News

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

Words by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Olive GilsonBefore we discovered KINGH's DARE TO DREAM EP, we caught up with the London-based artist to talk about identity, ambition, faith, and building a creative universe on her own terms. Born in the UK, raised in Italy, and now back in London, KINGH's journey sits at the intersection of cultures, sounds, and disciplines. From working alongside Shy FX to directing her own visuals, she's an artist committed to honouring her vision while creating space for others to see themselves in the process. At a time when many are questioning what's possible,  DARE TO DREAM arrives as both a statement and an invitation. One rooted in belief, self-trust, and the understanding that when we share knowledge, inspiration and opportunity, we all grow. Read on as KINGH reflects on creativity, community, trusting the journey, and the power of daring to dream.You were born in the UK, raised in Italy, and now based in London, your music feels shaped by both places. How has moving between cultures influenced the way you see yourself as an artist?I’ve always felt in between worlds. It gives a unique perspective. Growing up between British and Italian cultures taught me that there isn't just one way of understanding life. I've always been influenced by different sounds, different ways of communicating, different energies. I've learned to embrace all the various parts of myself. My roots naturally feed into my music and the way I create.The title DARE TO DREAM feels almost like a manifesto. What were you dreaming about when you wrote it, and what did you have to overcome to allow yourself to believe those things were possible?At its core, DARE TO DREAM is about allowing yourself to imagine a bigger version of your life. I believe anything is possible. Ambition and drive have always been at the essence of who I am, so in many ways, the title has always lived within me. But something I had to focus on was total surrender and trust. Trust the timing, trust the process, and trust that what's meant for me won't pass me by.You describe the song as being about giving yourself permission to want more. Why do you think so many people struggle with that, especially creatives?Creatives spend a lot of time putting themselves and their work out there, which can make you second-guess yourself. Doubt is a part of being an artist. But your power lies in your uniqueness and in leaning into it. I felt a real shift when I realised that the more I embrace who I am, the more I can channel.There's a sense of optimism running through the record, but it doesn't feel naïve or escapist. How do you balance ambition with the realities of trying to build a creative career?Building a creative career comes with challenges and uncertainty. I've worked hard and made sacrifices to get myself here, but I am here. Times are uncertain and the world can feel like a scary place these days. If my music can help people believe a little more in themselves and what's possible for their lives, that's important to me. I focus on creating a feeling of possibility and aspiration. My job is to stay connected to myself and the reason I started. Belief keeps me moving forward, but trust keeps me grounded. I'm surrounded by people who understand and support what I'm building, and that's gold.Your collaboration with Shy FX feels like an interesting meeting point between generations and scenes. How did that relationship first develop, and what did he bring out of you creatively?Some of my early demos reached Shy and he invited me into the studio. We connected straight away. We have similar tastes and found we naturally gravitate towards a lot of the same sounds. He understood my story and encouraged me to dive deeper into myself. He helped me learn to trust myself more.Shy FX is known for creating music that connects deeply with sound-system culture. What did working with him teach you about songwriting, production, or trusting your instincts?Working alongside Shy, I’m a student every day. He rarely stresses and trusts that things reveal themselves when they’re ready. The way he approaches not just music, but life, is different from anyone I’ve ever come across, and that’s what sets him apart. He watches how people listen and move to music, and instinctively knows what grooves will connect with them. Being around that has taught me not to overthink, and to be led by my instincts.The production on DARE TO DREAM draws from rare groove and street soul traditions. Were those sounds already part of your musical vocabulary, or did this project push you into new territory?Thanks to my parents, I was naturally exposed to an eclectic range of music, but I always resonated most with sounds that felt raw, soulful and real. With this project, I was able to dive deeper into those influences and explore them more fully. It felt very natural. Like reconnecting with and deepening sounds and emotions that were already within me. A big part of my collaborative relationship with Shy is talking about and sharing music. When we first started working together, we'd have listening sessions where he'd introduce me to records and artists I'd never heard before. I call him the Human Jukebox. The way he absorbs, understands and stores music is unlike anything I've ever seen. There wasn't a better person to go on this journey with.The Street Soul sound had its roots deep in club culture. What are some of your favourite hits from the sound?Too many gems to mention... From the music that came out of the Manchester scene, like 5th Of Heaven, to the more well-known ones like Loose Ends and Soul II Soul. Anything that carries authenticity and connection.You've worked across music, film, fashion, and creative direction. Do you see these as separate disciplines, or are they all part of the same creative language for you?I see them as different expressions of the same thing. For me, creativity isn't really separated into categories. Whether it's music, film, or fashion, it’s all world-building. Each medium allows me to communicate something slightly different, but they're all intertwined, and I am the anchor.You directed the video for DARE TO DREAM yourself. What interests you about storytelling through visuals, and how important is creative control to you?Visuals have always been a huge part of how I think. I went to film school and I've always been a visual artist too. I see the songs whilst I write them. It all comes from the same place and gets channelled through different mediums. Creative control is everything to me. As artists, we work with sacred energy and we are responsible for honouring the message. We can't play with that.London has a long history of artists crossing between different creative worlds—music, fashion, art and film. Do you feel part of that tradition, or are you carving out something entirely your own?London has always been special because of that crossover, which is one of the reasons I came back. I think every artist is constantly trying to find their own language and build their own world. I'm inspired by that space and mentality, but I'm ultimately focused on building something that feels authentic to me. I value feeling free to expand into whatever feels right.There's a growing conversation around artists needing to be multidisciplinary just to survive. Do you think being able to move between different creative fields has become a necessity today?I think it depends on the person. Not everyone needs to do everything. But I do think having a broader understanding of creativity is valuable. For me, moving between disciplines feels natural because that's how my mind works. But it comes from genuine curiosity and instinct.Your music carries a strong sense of faith, mindset and belief in possibility. Where does that optimism come from?Some things you can’t explain, you just know and feel.  I have always been driven by something bigger than me, and that’s what keeps me moving forward. Looking back at the version of yourself who first moved to London, what do you think she would make of the position you're in now?I think she'd be proud. She had a lot of dreams and a lot of belief, but she couldn't have known exactly how things would unfold. I think she'd be excited to see that I'm still following the things that mattered to me back then. I would definitely tell her to relax.The EP is called DARE TO DREAM, but once you achieve one dream, another usually appears. What are you daring to dream about now?I am constantly stepping into new versions of myself, so I'm excited by the idea of expanding the world I'm building and creating music that reflects where I am now. At the moment I'm focused on growth, new material, and continuing to evolve creatively.Beyond streams, followers and industry milestones, what would success actually look like for KINGH five years from now?Success would be having the freedom to create at the highest level without limitation. To continue making meaningful work and to still have the ability to keep channelling and connecting with people.If somebody discovers your music through this EP, what do you hope they understand about you after listening from beginning to end?I hope they feel immersed in a world. I hope they feel a sense of connection. I write about my life and the layered experience of being human, with all its ebbs and flows. I hope they feel encouraged to lean into their essence, like I am on my own journey. I hope they discover the power of committing to themselves. I hope they dare to dream.If you've got love for music that speaks to purpose, possibility and authenticity, make sure you spend time with DARE TO DREAM. Whether you're chasing your own ambitions, navigating uncertainty, or simply looking for something real to connect with, KINGH's latest project offers a reminder that growth begins with belief. Get familiar with KINGH and step into the world she's building. DARE TO DREAM is out now.

Interview by Passion Dzenga and Liesje Verhave | Photography by Fidelio Faustino Ferrier-OlivieiraFor Shavero Ferrier, punk was never just a sound. It was a way to survive, organise, connect and build something where nothing existed before. Growing up in Paramaribo, he found himself drawn to skateboarding, heavy music and alternative culture at a time when rock music in Suriname carried heavy stigma. To be visibly different was not always easy, but it also gave him a reason to create.Over the years, that instinct turned into bands, tours, documentaries, festivals and an entire production platform. From early projects like De Rotte Appels and Skafu to the heavier world of Luguber and the current force of Mutha Flac, Ferrier has helped shape one of the most unexpected underground stories in the Caribbean. Through Phara0h Productions and events like Alt Market, he has created stages for punk bands, metal bands, underground rappers, DJs and alternative kids who might otherwise never have had a place to gather.Ahead of the release of Mutha Flac’s new single Leven and their collaboration with Patta for Keti Koti, we spoke with Shavero about discovering punk, growing up alternative in Suriname, building a scene without infrastructure, connecting Caribbean underground communities, and why the frustrations he wrote about as a teenager still feel urgent today.Growing up in Paramaribo, what first drew you towards punk rock?I was always an alternative kid in some way. As a teenager, I was already skateboarding, listening to metal and looking for things that felt different from what everybody around me was doing. Then one of my friends, who was also skating at the time, told me I needed to stop listening to all that metal stuff because he thought it was whack. He gave me this documentary called Punk’s Not Dead, and the moment I saw it, something clicked.That documentary changed everything for me. I got inspired immediately. I started listening to all the old school bands: Minor Threat, Bad Brains, Black Flag, all of that. I got the mohawk, I started dressing differently, and I fully stepped into punk rock culture.What caught me most was the DIY spirit. It wasn’t just the music. It was the way the community seemed driven to do everything themselves. They made their own shows, their own flyers, their own records, their own spaces. I saw a lot of similarities with my friends and me, because we were already trying to do things together without much support. Punk gave me a language for that. It showed me that you didn’t need permission to start something.Before punk, you were already into skateboarding and heavier music. Did being alternative already feel like part of your personality?Yes, definitely. I was already into heavy music before I discovered punk properly, so the guitars and the aggression were already part of what I liked. But punk gave it more direction. Once I got into punk rock, I started playing guitar more seriously. I got an electric guitar, and that was really the beginning of everything.Being alternative in Suriname at that time was not easy, though. Around the early 2000s, there had been a big situation where some alternative teenagers who were into occult stuff murdered different homeless people in Suriname. When people found out they were into black metal and alternative music, it created a huge stigma. It was in the newspapers, parents were warning their children not to listen to rock music, and people started associating that whole culture with something dangerous.So between the early 2000s and maybe 2008 or 2010, rock music was really taboo. If you looked alternative, people would stare at you in the street. They would assume things about you. They would connect you to that story even if you had nothing to do with it.It was a strange time to be into this kind of culture. You were just a kid who liked guitars and skateboarding, but people looked at you like you were part of something evil.How did you move from listening to the music to actually playing it?The guitar was my first instrument. I had an acoustic guitar at first, but I didn’t know how to play anything. So I went to guitar lessons and music school, and the moment I learned power chords, I basically stopped. That was all I needed. I wasn’t trying to become a technical guitarist. I wanted to write punk songs.After that, I gathered a few friends and started a band. In the beginning, it was just us riffing in my room. But after watching Punk’s Not Dead, I became so inspired that I immediately wrote a couple of songs. One of those songs is actually the first song that appears in the video clip we made for this campaign.That song has crazy lore because it goes all the way back to me being a teenager. It was one of the first songs I ever wrote, and now it’s coming back in this completely different context years later.How did your early bands lead into Skafu?The first band was De Rotte Appels. That started around 2010. Around that same period, there was another punk band in Suriname called A Distant Head Disorder. I was blown away when I discovered that other people were making punk rock music there too. One of my good friends played in that band, and I asked him to join mine because I had written some songs.For a while, both bands existed at the same time. Eventually, we realised we were doing the same kind of thing and moving in the same direction, so we decided to merge the bands. De Rotte Appels and A Distant Head Disorder became one band, and that became Skafu.That period really felt like the beginning of a scene. It wasn’t like there were hundreds of bands around. It was small, but there was this energy. People were finding each other, joining each other’s bands, sharing ideas and trying to figure out how to make punk work in Suriname.Later, when you came to the Netherlands, De Rotte Appels returned in a different form. How did that happen?De Rotte Appels have a long history, but the version people saw in the Netherlands came from a very specific situation. When I first came here, I didn’t have all my other band members with me, but there were shows arranged at venues like Melkweg and other places. I really wanted to play.So I reached out to Gerold, who used to play with The Rotten Apples. We hadn’t played music together in almost ten or fifteen years, but I asked him if he would be willing to do the band with me again. He immediately said yes.That’s how I reformed De Rotte Appels for that period. We played old songs, some Mutha Flac songs and a few things from other projects. It wasn’t necessarily my main band anymore, because Mutha flac is my main focus now, but it was a beautiful way to reconnect with that earlier chapter and bring those songs into a new space.What did Mutha Flac allow you to express that you couldn’t do through Skafu?Skafu stopped playing around in 2019 because the singer moved to Malaysia. After that, I formed Mutha flac with some of the remaining members. At first, it wasn’t supposed to be too serious. It was mostly jokes between my bassist and me at the time. We were writing songs, messing around, and just having fun.Then we released Bastard Son, and people in the community started connecting with it heavily. Suddenly, people were asking us to play shows. At that point, we didn’t really have a choice anymore. We had to take the band seriously because people were responding to it.With Mutha Flac, I wanted to create a more old-school punk sound at first. I wanted it to feel like early Black Flag and classic hardcore punk. But as the band developed, the sound started shifting. I began revisiting songs I had written years earlier with De Rotte Appels, especially Dutch-language songs that had never been properly released or recorded.Over time, Mutha Flac became less strictly 80s hardcore and moved more into a mix between old school punk rock and pop punk. I think that balance makes sense for us. Punk can be raw and countercultural, but it can also be catchy and direct. I like that tension.The documentary Tra Fasi introduced a lot of people in the Netherlands to the Surinamese punk scene. How has the scene changed since then?Most people in Suriname have not seen the documentary yet. Although, the scene is much bigger now than it was before. In the documentary, you see one of our events, and at that time, there hadn’t been an event like that in a while. A lot of people came, but looking back, it still felt kind of mild compared to what’s happening now.These days, if we announce a show, hundreds of people can show up. The alternative scene in Suriname is really picking up. A lot of people want to experience what happens at these shows. For many of them, it’s their first time seeing a mosh pit, seeing punk bands play or being around all these different underground genres in one place.I also think alternative music has become more visible globally because of TikTok and the internet. Younger people are discovering punk, metal, emo and alternative fashion differently now. They want to be part of it and see what’s happening locally.But the documentary definitely helped create awareness. Even if people in Suriname haven’t all seen it yet, the conversation around the scene has grown. People know something is happening.What are the biggest obstacles to building a punk community in Paramaribo?The biggest obstacle is infrastructure. In the Netherlands, you have pop venues and spaces that are built for live music. In Suriname, you have to do everything yourself. You have to go to venues personally, explain what kind of music you play, convince them that people will actually show up and hope they trust you enough to let you organise something.In the beginning, we got a lot of weird looks. People would ask who was going to come see a punk band play. They didn’t understand it. But over time, the fanbase grew and the community got bigger.Another challenge is that there aren’t many bands. If there’s only one punk band in the whole country, it’s hard to build a scene. So we had to combine different underground sounds. A show might have a punk band, an underground rapper and a hardstyle DJ, because the goal was to bring together people doing things outside the mainstream.For me, the biggest goal was always to inspire people to create more. Don’t just come to the show and enjoy it. Start your own band. Make your own music. Organise your own thing. If people had music, I would tell them to send it to me and we could find a way for them to perform.A scene survives through participation. If people only consume, it dies. If they start creating, it grows.Is that what led you to start Phara0h Productions?Yes. Phara0h Productions came from the fact that I was already doing all of this for my own bands. At first, the goal was simple: create shows so my band could play. But then I noticed other artists had the same problem. They also didn’t have a stage. They also didn’t have spaces where their music made sense.So I started organising events where different artists could perform. That slowly became something bigger.I never really had a straight job. I quit school early, and the only thing that truly mattered to me was playing in bands and organising shows. Around three years ago, I had a moment of self-reflection. I was almost turning 30 and I asked myself what I was going to do with my life.I realised that if I really wanted this to work, I had to give it everything.That’s when I started Phara0h Productions properly. I went all in. I began organising festivals, and one of the main projects became Alt Market. The first edition was a huge success. Around 500 people came, which meant a lot because this was an alternative festival in a country where people often say that kind of scene doesn’t exist.Seeing so many alternative people in one place showed me the potential. That was the moment Far Production became real to me.Have you noticed that Suriname is connected to other Caribbean alternative scenes? The main thing I do now is create alternative events, and Alt Market has become the biggest one. We do it at the end of the year, and through that festival, we’ve been able to bring in bands from different places.Two years ago, we had a band from Columbus, Ohio come over. The year before, we had a hardcore punk band from Trinidad and Tobago. This year, we’re working on bringing bands from Guyana, maybe the Netherlands, and Aruba.The idea is to bring the Caribbean alternative scene together.There’s a really strong alternative scene in Trinidad. They have amazing rock and punk bands. Back in 2016, one of my bands participated in the Wacken Metal Battle Caribbean, and that connected us with bands from Trinidad, French Guiana, Aruba and other places. Since then, we’ve stayed in touch with a lot of those communities.The scenes are small, but they’re real. They face similar challenges, but there are people making music, organising shows and trying to build something. The internet helps, but the real connection happens when people travel, play together and see each other in real life.You’ve also played in heavier projects like Luguber. What did that band mean to you?Luguber started when I was living in Nickerie, which is about four hours away from Paramaribo. I moved there around 2011 and lived there for five years. In my last year there, I met Akeem, who became the drummer of Luguber.I had always wanted to make heavier music, and when I saw Akeem play drums, I got inspired immediately. We started writing songs right away. The original idea was to make a doom stoner metal band, which is why we ended up with a stupid name like Luguber. But eventually the sound shifted more towards hardcore.By that point, because I had already played in De Rotte Appels and Skafu, I understood how being in a band worked. I knew we had to write songs, get into the studio and record them quickly. With Luguber, we did that. We recorded EPs, played Wacken Metal Battle in 2016, and that event really helped shape the band.The last thing we did was a split EP with Anti-Everything, a punk band from Trinidad and Tobago. As far as we know, it was the first inter-Caribbean hardcore split EP. That means a lot to me because split records are such a classic punk tradition. It’s how bands connect scenes and share audiences.Let’s talk about Guillotine, which appears in the Patta campaign. What is that song about?Guillotine is about corruption in Suriname. It’s about bad leadership. It doesn’t matter who takes charge or which government comes in, it often feels like the same thing keeps happening. People get into power and put money in their own pockets while society keeps struggling.The song is dramatic, but that’s the point. It comes from frustration. It’s about people being tired of corruption and tired of leaders who don’t do anything for the people.The title is extreme because punk is extreme. It’s not meant to be polite. It’s a song about anger, frustration and resistance.How does your songwriting usually begin?For me, it usually starts with something catchy. I like hooks. I like music that sticks in your head. A lot of the time, I’ll hear a chorus first. It starts in my head, then I write it down, and once I have the chorus, I build the rest of the song around it.After that, I usually make a small demo on my computer. I open my DAW, put in some sample drums or something simple, record the idea and send it to the band. If everybody likes it, then we start working on it together and give it our own twist.Punk music is built on repetition and directness. Power chords, hooks, choruses—that’s where the energy comes from. So, for me, it makes sense to start with the part that people remember.You recently came to Europe for the No Borders Tour. How did that come together?The No Borders Tour was partly about promoting the Tra fasi documentary and bringing more attention to the Surinamese punk scene. But it is also connected to years of networking.Back when I had my first band, De Rotte Appels, we played at this random jam session in the middle of Paramaribo. After we played, a tourist came up to me and said I reminded him of himself when he was younger. He had played in a hardcore punk band in the 80s. He gave me his contact details and added me to a Facebook group called Punk Rock Netherlands.That was around 2010.From there, I started connecting with people in the Dutch punk scene. I learned how things worked here. So when I finally came to the Netherlands years later, it felt like a full circle moment. I went to shows and already knew people there.The No Borders Tour came from that network. I planned it with my friend Lucas from Frankie Teardrop in Zaandam. We did shows in Zaandam, Rotterdam, Amsterdam and Haarlem. It was all DIY. We did it ourselves, which made it feel even more meaningful.You’ve had a lot of cameras around you recently, from Tra fasi to the tour footage and now this campaign. How has that experience been?At first, it was strange. When Charity first came to film me, I had to get used to people following me around with cameras and trying to capture everything I did. I’m not really a polished media person, so it felt uncomfortable at the beginning.But after doing Tra fasi, I got more used to it. By the time the Patta campaign came around, I felt more comfortable taking charge and thinking along creatively. With Fidelio, it felt very natural and organic. We discussed ideas together, built the deck together and figured out how to make the music video work collaboratively.That experience helped a lot.I still find it hard to watch myself. When I see myself in the documentary, I cringe. It’s like hearing your own voice note played back. You think, “Is that really how I sound?” But then I see how other people react to it, and that helps me put those feelings aside.At the screening in the Netherlands, especially with Surinamese people who left in the 70s, the reaction was powerful. They couldn’t believe this kind of punk scene existed in Suriname. Some people came up to me and said they never imagined seeing something like that back home.That gave me hope.The new single Leven is also part of the campaign. Why did you want to include that song?Leven is one of the first songs I ever wrote. When I was in the Netherlands for the No Borders Tour, I finally got the chance to record those early songs properly with Gerold, who used to drum for The Rotten Apples. The idea is to bring those songs out, but in a modified form.When I wrote Leven, I was around sixteen. It was about everything that disturbed me at that age: a messed-up government, feeling rejected because I was alternative, hating school, feeling like society didn’t understand people like me. It was all of those frustrations in one song.When I listen back to it now, it feels like an interpretation of how I saw the world as a teenager.But the crazy thing is that not much has changed.That’s why it still feels relevant. The frustrations I had then are still present now. That made it the right song for this campaign, because it connects the beginning of my story to where I am today.What should people look out for next?Mutha Flac’s new single Leven comes out on July 1st. For us, this campaign felt like the perfect opportunity to release it. When Patta reached out about making a video around us, it made sense to connect it to this song because it carries so much history. The single is out today on all platforms, and we’re excited for people to hear it properly. It’s an old song, but it still speaks to the present. That’s the whole point.More than a decade after discovering punk through a borrowed documentary, Shavero Ferrier has become one of the key figures shaping Suriname's alternative music landscape. What began as a teenager learning power chords in his bedroom has grown into something far bigger: multiple bands, international tours, a documentary, a festival platform and a growing network connecting underground scenes across the Caribbean.Throughout our conversation, one theme surfaced again and again: participation. Ferrier's work has never been solely about creating space for himself. It's about proving that those spaces can exist at all. In a country where alternative music once carried stigma and where artists often have to build their own infrastructure from scratch, every show, festival and release becomes an act of possibility.That spirit is perhaps best captured by Leven, a song written as a frustrated teenager and released years later to a very different audience. The details may have changed, but the desire to challenge systems, create community and imagine alternatives remains the same. If Tra Fasi documented the emergence of a scene, Ferrier's work today suggests something even more significant: that the scene is no longer emerging. It's here, it's growing, and it's inspiring a new generation to pick up instruments, start bands and build something of their own.As Mutha Flac prepares to release Leven and continue its journey beyond Suriname's borders, Ferrier remains focused on the same DIY philosophy that first drew him to punk all those years ago. Don't wait for permission. Create the thing you want to see.

Interview by Liesje Verhave | Photography by Tengbeh KamaraFor Faria van Creij-Callender, painting is more extensive than just image-making. It’s a method of navigating identity, space, and belonging. Drawing from personal memory, family archives, art historical references, and recent experiences in Suriname, the Dutch-Surinamese artist creates dreamlike worlds that sit between reality and imagination.Her paintings explore what it means to exist between cultures without the need to choose one over another. Figures emerge from layered compositions that blend observation, memory, and fiction. Reflecting a lived experience that is deeply personal and widely relatable. Whether exhibiting in museums, developing new bodies of work inspired by travel, or preparing for major art fairs, van Creij-Callender continues to build works with a visual language rooted in nuance, curiosity, and self-discovery.Following her recent solo exhibition at Lang Gallery and being exhibited at the Dordrechts Museum for winning the Scheffer Kunstprijs 2026, we caught up with the artist to discuss representation, Surinamese identity, painting practices, and the creative impact of her first visit to Suriname.How did you first get into painting?My mother was a painter, so art was always accessible to me. There was always paint around the house, so making things felt very natural. But that being said,  I never planned on becoming an artist. I first studied several different subjects at university before realising that art history was what interested me most. At some point, I realised: I don't just want to study art, I want to contribute to it. Through trying different things that didn't quite fit, I realised that everything I felt passionate about could be expressed through painting.I studied illustration before moving into fine arts at KABK, and once I got there, I never really questioned it again. It felt like the right path.Your work is currently being shown at the Dordrechts Museum as part of De Scheffer Kunstprijs. How does it feel to see your paintings in a museum setting?It's incredibly special. It was the first time my work had ever been shown in a museum.There is always this balancing act of how people perceive your work. You don’t want to be seen only as a Black artist. For me, being Black and Surinamese is where the work starts, but there are many other aspects to my identity. My family comes from many different places, and there are many layers to who I am.Seeing my work in a museum felt like a meaningful step forward. Simply having that presence as a Surinamese artist in that space already means a lot.Has recognition changed your confidence as an artist?Recognition is always nice. After graduating from KABK, there was a real question about whether I could continue my practice full-time or if I would need another job.A few months later, I was very fortunate and received the Royal Award for Modern Painting in 2025, which gave me both recognition and practical support. It helped me pay for studio rent and materials. But the most important validation comes from the work itself. Every time I finish a painting, I feel a sense of peace. It reminds me that this is what I'm supposed to be doing.Many of your paintings embrace multiple identities rather than choosing between them. Why is that important to you?Growing up, I often felt like I had to choose between different sides of myself. My mother is from Brabant and my father's family is Surinamese. There was always this feeling of being asked to identify with one side or the other.But that wasn't my reality. I've always felt like I existed somewhere in between. When I was studying, I found inspiration in Black American artists and saw parts of myself reflected there. But I still wanted to express something more specific to my own experience. I couldn't really find images that reflected that feeling of existing between cultures, so I decided to create them myself.Your work often exists somewhere between reality and imagination. How do your characters come to life?It happens in many different ways. This year, I visited Suriname for the first time and took hundreds of photographs. Many recent paintings are based on those images and the people I encountered there. Other works begin with art history. I'll look at Renaissance paintings or 18th- and 19th-century works and borrow elements like compositions, poses, or gestures. I also use family archives, old photographs, objects from daily life, and references from my own surroundings.Then I start cutting, combining, and pasting everything together until it becomes a world of its own. All those references merge into a world that feels grounded in reality but also dreamlike. It’s important to me that I recognise something from my own life within the work, but also that I recognise my community and people who look like me. You mentioned that aspects of yourself appear throughout your paintings. What role does self-portraiture play in your work?Whenever you paint faces long enough, they eventually start looking a little bit like you.For me, it begins with wanting to recognise myself in the work. Sometimes I use my own features as references because it's practical. If I need to understand how an eye tilts or how light falls across a face, I can simply photograph myself. But I don't necessarily want every painting to be a portrait of me. I use myself as a starting point, then move away from it.You recently visited Suriname for the first time. How did that experience affect your work?It had a huge impact.I took so many photographs and filled sketchbooks with ideas. I wasn't painting while I was there because I wanted to fully experience the moment, but I was constantly drawing and collecting references. Being in Suriname for the first time made that process even more meaningful. I wanted to capture the atmosphere, the colours, the air, the feeling of being there as quickly as possible so I could hold onto that experience for longer.When I returned to the Netherlands, all of those experiences immediately became paintings.Would you describe yourself as a nostalgic person?I’m definitely a nostalgic person. Memory enters my work in different ways. Sometimes I'll experience something and feel an immediate urge to paint it. I'll come back to the studio and want to begin as soon as possible.Other times, a memory takes much longer to reveal its importance. Some moments only become meaningful years later, and then I suddenly feel the need to return to them through painting. Because I work with so many references and images, memories often become layered. Sometimes a memory isn't complete on its own and needs other references to help build the image. Different memories move at different speeds.For example, one of the paintings behind me was inspired by my girlfriend in the Surinamese jungle. I remember taking the photograph and immediately wanting to return to the studio and paint it. There was a sense of urgency to that work. At the same time, another painting contains two figures in the distance who appear to be sharing their first kiss. That image was also inspired by a moment in Suriname, but it developed much more slowly. It required many different elements to come together before it felt complete.So memory exists at different paces within the work. Some moments arrive immediately, while others take years to fully form.What does a typical day in the studio look like?I usually start with a run in the morning and then head straight to the studio.I work with oil paint, so planning is important. Each layer needs time to dry, which means I usually have three paintings in progress at the same time.What part of the painting process do you enjoy most?The third layer.The first layer is about structure. The second introduces colour. But it's the next stage where the painting really starts revealing itself. That's the moment I love most because I can finally see whether the image is becoming what I imagined. It's the point where the painting begins to tell me where it's going. It's not finished yet, but suddenly I understand its direction.Your recent solo exhibition at Lang Gallery was inspired by your trip to Suriname. What did that show represent for you?It represented a very immediate response to the experience.I returned from Suriname with so many ideas and was able to translate them into paintings almost immediately. Then, shortly after finishing them, I was able to show them to an audience.That felt incredibly rewarding. The opening also incorporated Surinamese food, which made the exhibition feel multi-layered and communal. It became a broader celebration of the experience and the culture that had inspired them. Where do you usually find inspiration?Travel definitely helps, but it's not my only source.I spend a lot of time looking at historical paintings and visiting exhibitions. I'm particularly interested in how artists capture light, posture, and atmosphere. Running is also surprisingly important. That's often when ideas come together. Things that feel complicated in the studio suddenly become clear when I'm moving. My girlfriend and I always try to run together, wherever we are. We even kept running while we were in Suriname, although doing that in 32-degree heat was definitely intense. It was very sweaty, but we still did it.Running has become such an important part of my routine that I take it with me wherever I go.What's next for you?The main focus right now is preparing new work for Unfair Amsterdam. I'm also working towards several upcoming exhibitions that I can't fully announce yet, but they're very exciting. For now, I'm concentrating on making the strongest work possible and continuing to build on everything I've learned over the past year.Faria van Creij-Callender's work is currently on view through the Dordrechts Museum Kunstprijs exhibition, and will show a new set of works at Unfair Amsterdam later this year. Visit her work in person as she continues to explore identity, memory, and belonging through vibrant paintings that bridge personal experience and collective histories.

Interview by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Britt Haanstra For Amazone, music has never been just about songs. It is about identity, belonging, and creating space where none existed before. Drawing from her Surinamese roots while growing up between cultures in the Netherlands, the singer-songwriter has built a sound that fuses contemporary Afro, R&B and house influences with traditional Surinamese rhythms and percussion. The result is music that feels both deeply personal and globally minded.Her 2025 EP Who Is She? explored questions of identity and self-discovery, while breakout tracks like Sa na San and collaborations with artists such as Jarreau Vandal have introduced her to audiences far beyond the Netherlands. At the same time, she's extending her vision beyond music through initiatives like Bloodline Sessions and the debut of her all-female live band, creating platforms for cultural exchange, community building, and female empowerment.Ahead of her performance on the Keti Koti main stage and the release of new music, we caught up with Amazone to discuss cultural identity, songwriting, Surinamese heritage, and why she's determined to take traditional sounds to a global audience.Your 2025 EP is titled Who Is She? Let's start there. Who is Amazone today?She’s fearless, curious, and always evolving. I love music in all its forms, and I’m inspired by a wide range of genres. One thing I discovered when I started making music is how much I come alive on stage. Performing brings out a side of me that feels natural and powerful. Music has taught me to embrace every part of myself and turn vulnerability into strength. She’s someone who’s still discovering herself, but fully owning every version of who she is.You grew up between cultures. When did you realise that being between worlds could actually be a strength?That took time. There were moments when I felt like I didn't fully belong anywhere. People underestimate how complicated it can be growing up with multiple cultural identities. Sometimes you're told you're too Dutch for one side and too Surinamese for the other. You start wondering where exactly you fit. Eventually, I realised that I didn't need to choose. I could create my own space and define my own identity. That's something that's become very important to me, especially for other mixed-race kids who might be struggling with similar questions.Your Surinamese roots are central to your work. What aspects of the culture do you feel most connected to right now?The percussion. Whenever I attended events where Surinamese bands were performing, something happened inside me. My body would just start moving. At some point, I realised how much I loved those traditional rhythms and percussion patterns. They carry so much history and energy. I'm also becoming increasingly interested in traditional dances like Awasa and Banamba. That's something I'm actively exploring and celebrating through Bloodline Sessions as well.One of the tracks that introduced many people to your music was your collaboration with Jarreau Vandal. How did that relationship come about?I’ve known him from his experimental background with different influences and sounds, so I felt like it would be a good match creatively. The rest after that small section is great. One day I simply reached out to him. I sent the message, we got into the studio, and the first session produced the song that eventually got released. Sometimes timing is everything. It doesn't happen often that the very first studio session leads directly to a finished record, but that's exactly what happened.Traditional percussion plays such a big role in your music. How does a song usually begin for you?It usually starts with a feeling. I'll hear something that inspires me and then begin building from there. A big part of my process has involved collaborating with people who are deeply rooted in traditional percussion. A good friend of mine, Fantison Araby, has been incredibly important in that journey. He's a true kawina specialist and helped shape many of the rhythmic foundations throughout my EP. For me it's less about playing every instrument myself and more about bringing the right people together around my vision.So you're more of an orchestrator than a multi-instrumentalist?Exactly. I can play some piano and percussion, but I prefer letting people focus on what they do best. I know my strengths are songwriting, performance, storytelling, and creating a vision. Then I bring in talented musicians who can help elevate those ideas. That collaboration is really important to me.Have you always been writing songs?Pretty much. I remember lying in bed when I was around nine or ten years old, recording little melodies into my Nokia phone and writing lyrics. At the time, I thought they were amazing. Looking back, they're probably terrible, but the impulse was already there. I always loved creating songs and building little worlds through music.Your music blends Afro influences, house, R&B and traditional Surinamese sounds. Where does that combination come from?I make music that makes me want to dance. Whenever I'm at a party or club, I'm constantly discovering new sounds. I'm usually the person recording snippets into my phone because I want to remember what inspired me. Those references eventually find their way into the studio. I love contemporary sounds, but I also want to hear Surinamese rhythms living inside them. That's where the excitement comes from.You've described yourself as a musical explorer. What currently excites you creatively?I feel like I'm only scratching the surface of what can be done with kawina and traditional Surinamese rhythms. Artists like FS Green and Jarreau Vandal have already introduced these sounds to wider audiences from a DJ perspective. What excites me is exploring what happens when those rhythms become the foundation for songwriting and vocal music. I haven't seen many female artists doing that yet. I want to keep pushing further and see how far these sounds can travel.I want to make more noise in the emerging space of “island pop” and continue exploring how I can bring my culture into that. I feel like I’m only scratching the surface of what’s possible with kawina and traditional Surinamese rhythms. Artists like FS Green and Jarreau Vandal have already helped introduce these sounds to wider audiences from a DJ and production perspective. What excites me is taking those same influences and building songs around them, making them the foundation for songwriting and vocal-driven music. I haven’t seen many female artists doing that yet. I want to keep pushing that boundary and see how far these sounds can travel.Sa Na San became a huge success and even reached number one in Suriname. What was that experience like?It was surreal. I was in Suriname during Christmas and New Year's and I remember standing at a petrol station with my father. Suddenly, people started driving by singing the song. My dad had already been hearing it on the radio, but seeing strangers sing it in public was something completely different. To experience that kind of connection thousands of kilometres away from where I live was was amazing.. It's one of those moments you never forget.Your music feels joyful, but also deeply grounded. How do you stay centred as your profile continues to grow?Faith is a huge part of that. I genuinely believe there's something greater than us. I don't think we're the highest authority in the universe. I'm ambitious, but I also believe that if something has been placed inside you, it will eventually find its way into the world. That doesn't mean you stop working. You still have to stay disciplined and patient. But faith helps me trust the process.You're preparing to debut an all-female band at Keti Koti. Why was that important to you?One day I just thought: Amazone needs a female band. The easy option would have been working with whoever was already available, and often that means male musicians because there are simply more of them. But I wanted to create something intentional. It took time to find the right people and build the group, but now that it's finally happening, I'm incredibly proud that I stayed committed to the idea. It feels completely aligned with everything I stand for.Tell us about Bloodline Sessions.Bloodline Sessions started very organically. I filmed a dance class with a friend who teaches Awasa, and the video unexpectedly went viral. After that, I realised there was a real need for spaces where people—especially younger people—could reconnect with their roots without feeling intimidated. What started as dance classes has now expanded into jam sessions, cultural programming, and community-building events. The goal is simple: create spaces where culture can be celebrated, shared, and passed on.What role does community play in your work?A huge one. Creating a community around your art is one of the biggest blessings. Music is important, but I also want to create spaces where people can connect with each other. Whether that's through dance, live performance, workshops, or jam sessions, it's all part of the same vision. Culture survives through participation.Looking ahead, what's next?A lot of music. I recently filmed a music video in Suriname for the first single "Defibrillator" from my upcoming album. That's a huge step for me because it's the beginning of a much larger body of work. The album is really about defining the world I'm building musically and taking everything I've learned over the past few years to another level. I'm very excited about it.Finally, what advice would you give to a young Surinamese girl who wants to follow a similar path?Just do it. You can spend years overthinking things, but eventually you have to take the first step. Find people who believe in you. Build a team around yourself. Create opportunities if they don't already exist. Most importantly, believe in yourself. You can achieve far more than you think.Check out Amazone's new single Debrillator, out now on all platforms! 

Interview by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Violette EsmeraldaWhen Essa Främbs first stepped into a kickboxing gym at the age of twenty, she wasn't chasing titles or dreaming of championship belts. What she was looking for was something much simpler: strength. Growing up, she never considered herself particularly athletic. She describes herself as skinny, physically insecure and uncertain about what her body was capable of. Yet one training session was enough to spark an obsession that would eventually take her across the world to Thailand, into competitive Muay Thai and onto a path that fundamentally reshaped how she viewed herself.Today, Essa balances life as an athlete, coach, wife and mother while continuing to pursue her ambitions inside the ring. Along the way, martial arts has taught her lessons that extend far beyond fighting, about confidence, patience, humility and the importance of finding the right community. We sat down with Essa to discuss training in Thailand, overcoming self-doubt, motherhood, competition and why true strength often has very little to do with violence.What has martial arts taught you about yourself?More than anything, it's taught me confidence, but not in the way people usually think. Before I started training, I wasn't somebody who felt particularly strong. I wasn't athletic growing up, and I definitely didn't think of myself as someone who would one day step into a ring and compete. A lot of my confidence came from other places, but not from my physical abilities.What martial arts taught me was that confidence isn't something you're born with. It's something you build. Every time you show up to training, every time you fail at something, every time you look foolish trying to learn a new technique and come back anyway, you're slowly building evidence that you're capable of more than you thought.When you're a beginner, everything feels awkward. You look around and everybody else seems better than you. If I look back at old videos of myself, I can see how uncomfortable I was. My movements weren't smooth, my technique wasn't good, and half the time I had no idea what I was doing. But the beautiful thing about martial arts is that nobody expects you to be good immediately. The only expectation is that you keep showing up.Over time, I realised that confidence comes from repetition. It comes from proving to yourself, again and again, that you're willing to keep going even when something is difficult. That's a lesson I've taken into every part of my life. Whether it's training, family, work or competition, I know that progress isn't instant. You just keep showing up and eventually things begin to change.Many people assume combat sports are aggressive environments. What was your first impression of the gym?That assumption is exactly what I expected to encounter. A lot of people imagine fighting gyms as intimidating places filled with aggressive people. I went in with no expectations at all and was actually surprised by how welcoming everyone was. The atmosphere was incredibly supportive. People wanted to help each other improve. More experienced athletes were willing to teach beginners. Coaches were patient. There was a genuine sense of respect throughout the gym.That became one of the biggest reasons I stayed. Martial arts attracts people for many different reasons. Some people come from difficult backgrounds. Some are trying to avoid destructive habits. Some are looking for discipline or direction. But what I found was a community of people genuinely trying to become better versions of themselves. That was beautiful to witness. And it taught me very early on that fighting and aggression are not the same thing.You spent almost nine months training in Thailand. What did that experience give you beyond fighting?Thailand changed me in ways that had very little to do with fighting. Of course, from a technical perspective, I improved enormously. You're training twice a day, six days a week. Everything revolves around Muay Thai. You're surrounded by people who have dedicated their lives to the sport, so naturally, you absorb a huge amount of knowledge in a very short period of time.But the bigger lessons happened outside the gym. For the first time in my life, I was completely responsible for myself. I had to organise where I lived, how I got around, what I ate and how I managed my daily life. There was nobody to solve problems for me. If something went wrong, I had to figure it out. That teaches you independence very quickly.What surprised me most, though, was the sense of community. Before going there, I thought I was travelling to improve as a fighter. What I didn't expect was how much I would learn from the people around me. My coach, Samsak, had a huge impact on me. He wasn't just interested in making people better fighters. He cared about people. He wanted to know if you were okay, if you were eating properly, if you needed help with something outside training.There were days when we'd train together, go to the beach together, have dinner together and spend hours talking. It felt less like a gym and more like a family. I remember thinking that these people barely knew me, yet they were treating me with so much kindness and generosity. That changed my understanding of what strength looks like. Before then, I probably associated strength with toughness. Thailand taught me that some of the strongest people are also the most caring.Becoming a mother seems to have changed your relationship with the sport. How did you navigate that?Honestly, becoming a mother was one of the most challenging periods of my life, not because of my son, but because of all the questions I suddenly started asking myself.Before that, my identity felt relatively straightforward. I was an athlete. I was training, competing and chasing goals. Then I became a wife and a mother within a relatively short period of time and suddenly I found myself wondering who I was supposed to be now.I remember thinking: Is this still appropriate? Should I still be fighting? Should I be focusing on other things? Should I be more feminine? More traditional? More focused on family? None of those thoughts came from anybody around me. They came from me.My husband was supportive. My family was supportive. My in-laws were supportive. Nobody was telling me to stop. In fact, they were encouraging me to continue. But I had built these expectations in my own mind about what a mother should look like, and I was struggling to reconcile those expectations with the person I already was. It took time to realise that the only person judging me was myself.Once I understood that, something shifted. I stopped trying to fit into an idea of motherhood that didn't belong to me. I realised I could be a mother and an athlete. I could be a wife and still chase ambitious goals. Those things weren't in conflict with each other.Now my husband brings my son to training. They sit together while I work. Sometimes my son copies my coach and pretends he's holding pads. It's become part of our family life. Looking back, I think motherhood didn't take anything away from me. It actually gave me a new reason to keep going.There was also a deeply personal experience that pushed you further into martial arts.There was. When I was younger, I experienced something that left me feeling powerless and vulnerable. I won't go into every detail, but it affected me deeply. At the time, I carried a lot of anger. I remember asking my coach if I could work as a cleaner in the gym so I could have access to the space outside training hours. He said yes. So I would clean and then stay behind for hours training by myself. I'd hit the heavy bag, film myself, watch the footage back, analyse every mistake and start again. Over and over. Looking back, that period shaped me enormously. At the time, I was trying to process pain. What I didn't realise was that I was also building discipline. And that discipline eventually became something much healthier than angerCombat sports remain heavily male-dominated. What's your experience been like as a woman in that environment?Overall, I've been fortunate. Most of the gyms I've trained in have been respectful environments. But I do think women need to be careful and trust their instincts. There are fantastic gyms full of good people, and there are places where boundaries aren't respected. If something feels wrong, leave. You don't owe anyone your loyalty if they're making you uncomfortable. At the same time, I think visibility matters. The more women participate, coach, compete and lead, the more normal it becomes. I've never wanted special treatment. I've always wanted equal respect. That's something I've generally been lucky enough to receive.What advice would you give somebody who's curious about Muay Thai but doesn't know where to start?Start. That's the most important thing. Go to a class. Try it. See how it feels. And if the first gym doesn't feel right, try another one. Finding the right environment matters just as much as finding the right sport. The gym that changed my life wasn't the first one I walked into. The same thing happened in Thailand. I visited multiple gyms before finding the place that felt like home. Don't give up because one experience wasn't right. Keep looking. Eventually, you'll find your people. And once you find your people, everything becomes easier.Essa would like to thank the team at Boni Gym, her former coach Samsak and everyone at Phuket Top Team for their support and guidance throughout her journey. She also credits her husband, family and training community for helping her continue pursuing her goals as both an athlete and a mother. 

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

As Afrobeats continues its global rise, Dope Caesar is emerging as one of the most exciting DJs shaping its sound and culture, but her success didn’t happen overnight. Long before the viral transitions, international bookings and sold-out shows, there were years spent studying other DJs, practising endlessly at home, learning technical precision at Vibes DJ Academy, and grinding through weekly club residencies in Lagos, one of the most demanding nightlife scenes in the world.For nearly a decade, Dope Caesar has been refining her craft in real time: playing four-night-a-week residencies, learning how to read impatient Lagos crowds, testing risky transitions live in clubs, and developing the instinct required to control a room rather than simply play songs. The viral moments people see online today are often ideas she’s been quietly sitting on for years, waiting for the right crowd and the right moment to finally understand them.Get familiar as Dope Caesar reflects on the unseen hours behind her rise, the discipline required to survive Lagos nightlife, balancing technical skill with crowd control, and why boldness matters more than perfection. As she prepares for a new chapter of global touring, she speaks on staying grounded, navigating a male-dominated industry, and understanding that true success is built long before the world starts paying attention.Recently, you’ve really broken through online. Your sets are going viral and your name is travelling globally. Does it feel like you’re in your “I’ve made it” era now, or do you still feel like you’re just getting started?Well, it’s in between. I approach life from the perspective that you don’t really know how far you’ve come until the journey has ended. Someone else is going to write that story eventually. I don’t even know myself yet. So I feel like I’ve made it because obviously I’ve grown, but at the same time I’m also just getting started because I don’t know where the story ends. It sits somewhere between those two things.And you’ve been doing this for almost a decade now, right?Nine years.Congratulations. Maybe we can go back to the beginning a little bit. What did those early days at Vibes DJ Academy look like for you?Honestly, those days felt like, “Do you even know what you’re doing?” — but you kind of do. I was already DJing before I got there, but I didn’t fully know whether I was doing things correctly. Going to Vibes DJ Academy validated everything I had taught myself through research and practice.But then another challenge came up: how do you present technical skill in a way that regular people can connect to? Because people can easily box you in as “a DJ’s DJ” or someone who should just do competitions, but that doesn’t always work on a dance floor. So it became about translating technical ability into something people can actually feel in a party environment.So it was a transition from technical skill into learning how to control a room?Exactly.What was it about the academy environment that created that shift?The tutors. They had very technical DJs there, like DJ Massive and DJ Consequence, who are some of the best party DJs in Nigeria. So you had both worlds in one space: technical precision and crowd control. You could learn different things from each person and merge them into your own style.Lagos nightlife is famously intense and competitive. Did growing within that environment shape your identity as a DJ?Definitely. The real leap happened in 2022 when I started working in a club. That became my platform to really show myself. But Lagos crowds are already used to certain things. You can’t just come in and say, “This is what I do now.”So it forced me to think differently. You can do all the hard technical stuff, but how do you make simple things exciting? Nigerians are impatient — everything has to hit immediately. Timing matters. Precision matters. Lagos keeps you on your toes constantly.Were you performing for yourself at that stage, or for the crowd?At first, definitely for the club. But I also have to put myself into it because that’s why I DJ. I have a piece of myself to give people. If I remove myself completely, then something is missing. But DJing is still for the dance floor too. You can’t make it entirely about yourself. It’s about balance.How did you first enter the Lagos nightlife scene?It’s actually the craziest story. I got a random WhatsApp message from someone saying he wanted to open a club and believed in me. I genuinely thought it was a scam because I wasn’t popular at all. But it turned out to be real.The funniest part is that at the time, I had barely even been to clubs myself. I’d probably only gone out three times in my life. But I still said yes. Then I started calling my DJ friends asking what songs they played. I studied other DJs constantly, recorded sets, watched how they controlled rooms, and practiced from there.And what did that residency look like?Four nights a week. Full-time job energy.And now you’re resident at two places, right?Yeah, now I’m a resident at Mr Panther and Guest List every Saturday. The sound, the drinks, the people - everything is amazing there and it’s for the few only, you just have to be there!One thing people really associate with you now is transitions. Your sets feel very fluid and unexpected. How do you approach building them?Chaotically, honestly. Ideas just come to me and I test them out. But over time I’ve developed rules for myself: musicality, timing, key, energy. A lot of my transitions are personal challenges. Sometimes I’m literally trying things just to prove to myself that I can do them. Transitions are risky. When they work, it’s incredible. When they fail, it’s disastrous. But I enjoy that risk.Do you test those ideas beforehand or live in the club?It depends on the crowd and the environment. You have to earn certain moments. Some transitions I’ve had for years and never played because the environment wasn’t right yet. That viral transition everyone knows? I’d already been doing it long before people saw it online. It just finally reached the right audience at the right moment.What separates a DJ who simply plays songs from someone who actually controls a room?Being bold. I don’t even think DJing itself is my talent. I know how much work it took to learn. The difference is being willing to take risks. If you take risks, you gain power over the room. You can’t play safe forever. No single moment defines you anyway. You learn from the good moments and the bad ones.Your career is becoming increasingly global now. How has that changed your life?It’s crazy because I’ve been to countries where I genuinely wonder how people even know me there. But at the same time, my life is still normal. I still play with kids in my neighbourhood. It’s not that deep to me. What I appreciate most is experiencing different cultures while sharing mine too. It’s very symbiotic.You’re about to head out on a European tour as well. What excites you most about that?The challenge. Europe is so multicultural. My Amsterdam show at Melkweg had the most diverse crowd I’ve ever seen. That really challenged me because you can’t rely only on what works in Lagos anymore. You have to understand different cultures and figure things out in real time. That excites me.What’s the difference between Dope Caesar online and Dope Caesar in real life?I honestly don’t know how people perceive me online. I think people assume I’m mysterious because I wear glasses and don’t speak too much. But I’m actually very playful. Everybody around me knows I joke constantly. I’m very minimal in how I dress and move, and I think people build a perception around that. But I’m not trying to create some fake persona. I’m just myself.Your image has become very recognisable too — the shaved head, the minimal styling. How did that become part of your identity?It happened naturally. I used to grow my hair before, but during a certain period in my life I kept telling my friends I wanted to shave it off. Everyone said I’d never actually do it. Then one day I looked in the mirror and decided to do it. My sister shaved it off for me. Some people loved it, some people hated it, but I liked it, so I kept it. I never planned for it to become part of my identity. Same with the way I dress. I like comfortable clothes and sneakers. I’m not overly fashion-focused. It just became associated with me naturally.Are original productions the next step for you musically?Yeah, definitely. I want to explore it and see where it takes me creatively.The DJ space — especially in Nigeria — has historically been very male-dominated. What has your experience been like as a woman entering that space?The ecosystem has changed a lot. More women are entering DJ culture now and I love seeing it.I always tell female DJs: just do you. People are going to talk regardless. Come with your nails done. Come feminine. Come however you want and still destroy the set. DJing isn’t about physical strength. It’s mental. It’s rhythm. It’s energy. And honestly, for a long time — controversial or not — the best DJ in Nigeria was DJ Switch. But because the industry was so male-dominated, she didn’t always receive the visibility she deserved. Now things are changing. Female DJs are finally part of the main conversation.What advice would you give to young women trying to enter that world now?Practice. Practice. Practice. Stay humble. Virality is not professionalism. When hype disappears, skill is what remains. So you need to actually know what you’re doing. And don’t just follow trends because they worked for someone else. Know yourself first. Beyoncé still rehearses constantly, so what excuse does anyone else really have?Before we wrap, what’s one song that always works in the club?“All I Do Is Win.” Every single time. People complain online about DJs always playing it, but the second it comes on, everybody’s hands go up. It’s hilarious. So that makes it funny. So that’s a track that always works multiculturally, but personally? “Ozeba” by Rema. Anytime I hear that song, I lose my mind.Dope Caeser will be back in Amsterdam on Friday, June 5th at Club Noir, tickets are almost sold out, so head over to their website to get your hands on them now or follow her on socials to find out whereelse she will be in Europe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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