Tales from the Echobox 24

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.

BLKNWS isn't interested in reporting the news as we know it. Conceived by Los Angeles artist and filmmaker Kahlil Joseph, the project began as an installation inside Black barbershops before evolving into the feature-length film BLKNWS: Terms & Conditions.Rather than following the conventions of a traditional broadcast, Joseph constructs a living archive that moves fluidly between fiction, documentary, historical footage and cultural memory. The result feels less like watching the news and more like being immersed in the rhythms, conversations and complexities of Black life across the diaspora.Structured more like a music album than a film, BLKNWS brings together poets, journalists and novelists instead of a conventional writers' room. Together they build a narrative that challenges mainstream media while expanding what storytelling can look like. It's not concerned with delivering headlines—it's about creating an experience that asks audiences to feel, question and engage with Black culture on its own terms.

Last weekend, we took over the streets of Paris for a full day of music, community and connection. From our block party to a live broadcast on Oroko Radio, the energy carried from afternoon into the evening with DJs and artists from across Paris, New York, Amsterdam and beyond soundtracking the celebration. Thank you to everyone who came through and made it one to remember. Until next time, Paris.

After years of touring the world, Benny Sings took a step back to focus on family and songwriting, resulting in what he calls his most personal album yet.His latest single, "Parachute," reflects on growing up with a mother living with severe depression. A personal story told with Benny's signature style. Originally written in Dutch, the song balances vulnerability with uplifting melodies, proving that dancing and crying can coexist. Watch the self-directed music video for "Parachute" now 

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.

To honour this year's Keti Koti, we partnered with Surinamese punk band Mutha Flac to create a music video that celebrates the spirit of self-expression, resistance and cultural pride. Punk has always been a vehicle for challenging norms and reclaiming space and Mutha Flac embodies that energy through a distinctly Surinamese lens.This is a tribute to the generations who fought for freedom and to those who continue to define what independence means today. Because independence is not only about looking back at where we came from, it is about amplifying the voices that are shaping where we are going.

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! 

On July 1st, we celebrate Keti Koti, and we would be incredibly happy if you could join us. We would like to invite you to an evening at the long table at Homelanding: a special 4-course dinner created by Lenny (Hotel de Goudfazant) and LissKitchen. We have lovingly curated this menu as an ode to our Surinamese cuisine, translated into a haute cuisine experience. Includes wine pairing by Troppo Giovane, live music, and DJs. This will be an evening to celebrate, eat, and connect together. Reserve your seat at the table below via this link.

OFFSHORE SESSIONS is a music platform curated by Azzi On The Beat that brings together DJs, producers, and sound artists from different musical backgrounds to explore new sonic conversations in unique locations. Set outside traditional venues, each session creates a space where diverse genres, cultures, and creative approaches meet through live performance and collaboration. For this edition, Azzi On The Beat goes back-to-back with WearAreAllChemicals on the Lagos waterfront, blending electronic experimentation, percussion-driven rhythms, underground club sounds, and influences from African street culture. Recorded on a small boat overlooking the city, the session captures a moment of connection between artists, environment, and sound. OFFSHORE SESSIONS is a performance series and an ongoing exploration of music without borders.

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.