securing funding and coordinating logistics together with technical and supporting staff. It was a long road. In the Netherlands, curators often have to source their own funding instead of working with a pre-approved budget. It makes the process complex. It’s like: ‘Hey, do you want to do an exhibition?’ If you say: ‘Yeah!’, they reply with: ‘Oh, also, we don’t have any money.’ (laughs) And then if you’re still up for it, you start building a case to get funding.”Photographed by Pieter Kers, W139, 2023, Exhibition People's ForumDM: That takes a lot of faith!

FS: “Of course, you get some money while you’re working on your bid. But it does highlight the vulnerability of the art world. Institutions might provide a buffer but for artists, financial uncertainty is constant. It’s a system that often limits opportunities to the privileged few. After months of development and waiting, we finally secured backing from sponsors. So, after the 2022 group show Non-profit At All Cost I curated at NEST in The Hague, I was officially invited to do my first institutional solo show at W139. I wanted it to serve as the backdrop for a public programme that could engage wider audiences beyond the art world – a decision that also tied back to certain funding requirements. The market became part of this programme, spanning two weekends. Half the vendors were people we know and the other part was curated through an open call. They joined us, offering everything from independent magazines and music to clothing, crafts and handmade goods. Athenaeum Boekhandel hosted a pop-up, vinyl sellers brought their good shit and local artists added something unique. Artist advocacy group Platform BK had an office-in-residence. We also hosted workshops every Friday to help artists professionalise their artistic practices. These sessions covered everything from navigating contracts and understanding AI to owning your rights and working with digital art. Lawyers with art backgrounds guided participants and answered questions. For me, it wasn’t just about the market but about creating a space where artists could experiment, collaborate and exchange. The collectivity of it all was powerful.”DM: How did you approach the Farida Sedoc - Solo Exhibition part of it? 

FS: “I was working on what I love most: screen printing. I had been collecting images and when I thought about the huge space at W139, I initially wanted to make large works that would have an impact. But creating several big pieces wasn’t doable time and budget-wise, so I decided to make about 40 smaller works instead, hung in a single round-about line as one cohesive series. I also want to add that the graphic design and spatial design was done by Heavy Bones, and the success of the show as a whole was greatly impacted by this. It allowed me to focus on the story I wanted to tell rather than being overwhelmed because I had to fill the room. I also love doing research, so I set out to explore feminist archives. But the pandemic made access difficult. Instead, I went to my mom’s house and found a trove of books and self-published ‘80s magazines. The themes were still deeply relevant today, so I took pages that caught my eye and used them to create new prints and collages. One moment that stood out was finding old newspaper clippings about my father and my mother’s university friend. It highlighted the importance of migrant communities documenting and sharing their own stories, rather than having them told by others. This inspired me to create works that imagined new futures while building on past stories - a way of reflecting on our own narratives and shaping what’s to come.”

DM: What was the most important takeaway from the overall experience?

FS: “People’s Forum proved that it can be whatever you want: selling your art, the cookies you baked or even clothes left lingering in your closet. Artists have many facets. The beauty was that you weren’t forced to sell your art, if you made the best hot chocolate in Amsterdam, you were welcome to sell that. It forces you to reconsider what defines your practice and how you want to make a change in the world. At its core, it was about sharing resources and challenging the exclusivity and pretentiousness of the traditional art world. It responded to the idea that artists must follow a set path: go to art school, land a gallerist, make work in a studio and then let the gallery sell it. But that’s not the only way. People’s Forum showed there are many paths to success and no shame in a non-linear journey. The market also brought accessibility to the conversation. Artists reserved tables for 25 euro and sold whatever they felt like, with some making 600 euro, enough to cover their rent for the month. How great is that!”DM: I love how you have this introverted energy that I completely relate to, but yours almost always gets overruled by your care for the collective. FS: “I, myself, love working alone. I’ll be in my studio, minding my business, chugging away. But when I’m ready to step outside, a lot of my work is about shared energy. Not everyone is entrepreneurially inclined, yet the system often demands it. People’s Forum is a DIY approach to the art world system but with a collaborative spirit. Instead of DIY it became DIT, ‘Do It Together’. The Amsterdam Prize jury and the city saw it as something wild and impactful.”DM: So, where do you want to take your work next and what about HOSSELAER? How do you sense when it’s time to tap back into your brand?FS: “Well, it’s more practical. Whenever I have an exhibition, I create HOSSELAER merch, like a T-shirt capsule. It’s always tied to the show and when people are excited about the exhibition but perhaps not yet familiar with my work, they want something to take home. A T-shirt becomes an accessible way for them to connect with the exhibition without necessarily having to buy a piece of art. It’s also a way to communicate the message or context of the show in a simple, affordable format. I also enjoy doing collabs, but not by directly linking HOSSELAER with other brands. Instead, I’ll design T-shirts on commission. Like when I worked with Patta, they reached out and asked: ‘Hey, would you like to design a T-shirt for this project?’ and I said: ‘Bet, let’s do it!’ These collabs are more project-based. Of course, I’d love to keep doing this, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that it’s not my core business. That was hard to accept at first, but I’m okay with it now. Sometimes, I think about improving the quality of the T-shirts. For instance, on a random Monday night, I’ll go: ‘We need to step up the quality’. Recently, my studio mate made a really nice T-shirt and I was shocked by how good the fabric was. I yelled: ‘What is this?! I have the same supplier, but they never sent me these!’ (laughs). Then by Wednesday, I’ll have forgotten about it and three months later, it’ll pop back into my head. My neighbour says, at this pace, I’ll have a successful T-shirt business when I’m 80. Which is fine by me. Hopefully, I can keep collaborating - whether in fashion or another field - and maintain enthusiasm for the creative process. I’ve seen too many artists lose that passion over time, for various reasons, and it’s such a shame. Whether the work is big or small, I want to keep that fire close to me. It’s about having something to say, staying connected with my medium and finding my tribe. That’s what I strive for - to stay true to my art and continue to express myself in ways that resonate with others.”Photographed by Peter Thijhuis, Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, 2020, The Future Ain't What It Used To BeDM: What’s next? I know you want to retreat a little bit, but momentum is also a real thing. 
FS: “What’s most important for me is that, as an artist, the focus stays on the work. Once your attention shifts to everything around it - negotiating contracts, dealing with different departments, making videos about the project or talking about it - then the quality of the work itself starts to suffer. That’s why I don’t say no just to say no - I do it because I need to stay sane and capable. I need time to sleep well, be able to get out of bed, not burn out and approach projects with the right energy. Whether I’m happy, pissed the fuck off or somewhere in between, I still have to be motivated to create. And that’s where I’m at now. I want to make space for that, and the prize gives me that freedom - to take time and develop new work. Even though I do have exhibitions lined up for 2025, I’m prioritising that deeper engagement with my practice. As for other goals: a solo expo internationally would be cool.”
DM: Any specific museums you have in mind?
FS: “I’ve learned to go where people understand my work without much explanation. In independent, experimental spaces, there’s genuine respect, and people get the work for what it is. That’s where I feel most at home. The gallery world is still new to me, and I’m exploring it to understand what production and storytelling mean in that more commercial setting. I want to dive deeper into that context. Sometimes I feel I may be overthinking it, but it’s a process and I’m open to seeing where it leads. Some of my friends will say: ‘Money is nice, Farida, it’s really fun to have. You don’t have to make it so complicated. Just create something, and then the gallery will sell it.’ (laughs) I’m still figuring out what that balance looks like for me. And finding a good gallerist is almost like finding a lover. You can’t force it.”Photographed by Goedfolk & Charlotte Markus, Nest Art Space, 2022The gallerists I know work so closely with their artists. They call them almost every day just to talk about what’s on their mind. It’s like a marriage. I don’t think I could take on a second husband or wife like that. Speaking of love: the night you won the Amsterdam Prize for the Arts, my IG feed was full of Farida, which was the best. Everybody was rooting for you. You were in a category with Steve McQueen. How do you look back on that moment? FS: “It was amazing to win a prize from the city and the people of Amsterdam, not just the art community. The recognition felt good, especially knowing a lot of this year’s winners were underdogs who have been at it for years and kept pushing against all odds.”Photographed by Goedfolk & Charlotte Markus, Nest Art Space, 2022DM: How did your family react? FS: “My dad is proud. My mom was at the ceremony, and brought along a bunch of elders. They were drinking wine and having an excellent time! (laughs). My daughter and my partner were with me, as were my little niece and my neighbour’s kid - they’d never been up that late. Our crew was rolling 20 or 30 deep. All the nominees were smiling big at the cameras. Everyone wanted that grant! My fellow nominee Ena, who’s won a bunch of Golden Calves (the award for the Netherlands Film Festival), told me backstage that she knew I had this. When they announced People’s Forum as the winner, everyone screamed as loud as they could. It was a great night.”The Patta Magazine Volume 4 will be included for free with each online order of the Patta Angelwings T-shirt while stock lasts.

Interview by Passion DzengaHip-hop has always been more than just music - it’s a movement, a cultural force, and a reflection of its environment. While the U.S. laid the foundation, the UK developed its own voice, shaped by sound system culture, punk rebellion and the raw energy of garage and grime. From Britcore to drill, the evolution of UK Rap has been a story of resilience, reinvention and relentless innovation.Today, we’re joined by David Kane, a writer and cultural historian whose latest work, What Do You Call It? From Grassroots to the Golden Era of UK Rap, charts the first four decades of UK Rap. Through extensive research and exclusive interviews with key figures - from pioneers like Jazzie B, Roots Manuva and Roll Deep to modern trailblazers like Little Simz and CASisDEAD explores how UK Rap carved out its own lane, reflecting British identity and reshaping the global music landscape. If you got love for the culture, this is a conversation you don’t want to miss. David Kane has also been instrumental in the process of bringing the Patta Magazine to life from Volume 1 until now as the editor-in-chief of our seasonal offering. On the eve of the release of Patta Magazine Volume 4, we want to share the thought process and teachings from the brand new book so on a cold Tuesday morning, we met up with him in the heart of Amsterdam to discuss his brand new book.We’ll be breaking down the scene’s defining moments, the role of radio and social media, and the shifts that turned UK Rap from a grassroots movement into a dominant cultural force. So get familiar with David Kane.How does UK Rap reflect British identity?UK Rap has been a powerful medium for exploring British identity, especially for people from diverse backgrounds. Through the book, many artists have discussed what it means to be British in a multicultural society, using music as a platform to engage with complex social issues.There’s often talk about using an authentic British voice in UK Rap. What are your thoughts on that?I think it’s something every country goes through when they first adopt rap music. Early Dutch rap sounded American, for example. After working through the US accent thing, there was a little bit of a North-South divide, but artists like Tricky showed that you could rap in a non-London accent with authenticity and skill.How did UK hip-hop artists approach grime, and how did timing affect their success?In the mid-noughties, I began writing for magazines such as Touch, Big Smoke, Trace, and nascent blogs like UKHH.com. These titles specialised in what was then known as urban music. I tended to write about hip-hop and grime, convinced there was a connection between the two. I interviewed a few UK hip-hop MCs at the time who were not receptive to this and saw grime as a passing fad, while fans were often less kind. Speaking to Juice Aleem about the relationship many years later—his group New Flesh has frequently been described as “proto-grime”—he made a wise point: “There was a disconnect, [it was like] ‘Hey, young man, come off the mic,’ ‘Hey, fuck off, old man.’ And that’s the nature of be-bop to fusion, blues to jazz.” Like many things, timing can be everything. Klashnekoff—who collaborated with Terra Firma and was very positive about grime despite being considered a UK hip-hop MC—could have been huge if he had been born ten years later. He’s a versatile MC with great imagination, but he was probably too raw for the time. Durrty Goodz is another example, albeit coming from a grime background with an openness to hip-hop. Outside the scene, these artists were met with a mostly uninterested music and media industry. It’s changed now. You have someone like Loyle Carner jumping on a track with Unknown T that slaps, someone from hip-hop (or jazz or alt. rap as it's sometimes known) with a drill MC. There are still different scenes in some respects, but the barriers have come down.How did grime evolve from being club music to street music?Garage and jungle were dance genres built for clubs. Towards the end of the halcyon period of garage you had this MC-strain coming through, the aforementioned Heartless and Pay As U Go, plus the humongous (in every sense) So Solid Crew. Grime started in that space, but when MCs moved away from club-oriented themes - aspirations, champagne, heartbreak - and started telling real street stories, that shift happened.What changed when rap became financially viable in the UK?A few records charted in the late 80s, like Street Tuff by Rebel MC (who would later become Congo Natty) and Derek B’s Bad Young Brother, but these were the exceptions rather than the rule, and they didn’t make too much money by all accounts. The UK looked to the U.S. for formulas. Artists realized that by rapping over 95 BPM boom-bap beats and adding a hook, they could replicate the success of American acts like A Tribe Called Quest. British rap was still figuring itself out. It took a few decades before it became financially viable. Although, DJ Target told me a good story about Wiley making six figures in white label releases “easily” in the mid-noughties, and So Solid Crew enjoyed financial success, but even that was relatively fleeting. Around the late 2000s, things began to change. The pendulum started to swing from indie rock to artists like Tinie Tempah, with tracks like Pass Out, blending pop-friendly sounds with grime and drum & bass. Even though it was a bit of messy period—I doubt Skepta or Wiley look back with much creative satisfaction at Rolex Sweep and Wearing my Rolex (although I do maintain Dizzee Rascal’s Bonkers is a bit of a tune)—it helped grime and UK rap reach a bigger audience and find new opportunities.Who were some of the early UK Rap pioneers that inspired you?The earliest UK Rappers that inspired me came from two paths: the first was the garage MCs I went raving to in my late teens, the likes of Bushkin and Mighty Moe from Heartless Crew, Ms. Dynamite, and Pay As U Go, the precursor to Roll Deep, their sound took elements of dancehall, jungle and what we can now describe as proto-grime. It was more about the vibe. On the other path was UK hip-hop, artists like Roots Manuva, Ty, Jehst, and Skinnyman, who were more lyrical. It’s not to say that one is better than the other; I feel fortunate enough to have grown up with both, and it’s a—not-always-easy—relationship that I explore in What Do You Call It?How important was radio for UK street music?In the first 20-30 years of UK Rap, radio was crucial - it could make or break careers. Stations like Capital, Kiss FM, and BBC Radio 1Xtra played a massive role. However, with YouTube and social media creating their own ecosystems, radio lost some influence. The democratization of media meant artists no longer needed gatekeepers to gain exposure.How did hood videos contribute to UK Rap culture?Hood videos were essential in showcasing artists’ environments. They were the pirate radio of video, giving a face to street music. Channel U and, later, video platforms like SBTV & Grime Daily provided a visual to the culture. Before this, people outside of major cities had little exposure to the music beyond pirate radio (which had a limited signal reach), a few live shows and raves that were often shut down by police, and the trickle of mixtape releases available at record shops. (Although, as I write about, Napster certainly helped from an audio perspective).How did social media change UK Rap?The rise of social media and streaming platforms like Spotify created a digital revolution. Artists could connect with fans directly instead of relying on radio stations and magazines for their narrative. This was both a blessing and a curse: It meant fans could get a deeper insight into an artist's lifestyle, but often without the critical context that good music journalism provides.What role did Stormzy play in the recognition of UK Rap?It’s big and has a lot to do with the headline show at Glastonbury in 2019. I’m going to include a short extract from my book to explain why:Whether you like Stormzy’s music or not, it doesn’t matter. Everyone from Adele to Wiley and Jeremy Corbyn lavished the performance with praise. This was UK rap’s Woodstock moment. The culture had entered a new world where it would remain: the realm of superstardom and commerce. But to Big Mike’s credit, his performance was as much about everyone else—the legends of UK rap he thanked and, more importantly, those who lost loved ones after the Grenfell disaster—as himself. Do you think UK Rap will keep evolving?Absolutely. Music always progresses, and the UK scene has moved far. We’re seeing MCs from all over the country breaking through, rapping in a style with storytelling unique to where they’re from; whether it’s Pa Salieu in Coventry or Nemzzz from Manchester, it keeps getting richer. And externally, the influence keeps growing; you have Afrobeats and UK drill shaping sound, language and culture globally. It’s a beautiful thing to see. David Kane has written about music and popular culture for nearly 15 years. Bylines include Esquire, Dazed, CRACK, The Financial Times, and Wax Poetics magazine. He is the editor and publisher of Patta's bi-annual magazine. What Do You Call It?: From Grass Roots to the Golden Era of UK Rap is out now on Velocity Press. You can find an excerpt from the book in our Patta Magazine Volume 4.