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Interview by Passion DzengaRuff Sqwad's story begins long before the YouTube era—back when youth clubs had vinyl decks, pirate radio ruled the city, and a TDK tape could change your week. More than twenty years ago, a loose neighbourhood posse of about thirty friends tightened into a small music unit—Slicks, Shifty Ridos and company—carrying the street name “Rough Squad” into studios, stairwells, and transmitter rooms. Their early education was communal and hands-on: Ghanaian household sounds and pop radio at home, drum & bass and garage on the block, and hours spent DJing and MCing in youth centres that doubled as classrooms. Pirate radio turned that energy outward—bedroom recordings to Deja/Rinse reach—while pressing their own vinyl taught business before there was a blueprint.As Channel U/AKA beamed grime into living rooms, the crew condensed and professionalised, but the ethos stayed DIY: passion first, structure second. In-house producers pushed one another daily, forging a signature that’s emotional and militant at once—heard in era-defining instrumentals like “Together” and “Functions on the Low.” Two decades on, the landscape has shifted from subs to streams, yet the core hasn’t: community, craft, and the mission to move people at 140 BPM. This conversation traces that arc—from youth-club spark and pirate missions to national tours and international stages—and why, for Ruff Sqwad, the music still feels authentic.Take us back to the very beginning—how did Rough Squad form, and who were the founding members?It started over 20 years ago as a big neighbourhood crew—about 30 of us hanging out and moving between youth clubs. From that, a smaller music unit formed: myself, Slicks, and Shifty Ridos. We kept the larger crew’s name and carried it into the music—Rough Squad. We were about 12–13, learning as we went. Being together every day—DJing, MCing, messing with gear—turned friends into musical partners.For readers in the Netherlands who didn’t grow up with UK youth clubs—what were they like, and why were they important?Youth clubs were community spaces with pool tables, table tennis, and—crucially—music equipment. Many had vinyl decks or a little studio. If you had records or a way to get them, you could learn to mix; if you wrote bars, you could practise on the mic. One of my first memories is walking into Devas Youth Club, seeing a young DJ blending two drum & bass tunes so clean it sounded like one—turned out it was Dizzee Rascal. Without those clubs, a lot of us wouldn’t have developed our skills or confidence.What sounds shaped you at home and around the ends before grime?At home: Ghanaian music and whatever was on national radio—pop, rock, chart hits. TV introduced us to the packaging of music—boy bands, pop acts—before we discovered hip-hop, then UK sounds. In the area and at school we heard drum & bass and UK garage, which led us to grime. That mix—African/Caribbean roots, pop radio, and the UK underground—fed into our style.When did you first ‘see yourselves’ in the music?For some of us, drum & bass/jungle came a bit earlier; for others, UK garage into early grime was the first time we saw people who talked like us, dressed like us, and came from where we came from—So Solid, Pay As U Go, that generation. In school, loads of MCs were Afro-Caribbean; it felt natural to step in.What did the first steps into pirate radio look like, and how did the crew name fit into that journey?We were making tapes in bedrooms—TDKs recorded at each other’s houses—long before radio. Hearing our first track “Tings in Boots” on air (shout to Triple S Crew on Magic FM) was magical. From there, pirate was the next level. Stations had hierarchies—Rinse FM and Deja Vu had huge reach—so moving from a smaller station to Deja felt like going from a 50-cap room to 1,000 people. Rough Squad started as a street crew name; when radio came into the picture, the name was already established.What were those early pirate missions like—logistics, crews, and risks?We were kids travelling across London to abandoned flats or converted council spaces that hosted transmitters and studios. It could be risky—you’d hear rumours about certain areas—but the love for music outweighed it. We usually rolled five-deep at least, sometimes with non-musical friends in the entourage. Pirate radio took us out of our neighbourhoods and showed us the city.Was there guidance from elders, or was it self-driven?A bit of both. We were lucky: Dizzee, Wiley, DJ Target, and PAUG were from nearby, so those networks and youth clubs gave us proximity. You’d spit a lyric in a session, someone would clock you and invite you up. Early on, it was about being heard—getting a turn on the mic. When artists started getting signed, it clicked that this could change our lives.Talk us through your first vinyl—why press it, and how did you make it happen?“Tings in Boots” had heat on the underground—especially with a young Tinchey Strider on vocals—so pressing it felt obvious. The model was clear from our peers: build a tune in the underground, get it on radio, cut dubplates, then press. We handled everything: booking studios, getting mixes, cutting dubs for radio, then pressing vinyl and hand-to-handing to shops. Some shops said no (and later those tracks became some of our biggest). Vinyl sales became our first legit income stream before proper shows and bookings scaled.How did distribution evolve once demand grew?At first, it was literally records in a car, shop to shop. As demand picked up, distributors stepped in to place stock across the country. It turned DIY hustle into a small business and taught us about the industry—production costs, timelines, margins—while keeping the streets involved.Looking back, what did that ecosystem—youth clubs, pirates, vinyl—give Rough Squad that streaming can’t?Access and identity. Youth clubs gave us skills and community. Pirate radio gave us reach, urgency, and a live feedback loop. Vinyl gave us ownership and revenue. Together, they made a pathway for kids from our ends to be heard—before algorithms—by sheer force of sound and consistency.Channel U/AKA put you on TV screens. How did that shift—from pirate sets and vinyl—change things?It condensed the crew. We started as 30 friends on the road, became 6–7 for the pirate era, and tightened further once TV rotation kicked in. When one of us started smashing shows nationwide with a bigger camp and then signed a deal, the spotlight widened. It felt strange at first—seeing your guy on other stations while you’re still doing your own sets—but it made sense and lifted the whole name. Tours followed, some of us jumped on those dates, and suddenly we’d gone from radio rooms to arenas of 10–15k.Mid-2000s grime went entrepreneurial—DVDs, tees, CDs, Star in the Hood, as well as exposure on commercial radio such as BBC Radio 1Xtra and Kiss FM. How did you keep the engine running as you moved from teens to young adults?Passion first, then structure. We lived together musically—woke up making tunes, passed houses to listen, hit radio twice a week, booked studio, pressed records. It wasn’t Google Calendars; it was brotherhood. Roles emerged: some of us organised sessions, deadlines and drops; others handled mixes, vinyl, videos. Because we were around each other 24/7, decisions happened in motion.“Together” still erupts clubs. What’s the origin story?Dirty Danger made the beat at around 14. It began as a loop—open, musical, cinematic. The moment it came through the wall, it felt special. He nearly binned it; we pushed him to finish it. In a later studio run (he funded the time), the hook got laid and the tune became a crew staple. It’s the clarity and space that let everyone paint emotion—that’s why it lasts.And “Functions on the Low”? How did that sound crystallise?Nothing was board-roomed. We had multiple in-house producers (each with a distinct palette) feeding off one another—same DAWs, different ears. Friendly pressure kept the bar high: if someone dropped four new riddims today, you weren’t showing up empty-handed tomorrow. We’d build a tune in a week to test it on radio the next. The overlap wasn’t formula; it was shared standards and constant iteration.Quality control in a big crew is tricky. How did you keep the sound coherent without boxing yourselves in?By listening—to each other and to the crowd. It wasn’t competition so much as catalysts: one synth line would spark another tune; a drum pocket would trigger a new flip. Because the workflow was relentless—five ideas a day at times—the weak fell away and the strongest ideas defined “the sound” organically.What’s changed in grime across 20+ years—and what hasn’t?DIY radio is gone, streaming is king, labels and platforms shifted the power a few times. But the culture cycles back: collaboration is up, the community feel is returning, and people are making grime because it moves them, not just the metrics. It doesn’t feel like 20 years because we never stopped.Grime’s international pull is real. Why keep bringing the sound to places like the Netherlands?Because the sound is bigger than us. It sits around 140 BPM, but it’s its own lane—recognisable, iconic, still evolving. We’re grateful to travel with it and rebuild, city by city. The Netherlands has long supported UK bass culture, and linking with local pillars only strengthens the ecosystem.If your music lived in a film, what genre would it score?Epic battle cinema—think 300 or Gladiator. Melodic, martial, high-stakes energy. It’s war music.On Saturday, November 1st, La Cassette take over MONO, Rotterdam presenting a crewnight. Bridging the gap between the Netherlands and the UK. Tickets are available now with party contributions starting at €14 and going up to €17.50.

Interview by Passion Dzenga  For our AW25 lookbook, we wanted every detail to reflect heritage, craftsmanship and modern storytelling — which is why we chose to style the collection with pieces from Fokko Juweliers. Known for their authentic Surinamese designs and deep cultural roots, Fokko doesn’t just create jewelry — they craft connection.As the largest Surinamese jewelry brand today, Fokko Juweliers is redefining what it means to wear tradition with pride. Their pieces blend ancestral craftsmanship with contemporary detail, honoring heritage while looking ahead. We caught up with the founder to get familiar with the story behind the brand — from humble beginnings on Facebook to becoming a million-euro company bridging cultures across the Netherlands and Suriname. Let’s dive in.First things first — how did Fokko Juweliers come to life? What’s the story behind the brand?After finishing my studies, I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do. Together with a friend, Remi’s Juwelen — a Surinamese jeweler in Groningen — I started selling Surinamese jewelry online via platforms like Marktplaats and Facebook. We had a one-week delivery time.Over time, demand started growing, not just locally but from all over the country. At the time, Surinamese jewelry wasn’t really available online, so I decided to start my own brand: Fokko Juweliers. I didn’t want to name the business after myself directly, so I used my middle name — Fokko, named after my Dutch grandfather. That was back in 2009.As the brand grew, I launched Fokko Design in 2011: my own line of Surinamese jewelry inspired by authentic cultural pieces. Today, we ship over 10,000 orders a year, with an annual turnover of more than a million euros, and have a team of 10 people working with us.That’s an impressive journey! What are the values that drive Fokko Juweliers?At Fokko Juweliers, we’re deeply rooted in several core values that guide everything we do. Authenticity is at the heart of our work — we’re committed to preserving the traditional Surinamese culture and craftsmanship in every single piece we create. Our jewelry is a celebration of heritage, and we strive to keep that spirit alive through careful, meaningful design.Craftsmanship is equally important. Every item is created with precision, care, and an eye for detail — high quality isn’t optional; it’s a standard. We also place great value on diversity, reflecting the richness of Suriname’s multicultural society, where different ethnic influences come together in harmony. Sustainability is another pillar of our approach. We use eco-friendly materials and ethical production methods to ensure that our impact is positive, not just culturally, but environmentally as well.Connection plays a big role in our mission. We aim to connect people with Surinamese history and culture through our jewelry, and we’re proud to collaborate with Surinamese businesses — from local photographers to marketing partners. Our photos are often taken in Suriname itself, reinforcing that connection.We also feel immense pride — in our heritage, our team, and in the ability to share Surinamese stories with the world. Through our blog, we strive to raise awareness and appreciation for Suriname and its unique jewelry traditions. Finally, creativity is woven into our process. We love innovating and creating designs that respect traditional elements while incorporating a modern style.You operate in both the Netherlands and Suriname. How do the markets differ?There’s a notable difference in production methods between the two markets. In Suriname, jewelry is often handmade or crafted using basic molds, which results in pieces that may not have the polished finish expected in the Netherlands. That’s why we’ve invested heavily in advanced machinery and in training local Surinamese talent. Thanks to these investments, we’re now able to produce Surinamese jewelry that matches Dutch standards in both quality and finish. We can achieve intricate details that wouldn’t have been possible by hand alone, allowing us to blend tradition with modern precision.What makes Fokko Design stand out from other jewelry brands?What sets us apart is the authentic cultural connection embedded in each of our designs. Our jewelry tells genuine stories rooted in Surinamese traditions and customs, whereas many competing brands often create more generic, commercial pieces that lack that specific cultural background — and often, any personal connection to Suriname at all.We also work with authentic Surinamese materials and traditional techniques. For instance, we use the original hand-blown Ala Kondre beads, while others opt for cheaper Chinese replicas. This commitment to authenticity is a defining aspect of our brand. But we don’t stop there. We offer more than just products — we provide a full cultural experience. Whether it’s through our blog or sponsorship of Surinamese events, we create a space where people can engage with and feel proud of their heritage.And importantly, our jewelry remains affordable. For us, it’s not just about profit. Our mission is to tell Suriname’s story — and we want as many people as possible to be able to access and connect with it. Each piece we create reflects Suriname’s rich history, traditions, and cultural diversity, allowing our customers to wear something meaningful and proudly rooted in identity.What kind of partners or retailers do you collaborate with?When we look for partners to carry our Surinamese jewelry brand, we seek those who align with our vision and values. It’s important that they have a deep respect and appreciation for the cultural heritage behind our designs. We want to work with people who can genuinely communicate that story to their customers, because in Surinamese culture, jewelry holds significant meaning.We also prioritize quality. Our ideal partners are committed to offering their clients high-quality, handcrafted pieces — not mass-produced products. On top of that, they should be passionate about creating a strong customer experience — one that’s personal, warm, and meaningful.We value collaboration and want to work with people who are enthusiastic about growing with us. We believe our jewelry is much more than an accessory — it carries stories, memories, and identity. So, any partner we work with needs to understand what they’re offering and why it matters.And who is your typical customer?Our typical customer is someone who’s not just shopping for jewelry, but looking for something truly meaningful. They value craftsmanship and authenticity and are often drawn to the cultural and personal significance behind our pieces. These are people who want to wear or gift something that tells a story — something that resonates with their heritage, or simply stands out for its uniqueness.When they visit Fokko Juweliers, they’re looking for more than just a purchase. They want to feel welcomed, receive expert guidance, and be inspired. Our customers appreciate the personal attention we offer, as well as the passion and care we put into every single piece. It’s crucial that our team has in-depth knowledge to match each customer with something that truly suits their style, story, and wishes.In short, they’re seeking a warm, trustworthy, and authentic shopping experience where they feel heard, valued, and understood.Looking ahead — what’s next for Fokko Juweliers?We’re always looking forward and evolving based on our experience and customer feedback. While we’re proud of our current collection, we’re also excited about its future growth. In the coming months, we plan to introduce new designs that bring together Suriname’s rich cultural elements with modern trends.Another key goal is expanding our network of retail partners, especially in Belgium and eastern parts of the Netherlands, so we can share our passion with even more people. But for us, growth needs to be sustainable. Expanding too quickly can compromise quality and our close connection with customers — something we never want to lose.That’s why we take our time. We’re focused on maintaining the high standards we’ve set, both in our jewelry and in our customer service. Quality will always come before quantity for us. Sustainable growth allows us to stay true to our values and ensures that we remain a reliable, thoughtful, and personal brand long into the future.What legacy do you hope Fokko Juweliers leaves behind?We’re proud that Fokko Design has become the largest Surinamese jewelry brand — and that didn’t happen overnight. It took years of passion, hard work, and staying true to our identity. We’ve built a strong, trusted name both in Suriname and the Netherlands, and our customers see us as a reliable and inspiring brand that honors Surinamese culture and brings it to life through beautiful jewelry.Our biggest hope is to continue connecting people to Suriname’s rich traditions, and to do so with authenticity, quality, and care. We want to be remembered not just for our products, but for the stories we told, the people we inspired, and the cultural pride we shared with the world.

Interview by Passion DzengaTwo decades deep in the Dutch underground, NoizBoiz stands as living proof that grime, garage, and bass music transcend borders. Emerging from the streets of Rotterdam in the early 2000s, they fused UK-inspired 140 energy with their own Caribbean-Dutch influences — long before “international grime” was even a term. What started as teens freestyling over jungle and drum & bass beats evolved into one of the Netherlands’ most pioneering collectives, bridging local street culture, graffiti, and skate scenes with a distinctly UK sound.From DIY setups to international tours, NoizBoiz’s journey mirrors the pulse of grime itself — resourceful, raw, and endlessly adaptive. Along the way, they connected with UK heavyweights like Wiley, Skepta, and JME, culminating in collaborations that helped cement their legacy as cross-continental innovators. Through their long-running series NoizBoiz Presenteert: Zware Bassen, Zware Beats, they’ve built a platform that not only champions Dutch producers and MCs but also keeps the UK–Dutch sound system dialogue alive and evolving.Now, with over twenty years in the game, a new generation of collaborators, and their official DJ Jill-Ann joining the crew, NoizBoiz continue to evolve while staying true to their foundation — heavy beats, heavy bars, and full authenticity. Speaking from Los Angeles, Axel and Don spoke to us ahead of their upcoming Patta x Keep Hush performance and new project drop. They reflect on the origins, lessons, and future of a movement that’s always been too real to fade.What was the spark moment when NoizBoiz became more than just friends messing about?Me and Mucky have known each other since I was about 15 and he was 13. Before either of us did music, we were just big on sound — hip-hop, dancehall, jungle. We started writing parts here and there in school before grime even existed. At the time, it was all drum & bass and jungle. We went to a lot of those raves in Rotterdam — the DNB nights called ‘Illy Noiz’ — and when grime came along, it felt like a natural next step because we were already deep into garage and jungle. Once we heard Eski beats and Wiley’s productions, we just wanted to make that kind of sound ourselves. That’s how it started.How were you exposed to those early grime beats?Garage was big here — especially around 2001–2002 — with collectives like SPEADFREAX (SPDFRX) in Rotterdam, a clubnight showcasing UK Garage music. It started evolving into something darker, and that sound caught us. We had MTV Base for a short while, so that’s how we first saw So Solid Crew and More Fire Crew. Then came Limewire and Kazaa — old-school download platforms. We’d type in whatever names we found and download sets. One day we saw “Rinse” pop up, and that’s how we discovered Rinse FM. From there, we found Deja, Heat FM, and other pirate stations. That’s what really pulled us into grime.Was there a pirate radio scene in the Netherlands?Not really. There were underground parties, but nothing like the pirate culture in the UK. Hip-hop was around, but it wasn’t big — more underground. There were maybe one or two mainstream artists, but the pirate MC-and-DJ format wasn’t really a thing. We had illegal hip-hop parties and warehouse events, but not radio. Drum & bass, though, that was thriving. In Rotterdam, we had nights like Illy Noiz at Nighttown and Resistance at Waterfront. You could smoke in there, they’d play drum & bass, and show skateboarding videos on small screens. Me and Mucky were into graffiti and skating too — it all came from the same energy.That crossover of music, graffiti, and skating feels like part of the same culture.Exactly. It’s street energy. And even though I come from a Caribbean background, my parents didn’t play that kind of music — more soul and Surinamese tunes. My cousins brought dancehall tapes from Suriname, so I grew up on Super Cat and Shabba Ranks. The MC energy in that music was what connected me to grime later. It’s the same spirit.How did you both start making music? Did you have musical backgrounds?Yeah. My dad was a gospel singer, so there was always music in the house. I played piano as a kid. Mucky played saxophone and was always technical — if you gave him software or gear, he’d master it in three days. That curiosity drove him to start producing. We’d listen to beats and think, “How’s this made?” and then try to make our own versions.How would you describe the NoizBoiz sound today?It’s always been a blend. From our first album in 2008, we had grime, garage, dubstep, drum & bass — everything. That’s why people couldn’t box us in. We’d get booked for house raves, hip-hop festivals, school parties — anywhere with loud music. In the Netherlands back then, people didn’t know what grime was. They’d see a Black guy with a mic and assume hip-hop, or think it sounded like pop or house. But we just did our thing. Over time, we’d win people over — by the end of the set, they’d be like, “What is this? It’s mad!”Where has music taken you that you never expected?Everywhere, man. I once took 60 flights in one summer just for music. I’m sitting in a studio in Los Angeles right now because of NoizBoiz. We’ve toured, travelled, and connected through this sound. I’ve been to Suriname multiple times because of music — sometimes for my own shows, sometimes managing artists. Music’s given me everything.Tell us about the ‘NoizBoiz Presenteert: Zware Bassen, Zware Beats’ series and your 2025 release.The series started in 2010, originally inspired by an early member, Kariszma, who coined a name that summed up our sound — heavy basses, heavy beats. NoizBoiz Presenteert is a banner to showcase the spectrum we love — grime, garage, dubstep, drum & bass — not just our own tracks. The 2010 launch party sold out and really put us on the map; people were buying tickets to another main-room event just to get into ours. From there we kept the series moving — 2012, 2014, and now into 2025 — always pushing the sound and platforming likeminded producers and MCs across the Netherlands. Hayzee (now Southeast Hayes) from Zwart Licht was part of the ZBZB series too, alongside day-ones like Hazat and newer faces such as Nelcon.What collaborations only happened because of the music—like your big collab with Wiley?We met Wiley through a chain of shows and mutual friends. Years back we played a small Amsterdam festival where Skepta and JME were also booked. Backstage they told us, “You lot have proper grime—but you’re not even from England.” We stayed in touch. Later, at a Westerpark festival where Skepta performed with Maximum, Wiley was around; Skepta introduced us properly. Wiley said he loved Rotterdam and took my number—then actually pulled up. He ended up staying in town for about half a year. Mucky was constantly making beats; producers were sending riddims daily. We were spinning ideas in the kitchen when Wiley clocked one beat, left for Cyprus, called back five days later like, “I need that one.” He came back, he and Mucky made “Speakerbox”, then we cut our version “Fris” (NoizBoiz ft. Wiley). From there Wiley dropped “Boasty”, which blew up. All of that sprang from live shows, real conversations, and the music connecting first.Who’s been part of the journey—day-ones and new faces?Both. Our guys Hazat have been with us since the beginning. More recently we’ve pulled in younger talent like Nelcon—he told us our work influenced his style, and when we linked up we could tell he really knows his stuff. From the second installment we had producers like Curifex (dubstep/garage). When I’m back in Holland after ADE we’ve got a session planned with Styn. The aim is always to bridge generations and keep the ecosystem alive.You mentioned Styn — what’s the story there?Fun one: Don hosted a radio show back in the day and was the first person to play a Styn tune on air — Styn told us that recently. I’ve done an official remix for a track he produced with Brunzyn, and there’s a little reel on Instagram where I’m styled like him. It’s garage-leaning; full-circle moments like that are what keep it exciting.Your latest 101Barz session made noise. What were you trying to push there?We’ve done a few 101Barz sessions. The most recent one was about platforming the scene: bringing through Lost (Soultrash), Nelcon, and GGG, an original NoizBoiz member from way back — we even brought GGG to 101Barz ourselves. 101Barz reaches the youth; after it dropped, kids at my football club were like, “Sir, we saw you on 101!” It’s a powerful way to put grime and bass music to new ears.What are the biggest lessons from 20+ years — artistic and business-wise?Artistically: authenticity is everything. We once overthought an album (2014’s Oase) and promised ourselves never again — remember why we started. Live shows are our superpower, so we work with people who understand that. Business-wise: partner with teams who actually listen and get your vision. We’re with Mojo now on terms that suit us, and it’s a respectful, flexible relationship.What can people expect from the next run of shows?At ADE we’re doing more DJ-driven sets, and at Patta x Keep Hush we’ll add a live performance — energy high, a mix of new cuts and classics. We’re in LA wrapping a new project and aiming for festival shows next summer. Stay tuned — new music is loading, and we’ll be road-testing it soon.As the beat of Amsterdam Dance Event 2025 builds, Patta and Keep Hush return for the third time — and you know what they say: three’s the magic number. This year, the partnership levels up, uniting three of the city’s most forward-thinking collectives — Sankofa Archives, Mosaiko, and Studio Strip — for a night that goes far beyond your standard ADE rave.This is community in motion: collectives linking up, sounds colliding, and energy multiplying into something bigger than the sum of its parts. From live sets by NoizBoiz to stacked B2Bs, selectors, and special guests, it’s an all-Amsterdam celebration of sound system culture, experimentation, and underground connection.Tickets are live now — don’t sleep. Join the movement and secure your spot at Patta x Keep Hush, where the community takes centre stage.

Photography by Axel Joseph | Interview by Passion DzengaFrom the streets of Luanda to the global stage, Pongo has turned movement into meaning. Once known as “M’Pongo Love,” a name given to her by her father during her recovery, she has carried that strength into a career defined by resilience, rhythm, and reinvention. As one of the most distinctive voices in Kuduro, Pongo embodies the duality of survival and celebration — transforming her personal story into an unstoppable force of sound and identity.In this conversation, she reflects on her journey from the train stations of Lisbon to international fame with Buraka Som Sistema, the creation of the anthemic “Kalemba (Wegue Wegue),” and the lessons learned about ownership, artistry, and self-worth. Speaking candidly about healing, independence, and the evolution of Kuduro, Pongo reveals how she’s balancing her Angolan roots with a global vision — and why her mission now is to inspire a new generation to move, dream, and express themselves unapologetically.Your father nicknamed you M’Pongo Love during your recovery. Do you feel that name and the story behind it still echoes in your identity as Pongo today?Partly, yes. Today I also identify with the strength of the artist M’Pongo Love. She deeply inspires me — not only through her resilience, but through her independence. She even created her own record label later in her career, and that motivates me to keep working toward having my own label one day too.Can you take me back to the moment you first saw Denon Squad performing on the street? What did that spark inside you?At the time, I used to make that journey twice a week, and I was always curious to see Denon Squad performing at the train station. On my way to physiotherapy, they would be dancing and singing Kuduro, and from the very first time I saw them, something powerful awoke inside me — a strong sense of belonging and identity.When you first began dancing and rapping, did you see it as escape, empowerment, or both?Both. I was already dancing at family events — it was always a competition between the kids! I also took part in neighborhood dance battles back in Angola. When I moved to Portugal, I started rapping in my teenage years, so for me, it was all connected: an escape from the challenges of growing up, and a source of empowerment from the very beginning.At just 16, you went from performing with friends in the street to sharing stages with Buraka Som Sistema. What was that transition like for you?When I joined Denon Squad, I was just a dancer. I ended up participating in a song they were recording, and that track was later shared with Buraka Som Sistema. That’s how they reached out to me — and for me, it felt surreal. Everything happened so fast.“Kalemba (Wegue Wegue)” became a global hit almost overnight. Did you realize, when you wrote it, how much impact it would have?Honestly, no. The entire composition of Kalemba (Wegue Wegue) was deeply personal for me. It was rooted in my story — in the way my parents, as immigrants in Portugal, kept our Angolan culture alive in our daily lives. The global impact was something I only realized later. Seeing the song cross borders and connect people around the world was a huge surprise, but also a confirmation that when art comes from an honest place, it finds its way. Kalemba was exactly that — a spontaneous celebration that grew into something much bigger than I ever imagined.Leaving Buraka Som Sistema must have been difficult. Looking back, what lessons did that chapter teach you about ownership and self-worth in the music industry?I didn’t choose to leave Buraka — the group made that decision for me. And because of that, I decided not to return. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. That project wasn’t just about music; it was a movement, a community, a family. Over time, though, I realized that even as we were breaking sonic and cultural boundaries, I already had a strong sense of control over my creative identity — especially within Kuduro. That experience taught me that if you don’t define your role and your value from the start, someone else will do it for you. Since then, I’ve become much more intentional about understanding contracts, royalties, and the business side of art. But most importantly, I learned that self-worth isn’t tied to the size of the platform or the volume of applause. Sometimes, stepping away is the most powerful thing you can do — especially when it means choosing yourself, your voice, and your future.Kuduro has often been misunderstood or pigeonholed in Europe. How do you describe it, and what makes it so powerful to you?For me, Kuduro is much more than a musical style — it’s an expression of resistance, energy, and identity. It was born on the streets of Angola as a form of liberation, driven by the Kazukuta and Hip-Hop cultural movement. Its force comes from both body and soul. What makes it powerful is its ability to bring people together — to turn pain into dance, and to tell stories that come from our African roots.Your work brings in influences from Angola, Portugal, and global club culture. How do you balance honoring tradition with pushing boundaries?For me, tradition and innovation are not opposites — they walk side by side and strengthen each other. Honoring tradition means keeping the spirit and truth of Kuduro alive, but it’s also about experimenting, mixing sounds, and taking that energy into new spaces.You often sing in Kimbundu and Portuguese. How important is it for you to weave language and cultural identity into your music?Language carries memory, history, and emotion. By weaving it into my music, I invite listeners into my cultural universe. It’s my way of saying that our languages belong in contemporary music — and that we can stay true to ourselves even when we’re speaking to the whole world.After everything you’ve lived through, do you see music more as a form of survival or a celebration?For me, music is both survival and celebration. It’s still my refuge during difficult times and gives me strength when I feel like giving up. But it’s also joy, freedom, and celebration. Each song is a way of honoring what I’ve been through while celebrating who I am and who I’m still becoming.Mental health and trauma are often taboo topics in immigrant communities. How have you learned to process yours, and does that healing appear in your songs?It’s true — talking about mental health and trauma is still taboo in many communities, not only among immigrants. In my case, I had to find the courage to look inward, to face my pain, and to transform it into art. Music became a space for healing. When I write and sing, I’m often processing those wounds, and I believe that energy reaches the people who listen.Winning the Music Moves Europe Talent Award in 2020 was huge. Did that feel like recognition not only for you, but for Kuduro as a whole?Winning that award was a huge milestone. It wasn’t just personal recognition — it felt like recognition for Kuduro and for Angolan culture. I was proud to represent that collective strength and show that our music belongs on the global stage.Your EPs Baia and Uwa felt like bold statements of independence. How do they differ in terms of your personal journey?Baia was a cry for independence — a moment where I affirmed my voice and said, “I have my own path.” Uwa is more mature and introspective; it speaks about healing, ancestry, and rebirth. Together, they trace my evolution — from liberation to deeper self-discovery and creative vision.Kuduro is now inspiring younger generations globally. Do you feel a responsibility to guide where it goes next?Yes, I do — and I carry that responsibility with love. Kuduro is a living movement, and seeing it inspire younger generations is beautiful. I want to help show that it can grow without losing its roots — that it can speak to the world while staying authentic. I see myself as a bridge between the past and the future, inspiring others to respect where Kuduro comes from while exploring where it can go.If a young Angolan girl living in Lisbon listens to your music, what do you hope she feels?I hope she feels seen and represented. I want her to know that her voice matters — that her origins are something to be proud of — and that she can achieve anything without ever having to apologize for who she is. I want her to feel pride, strength, and freedom, and to know that she belongs, just as she is.Finally — what’s next for Pongo? Where do you want this journey to take you in the coming years?What comes next is growth — exploring new sounds, collaborating with artists from different parts of the world, and bringing Kuduro to spaces it’s never reached before. I want this journey to be long and full of discovery. Most of all, I want to keep telling real stories — my own, those of my people, and those of the world — and continue inspiring others to do the same.Don’t miss it! During Amsterdam Dance Event, Pongo brings her explosive blend of Kuduro, Afrofunk, and global club energy to Paradiso for an unforgettable live show full of rhythm, power, and freedom. Expect pure adrenaline, unstoppable movement, and a performance as visually striking as it is emotional. Experience the voice of a new Kuduro generation live — get your tickets now for Pongo at Paradiso during ADE!

Interview by Passion DzengaNorthwest London’s own Kekoto, known musically as Keko, has steadily carved a lane at the crossroads of culture, experimentation, and self-made innovation. An artist, creative director, and self-described cultural innovator, he carries the dual identity of a grounded Londoner and a global-minded creator. From R&B and Gambian-Senegalese melodies in his childhood home to the late-night Channel U discoveries that shaped a generation, Keko’s sound is rooted in heritage yet driven by experimentation.Balancing raw emotion with cinematic vision, his evolution from the introspective in the meantime to the defiant 2L2Q (Too Legit to Quit) reflects both personal growth and perseverance through hardship. Across projects like Crimson and K-onenine, Keko fuses alternative rap with melody, texture, and storytelling—crafting immersive worlds as much as records.Through his creative umbrella Mismaf, he extends his artistry beyond music into visuals, fashion, and direction—building an ecosystem where every element speaks the same language of independence and innovation. Grounded in community and sharpened by honesty, Keko’s ethos is clear: live creatively, own your craft, and let the work speak louder than the hype.For people discovering you through now—who is Kekoto/Keko, and when do you use each?Kekoto/Keko are both me. I’m an artist, creative director, and cultural innovator. “Keko” is the music-side nickname—more informal, more personal. If someone uses “Kekoto,” they probably just found me. In short: Kekoto/Keko is a cultural innovator—overall, a wavy youth.You’re from Northwest London. How did NW shape your sound and stories?It shaped everything—sound, style, even how I carry myself. What I do connects worldwide—Amsterdam, Germany, Paris—but I know who I speak for and where I’m rooted. Northwest London is deep in the music and in me.Take us into your early musical moments. What was playing at home? First CDs? First discoveries?Born in ’98, the house was R&B and native sounds—Senegalese/Gambian music, jelis and kora traditions. My first rap memory is Nas—“I Can” really stuck with me. Discovery-wise, Channel U was huge. I’d stay up late for grime and UK garage—seeing people who looked and sounded like me, shooting videos where I lived, on TV. Mind-blowing.You also read a lot growing up—did that feed the ambition?Always. On the tube I’d read the music sections in the newspapers as well as all the magazines—Clash, NME, especially the award show write-ups. Even before I made music I thought, “I want to be at one of these. I want to win one of these.” That fueled a goal to do something culturally innovative the next generation can point back to.Press often mentions your smooth lyricism and melodic approach. Where does that come from?I’m a rap artist—alternative rap—but melodies pulled me early. R&B at home plus Senegalese/Gambian patterns are ingrained. Later I got into odd edits—people called it “trap,” but a lot of it was more dubstep/techno-adjacent SoundCloud energy. I like that experimental edge.When did you realize, “I can really do this”?2018. I booked my first studio—one hour, turned up 30 minutes late, spent 20 minutes hunting a beat. The producer said, “Punch something in.” I recorded my first released song in ten minutes. Hearing it back, I knew I could do this. Getting truly serious came around 2023 with in the meantime—the listening party, the turnout—then doing it bigger for 2L2Q at Peckham Audio. Watching the footage like, “All these people were here for me.” Since then we’ve done multiple headliner-style listening parties. It keeps building.Walk us through your creative process—what’s non-negotiable?The beat. If I don’t feel it, I’m onto the next—no matter who sent it. I love ethereal sounds that give goosebumps—close your eyes and see a world. I prefer beats being built live in the session. I’ll start writing, lay something, then punch in—very in-the-moment and experimental. A lot of first-thought honesty.Your music feels cinematic. If it were a film genre, what would it be?A thinker you rewatch for new interpretations—David Lynch vibes (Mulholland Drive), Eyes Wide Shut, The Matrix. Visually bold like Belly, Fallen Angels, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas—colorful, stylish, still fun and gripping. Spike Lee’s stylization too.You’ve mentioned DIY and struggle shaping innovation. How so?Innovation comes from constraint. We weren’t born with silver spoons—so we live creatively because we have to. That resourcefulness is part of the culture and the art.Early on, did you tell people you were making music?No. I kept my head down and did the work. It leaked eventually—my private Insta linked to Facebook, aunties back home seeing it. But I moved quiet until the craft could speak.Your first tape, in the meantime—what did it prove to you?It captured a transition: where I was vs. where I knew I could go. I could complain about what I needed—or act. in the meantime asked, “While I’m heading to the version of me I see, what am I doing right now?” Sonically and visually, it’s a timestamp—busy artwork, real-life energy. It started as a “side mission” before a bigger album… then became the main mission. That happens a lot with me.What did listeners miss that you heard instantly on that record?People had notes on the mixes. I wanted a raw, authentic, slightly rugged sound—2L2Q doubled down on that: somehow polished yet rugged. We even lost stems on “2L2Q” with KBO and released the mix we had. It worked—good audio with texture. The point wasn’t clinical perfection; it was feeling.Moving into the next era—what was the goal for the sound?2L2Q is exactly what it says—Too Legit to Quit. 2024 was testing—trials nonstop. In hindsight it made me stronger, but living it wasn’t fun. The tape says: I didn’t come this far just to get this far. You hear it—I was writing on my worst days, speaking directly. It’s bigger than me.So in the meantime was discovery. What’s the arc after that?in the meantime was figuring it out. 2L2Q is: I’ve discovered it, and I’m here to say it. Crimson keeps that energy but is more curated—more world-building and artistic direction.Your release rhythm feels like 2000s mixtape culture—dropping between albums to show resilience. Why keep that pace?People grow up and move on, so from early you need to know who you’re speaking to. If they truly relate, time won’t break that bond. A lot of folks quit. Staying power matters, but only if you’ve got something real to say.Tell us about K-onenine—concept and how it came together.K-onenine is a collaboration between me, A19, and MV (producer). We locked in for a few months and suddenly had a tape. We sequenced it, got the cover right, tested it—Amsterdam trip, a pre-listening party where attendees got USBs with the tape—then the release party on drop day. The response made us double down. It could’ve stayed a side project while we worked on other things, but we said, “The world needs to hear this now.”Who are your core collaborators?Not exhaustive, but: producers nv, mannydubbs, Proton, A19, Kibo; creative team Melo (photographer/director), Detroit (artist), MS, Sam Swervo; Chinua (DJ); Retita (hair stylist); Cojo, Oscar—and family in Amsterdam too. So many people believe in this and make it happen. That’s another reason it’s “too legit to quit”—it’s bigger than me.Hip-hop has that “pull each other up” ethic—iron sharpening iron. Is that your circle?100%. My people won’t let me slack. If a song isn’t it, they’ll say it. That honesty keeps the bar high. I’m for bringing back a bit of gatekeeping—once someone proves themselves, cool, but standards matter. When bars drop, sub-genres get watered down.Let’s talk visuals—cover art and videos. How do you approach them, and where does Mismaf fit?I start with a rough concept that evolves. I don’t like text on covers—I want the image to tell the story and leave room for interpretation. Mismaf is my creative umbrella; clothing is one medium. I put all my creative work—music included—through Mismaf. Sometimes there’s joint venture distribution with labels, but it’s my house for ideas.Ownership keeps coming up. Why is it important to you?Ownership is key. Chasing hits for money kills passion. I keep it fresh—even if I have to switch process or environment. Whatever it takes.Off socials—when you’re not making music or building Mismaf—what keeps you inspired?Life. I’ll ditch the phone, end up in a bookstore, read something that sparks a whole Mismaf collection. My deepest, longest-lasting inspiration comes from living—not the phone.As the beat of Amsterdam Dance Event 2025 builds, Patta and Keep Hush return for the third time — and you know what they say: three’s the magic number. This year, the partnership levels up, uniting three of the city’s most forward-thinking collectives — Sankofa Archives, Mosaiko, and Studio Strip — for a night that goes far beyond your standard ADE rave. This is community in motion: collectives linking up, sounds colliding, and energy multiplying into something bigger than the sum of its parts.From live sets by NoizBoiz and Kekoto, to stacked B2Bs, selectors, and special guests, it’s an all-Amsterdam celebration of sound system culture, experimentation, and underground connection. Tickets are live now — don’t sleep. Join the movement and secure your spot at Patta x Keep Hush: where the community takes centre stage.

Interview by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Akadre Studio | Styling by Sonia IhuomaIf you haven’t already tapped into the world of Black Sherif, now’s the time to get familiar. The Ghanaian genre-bender has come a long way since his First Sermon days, evolving from a hometown hero into a global voice with a message rooted in resilience, spirit, and raw emotion. With a sound that blurs the lines between drill, reggae, highlife, and rap—and a style just as genre-defying—Blacko is the kind of artist who makes you feel something, even if you don’t understand the language.It’s been a busy year for the 23-year-old, whose real name is Mohammed Ismail Sherif. We spoke days before the release of his sophomore album Iron Boy, and the start of an arena tour across the US and UK. Sherif is entering his Iron Boy era with the quiet confidence of someone who’s lived, learned, and levelled up. He’s got love for his roots, love for the journey, and love for the people who see power in vulnerability—because for Black Sherif, that’s the real flex. We caught up with him to talk about patience, performances, personal growth, and the power of staying true to your source. Let’s get into it.You’ve come a long way since your debut album. How do you reflect on your growth as an artist? How have you changed over time?It’s been quite a journey—from The First Sermon to where I am now, preparing to drop my sophomore album. A lot has changed, especially in terms of how the world receives me and how the business works. But one thing that hasn’t changed is where my creativity comes from. The source remains the same. What has changed is me—I’ve grown. I’ve learned patience, and I’ve learned acceptance. Two or three years ago, things that happen to me now would've broken me. Today, I handle them with a different mindset. I respect the journey. As kids, we think success will come instantly—we write goals in our notes and expect them to happen on our timeline. But life teaches you patience.Patience really does sound like the defining theme of your journey. Would you say that’s the biggest lesson so far?Absolutely. Patience. This album, for instance, was supposed to drop eight months ago, but life happened. If I didn’t have patience, I would’ve crashed out. Learning to sit back, be part of a team, and let things unfold—that’s been everything.Your sound is a unique mix of drill, rap, reggae, and highlife. How did you develop this blend? And what role do your Ghanaian roots play in that?I don’t think I’ve ever said this before, but confusion helped me find my sound. I know how to do so many things, and I used to judge myself a lot—I'd write something and wish it sounded like reggae or something else. But then I let go. I stopped fighting the flow and started letting whatever came out, come out. The result is this unique mix. It’s not forced. It’s just who I am and what I’ve been exposed to—from Ghanaian music to Caribbean influences.Highlife is such a traditional Ghanaian genre. How does it find its way into your music, especially when you’re blending so many Western sounds?I even get surprised sometimes. I’ll be working with my in-house producer, Joker, and he’ll make these futuristic beats—but the rhythms, man, they just scream highlife. It’s not about language or lyrics. It’s in the rhythm, the melodies. And somehow, that same beat my Jamaican friends will hear and say, "This sounds Caribbean!" It’s wild.Different things, but especially my mom. I remember being 10; that was the last time I was home with her. And the music that shaped me came from those early years. My dad came back from Greece when I was eight and introduced me to Don Carlos. “Harvest Time” was the first reggae song I learned. That shaped my idea of what music and art should be. Also, I still have friends from when I was six or seven; we’re still close, some of us even work together now. Those relationships keep me grounded.You’re known for being vulnerable in your music. How do you manage that vulnerability while still showing strength and power in your art?I find power in being vulnerable. Not everyone can do that. I see vulnerability as a superpower. There are so many people in the world who can’t speak or express what they’re feeling—but I can. And I have a space to do it through music.You’ve worked with big names—Burna Boy, Vic Mensa, Mabel, Fireboy DML. What do you look for in a collaborator, and how do those collabs shape your sound?Funny enough, I don’t think I’ve fully entered my collaborative phase yet. Most of the songs I’ve done came from relationships—someone sent me a track, and I vibed with it. But after this album, I want to travel, sit with artists, connect spiritually, and create. To me, music is spiritual. A perfect collaboration is when everyone’s spirit aligns on a track. That’s the kind of collab I’m chasing.What sort of themes, sound, and your evolution as an artist on this second album?It’s more elevated. Some of the beliefs I had two or three years ago—I’m challenging them now. I’ve found new ways to be personal and vulnerable. There’s a song called One that talks about something that happened to my father last year that changed everything in my family. It’s a spiritual album. You’ll have to listen to it to feel what I’m saying.The album is called Iron Boy. What does that title mean to you?The title is layered. First, it’s a tribute to a highlife legend from where I’m from—Iron Boy was his nickname. But also, "iron" represents being tough. The stuff I’ve been through recently? If it had happened three years ago, I would’ve stopped making music. But now, I’m iron. I’ve become that.You’ve been called the voice of the Ghanaian youth. How do you carry that responsibility, and how do you reflect your community’s struggles in your work?I've learned we all fight the system in different ways. For me, music is how I respond. I’m honest in how I reflect what’s around me. Where I’m from—Zongos—you don’t often see guys being this vulnerable. They’ll say, “Being soft gets you nowhere.” But I say it anyway. And that gives me power.You mentioned a track called “Victory Song”, where you open up about crying in a hotel in London. Why was that moment important to share?Because no one talks about that part of success. People see you on stage or travelling, but they don’t see the moments when the noise fades, and you’re alone with your thoughts. That moment reminded me that I’m still that kid from back home, feeling things deeply. I want people to hear that. That’s the kind of artist I want to be.You’ve played massive shows—MOBOs, Wireless Festival, City Splash. What’s that experience like, and what stands out to you?Every time I get on stage outside of Ghana, I tell myself, “Nobody here knows me. I’m here to sell them something I believe in.” At Wireless, the sound was so good I forgot I was performing to a huge crowd. It felt like a rehearsal. I just wanted two hours to sing.What makes a great performance to you?There are some things about performing that you have to learn, even if you're born with talent. When I watch people like Kendrick Lamar, their performances feel like an emotional roller coaster. Some songs don’t need dancing; they just need to be felt. You get more from watching the artist express it through gestures and facial expressions. I love all of that because I don’t think I’m a good speaker, but I’m super talented in nonverbal communication. That’s why I believe I’m one of the best performers from where I’m from.You mentioned Kendrick. Are you aiming for a stage show that feels more like a play or theatre performance than just a concert?Yeah. It’s more than just turning up. It’s about creating an experience. Like theatre, with costumes and pacing.You’re considered one of the best-dressed men from Ghana. What sparked your interest in fashion?It came from when I was young. My whole style started in a woman’s closet—my auntie's. When my mom left for Greece, I stayed with my auntie, and she had all kinds of stylish stuff. I’d sneak into her things, steal belts, and glasses. That’s when I got into appearances. I also tried different hairstyles, like one called “backbone,” and got beaten for it because it was too bold for where I was living. I’ve always been chasing freedom to dress how I want.Did your mom’s background as a seamstress influence your fashion sense?Definitely. I used to sew my buttons for school. Even in high school, I’d alter my clothes because I couldn’t afford a tailor. If I didn’t like something about a shirt or a pair of sneakers, I’d cut it and make it my own.Last September, you walked for Labrum at London Fashion Week. What’s your relationship with high fashion?I’m just getting into it. As a teenager, I couldn’t afford real designer clothes, so I wore replicas. But now, I get these things as gifts, and I feel like I have a fashion dream that will come true. After walking for Labrum, people told me I was natural at it. I thought I didn’t do a great job, but the reactions were strong. I’m still figuring out my way in fashion, but I believe in it.How do you see your style connecting with your music?Iron Boy is a supernatural being, and how he looks shouldn’t be relatable. The music and visuals are all extensions of each other. How I sing, how I dress, how I look—it’s about making people feel something, even if they don’t understand the words.Tell us about your music video for the song “So It Goes” with Fireboy DML.I loved the styling. I didn’t style Fireboy, but I was involved in my own styling. Some of the looks feel like video game characters. When I was a kid, I was really into gaming—GTA, Winning Eleven, and Sega. I don’t play as much now, even though I have a PS5, but those inspirations still show in my visuals.What’s the concept of the music video?It’s like a greeting from abroad. The character is on his way to war, like a traveller sending a postcard to a lover. You see him on a horse, surrounded by dead men—it’s poetic and emotional.As a Ghanaian artist gaining international recognition, how important is it to remain rooted in your language and culture while appealing to a global audience?I think my music speaks globally, even in a different language. Some people in Ghana don’t get what I’m saying, and people abroad do—emotionally. Emotions and melodies are universal languages. I’m still learning how to reach everyone, but I believe in the power of feelings.Find out more about Patta and the world around us through the Patta Magazine Volume 5, which is available now only at Patta Chapter stores in Amsterdam, London, Milan and Lagos.

Interview by Passion DzengaFew bands can claim to have shaped music history while defying every neat genre label, but ESG has been doing exactly that for over four decades. Formed in the South Bronx by the Scroggins sisters — Renee, Valerie, Deborah, and Marie — along with their friend Tito Libran, ESG took their name from three precious elements: emerald, sapphire, and gold. With their stripped-down blend of funk, punk, hip-hop, and Latin rhythms, they forged a sound so distinctive that LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy once called it “irreducible.”Discovered by 99 Records’ Ed Bahlman at a local talent show, ESG quickly caught the attention of the owner of Manchester’s infamous Hacienda nightclub and Factory Records, Tony Wilson, after a Manhattan club gig. Within days, they were recording with producer Martin Hannett, creating tracks like “Moody,” “You’re No Good,” and the now-legendary “UFO” — a song that would become one of the most sampled in music history. From the Beastie Boys to Wu-Tang Clan, TLC to MF Doom, generations of artists have built upon ESG’s minimal, bass-driven grooves.Over the years, the group has released influential EPs and albums, taken their music around the world, and kept it all in the family — with Renee’s children now joining the lineup. Their work has been praised by critics, revered by musicians across genres, and celebrated by fans who know that ESG’s music isn’t just to be listened to — it’s to be felt, moved to, and danced to.Few bands embody the raw intersection of funk, punk, and Latin rhythm quite like ESG. Emerging from the South Bronx in the late 1970s, the Scroggins sisters carved out an inimitable sound. As the band approaches its 49th year — and its final European show at Skatecafé in Amsterdam at VOID — founding member Renee Scroggins reflects on ESG’s beginnings, their impact, and the lessons she’s carrying into retirement and passing on to the next generation.It’s very exciting that you’re coming back to Amsterdam to play in Europe once again. ESG began as a family affair, and it still is. Can you share a little bit about what those earliest jam sessions were like?Well, we were learning, so it wasn’t the greatest thing at first. But as time went on, it got better and better. We weren’t just freestyling — from the beginning, we had the intention of being a band. We were going to do this together.The name ESG comes from Emerald, Sapphire, and Gold. Why did you choose it, and did you have any idea it would become so iconic?No, actually, my mother chose the name for us. Emerald was my sister Valerie’s birth sign, Sapphire is mine, and Gold… well, we wanted to get gold records. Manifesting greatness, I guess.It sounds like ESG has always been a matriarchy at its core. When you started out, were there many female-led bands you could look up to, or were you creating a path of your own?One group that really inspired me was Labelle—Patti LaBelle, Nona Hendryx, and Sarah Dash. They blended funk and rock in a way that blew my mind. Seeing women do that made me believe it was possible for us too. Beyond that, I was influenced by all sorts of artists—from the Supremes in Motown, who taught me the power of harmony, to Queen, who always had funk hidden in their rock songs. Inspiration comes from everywhere, but at the end of the day, you take those feelings and make them your own.Not long after, you were discovered at a talent show. How did that change your trajectory as a group?It definitely took us into a whole different atmosphere. We were coming from the South Bronx, where we were used to funk, Latin music, and gospel, and suddenly we were thrown into Manhattan’s punk scene. It was a shock — a whole other world.Can you explain what the South Bronx was like back then compared to the downtown scene?In the early ’70s, the Bronx was really a mess — gangs, drugs, violence. My mom didn’t want us hanging out in the streets. We stayed inside watching Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert and Soul on PBS, saying, “Yeah, we can do that.” Meanwhile, through our windows on the 13th floor, we’d hear Latin gentlemen in the park playing congas, timbales, cowbells, even Coca-Cola bottles. That sound came through every night. Growing up in the Bronx, Latin music was everywhere—you could hear it outside your window. But I also loved artists like Celia Cruz, Willie Colón, Eddie Palmieri, and later Marc Anthony. Even today, I enjoy Enrique Iglesias. Latin rhythms—the congas, the timbales—have always inspired me. It’s beautiful to see Latin music at the forefront of pop culture now. Add my mom blasting James Brown records — breaking the music down to raw funk and drums — and you get the foundation of ESG. We took James Brown’s breakdowns and made them the whole song.Beyond James Brown and Latin rhythms, what else shaped ESG?It was everything — James Brown funk, salsa rhythms, but also the songs from Queen and Led Zeppelin we heard on TV. We wanted the funky parts of all of it. Later, when Ed Bahlman brought us into 99 Records, that became our home base. Ed was one of the talent show judges, asked to manage us unofficially. He invited us down to 99 Records. It became a meeting space — lots of music around — and where we built that connection with Ed. We built a community with other bands like Liquid Liquid, Bush Tetras and Glenn Branca. The Bush Tetras were really cool. They’d loan us amps when we didn’t have much. There was a lot of camaraderie, helping each other out. And visually, you had the artwork from Gina Franklyn. Did you collaborate closely with her?Not really — she was Ed’s partner at 99 Records. The design was presented to us, but it reflected our colours, the emerald, the sapphire and the gold, so we were satisfied.Back in the beginning, you worked with producer Martin Hannett. He was known for creating atmosphere in sound. Do you think that’s what he brought to ESG, or did you already have it?We already had our sound. Martin didn’t really change it much—he just magnified what was already there. He added a few touches, but mostly he let us be ourselves. I even hung around the studio with him and learned how the board worked. That knowledge still serves me today.So who handles the production now? Is it all in-house?Yes, I do it myself now. Of course, sometimes I wish I had the budget to go into bigger studios, but those costs add up. So we make the most of what we can do at home, and we always aim to get the best sound possible.You speak a lot about the business side of music. Is that something you wish all artists understood before starting out?Absolutely. This is your work, and each song is like a child. You want to protect it the same way you’d protect your kids. It’s heartbreaking to see music chopped up, stolen, or misused. That’s why it’s so important to understand your rights and protect your art.Nearly five decades later, ESG is still going strong. What has it been like transitioning into a new lineup with your children?This year is 48 years, next year will be 49, and then we’re retiring. People ask, “Why not 50?” but 49 is enough. Now my daughter Nicole plays bass, my son Nicholas plays percussion, and we’ve got Cat Dorsch on drums. My sister Marie still plays percussion. It’s still family. And I’ve passed lessons down — like keeping control of your publishing and masters. Business first, then art. It’s not easy, but it’s necessary.What lessons have you passed on to your children in music?I tell my son, who writes music, to keep control of his publishing and masters. Always make sure contracts are in place before a show. Business first, then art. That’s hard for artists, but it’s necessary.What keeps drawing you back to making music after all these years?It’s a combination of things. Part of it is having my family involved in the band now. But it’s also knowing that we’re still creating original music. We’re not borrowing or copying—we’re writing fresh material that I know will eventually be sampled by future generations. Making music still brings me joy, and I believe when that joy disappears, that’s when you stop.One track, “UFO,” became one of the most sampled songs of all time. Did you have any sense of that when you recorded it?Not at all. Martin Hannett asked if we had a three-minute song because there were three minutes left on the tape. My family hated it — I loved it. It became our most sampled track. At first, I didn’t like it, especially when rappers were saying negative things about women, and we weren’t getting paid. I was working regular jobs to feed my kids, while people were sampling our music and making money. Eventually, sampling laws changed, and that helped. I can always tell it’s UFO. That sound is unmistakable. I mean, the funny thing is that we didn't know how to tune our instruments at that time. These are notes that don't even exist on the music scale. So, yeah, I can tell that thing anywhere.I wrote UFO because at the time I had just finished watching “Close Encounters of the Third Kind" and “Star Wars”. So I was thinking about space and aliens. You know, people are going to do what they do, you know, whether you like it or not. So, you learn to go with the flow, become a part of the system, and deal with it. It doesn't make it right, but that's just how it is.You even titled your 1992 record “Sample Credits Don’t Pay the Bills”. That was a bold statement.It was real. I was still living in the projects. Everyone kept asking about these artists — but they didn’t work with me, they stole my music. That’s why we called it that.After all these years, does it surprise you that songs written in your bedroom with your sisters are now celebrated worldwide?Yes. I never set out to inspire the world. I just wanted to buy my mom a house. But to see people all over — in Italy, Spain, Amsterdam, Norway — dancing to what I wrote in the projects… that touches my heart.Streaming and remix culture dominate now. Do you think artists are better or worse off today?If you’ve got a known song, you’ll usually get paid now. But smaller artists still get ripped off. That cycle hasn’t changed.Still, ESG’s music keeps inspiring new generations. How do you define your sound after all these years?Dance. Always dance. No matter what decade, ESG will make you move. And we kept it simple: bass, drums, percussion, and vocals used as instruments. That’s what makes our sound.Looking back, what moments stand out as the proudest or most unexpected?Playing Lincoln Center recently, at an event honouring the first women to sign a major label contract, that was special. Earlier, in 1981, we played a New York club during a snowstorm — I thought no one would show up, the streets were insane, it was no easy feat pushing through that weather. However, when we got to the show, it was packed wall to wall! And of course, Japan. They didn’t speak English, but they understood the music. That’s when you realise music is a universal language. Back to James Brown, I remember that one time we were asked to open for him, and it felt very full circle for me. However, unfortunately, he passed away before the show ever took place. “Take it to the bridge”—those words inspired us. It would have been a dream come true. Still, his spirit has always been with me.That would have been such a full-circle moment. If you could go back and meet a young Renee in the Bronx, what advice would you give her?I’d tell her not to be afraid and to just do it. Early on, I had terrible stage fright. Then I met Billy Idol, who used to hang around us. One day he asked me, “Did you give the best show you could?” I said yes, and he told me a few things that changed my outlook forever. The very next day, I stepped on stage without fear—and I’ve never been afraid since. Meeting people like that along the way can inspire you in ways you don’t expect.Does rehearsal play a big part in building that confidence on stage?Rehearsal is absolutely essential. If you want to be a good artist, you need to prepare. Even then, you have to be ready for unexpected challenges—like when the soundboard goes crazy mid-show. But the more you rehearse, the more comfortable you become. For us, rehearsals are like jam sessions. We sometimes jam about three times a week. Jamming energises us and sometimes even leads to new songs.Do you think kids growing up in the South Bronx today could still hear ESG and feel the same spark you felt back then?Definitely. I’ve met young people who tell me that our story inspires them—to see that we came out of the projects and did something. Of course, environment shapes you, but it’s the individual who decides whether to stay stuck or to strive for something better. Hopefully, our journey inspires them to do better.48 years of touring must have shown you so much; what do you remember about your first European shows? I  just finished reading The Haçienda: How Not to Run a Club by Peter Hook. What was it like for you to be there on opening night? We were brought in to open the club on its very first night. I still have the little sticker posters from that gig. But honestly, the place wasn’t fully ready—there was sawdust everywhere, and I remember coughing and gagging, thinking, “Wow, this isn’t good for my throat.” So when people ask me what I remember most about the Hacienda, I always say, “Sawdust.” That being said, it was still an amazing experience. It was opening night, so the place was full of dignitaries, musicians, and all sorts of people there to see this new chapter in nightlife unfold. Years later, around 2015 or 2016, I even went back for a Hacienda tribute show. Playing there again after so many decades felt surreal. On that same trip, the first time to Europe, we played for a magazine called Actual in Paris. Everywhere we went, even without speaking the same language, people connected with the music. That’s what the world needs — love, peace, and music.And now you’re returning to Amsterdam for your final European show at VOID. How does it feel to end this chapter here?Amsterdam has always held a special place in our hearts. The people dance, and the energy is positive. We were supposed to retire this year, but I’ve got contracts until June 2026. After that, I’m done. It’s not that I don’t enjoy performing — I do — but sometimes promoters make it difficult. The people at VOID, though, have been nothing but wonderful. The club is great, the people are professional, and I know the fans will bring beautiful energy.Amsterdam is ready. ESG alongside Mad Professor, Volition Immanent, and so much great talent — that’s a night to remember. What can fans expect?A great time. Just let loose and dance. That’s what ESG has always been about.And beyond VOID, what’s next for you?The first show of our farewell tour is in San Francisco at the Great American Music Hall on January 30th. That’s the beginning of the end. But until then, we’re going to enjoy every last dance.Before we wrap up, is there anything you’d like to leave with our readers?Yes. In these times, we need to learn to love and respect one another. Forget politics for a moment—people can still choose to treat each other with kindness. Music is a universal language, and that’s what we’re bringing to you. On the business side, I want young artists to protect their work. Own your masters, own your publishing, register your songs. That way your art will take care of you in the long run. Most importantly, love what you’re doing—because if you don’t love your art, it’s not worth it.If you’ve made it this far, you know this is one night you won’t want to miss. On September 26th, VOID takes over Skatecafé in Amsterdam to stage a festival that breaks all the rules—punk, dub, experimental, hip-hop—all in one raw, genre-bending night. With legends like ESG in their final European performance, Shawty Pimp’s Dutch debut, Mad Professor in dub mode, and Volition Immanent rocking out, it’s a lineup built for those who hunger for something real. Tickets are flying fast. If you believe in sweaty floors, heart-in-throat sets, and discovering something beyond the mainstream, this is your moment. Grab your ticket now here, bring everyone you know, and let’s make this a farewell Europe show for the books. See you on the dancefloor. 

Interview by 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.

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. 

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.

Interview by Passion DzengaOn July 24th, KRUISPUNT celebrates two years of genre-bending, basement-shaking, community-building chaos with their biggest event yet at Garage Noord. What started as a one-off club night for a band has grown into one of Amsterdam’s most vital underground platforms — a collision point for punk bands, out-there electronics, and dancefloors that don’t sleep.KRUISPUNT was born out of frustration — a lack of proper band nights in a city full of talent — and built on joy, urgency, and the belief that music should bring people together across scenes, genres, and generations. Their nights are messy in the best way: part gig, part rave, part family reunion. From mosh pits to strobes, every set is a new chapter in a night that feels like it could fall apart at any moment — but never does.Now, they’re throwing their most ambitious night yet: Eight live acts. Eight DJs. Two floors. The lineup is a head-on crash of styles, from INSIDE JOB's hardcore assault and Bleedroot's heavy riffs to the deconstructed club chaos of Arda(io) and the twisted pop of My Purse. Upstairs, a cast of wild selectors — Neska, dj dj, Bootleg Sjaak, Tommy T, and more — will carry the night into full-blown delirium. It’s a celebration of what happens when scenes overlap and walls come down. A space where a hardcore band might play before a cumbia-infused DJ set. Where queer kids and old punks find common ground. Where noise meets movement and the mosh pit turns into a dancefloor. Two years in, KRUISPUNT is still doing what they do best: creating moments of joyful disorder and giving the mic to the unexpected. If you’ve ever felt like the club was too polished or the gig too exclusive — this night is for you. We spoke to Andre and Dmitri to get familiar with what it takes to start a project with such broad scope.Your project just turned two years old. What sparked its creation and what were the core ideas from the beginning?Dmitri: We actually came together originally for a different project — to make merchandise and organise a concert for my band. Through that, we realised we shared a love for bands, music, and club nights. But we also noticed a lack of proper band nights in the city, and that’s where the idea started. Andre suggested starting this project in Amsterdam, and from there it just grew organically. Andre: Exactly. At first, it was just meant to be one night for Dimmitri’s band, INBRANDERS, maybe kind of a club-tour thing. But it quickly took on a life of its own. It became clear that it wasn't just about one band or genre — it was more about a collection of different sounds and communities coming together. We didn’t want to create just a club night or just a band night — we wanted something that mixed it all up, something more chaotic and celebratory.You've been building momentum in the underground scene. What does being "underground" mean to you in 2025?Andre: It means staying curious and being present in the scene. We're constantly discovering artists who don’t yet have a platform. Being in the crowd at their first shows, talking with people, living the night with them — that’s what keeps us rooted in the underground.  It’s about being in the crowd, talking to people, seeing it all firsthand.Dmitri: It’s also about building bridges. We connect people who would never usually meet — new audiences with new artists, older heads with newer acts. We love the educational part of what we do — exposing people to the range of what’s out there.  We’re growing a community that’s more than just a scene. We try to educate and expose people to the wide spectrum of underground talent that exists. From hardcore bands to abstract electronics.For someone who's never been, what’s the vibe like at a KRUISPUNT event?Andre: Unlike traditional band nights that might end by midnight, our events feel like a celebration — it’s chaotic, full of energy, and lasts deep into the night. It’s not just about watching music, it’s about being part of the experience. It’s chaotic — in the best way. Our nights stretch into the late hours and early mornings. People are screaming, moshing, dancing. The energy feels like a celebration. It’s also really about just being together, smoking and talking the whole night.Dmitri: Yeah, our nights are a bit rough in the best way — people scream, dance hard, mosh. There’s this wild, unfiltered energy. It's different from passive music consumption; the audience becomes part of the performance. There’s nothing polished or passive about it. People get sweaty; they lose themselves in the moment. It’s punk in spirit, even when the music isn’t.You mix punk chaos with abstract electronics. How do you curate such a wide variety of acts?Andre: We want sounds to clash and contrast. If we already have two hardcore bands, we’ll bring in something completely different — like a cumbia band — to shift the energy. It’s about creating a night that feels like a public space where different people and sounds intersect. We want contrast. If we book a fast-paced band, we’ll follow them with something completely different — like a DJ playing riddims or ambient sounds. That clash of energy creates momentum through the night.Dmitri: Exactly. Our name translates to “Cross Point” or “Intersection.” It reflects our approach: programming diverse acts to create a dynamic flow, avoiding nights where only one genre dominates. We want people to be surprised. We want the night to move — to shift between moods and styles. That’s what makes it exciting.Would a KRUISPUNT night ever feature just bands or just DJs?Dmitri: No, that wouldn't feel right for us. We want everyone to feel included — whether they’re there for live music or to dance to a DJ. We think of our nights as complete evenings, and DJs help create an energy shift that’s crucial. The mix is essential. DJs are just as important as the live acts. They help us close out the night and build a different energy.Andre: We actually tried doing just a full DJ night once, and the vibe wasn’t the same. Our regulars didn’t show up. It made us realise how central that mix is to our identity.How do you nurture your community and maintain those connections between events? Andre: We’re at all the shows, always talking to people. We’re not some distant curators. The events are cheap and accessible, and we treat everyone like part of the same family. We're just... around and involved. We’ve built relationships. It doesn’t feel transactional. It feels like we’re all part of it.Dmitri: We’re hosting a dinner for our second anniversary — cooking ourselves, inviting friends who helped build this community and anyone who would like to join. We’ve done bigger ones before, inviting every artist that’s ever played. It created an amazing energy and reminded us of the power of inclusivity. It creates such an amazing atmosphere before the event even starts.That dinner sounds amazing. What's on the menu and where’s it happening?Dmitri: Nothing fancy — mushroom noodles. But it’s about togetherness, not the food. We’re cooking it at home, then hosting the dinner at the venue, on the terrace before the event.Andre: We’ve seen how a shared meal sets a tone for the night. It creates a different kind of energy — one that feels like family.Is there a political or emotional thread that ties your community and events together?Dmitri: Many of the people who attend are active — politically or socially. The space we provide isn’t explicitly activist, but it’s a platform where people meet, talk, and share values. It's a different kind of activism — less protest, more community. Not explicitly — we don’t brand ourselves that way. But a lot of people in the crowd are politically active or involved in different communities. It’s a space where values are shared, even if it’s not the focal point.Andre: Most of our artists have strong stances, and that shows in their performances. The emotions and politics are there, even if we don’t frame the night that way. Conversations happen, connections spark — and often, something new is born from these nights.  We don’t always set out to make political statements, but we invite artists who have something to say — emotionally or politically. The politics are also in the connections people make. Conversations happen, ideas form. It’s a softer, community-based kind of politics.So even though you’re not labeling the events as political, they’re still spaces for organising and connection?Andre: Exactly. We've heard from people that projects and ideas were born during our nights. When you put like-minded people together in a space for hours, good things naturally come out of it. We’ve had people start projects after meeting at one of our nights. It’s a place where people from different worlds collide, and sometimes those collisions spark something new.Dmitri: Yeah. It’s a different kind of political — one rooted in joy, togetherness, and shared experience. Sharing space, building community, breaking genres, breaking norms — all of that is radical in its own way.What was the loudest set you've ever heard at KRUISPUNT?Dmitri: For me, definitely Key/Gen. Not even decibels here. I mean pure noise — distortion and chaotic energyAndre: Yeah, Key/Gen was just wild. I’d say Arda(io). Even though it's also electronic, I didn’t know what to expect, and it totally threw me around the room. Like, full-body experience.Dmitri: He just loves noise. It’s crazy — the grooves, the sound design... it’s rough but incredibly detailed. Really sick stuff.Can you describe what your first party was like?Andre: Yeah, if we count that first gathering at Café40. That’s where it really started. We were supposed to launch a publication, but the printing failed. So we just launched our Instagram and invited a bunch of friends... plus people we didn’t even know showed up. We had some rock 'n' roll DJs and realised — wow, people really need this kind of space. It wasn’t even heavily promoted, but the room filled up.Dmitri: It felt like a birthday party, honestly. That kind of joy. That moment confirmed something for us — we could bring people together. And that was enough reason to keep going.So just opening your doors showed you there was a demand. Were you imagining you’d still be doing this two years later?Andre: No way. But it kind of snowballed. After our first night at Garage, Tommy from Pacific invited us to program at a bigger event. Then more opportunities kept coming. It really never stopped. Now we work on almost everything together.Dmitri: Tommy’s been a huge inspiration. He gave bands space at club nights way before we did. He booked my band INBRANDERS back in 2018. That was a real “first time seeing it’s possible” kind of moment.Same here — he was the first person to book me at Garage Noord. Shout out to Tommy and Pacific Ondergounds! So you’re about to hit two years. Have any rituals emerged? Anything you see repeating at every party?Dmitri: Honestly, our ritual is just running all night. Artist management, troubleshooting, making sure people show up — it’s go, go, go. There’s also this one moment each night — you can feel the crowd click into place, like, “OK, now it’s happening.”Andre: But once the last band finishes around 1:30 or 2AM, that’s when I finally let go and just party. That’s my personal ritual. Yeah, it's usually after the first band. Everyone’s warmed up, and suddenly it feels like we’re all moving in sync. That moment — that shared energy — is kind of sacred.With live acts, there’s so much more coordination than a DJ night. It’s real production work.Andre: Exactly. Monitors, backlines, gear changes — it’s intense, but that chaos is what makes it fun.Let’s talk about your anniversary lineup. How did you approach curating it?Andre: Initially, we wanted a pure rock ‘n’ roll night — kind of nostalgic. But then we thought, nah, let’s keep it versatile. Downstairs is bands and rock-centric DJs. Upstairs is fully electronic. It’s actually our most versatile night ever.Dmitri: We’re part of a Garage box (funded project for “newer” Amsterdam-based projects, also with Fuuture Jazz and b3tter:irl) program now, which gives us a better budget. So we thought — why not open both floors?Andre: Upstairs is almost exclusively our friends, too. That was intentional — for year two, we wanted returning artists, but also fresh faces. It’s our biggest lineup yet: eight live acts and eight DJs, if I count myself.Dmitri: I’m most excited for Arda(io) again — that set will be chaos in the best way. Also, Inside Job, a proper hardcore band. First time we’re doing a self-titled hardcore band like that.Andre: And Grote Geelstaart— they’re experimental, wear suits, and just go off. I think they're from the conservatorium, but I’m not even sure. They’re just... amazing.Two years deep — what’s next for you?Dmitri: Staying rooted in Amsterdam is key. This city needs spaces like this. But we also want to expand — Utrecht, Rotterdam, The Hague where Andre is already working on projects but even abroad. But never at the expense of the home base.Andre: We’d love to host a stage at a festival — to really push ourselves, start early, end late, and see what we can do across an entire day.Dmitri: Production-wise, that’d be a huge learning curve. But we’re ready for it. Every night teaches us something.Andre: Also, still dreaming about doing a publication. Maybe digital, maybe annual print. It’ll happen — just need the time.Any final thoughts before we wrap this up and start preparations for tomorrow?Andre: Just that we care deeply about representation. We want young girls, queer kids, everyone — to see themselves on stage. That’s what punk is. You don’t need to be great to start a band. You just need to start.Dmitri: Exactly. If people leave our events feeling inspired, then we’ve done our job. The ones on the dancefloor today should be the ones on stage tomorrow.Andre: And we’re always open to hearing from people. Whether it’s an act, a band, or someone wanting to get involved — reach out. We’re listening.From one-off night to a full-blown underground force, KRUISPUNT has become the intersection where bands thrash, DJs explode, and new scenes are born on the dancefloor. It’s a movement built on joy, urgency, and radical togetherness. KRUISPUNT are the embodiment of what makes DIY culture so powerful. It’s a cycle of inspiration. You try something, someone sees you do it — and suddenly, they believe they can too. They are hosting their 2-year anniversary on July 24th at Garage Noord and tickets are available now. If you’ve ever felt like the club was too clean or the gig too closed-off — this night is for you. Come lose your voice, find your people, and become part of something that keeps growing from the ground up.

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.

In the realm of pulsating rhythms and sonic explorations, Chinnamasta stands as a luminary figure, intricately weaving the vibrant tapestry of Caribbean riddims with contemporary beats. As the creative mastermind behind the latest Patta SS24 Mixtape , her name resonates across club spaces and festiv

Interview by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Claryn ChongTo get familiar with Léa Sen is to step into a world where sound, memory, and emotion blur like light in a hotel hallway. Her debut project, LEVELS, unfolds like a quiet odyssey — each track a floor in a surreal, liminal hotel, each space a reflection of growth, grief, and the slow return to self. Born from solitude, sharpened by collaboration, and grounded in deep introspection, the album is a reformation in real time. In this conversation, Léa opens up about confronting perfectionism, reconnecting with girlhood, and learning to trust her voice — not just in music, but in life. From wormhole elevators to unresolved endings, we journey through the LEVELS that shaped her.You frame LEVELS as a journey through a liminal hotel, with each floor representing a different stage of emotional growth. When did that visual metaphor first come to you?I was listening to an astrophysics podcast and the guy said elevators are like the poor man’s wormhole. You step in and suddenly you're in a different place without realizing how you got there. It reminded me of how memory works — how you can be fine one second, then in a feeling or a past version of yourself the next. That visual stuck with me. It reminded me of Interstellar as well.The idea of moving through life like levels in a video game is so relatable — especially the feeling that there's always another level. What level do you feel like you're currently on in your life?Falling in love with girlhood again after rejecting it for so many years. Slowing down, listening, becoming someone I feel safe being. I still want it all, but I want to get there with love and patience.The concept of an “empty hotel” evokes a feeling of isolation and introspection. Was that influenced more by your physical environment during lockdown or your internal emotional state at the time?Definitely physical. I actually met so many people in London, made friends, fell in love, even during lockdown I connected with people online. But I just felt a load of ignored baggage I needed to sit with. I isolated myself very intentionally. I'm a pretty sociable person, I love people so much — but I just needed solitude even though it felt uncomfortable.You’ve said the album explores spaces that shape us — cities, relationships, seasons. Which of those spaces did you find the most difficult to revisit in the writing process?Ghostwriter was difficult. I really struggle to communicate with people I love more than anyone else and admitting it sucked.You moved to London on impulse, without contacts or a plan. Looking back, do you feel like that risk was essential to your growth as an artist?As a woman it was everything and my art is just a reflection of what I go through. I couldn’t even imagine a version of myself without leaving it all behind.How did working with your brother Florian change the dynamic of creating this album? Did having that familial trust make you more vulnerable in the studio?It forced me to look at my perfectionism and control freak tendencies and eventually just let go. To trust that I’d be okay if I opened up in my lyrics — and okay if I asked for help. It helped me ease into opening up.You’ve collaborated with artists like Sampha and Joy Orbison. How has working on other people’s music helped you unlock new aspects of your own?With Sampha I tapped into a fire I didn’t even know I had. With Joy Orbison it was the first time I just had pure fun making a song.You’ve described the album as a reformation. What were you reforming from? And what did you feel you were reforming into?I was making music to survive — now I want to build the world I’ve always dreamed of. The album was my first step into doing that.“Ghostwriter” deals with the difficulty of expressing yourself, especially in a new language and a new city. How did you find your voice during that time?I kept second guessing my pronunciation over and over — so one day I just decided to speak how I speak and not care how people feel about it.There’s a beautiful mix of the familiar and the surreal across the album. Was that tension between reality and dream intentional from the start, or did it evolve naturally through the process?It was intentional. I always knew the first song would be Home Alone. I wanted to explore my struggles with daydreaming and how memory works — how we all remember things differently, how emotions warp what we hold onto.“Video Games” is both nostalgic and existential. How did memories of childhood become a way for you to reflect on who you are now?I think it was inevitable that the more I had to face patterns, the more I would ask the question: where does it all come from? It’s not that the memories helped me reflect — it’s the reflection that helped me revisit the memories.The final track, “Lobby Boy,” leaves us with more questions than answers. Why was it important for you not to end the album with resolution?In my heart, I wanted resolution. I’m an idealist. I love the idea of beautiful endings. But real life didn’t give me that — not when we finished the album, not when we shot the visuals, not now. There’s no answer. Just growth. Lobby Boy was my way of embracing that.You’ve talked about wanting to give people a sense that they’ll find their way, even if they feel lost. Which artists gave you that feeling when you needed it most?Mitski gave me a lot of peace in my own struggles and questions. Also Joni was one of those women that felt so strong and independent yet such a devoted lover and I felt really seen by her.Now that LEVELS is out in the world, how has your relationship with the songs changed? Do you still feel like you’re living in the hotel — or have you started checking out?I’ve definitely left the hotel of memories now. It was just a visit. A necessary one but temporary.What do you hope listeners take away from walking through these “levels” with you?That making peace with your past often starts in solitude. And that the support you need isn’t always the one you imagined.

Interview by Passion DzengaFrom East London to Botswana, Brunei, and now Belgium, Bex has been quietly building a global sound rooted in raw honesty and musical versatility. With a journey shaped by continents and cultures, he’s not just another artist—you’re looking at someone who's lived the rhythm, not just studied it. His new acoustic EP marks a bold departure from trap and wave, diving deep into themes of vulnerability, mental health, and modern romance, wrapped in stripped-back production that keeps it painfully real.Now headlining his own shows and gaining recognition from platforms like Colors and Dazed, it’s time to get familiar with a voice that’s resonating far beyond his growing fan base. Bex is proof that delusion can sometimes be a superpower, especially when it’s backed by undeniable talent and tireless work. And whether it’s looping guitar riffs at home, engaging with fans on Discord, or preparing for a fully acoustic tour, one thing’s clear—this is an artist we got love for.You've been on quite a journey, from East London to Botswana to Belgium. How have these different places shaped your sound and your identity as an artist?Yeah, definitely. So, being born in London, my first memories of music and influence came through my big brother and UK hip hop. Then I moved to Botswana where I was involved in all sorts of musical activities—playing in a Mima band, singing in a choir, playing flute in an orchestra. My mom really encouraged all that, and I appreciate it now. Later, I moved to Brunei and joined a band, though I wasn’t too immersed in the local scene there. But I was still picking up different rhythmic and melodic ideas. That’s also where I started guitar lessons properly. Then I came to Belgium, continued guitar, and by the age of 16, I decided to focus on being a vocalist. I was already making beats using GarageBand on my laptop as I traveled. It was a bit messy, but it was the start.You were trained on guitar and flute, and played in a Mima band. How have those diverse musical experiences shaped the sound of your acoustic EP?At the time I was focused on certain instruments, I was developing musical ability without realizing it. Playing the Mima, a percussive instrument, trained my rhythmic sense. Being in the orchestra and learning flute helped me understand harmony—how each part contributes to a bigger whole. All of that informs my creative process now. The guitar, in particular, gave me a new vocabulary and allowed me to explore sounds beyond what I’d done before, especially once I dropped the ego of being "just a rapper."Your debut EP marks a big shift from wave and trap into a more acoustic, pop-R&B sound. What inspired that transition?It was my mindset and life experience. School wasn’t going well, and I was at a point in my career where it felt like “now or never.” That urgency stripped away the ego, and I felt free to sing about my feelings and be vulnerable. It was the only option that made sense at the time.Why focus on vulnerability, mental health, and modern romance in this project?It’s too relevant not to. Especially for my generation and those younger, there’s a lot of silent suffering and emotional weight people carry. I didn’t want to just talk about it—I wanted to embody it and hopefully set a standard through the music.Was it an aesthetic choice to keep the production minimal with just guitar and vocals?Exactly. It was intentional. I wanted something that was honest and vulnerable. Keeping it simple was a foundation for future projects. I didn’t want to jump straight into a polished, full production sound. This way, it’s more true to the moment and easier to replicate live.Does the simplicity also help with live performances?Definitely. I’m currently rehearsing and it’s nice to be able to recreate the whole song live, with just myself, the guitar, and the mic. It brings people into that vulnerable space with me.Can you take us through the creative process of making this EP? Who were you working with?Most of the songs I wrote at home, looping a guitar riff until I found a chorus or hook I liked. I’d post some of those on social media. When I had three or four solid ideas, I took them to my producer Alexis, who I’ve worked with for two years. We built out the songs from there—he helped with production, and I wrote verses on the spot. Two of the tracks were actually written years ago, but they stuck with me, and I knew they needed to be on this project.So it was mainly you working solo until you were ready to bring Alexis in?Exactly. I’d build the demos, and then we’d work together in the studio to polish them.Was Alexis also involved in your earlier tracks?Yeah, he worked on “Miss Me” and “Uptown,” the two acoustic tracks leading up to this EP. He did some production and also mixed and mastered them.Did you expect “Miss Me” and “Uptown” to take off the way they did? Why do you think they resonated so well with listeners?I kind of expected them to do better because there was real buzz online and anticipation. It wasn’t necessarily about adding to my audience—it was about finding the audience. These songs reached the right people and helped build the fanbase.You've received recognition from big platforms like Colors and Dazed. How does it feel to be recognized on that level?It means a lot. In the music industry, success is measured in so many subjective ways, but having people show love to your work—that’s the most rewarding part. I’m grateful for those features.I heard that a trip to Tenerife sparked something in you. Can you talk about what happened there?Honestly, that one’s a bit tough. I went with a friend, but neither of us were really in the position to go. I came back feeling like I should’ve been focused on the work. It wasn’t regret exactly, but it felt like misplaced energy. Can we skip that one?No problem at all. Let’s move on. You’ve grown a loyal fan base and you’re really savvy at sharing your creative process in real time. How do you stay connected with listeners and make sure your message is getting across?I pay attention to how people respond and take that into account. I post previews, and the ones that get good feedback often become releases. I also make vlogs, run a Discord channel, use Instagram broadcast channels—stuff like that. I even take beats from supporters and give feedback or record on them. I’m always trying to improve that connection.I’ve heard you’re rehearsing for shows in London, Paris, and Brussels. What can fans expect from the live show?It’s going to be fully acoustic—just me and the guitar. This is my way of introducing Bex to the world as a performer. It’s intimate and minimalist, focused purely on the music and the experience.Where will you be performing in the coming weeks? Will you be playing in London and Paris as well?I still need to confirm dates for London and Paris. I can’t share anything official yet, but I’ll post details on my socials. As for Brussels, I’ll be performing on Thursday, the 27th of March at V-Gas for a Black History Month event.Back to your music—you’ve gone from performing alongside big names to headlining your own shows. Has your approach changed? Do you feel like this is a coming-of-age moment or more a sign of maturing as an artist?It’s a mix of both. I was the definition of a delusional dreamer—I never took "no" for an answer and was fully convinced music would be my path. Now, I feel ready to learn and grow. I’ve always felt secure in my musical ability, but stepping into live performance has been a whole new challenge. It showed me that being good in the studio doesn’t guarantee you’ll give people a powerful live experience. There’s a big difference between recording a good song and truly moving people on stage.How old are you now, if you don’t mind me asking?I just turned 22 two weeks ago.Congrats! Sounds like you're right on track to realizing your dreams. And honestly, a little delusion can be healthy—sanity doesn’t always breed creativity.Facts. I appreciate that.Now that the acoustic EP is out, do you see yourself sticking with this sound, or are you planning to explore new directions? What’s next for Bex?Definitely expect some Afro sounds. My goal is to drop an Afro project for the summer. I’ll keep the acoustic vibe alive, especially for these upcoming performances, but by the end of the year, Beex won’t just be defined by the acoustic style. I’ll have branched out into other sounds too.

Interview by Passion DzengaSome brands start with a pitch deck — West Milan Club started with a connection. What began as a tight-knit creative crew has grown into one of Italy’s most exciting underground fashion movements. At the heart of it all is Shiva, the rapper whose sound helped define a generation, and his longtime collaborator and creative director, a Cuban-Italian filmmaker with a passion for style and storytelling. Together, with a team of designers, friends, and local talents, they’ve built more than just a brand — they’ve built a movement rooted in community, culture, and authenticity.In this interview, we spoke to Ivano from West Milan Club and we went behind the scenes of how the brand came to life, why its name carries the weight of a neighborhood, and how the team’s outsider perspective became its greatest strength. From DIY pop-ups and grassroots marketing to deeply personal graphic design and a bulldog mascot that symbolizes loyalty, the story of West Milan Club is one of hustle, heritage, and heart.How did the West Milan Club come to life and what sparked the idea?  It started pretty organically. The brand came out of a team — I’m the creative director and handle project management. We also have two graphic designers who work on visuals who go by the name notfoundstudio, and Shiva, the rapper, is the founder and central figure. Shiva and I go way back — I’m also his video director. He’s built a strong identity here in Italy with his own label and studio. He had the idea to start a brand, and I’ve always been into fashion. We clicked creatively, and since 2022, we’ve been building this together.Can you tell me a little about the name West Milan? Are you all from there?  The name comes from Shiva’s roots. He’s not originally from Milan, but his grandmother is from the west side. He grew up around there and had most of his early success in that area. His label is called Milano Ovest, which translates to West Milan. We chose that name to represent our area and the side of Italy people don’t usually see — not just the pretty tourist spots, but the outskirts and neighbourhoods where real stories happen. Our models and team all come from that area too.Milan is known for fashion, but you guys clearly have your own lane. How would you describe your approach to style, and what makes it uniquely yours?  We’re building a style rooted in our identity. Growing up, a lot of the fashion we liked was hard to access or expensive. Especially in the hoods, people stuck with sportswear like Nike. So our idea was to bridge that gap — bring the fashion we love to our community. We're in the music business, we love fashion, and we wanted to create something that speaks directly to our people. I’m not from Milan originally either — I’m half Cuban and from a small village near Milan — so when Shiva and I met, we connected over our shared vision. He brought the Milan side, I brought the outside perspective.Do you think that outsider perspective gives you an advantage?Definitely. When you come from the outside, you see the bigger picture more clearly. You’re hungrier. I came from a village with maybe 1,000 people. So arriving in Milan, I saw all these opportunities and wanted to make the most of them. Sometimes people already in the scene can’t see that, but I think that’s what helped me bring something new to the table.How important is community to your brand, and how do you keep that spirit alive as you grow?  That’s the key to everything. We had a strong community even before we started the brand. Because of our relationship with fans and the people around us — doing giveaways, meetups — we had that support. Once we launched the brand, we kept doing the same things. We even gave out 100 t-shirts in Milan during an event. We did pop-up stores, and always brought people from the community in behind the scenes — during shoots, styling, whatever.  Even when Shiva was arrested — first for five months, then on house arrest for a year — and couldn’t promote or release music, the community carried us. Our connection with them kept the brand alive. Music, fashion, and our neighborhood are the three pillars of everything we do.When you say you involve the community, you really mean they’re part of everything — models, photographers, stylists?  Yeah, 100%. We’ve got three models who started just by being part of the vibe, believing in us. One of them is building his own brand now, and we’re helping him grow. Another guy, Demba, didn’t even have a clear role at first — he was just always around, super passionate. Now he works closely with me and helps push the culture. We try to lift up anyone who’s part of the movement.Can you tell us a bit about the pop-ups West Milan Club has done in the past?We mostly drop online, but last year we had our first physical temporary shop. It gave people a chance to see the collection in person and understand who we are. It was also a chance to meet the community and grow from that. Our last event lasted three days and included gifts and printing. We also collaborated with More Money, a brand that supported us during tough times and helped develop one of our most consistent collections.What’s the goal of these pop-ups?We’re building an experience. Even though things can get messy with multiple plans, we’re trying to blend our clothing drops, community events, and musical projects together. We want to mix past, present, and whatever resources we have to do the best we can.You’re activating both online and in-person communities. How does the team support that?Yeah, for sure. A lot of the team are friends and multitask on everything. For example, Shiva’s personal manager and security also help with our pop-ups. Someone who works on music auditions is also the guy I call to get 100 t-shirts printed in two days. We all help each other out.West Milan Club has a unique visual identity. Can you explain the meaning behind the Bulldog mascot and your graphics?The bulldog is like our gang’s mascot—Shiva bought a dog years ago that became symbolic for us. It became one of the graphics for the brand. Our graphics often mix product ideas with a concept or a word that reflects our story. For example, the Cholo collection was inspired by West Coast Mexican cholo culture. The West Milan Gun Club drop was a nod to a real-life incident with Shiva, and it symbolized exclusivity and warning—like “keep out.”Tell us about your collaboration with More Money?That was our first official collaboration. They represent the hustler side of things while we’re more like rebels—our color is red, and we use the word “demons” a lot. The concept was “More Money, More Sins,” reflecting Milan as a city of sin. The graphics were gothic and referenced nighttime, a flipped perspective of the city’s religious identity.This recent collection included women’s wear. Was that a first for you?Yeah, it was the first time we designed specifically for women. Before, women would buy our unisex tracksuits and t-shirts, but this time we added bras, skirts, and tube tops. It was possible because the collab gave us space to do a full collection. We want to open up to the women’s community, even though it’s a different market.