Tales from the Echobox 24

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A new cut from two of the finest in the kitchen. Skirt Steak is here — Roc Marci laces sharp talk over Alchemist’s medium-rare production. No filler, just flame. The Alchemist pulls up in the Patta x Avirex — heavyweight leather, heavyweight bars. This ain’t just music, it’s tailoring season for your eardrums. Stream it now. Let it sear.

Interview by Passion Dzenga From dusty attic record collections to underground club nights in Cardiff, Earl Jeffers’ musical journey is rooted in deep listening, creative evolution, and community connection. Whether crafting soulful house under his own name, building hip-hop landscapes as Metabeats, or collaborating through collectives like CRST and Darkhouse Family, Jeffers has consistently pushed the boundaries of genre and process.His approach is as much about heritage as it is about innovation—drawing from classic ‘90s sounds, jazz records, and MPC experiments while always keeping an eye (and ear) on what’s next. With a DIY spirit and an ear for detail, he’s developed a body of work that spans labels like Local Talk and Ten Thousand Yen, as well as his own eclectic imprint, Melangé.In this conversation, we dive into the foundation of his career, the role of Cardiff in shaping his sound, the magic of sampling, and what it means to stay true to your creative instincts in a fast-shifting musical landscape.Let’s start from the beginning. Can you walk us through your musical journey—from childhood to becoming a DJ and producer?At around five years old, I was picking up whatever was playing from my dad’s room or on the car radio. Then a few years down the line, my older brother and cousin were into hip-hop—N.W.A., Wu-Tang—and later jungle. My first tape was a Fabio set from Amnesia House. I remember the gold case. That stuck with me.They also bought rave tape packs—Dreamscape and all that—and got into house and garage. My brother’s friend was a DJ, so I’d go to his and pick up some basics. The youth clubs were also key—there was this guy putting on parties, in the local area. But I was a little too young. So he would bring his turntables to the youth club sometimes. I’d walk 45 minutes across town just for a go. That’s where it really started. That’s all I wanted to do. I would be up before school mixing records. Once I got decent at DJing, I started thinking: how are these records made? A friend got an MPC 2000, and we started experimenting. I’d make beats for MCs, and over time I knew this was what I wanted to do—not just for fun.How did you transition from hobbyist to professional?It clicked in college. I tried plumbing and a few other courses, but nothing stuck. Nothing felt as right as music. So I focused entirely on it.You’ve worked under several names—Metabeats, Chaser, Earl Jeffers. How do you decide which alias fits?It evolved naturally. I had three styles. The hip-hop and instrumental stuff was Metabeats, which was my first name. Chesus came from a nickname a friend gave me—I used that for house. Then Earl Jeffers was more sample-based house, where I applied a hip-hop approach to house music. Over time, I just focused on the Jeffers identity to simplify things. I still do Darkhouse Family work, where I go by Jeffers.How did growing up in Cardiff shape your sound and access to music?It was challenging. In the early 2000s, there was a healthy hip-hop scene and dance music always had a presence since the late 80’s But to break through from Cardiff, you had to look beyond it.That said, Cardiff gave me my first gigs—I was DJing in clubs before I was even legally allowed in! These days, younger artists have more access to music, which leads to more genre-blending. That’s really exciting.Tell us about the old Cardiff parties that helped shape you.Places like The Emporium and Vision were great for the House & Garage nights in the late 90’s/early 2000’s, then Higher Learning at the Toucan Club was massive for Cardiff hip-hop in the early 2000s. They booked a lot of UK talent. We’d leave the club and head straight to the studio to make records all night. That’s how I met Mayor from Associated Minds, the label that released my Metabeats projects. We even worked with names like Quelle Chris, Action Bronson, and Elucid.Your sound often pulls from classic ’90s house to soulful, jazzy textures. What draws you to those older sounds?Constant digging. My ears have matured—I’ll revisit records I bought years ago and hear new things I missed back then. That shift in perspective keeps the music fresh.Sampling is key to your style. What’s your process like?Definitely. Sometimes I’ll hear a sample and it sparks a whole track. That usually happens with jazz, soul, disco, or early house—sounds I grew up with. My dad had a music room, and hearing the music he was playing through the walls left an imprint. What’s your studio workflow like these days?It varies. Sometimes I start with records and chop samples. Other times, I build from scratch using keys or synths. I’ve got a Rhodes right in front of me—I've been using that a lot more lately.Any essential hardware you rely on?Yeah, the Rhodes is huge for me. It’s expressive—the action lets you really put emotion into the keys. I also use a Korg Triton and Roland JV-1080. You’d be surprised how many iconic sounds are in those. Even “Grindin’” by the Neptunes came from a Triton preset.Have collaborations always been part of your journey?It started solo but quickly became collaborative. My friends weren’t DJs but were deep into music, so we made stuff together. I’ve been part of CRST (garage/house), Darkhouse Family, and other projects. I honestly enjoy it more than working solo—two ears are better than one.CRST was pretty influential in shaping modern UKG. Could you see yourself returning to that?Possibly, but only two of us still make music. It was the right timing and energy back then. My focus has shifted, but I’m open to doing something future-facing—maybe not strictly UKG, but something new. That era, with dubstep, fidget house, and UKG colliding, was a pivotal time.Tell us about Darkhouse Family. What sets that project apart?It started with Metabeats energy but evolved. During the peak of the LA beat scene—HudMo, Hoya Hoya, etc.—we were influenced by that experimental sound while still staying rooted in hip-hop. Our last album leaned jazz-heavy, mixing samples with live instruments. Now we’re working on a new one—it’s more raw, hip-hop-leaning, with vocalists and rappers. We’ve come full circle.You’ve released music on respected labels like Local Talk, MCDE, Ten Thousand Yen, and Handy. What do you look for in a label now?Early on, it was about where the sound would fit and getting exposure. Now it’s more about relationships and community. Handy, for example—I’ve known James for years. That trust matters. I also release through my own label Melangé, which gives me full creative control.What’s the vision behind your label Melangé?“Melangé” means “mixture” or “cocktail” in French—that’s what I aim for. I don’t want it to be just a house label. It’s a platform for all styles I love. We’ve put out music from people like Javonntte and Byron the Aquarius. I also created Melangé Archives to re-release older tracks I had on other labels, so everything lives under one roof and tells the full story.Have you put out any LPs through Melangé yet, or mostly EPs?Just 12"s so far. I think club music works best in short formats. If I were to do an album, it wouldn’t be strictly house—it’d showcase a range of styles.Your visual aesthetic is distinct. How did the collaboration with Ral Duke and the family photo direction begin?From the start of Melangé, I wanted something personal. I used old family photos for artwork. I love that aged-photo feel, especially when it carries meaning. When other artists release on the label, I ask them for images from their own family archives too. It adds soul to the whole thing.Ral and myself have been good friends for many years before the label and his art was even a thing, so that was an organic relationship and approach. You’ve toured widely. Any standout shows or cities that left a mark?Glastonbury and Bloc were definite highlights. But smaller clubs are where it’s at for me. Glasgow, for instance—the energy is insane. Places like Sneaky Pete’s and Sub Club never disappoint.You’ll be playing in Amsterdam soon. What can the crowd expect?Yeah, I’m playing with DJ Pointless at Phono Lake. First time there, so I’m excited. Amsterdam’s always been a favourite—not just to play but to soak up the vibe. I’ve been digging into older NYC sounds recently, so expect a bit of that, along with new material.What else should we be looking out for from you this year?I’m continuing the Boomedit series. I don’t really think of them as edits—more like remixes or reinterpretations. The first was disco-heavy, the second leaned into late ’90s/early 2000s R&B, the third had a Neptunes-style flavor. More of that is on the way, along with reissues on Melangé. ‘Special’ is the first release in the series that’s just dropped.You’ve also been involved in community work. What’s Extravagaza about?It’s a series of fundraising parties we’ve been running to support relief efforts in Gaza. We’ve done a few in Cardiff and plan to expand to Bristol. It’s a small gesture, but it matters. People can follow me on Instagram or Facebook for updates.Any final thoughts?Just that I’m grateful to still be doing what I love. There’s a lot more to come—through music, art, and the projects we’re building together. Stay tuned.From MPC experiments in Cardiff bedrooms to shaping the sound of UK house and hip-hop, Earl Jeffers has carved out a deeply personal, genre-defying path. Now, he brings that energy to Phono Lake x Handy—alongside DJ Pointless and Tiago—for one unforgettable night in Amsterdam. Expect soulful house, deep cuts and raw grooves from across the spectrum, delivered by artists who live and breathe the underground. Tickets on sale now — don’t miss it.