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