Music – Numéro Berlin

THE CULTURE WE CARRY: INSIDE MS. LAURYN HILL’S DIASPORA CALLING!

Anna Klusmeier — Tue, 11 Aug 2026 09:49:04 +0000

Last friday, Ms. Lauryn Hill brought to live Diaspora Calling! for its first UK edition, ten years after she first conceived the project in Brooklyn. Artists, musicians, families, collaborators and audiences from different generations and geographies came together, connected by something that has always sat at the centre of Hill’s work: the understanding that culture can function simultaneously as memory, resistance, communication and healing. For one day, diaspora became physical.

The scale of the gathering was immense, yet the energy surrounding the event remained intimate. Backstage, between artists, musicians, friends and extended creative communities, the borders between performance and gathering dissolved. Gunna, Common, Rapsody, Tiwa Savage, Little Simz, Stonebwoy, Victony, Tolu Coker, Foday Dumbuya, Sabrina Elba, Zeze Millz and Derek Chisora were among those moving through a space that increasingly felt like a cultural convergence in its own right. Many of the people present belonged to an interconnected conversation that had been developing across countries and generations for years. Diaspora Calling! made that network visible.

The project was first conceived by Hill in 2016 as a combination of music, visual art and cultural exchange, but its roots reach further. Hill has spoken about an earlier trip to Ghana and a conversation there that made her recognise the communities she and Wyclef Jean had independently built throughout the African diaspora. The question became what might happen if those networks were deliberately brought into contact with one another.

A decade later, Milton Keynes offered one possible answer. Ms. Lauryn Hill was mapping relationships.

The programme moved geographically as much as musically: from the radical lineage of American soul represented by Erykah Badu, to Nigerian artist Fireboy DML, London rap through Giggs, and the continuing Jamaican lineage represented by Hill’s sons YG Marley and Zion Marley, grandsons of Bob Marley. Dave Chappelle, whose comedy has long occupied the intersection between entertainment, politics, race and cultural criticism, hosted the day.

The map expanded further through Nigerian DJ DJ OBI and Haitian-Guyanese producer and DJ Michael Brun, while British-Ghanaian live band The Compozers brought another bridge between West Africa, Britain and the wider diaspora. Later, The Compozers would join Hill during the closing performance, adding to the expansive live-musician architecture surrounding her onstage. During Giggs’ set, Kano appeared unexpectedly for “P’s & Q’s” and “Rudeboy” — a meeting between two defining voices of British rap and another reminder that the cultural geography of the day was continuously being redrawn in real time.

Africa, the Caribbean, Black Britain and Black America existed as points along a cultural continuum. Hip-hop moved into reggae; reggae into soul; soul into Afrobeats. Contemporary voices stood beside artists whose work helped construct the cultural languages from which newer generations continue to draw. This ability to connect histories while preserving their individual identities has long defined Hill’s position. For more than three decades, she has expanded the role an artist can occupy. Her work continuously engages with identity, spirituality, race, womanhood, love, exploitation, faith and self-determination. At a moment when culture increasingly moves through accelerated cycles of consumption, Hill continues to insist upon something slower and more demanding. She puts the message first. Diaspora Calling! takes that principle out of the record and turns it into a cultural space.

At the centre of the evening stood another reunion: Ms. Lauryn Hill and Wyclef Jean marking thirty years since the release of the Fugees’ The Score. Released in 1996, the album achieved something increasingly rare: enormous commercial reach alongside extraordinary cultural complexity. Hip-hop, reggae, soul, Caribbean musical memory and political consciousness coexisted inside a record capable of reaching audiences far beyond any one of those communities.

The Fugees themselves embodied diaspora. Their music carried Haiti, the United States, the Caribbean and the experience of migration into the centre of global popular culture. Even their name — derived from “refugees” — placed displacement and belonging inside the identity of one of the most commercially successful groups of their era.

Thirty years later, those questions have become even more urgent. Migration remains one of the defining political subjects of the present. Questions of borders, belonging and cultural ownership have intensified. Simultaneously, musical traditions across the African diaspora are more globally interconnected than ever: Afrobeats travels through Lagos, Accra, London and New York; dancehall continues to shape global pop; hip-hop has become an international language; younger artists inherit sounds whose histories stretch across continents. Returning to The Score in 2026 reveals how far ahead the record already was.

Hill has described revisiting this history through the language of reclaiming and healing timelines. During an intimate conversation surrounding the Milton Keynes gathering, she speaks about the idea of returning to the path. Relationships fracture, people separate and lives move in unexpected directions. Sometimes, as Hill explained that evening, we move away from the path we were supposed to be walking. Healing begins with recognising that distance and finding a way back — reclaiming the path.

In the context of her relationship with Wyclef Jean, the idea carries particular weight. Their reunion contains a history of extraordinary creative intimacy, global success, separation, conflict and reconnection. Seeing them together now allows those chapters to coexist. The distance itself gives the return its meaning.

Healing becomes the decision to move through history rather than remain trapped inside it. Thirty years were precisely the point.

One of the most compelling qualities of Diaspora Calling! was the way cultural legacy remained in motion.

The presence of YG Marley and Zion Marley made that particularly visible. Bob Marley’s cultural impact has long exceeded music itself; his work became part of a global vocabulary around liberation, spirituality, Africa and resistance. His grandsons standing within a programme alongside Hill and Jean created another generational line — Jamaica speaking to the United States, the Caribbean speaking to Africa, one musical inheritance being reinterpreted by another generation. YG Marley performed “Praise Jah in the Moonlight,” while Zion reached directly into that family archive with Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” before moving into his own music. Legacy here became something active and this is where the curatorial intelligence of Diaspora Calling! becomes clear: diaspora really is a living network. And that network extended beyond sound.

Before the Milton Keynes gathering even began, Hill had translated the idea into something powerfully visual. In central London, she curated the presentation of a short film created by Los Angeles artist Lauren Halsey across the monumental screens of Piccadilly Lights. Halsey’s animated collage of heroes and symbols of the global African diaspora transformed one of London’s most commercial public spaces into a temporary site of diasporic memory.

At Milton Keynes, visual art, fashion, film and community programming continued alongside the music. Halsey’s visual language reappeared within the festival, while Denim Tears, Kids of Immigrants and Topicals participated through cultural and fashion activations. A curated marketplace brought diasporic artists, designers and entrepreneurs into the same ecosystem. Weleh Dennis, co-founder of Kids of Immigrants, also designed Ms. Hill’s stage look, inspired by workforce garment designs, whereas the powerful background singers wore custom-designed, cropped LOVE hoodies.

The distinction matters. Music remained the gravitational centre, but the vision surrounding it was interdisciplinary. Culture was being allowed to speak to culture, fashion to music, art to politics, history to a younger generation. Commerce to community, Africa to its diaspora and the diaspora back to Africa.

Community is a word culture uses excessively and practices far less often. At Milton Keynes it felt unusually close.

Perhaps that is also why Hill appears so instinctive in this role. When speaking about bringing these artists and communities together, she described the impulse as something natural. Artists and cultural figures before her had already demonstrated what it meant to become a voice, to open doors, create language for others and understand the responsibility that can accompany influence. Among the figures Hill mentioned Bob Marley, Nelson Mandela, Bobby Seale, Harry Belafonte, Kwame Nkrumah and Sister Souljah — people operating across radically different disciplines and histories, connected by the understanding that visibility can carry responsibility. Diaspora Calling! becomes part of that inheritance and vision: Someone created space before her, she creates space for others, others will carry it forward.

Few encounters captured the spirit of Diaspora Calling! as powerfully as Erykah Badu and Lauryn Hill sharing the same space.

Their connection carries decades of cultural history. Hill and Badu emerged at a moment when Black women were radically expanding the language of contemporary music — its sound, politics, spirituality and image. Both established uncompromising artistic identities that moved freely across genre and challenged established ideas of femininity, success and creative autonomy.Their individual paths have remained singular, yet a deep artistic vision connects them: an understanding of music as a space for consciousness, self-determination and transformation.

Badu’s performance carried the magnetic presence that has defined her live work for decades. “On & On,” “Window Seat,” “Apple Tree” and “Back in the Day” moved through the Bowl with the freedom of music still evolving in the moment. Badu has always understood performance as something alive — responsive to the room, the musicians and the energy passing between stage and audience.

Later, Badu joined Hill onstage for “Doo Wop (That Thing)”, creating one of the evening’s defining images. A song released in 1998 suddenly held several histories at once: the era that produced it, the women who helped transform the cultural landscape around it, and a new generation experiencing that legacy in real time.

Hill and Badu have each built bodies of work around depth and independence. Their voices gave space to interiority, spirituality, sensuality, social consciousness and the complexities of Black womanhood. Decades later, both remain cultural reference points because they have protected that independence. Their friendship and artistic relationship reflected the wider architecture of Diaspora Calling!: artists connected through shared histories, mutual respect and a responsibility towards the generations coming after them.

Hill’s cultural position remains difficult to categorise because her influence exists far beyond the size of her discography.

There is the rapper whose phrasing helped dismantle assumptions about gender within hip-hop. The vocalist capable of moving between rap, soul and reggae with complete fluency. The songwriter who made emotional vulnerability coexist with political consciousness. The Black woman who achieved extraordinary commercial visibility while remaining openly critical of the machinery surrounding that success. And then there is the cultural figure who emerged from all of those things.

Perhaps the most remarkable measure of Hill’s cultural impact is how little material it has required to sustain itself. Her solo studio catalogue essentially rests on one album.

In an industry built around constant output, accelerated release cycles and the pressure to remain permanently visible, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill has travelled across almost three decades without losing its urgency. Artists can spend entire careers producing extensive catalogues without reaching as deeply across generations as Hill has with a single solo studio album. That longevity lies in what Hill chose to address in the first place: love, faith and self-worth; motherhood, power, injustice and identity; the tension between belonging and remaining yourself; the struggle to stay truthful inside systems designed to reshape you. These questions do not belong to one era. Hill articulated them through a language in which the personal, political, spiritual and social could exist simultaneously. A record made in 1998 can therefore still feel immediate to someone encountering it for the first time in 2026. Her legacy challenges one of contemporary culture’s most persistent assumptions: that relevance requires constant production.

Cultural permanence is built through depth.

The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill remains foundational because generations of artists have inherited its permission: to be intellectually rigorous and emotionally exposed; spiritual and political; feminine and self-defined; commercially visible while retaining ownership over the meaning of the work.That influence now runs through multiple generations.

Diaspora Calling! reveals another dimension of Hill’s work: She is building infrastructure. Who shares a stage? Who meets backstage? Which histories are placed beside one another? Which younger artists gain proximity to their predecessors? What happens when African, Caribbean, American and British creative communities encounter one another in a physical place? And who, having once been given that space themselves, assumes the responsibility of creating it for somebody else? That final question feels central to Hill’s understanding of her own position. Cultural influence becomes something to circulate.

And this is where Diaspora Calling! begins to move beyond the continuation of Hill’s own legacy. It proposes a model for what cultural spaces might become. For all the language of global connectivity surrounding contemporary culture, meaningful physical spaces for exchange have become increasingly precious. Digital culture moves music across continents in seconds, yet the deeper histories connecting those sounds can easily disappear in the process. Diaspora Calling! restores those relationships to the foreground: The past becomes active material for the future. Healing, in this context, means creating the conditions in which difference, fracture and history can exist alongside the possibility of connection.

Hill has described this moment as one for growth, healing and pushing forward. At Milton Keynes, those ideas became a methodology.

There were histories on that stage and throughout the Bowl of migration, of diasporic musical traditions travelling and transforming, of families carrying cultural legacies forward, of friendships fractured and repaired, of artists navigating industries that profit from their creativity while frequently failing to protect the people producing it.

Even the abrupt ending of the night became an expression of that relationship. As the National Bowl reached its licensing curfew and the Fugees’ performance could no longer continue as planned, Hill refused to let the energy disappear with the stage lights. She moved down towards the crowd, extending the connection beyond the formal boundaries of the performance. The gesture felt almost like a final articulation of the day itself: proximity over distance.

Diaspora contains the routes through which people continually find one another again, like a living network — constantly moving, constantly being redrawn.

And this is where Diaspora Calling! points beyond the legacy of one artist, one album or one generation. It proposes a different cultural model.

An industry built around algorithms, accelerated release cycles, individual visibility and constant consumption has taught us to understand culture through what comes next. The next record, the next artist, the next image., the next moment. It recalls a thought FKA twigs has raised around the need for a different value system in music — one capable of recognising what numbers cannot measure. Streams, sales and visibility can quantify reach, but they cannot fully account for cultural impact: the ideas an artist leaves behind, the communities they create, the doors they open, or the way a piece of work continues to shape people decades after its release.

Diaspora Calling! asks powerful questions: what happens when culture moves through connection rather than succession? When an elder does not disappear as a younger voice emerges. When legacy becomes responsibility rather than status. When influence circulates instead of being owned. When community becomes infrastructure rather than branding. In this model, history and innovation do not compete. Africa and its diaspora are not separated into centre and periphery. The past does not sit behind the future but they move through one another.

The future of music will inevitably be global. The more urgent question is whether it can remain connected to the histories, communities and human relationships that gave it its language in the first place. At Milton Keynes, Lauryn Hill offered one possible answer.

Perhaps the future of music also depends on learning how to value what cannot be counted. It shapes a vision of culture as circulation rather than consumption, legacy as responsibility rather than status and community as infrastructure rather than branding.

Thirty years after The Score, Hill is still drawing the routes. And making space for others to follow them home.

WEEKEND MUSIC TIP PT 104 BOONDAWG

Anna Klusmeier — Fri, 07 Aug 2026 15:17:17 +0000

Boondawg has been carving out his career for over 10 years now. Due to heavy Hip Hop influences during his childhood and youth, it came naturally to the Düsseldorf-born-and-raised artist to rap in English. Only in 2023 did he switch to German rap – and blew up. Whether it be headbangers such as „Gangsigns“, prayer-like reflections in „Ghetto Gospel“, or energetic features with Souly in „Igotthisfeeling“: Boondawg saw what Germany’s rap scene was missing and, without further ado, created it.

He keeps high standards for himself and his music. Creating for the sake of creation, rather than chasing hype or trends. In his lyrics, he is not afraid to point out political injustices or shine light on the ugly side of the industry.

For our interview, I was initially hoping to get the album release date out of him. Instead, I learned that Boondawg became a father last year. So we talked about fatherhood, hype culture versus an actual understanding of quality, the everlasting loyalty to NRW, but then, of course, also the album.

Leonie Kampen: Lets talk about Godspeed first. You’ve already teased it quite a bit. Can you tell us when it’s coming out?

Boondawg: I can’t say yet, but definitely this year. It’s not completely finished yet, we’re probably around 70%. But this is also the time where we’re increasing the pace, doing the final touches and everything.

LK: And what does the album mean to you? What kind of themes are on it?

B: My projects are always a reflection of my life and the things I experienced during the period when they happen. This is the first time where I had a bigger overall vision for an album and a message that I want to give people.

In a very general sense, it’s about hardship, the challenges and difficulties you have in life, and the beauty that comes from them. That’s the main idea of the album.

It’s also kind of the red thread that runs through my own life. You have a goal, then a lot of challenges come your way. And when you reach that goal, or arrive at a certain point, you recognize the beauty in the path you’ve taken.

That’s what the album is about and also what I want people to take away from it. Just because you have a difficult or long journey doesn’t mean it’s automatically something negative. It can actually be something positive, depending on how you look at it. You can learn a lot from it and take a lot with you.

LK: Is that also why the name is Godspeed?

B: Godspeed is kind of a duality in this case. The word itself comes from Old English. It was used to say something like “may God accompany you on your journey,” especially when someone was starting a new path.

And that’s obviously also relevant because I recently started a family and became a father.

LK: Wow, that’s amazing. Congratulations! When did that happen?

B: Last year. And that’s where everything started. The whole vision for the album also developed from that. Not in a very obvious way, like “hey guys, I had a child,” that’s not what the album is about, but it obviously changed a lot inside me.

That’s the obvious meaning behind the album title. But on the other side, when I break down the word Godspeed, I understood it as “God’s speed” before I even knew that this old term existed.

For me, that means God’s timing. Not too fast, not too slow – those things don’t really exist. There is only the perfect timing. One person might reach their goal faster, another slower, but your path is always the path that is right for you.

That’s the duality that feels very present in my life right now: becoming a father and building a family, but also the career path I’ve been on for more than ten years.

LK: How old are you?

B: 27.

LK: And what is it like being a father now?

B: Amazing. I think it’s the craziest thing I’ve ever experienced. On one hand, it’s very demanding. On the other hand, it’s extremely inspiring, motivating, and challenging.

It also keeps me grounded. It makes sure that I keep looking forward and don’t get distracted by everything happening around me, which can happen very quickly.

Especially in our scene, especially at our age and in our generation, I think it’s harder than ever to find what is actually important to you when there are so many distractions and influences.

Having a child has made that much clearer for me. It has brought my life much more to the point of understanding what I want to do and who I want to be.

LK: That’s probably also a good balance to the whole music world.

B: Absolutely. A balance to everything, actually. Society is so fast-paced and constantly demanding something from you.

Then you have this child who just loves you. Unconditionally.

LK: That’s really beautiful. You’re also a big advocate for NRW. What do you think makes NRW so special that you had to write a whole song about it?

B: I think you can understand it best if you’ve actually been there or lived there.

LK: I’m from Essen.

B: Oh, you’re from Essen? Then you get it.

For me, what makes NRW special is that you have so many different cities. Different cultures, but also so many different perspectives.

I feel like if you grow up in NRW, you experience so many different sides of life. Of course, you haven’t seen the whole world just because you grew up there, but in a way you already get a small feeling for it because you’re exposed to so many different perspectives.

And you only have to drive 20 minutes further and you’re in a completely different reality.

I’m from Düsseldorf. If I drive 20 minutes, I’m in Mülheim or Duisburg – completely different worlds, completely different people. But you also see both the beautiful and ugly sides. You have everything there, and that shapes you a lot.

LK: Yeah, definitely. I noticed something in German rap – I don’t know if it has always been like this or if it’s a newer development – but city and state pride seems to have become a really big thing. Everyone raps about their city and how great it is. Do you know where that comes from?

B: For me, that has always been part of hip-hop. Hip-hop is very representative. You represent your street, your city. It starts with the street and then it gets bigger.

Especially when you look at American or French artists, I think it’s just that spirit. At least for me, that was always the spirit of the artists I looked up to.

When I started listening to hip-hop seriously, whether it was Kendrick rapping about Compton, Drake about Toronto, Kanye about Chicago, Joey Bada$$ about New York, Rocky about New York and specifically Harlem – I always thought that was powerful.

You could feel how they brought their city and their people with them. That energy was crazy to me, and I wanted to do something similar.

When I was younger, there was always this BTM-Squad. They were basically a street crew, and they also made music. When we were kids, we thought they were incredible. We wanted to be like them, even though looking back they weren’t necessarily doing something positive. Their situation was actually very difficult and they were involved in a lot of criminal things.

But for us, that was our world. That was our horizon. That was what we wanted to be.

After that, there wasn’t really anything like that in our city for a long time. So when I started making music, I thought: that’s what I want to do.

LK: You already touched on it a little bit, but how do you think growing up in Düsseldorf shaped you – musically, but also personally?

B: Good question. Düsseldorf is a very superficial city.

LK: For sure.

B: But where I come from, it wasn’t really like that. Still, you experience that duality.

When you get older and you’re a teenager, you start meeting people from other parts of the city. Then you realize that for some people it’s all about who has the best designer clothes, whose parents drive the nicest car, or who lives in the biggest house.

That was always very present. Of course, that influenced you. But at the same time, at home it was never about that. Never. Not with my friends either, from where I come from. So you had this duality, and I think it shaped you. It made you ambitious.

Maybe when you’re younger, sometimes for the wrong reasons – wanting money, wanting to show off, wanting to impress people. But you definitely knew that you had to do something. You had to achieve something special.

And that spirit is still there today. The only problem is that, in my opinion, people often do it for the wrong reasons. They do it to impress others. It’s important that somewhere along the way you change your perspective and understand what it’s really about, because that’s actually not the reason you should be doing it.

LK: Do you still live in Düsseldorf?

B: Yeah.

LK: And what would have to happen for you to move away?

B: A lot. I’m already very settled. But that’s mostly because of where my people are, where my friends are. My day-one homie, who I also work with, is there. My family is still there. So permanently moving away isn’t really an option for me. But I love travelling. I love being away for longer periods of time. Now that I have a child, though, it’s definitely time to settle down a bit.

LK: I get that. You’ve also done a lot of features and I assume you have a good friendship with Souly. What do you think are the things that make you similar?

B: I would say taste. Even though, from the outside, we are obviously different artistic personas. We actually work with the exact same producers, and that was intentional. It’s not because we don’t have other options. We’re both in the same management, but we could both work with whoever we wanted. We’ve been working with the same producers for years because I think we have a similar taste when it comes to picking beats and things like that.

So I would say our taste level is very similar. That’s also something I really appreciate about him. He has an incredible sense of taste, and everything he does fits him 100%. That’s what it’s about. That’s also the standard I have for myself. It’s not about everyone liking what I do. It’s about everything I make fitting me 100% and being completely uncompromising. I think that’s something we have in common: being uncompromising with our lives and our art.

LK: In your songs, you also refer a lot to the USA and you’ve taken a lot of sounds and elements from trap and translated them into your own style. Where does that connection come from? Why is that connection so strong for you?

B: That American influence is actually a difficult topic for me because, over time, I’ve tried to separate myself from it a bit. It was just so present in my life because I was such a huge hip-hop fan. I listened to rap all the time and really immersed myself in it. That started when I was around 14 or 15. So naturally, the influence was very big.

But it was always important to me to develop my own identity and understand that it’s not about copying people. Especially because that’s something that happens a lot and is very present in Germany – just taking the American sound.

At some point, it stopped being about being inspired by the American sound itself. It’s simply that there are artists from America who I love and who inspire me. But it’s not about adopting a personality that doesn’t fit me, pretending to be someone I’m not, copying how they act, or rapping about the same topics they rap about. It’s about taking the musical influences, the sounds, the phonetic elements, and then creating my own thing from that. Bringing in my own experiences and my own personality. That has always been and still is very important to me.

LK: That was actually one of my questions too: How do you manage to take these influences and use them without losing your own identity?

B: I think it’s just a process. In the beginning, it wasn’t like that. Back then, you did a lot of things and said a lot of things that were just nonsense. But when you listen to something constantly, all day, every day, it stays in your head. Then you write something and think, “Wow, this line is crazy,” but actually it’s just exactly what another artist said. It doesn’t fit your life at all or it’s not something you would actually do. At some point, it becomes about asking yourself: Who do you want to be? Who do you want to speak to? Especially because I’m someone who thinks a lot about purpose and my own purpose. What is my purpose?

What do I want to stand for? That’s really the main thing.

LK: Could you imagine making songs in English again at some point, or are you focused on German for now?

B: I can definitely imagine it, but my full focus is on Germany right now. I always feel like Germany hasn’t really found its own taste yet. And I include myself in that – I’m not excluding myself. I think the German audience still doesn’t have this strong awareness for art within society.

And I’m not talking about my own bubble or the people who listen to me. I mean the wider public. It’s about having an understanding of art.

If you look at France, the UK, or America, and this is not supposed to be Germany-bashing, there are just so many unique artists that people are trained to differentiate. Here, sometimes I feel like people can’t really distinguish things. For example, if someone has a similar look, or if one person uses Auto-Tune and another person uses Auto-Tune, people immediately think it’s the same thing.

Everything gets put into categories. There’s also this follower mentality: “Everyone likes this, so we all like this.” instead of people really forming their own opinions. And that only happens when artists actually develop their own identities. The more unique artists we have, the more variety there is. And the more variety there is, the more society learns to recognize and appreciate different things. Sometimes I feel like really complex and impressive art isn’t always fully appreciated or understood, even when it’s successful. But maybe that’s just my perspective because I take it very seriously.

LK: I know what you mean. But do you think this only applies to music and rap?

B: No, not at all. That’s exactly what I mean. It’s about art in general. Whether it’s fashion, for example. I feel like things are often just consumed. Let’s say you have a brand and your brand becomes overhyped. Whether you drop a tracksuit or whether you spend two years working on one piece with hundreds of details – in the end, people only care about whether it sells out or not. If the brand is hyped, people will buy it anyway. But it’s not about the consumer being able to say: “This is my taste, this is not my taste.”It’s just buying, buying, wearing, wearing – regardless of whether it actually fits the person. There isn’t always that deeper, more individual perspective.

LK: Yeah, that’s a good point. I think a lot of it probably comes from Instagram and TikTok too. Because when you see that 200,000 people like something, you automatically think it has to be good. You don’t really ask yourself anymore: “Do I actually like this, or do I just like it because everyone else likes it?” Is there something that is your dream or goal that you still want to achieve musically?

B: Dream or goal… I actually stopped using the word “dream” a long time ago.

LK: Really?

B: Yeah. If anything, I only have goals. I don’t really have dreams anymore. I think when you call something a dream, it immediately feels like something unrealistic or far away. For me, there is nothing that feels impossible – at least when it comes to myself. If I imagine something, I think: I can definitely achieve that. But at the end of the day, they are just words. I feel like the word “dream” always makes something sound like it’s very far away. Parents always talk about dreams, like: “Yeah, I had dreams too,” you know what I mean?That’s why I definitely have goals. But nowadays, I let most things happen naturally. I always give 100%, and for me it’s more about what I’m saying and making really high-quality music. That’s the most important thing. But one thing that is always in my head is that I want to play the Mitsubishi Electric Hall in Düsseldorf. That is definitely a goal of mine. But it’s also kind of the only one because it’s my childhood dream, going back to dreams.

LK: Now you said it…

B: True… But it’s a childhood dream that I haven’t let go of. But everything else is more like… I’m already living the dream people always talked about. Now it’s just about seeing how far we can still go.

LK: What would you say, apart from music, is your biggest achievement?

B: I think making my parents proud. Getting to the point where my parents can relax and trust me – that’s probably my biggest achievement. That was the biggest fight.

LK: What did they use to say?

B: No, they were always supportive, actually, but in their own way. It was never dramatic. They let me do my thing, but they always wanted me to do something else. I was studying and everything, so I think it’s the classic story. I didn’t want that, and that was always the conflict. It took some time until they truly trusted me. But I can understand that because it’s kind of their job as parents to guide me through life. So when I eventually realized, “They’re actually proud of me,” that was a really great achievement.And now I’m happy that I’m doing what I’m doing. I’m also happy that I didn’t listen to them, you know? That’s probably one of my biggest achievements. Apart from that, just standing on my own two feet. Having my own apartment, having an underground garage – things like that.Those things have more meaning than you might think.You kind of come from nothing, and then you’re suddenly in this speedrun, this tunnel, for years, always moving forward, and you never really stop to look back at what you’ve actually achieved.

LK: And last question: what’s coming up next for you? What’s planned?

B: My album, Godspeed.

LK: The last 30 percent.

B: The last 30 percent. That’s always the worst phase.The cortisol levels are extremely high. And then the tour in 2027. A lot of things are happening in 2027 that I can’t talk about yet. But this year there’s still a lot coming. And 2027 will probably bring just as much. The next year and a half are definitely going to be wild.

LK: Okay, looking forward to that! Thank you so much.

B: Thank you for your time!

INSIDE THE MACHINE: POL CHAMORRO ON BUILDING LÍO’S HALFTIME SHOW

Anna Klusmeier — Tue, 04 Aug 2026 10:10:42 +0000

Pol Chamorro joined Lío Ibiza in 2011 as a singer and dancer, on the show’s very first night. Sixteen years, several roles and one Mykonos outpost later, he now sits at the top of the creative structure as Artistic Director, steering Lío’s latest chapter: Halftime Show, a production that trades the language of classic cabaret for the scale and spectacle of major televised live events. Ahead of the season’s final stretch, Chamorro spoke about what’s changed at Lío since that first uncertain season, what he fought to keep in this year’s show, and how a screen in Mykonos ended up reshaping what happens on stage in Ibiza.

Antonia Maria Schmidt: You joined Lío in 2011 as a singer and dancer, on its very first day. What do you remember about that first season, and how much of that original spirit is still in the DNA of what you’re building now as Artistic Director?

Pol Chamorro: I remember arriving in Ibiza with a real sense of uncertainty. We all knew we were about to build a project from the ground up, and that kind of creative process always comes with a lot of unknowns.
I also remember being surrounded by incredibly talented people. Some of them I already knew, while others I had the chance to meet for the first time. Looking back, what stands out most is how genuinely we embraced everything that was happening around us. There was a genuine sense of excitement and discovery.
That first season, we were completely open to listening to the audience. We listened closely to their reactions and refined the show almost night after night, experimenting with songs, choreography, characters and different moments throughout the experience. Very naturally, those ideas evolved into what would eventually become the Lío concept.
Sixteen years later, Lío, the island itself and the audience that comes to experience it have all grown and evolved. Times have changed and so have expectations. Yet I truly believe the essence of Lío remains the same. Everything we create is still driven by one simple objective: to give our guests an unforgettable experience where entertainment and joy always come first.
Over the years, we’ve preserved everything that truly resonated with our audience while continually refining and elevating every element of the experience. That constant evolution, without losing sight of our original spirit, is what has shaped the Lío people know today.

AMS: You’ve moved through nearly every creative role at Lío over more than a decade: dancer, choreographer, dance captain, Co-Artistic Director, and now Artistic Director. How has that trajectory shaped the way you direct today?

PC: I’ve always believed that the best way to learn something is by doing it. Over the past sixteen years, I’ve had the opportunity to work across many different roles, which has given me a genuine understanding of how each department operates.
Having that perspective is an invaluable asset in the position I’m in today. Every creative idea is naturally filtered through a sense of reality. When I’m developing a concept, I’m not only thinking about what would be exciting or inspiring. I instinctively understand how it can be executed, what challenges it may involve, and whether it can realistically be brought to life.
I believe that balance between creativity and practicality is essential. Great ideas only become meaningful when they can be transformed into real experiences, and having worked across so many different areas has given me the tools to bridge that gap.

AMS: Halftime Show is described as a new creative chapter for Lío. What was the starting point for it, and what did you want to do differently from what came before?

PC: We feel very comfortable with the direction we’ve built over the years, and we had no intention of changing the essence of what we’ve created. However, with Halftime Show, we wanted to inject a fresh energy and a new dynamic into this season’s production.
Choosing a theme that is instantly recognisable around the world worked in our favour. Simply announcing that the new show would be called Halftime Show immediately captured people’s imagination and created certain expectations before guests even arrived.
The halftime show has become one of the most iconic references in contemporary live entertainment. It’s associated with spectacle, ambition, innovation and unforgettable performances. By drawing inspiration from that cultural phenomenon, we were able to connect with audiences from the very beginning while interpreting the concept through the creative language that defines Lío.

AMS: The concept draws on the energy of major global halftime spectacles. What does that reference point give you that a more traditional cabaret or dinner-show structure wouldn’t?

PC: I think the creative universe of Halftime Show has a very distinctive identity. It moves us away from a more traditional cabaret aesthetic and the conventions of a classic dinner show, establishing a visual language that feels bold, contemporary and instantly recognisable.
From the beginning, we deliberately moved away from more conceptual, intimate or theatrical pieces, focusing instead on ambitious, large-scale performances inspired by the energy and impact of the world’s biggest live events.
That vision is reflected throughout the show, from mashups of globally recognised artists to performances built around iconic visual references such as American football players, cheerleaders and even the mascot. These are universal images that audiences immediately understand, allowing us to create a shared visual language while reinterpreting them through Lío’s own creative identity.

AMS: Lío talks about dissolving the boundary between stage and audience, with the venue itself becoming part of the performance. How does that idea actually translate into staging and choreography for Halftime Show?

PC: Although Halftime Show is a large-scale production, we’ve always believed the most memorable experiences come from breaking away from the conventions of traditional live shows. One of the principles that has always defined Lío is our desire to break the fourth wall and blur the line between performers and the audience.
This season, we embraced that philosophy more than ever. We created moments that encouraged audience participation and introduced new technical elements, including live screen direction that allowed guests to become part of the show in real time. Moments such as the Kiss Cam, inviting guests onto the stage and other spontaneous interactions transformed spectators into participants.
At the same time, we stayed true to one of Lío’s defining characteristics: when our artists aren’t performing, they’re out in the room celebrating alongside the guests. That constant interaction dissolves the boundaries between stage and audience, turning the entire venue into one continuous celebration. Rather than simply watching the show, our guests become part of it, and that’s what makes the Lío experience so unique.

AMS: Gastronomy, performance and nightlife are meant to flow as one continuous experience at Lío, rather than separate moments. As Artistic Director, how do you choreograph that transition so it feels seamless rather than staged?

PC: In many ways, everyone involved in creating the Lío experience works towards the same goal. We aren’t building separate departments, we’re creating one seamless experience.
Every team plays a role in making the night flow naturally. Without even realising it, guests move effortlessly between different moments: the show unfolds, dinner is served, desserts arrive, and every operational element is woven into the rhythm of the performance. Entertainment and hospitality are never treated as separate experiences. They exist as one.
Achieving that level of fluidity requires an extraordinary amount of coordination behind the scenes. Over the years, we’ve developed our own creative processes to make everything feel effortless. Of course, some of those remain part of the secret behind what makes Lío unique, but every artistic, technical and operational decision is made with the same goal in mind: creating a magical experience where guests never see the mechanics, only the emotion.

AMS: You trained as a competitive ballroom dancer before television and theatre. Is there anything from that early discipline, the precision, the structure, that still shows up in how you build a number today?

PC: I’ve always believed we’re the sum of everything we’ve experienced and learned. I feel incredibly fortunate to have worked on so many different projects throughout my career and, above all, to have shared that journey with exceptionally talented people who have taught me so much.
Every collaboration and every challenge has shaped the way I think about creative direction today. When I begin developing a new show, I’m never starting from a blank page. I’m drawing on years of experiences, lessons and inspirations gathered along the way.
Every project has left something behind, and every person I’ve worked with has influenced my perspective in one way or another. That’s what allows creativity to keep evolving, not by repeating the past, but by building on everything you’ve learned to create something new.

AMS: Lío positions itself as a queer cultural experience and a platform for contemporary expression, beyond a nightlife venue. How consciously do you carry that positioning into the creative choices you make?

PC: That’s absolutely true. As you mentioned, I see Lío as a contemporary creative platform, a space where artists are free to express themselves without being confined by traditional formats or expectations.
I’ve always believed that art should challenge boundaries rather than accept them. It should explore new ideas, blur conventions and constantly evolve. That mindset sits at the heart of every new show we create.
At the same time, we never lose sight of who we are and where we come from. Lío is a Spanish company born in Ibiza, a place unlike any other. Ibiza has always represented freedom, self-expression and the idea that people can simply be themselves without judgement. That spirit is deeply embedded in the island’s identity, and it’s something we consciously try to capture in our productions.
Every show we create is an opportunity to celebrate that philosophy. We want audiences to feel a sense of freedom, openness and possibility, to experience a world where creativity has no limits and everyone is invited to embrace the moment exactly as they are. That’s not just part of our artistic vision, it’s part of Lío’s DNA.

AMS: What is the one moment in Halftime Show you’re most proud of, something an audience might not clock as a creative decision but that you fought for?

PC: I’d really like to highlight Mar Canadell’s performance, as it represents a very special moment within the show. It comes during the final part of the evening, which naturally has both advantages and challenges. By that point, the audience has experienced an entire night of building energy, emotion and celebration. At the same time, that atmosphere can sometimes make it harder to fully appreciate the technical complexity and discipline behind what they’re seeing.
Mar took the initiative to incorporate a musical instrument into her performance and dedicated many months to developing that new skill. Finding an artist willing to step outside her comfort zone, commit so deeply to the creative process and build a performance with its own identity, embracing a discipline beyond her usual language of dance, is something truly remarkable.
The audience may not always realise how much work sits behind that moment, but from an artistic perspective it represents immense value. It reflects the curiosity, commitment and desire to evolve that we always look for in the artists who are part of Lío.

AMS: Looking at Ibiza in 2026, what do you think the island’s audience wants from a night out that it didn’t want five or ten years ago, and how has that shaped this show?

PC: Ibiza is attracting a younger audience with a stronger connection to nightlife and club culture, and that has had a significant influence on this year’s show.
From the beginning of the creative process, we wanted the energy to remain consistently high from start to finish. That was reflected in the dance styles we incorporated, but even more so in the musical direction and production.
We focused on creating a sound that feels current, vibrant and connected to today’s audience, developing musical arrangements that embrace the energy of club culture while maintaining the identity of Lío. The goal was to create a show that feels contemporary, festive and immersive, bringing the intensity and emotion of nightlife into a large-scale performance environment.

AMS: You’ve also led shows for Lío in Mykonos. How does directing for that audience and setting differ from Ibiza, and does Halftime Show translate there, or does it need to be reimagined?

PC: Ibiza and Mykonos have a lot in common, but they’re ultimately very different destinations, and that’s something we have to acknowledge when creating or adapting our shows for each location.
With Halftime Show and its adaptation for Mykonos, one element works particularly in our favour: the venue itself. Mykonos has a huge screen as its scenic backdrop, and because Halftime Show was conceived using the language of television production, with extensive live direction and real-time screen content, it connects perfectly with the space.
This allows the show to evolve naturally for Mykonos, using the venue’s technology and visual possibilities to enhance the concept even further. The screen becomes much more than a backdrop. It becomes an active part of the storytelling, helping us create a more dynamic, immersive and contemporary experience while preserving the essence of the original production.

AMS: Is there anything from Mykonos, a detail, a reaction, an idea, that has fed back into what you’re doing in Ibiza this season?

PC: Following on from the previous question, I think Lío Mykonos has changed the way we think about using screens as part of the creative experience.
Imagining, designing and developing the visuals, while exploring the relationship between the screen and the audience in Mykonos, has given me a new perspective on how technology can enhance storytelling and audience engagement.
That experience has also helped us rethink how we use the banners and screens in Ibiza. It’s opened up new creative possibilities and allowed us to see these elements as an active part of the show rather than simply visual support.

WEEKEND MUSIC TIP PT 103 CHARLIZE

Anna Klusmeier — Fri, 31 Jul 2026 12:41:21 +0000

It takes a good amount of self-reflection and emotional intelligence to recognize your own toxic habits – and even more courage to publicly sing about them. Charlize has both. The Hamburg-born rapper reflects with brutal honesty on insecurities, toxic relationships, and nights that might have lasted a little longer than they should have. A dreamy, ethereal voice floats over a broad range of trap beats, making it almost feel as though Charlize has opened up a new genre within Germany’s hip-hop scene. Listening to her doesn`t get boring, not last because she switches effortlessly between German, Italian, Spanish, and English in her songs.

After her first summer of touring, we can expect an album this winter centered on transformation, inspired by the mythical white swan/black swan metamorphosis.

Leonie Kampen: Could you tell us how you got into music in the first place? What were the beginnings for you?

Charlize: I think, like with many artists, it started in childhood. You kind of “therapize” your parents by constantly making music and singing. For me, it started really, really early. I think Pussycat Dolls was my first CD, and I would always sing along to it. Then I moved out relatively early, and the apartment I lived in had a piano. That’s where I wrote my first songs. I was around 16, and that was definitely when I started writing my own music.

I also started recording around that time. Through friends, it kind of happened that a lot of people around me were a little older and already had studios or parents with studios. I spent a lot of time there, and that’s basically how it all started. It was a long time ago – about ten years now.

LK: Wow, okay. And during that journey, were there moments when you wanted to give up or wondered if this was really the right thing for you?

C: In the beginning, I didn’t really set myself a big goal. I just did it because I enjoyed it, because it fulfilled me. Honestly, I don’t think I would have survived otherwise. I need to make music. Even if I had no goal and couldn’t make money from it, I would still do it.

So I never really thought about stopping. Of course, it’s different when you enter the industry. There are definitely moments where you think, “What the fuck is all of this?” But I haven’t really had a moment where I wanted to quit.

LK: So it’s also an emotional outlet for you?

C: Definitely. I think that’s the case for a lot of people. But I listen to music all the time – I can’t really live without it. I also listen to a lot of my own music. It kind of works as therapy for me.

LK: Did you ever have a Plan B? Do you know what you would be doing if you weren’t making music?

C: I was making music, but not seriously at first. Then I was in a clinic, and my roommate there – who is now a good friend of mine – introduced me to Thomas. At that time, I was doing my speech therapy training.

If I hadn’t met her, I honestly don’t know if I would be signed today or if any of this would have happened. It wasn’t really my huge goal at the time. Of course, I always wanted to be a superstar – I think everyone imagines that somehow. But it wasn’t like I had been hustling towards it intensely for years. A few things happened where I just thought, “I’ll see where this goes.”

LK: So you trained as a speech therapist?

C: Yes.

LK: Your last project, Indecisive Shawty, came out about a year ago. Would you say you’re still indecisive, or has that changed?

C: No, I’m still indecisive. Very much so.

LK: Can we already expect something new? Is there another album coming this year?

C: Yes, I’ve been working on my album, and it’s almost finished. I call Indecisive Shawty more of a mixtape because it’s a collection of everything I was making at that time.

The album that’s coming now is a real album. Everything fits together thematically, and there’s a clear storyline. It’s coming out in winter.

LK: Can you already tell us something about it? What kind of topics will it explore?

C: I already touched on having a toxic side on my first EP. I definitely don’t have a problem sharing that in my music. The album is very much about recognizing your toxic traits, realizing that they are toxic traits, trying to let them go, and growing from that.

For example, my next release, which comes out on August 6th, is called Blair Waldorf. Have you watched Gossip Girl?

LK: Of course.

C: It’s about this moment where you like someone and you just want that person to like you back. But you become obsessed and toxic. Even when you reflect on it, you think, “Why do I actually need another person to like me so badly?” It’s not really healthy. You should be comfortable with yourself and with the people who like you.

For me, it often ends up being about guys, but that’s basically the idea. It’s the beginning of the album: scandalous nights, excess, and then realizing, “Okay, something is a little wrong here.” Then it becomes about understanding what you actually want from life and what really matters.

LK: So it’s about processing and reflecting?

C: Definitely. And it also tells a story. Not every song is necessarily my own story. I’m telling the story of a swan. It starts as a white swan – white representing toxicity, because drugs are white, and many things that are toxic are associated with white. I also think white can be a color that blinds you.

The swan develops into a black swan that embraces everything that makes it who it is. That’s why all the colors eventually become black

LK: Beautiful. Do you already know what the album will be called?

C: Yes – or actually, not officially. The working title is Black Swan Breakthrough, but I might still change it.

LK: You describe your music as “conscious trap.” Are these the kinds of themes you want to explore, and what kind of awareness do you want to create through your music?

C: I’m always unsure about the term “conscious trap.” I just said it at some point. But yes, in a way it is conscious trap because it reflects on deeper topics while still being on trap beats, so you don’t always immediately realize that it’s deep.

For me, the most important thing is just being honest. I don’t want to flex with something that isn’t mine or create something that doesn’t represent me or something I haven’t experienced – whether it’s my own experience or something from people around me. It has to be honest.

I think you can hear that. The highest thing you can achieve with music is making people feel something. You notice it when you show people songs where you really put your emotions into them – they listen differently. It’s a different frequency.

That’s why I always make sure that what I put out isn’t dishonest. Of course, sometimes I accidentally make songs that aren’t like that, but those are usually the ones that don’t get released.

LK: Your lyrics are definitely very honest, and maybe that’s why they connect with so many people. Are you ever afraid of showing that side of yourself and making yourself vulnerable publicly?

C: Yes, definitely. For example, Therapierraum 3 – if you know that song – I was in a relationship when it came out. It’s obviously a little crazy when your partner knows that you’re a very honest person and that you wouldn’t say things from a perspective that isn’t true.

It’s also difficult when you talk about family or personal things. On this album, there are still some topics I haven’t been brave enough to release yet. Songs that are very, very honest about things that happened.

So yes, there is fear. But you have to try to separate yourself from that. Especially when the songs are good, it’s ultimately not that deep. I just try to tell myself that you have to do it. You have to share it – maybe because it helps someone else.

I think it’s important to stand behind what you do. So yes, the fear is there, but I do it anyway.

LK: You also switch between German, English, and Spanish in your lyrics. How do you decide which language to use? Is it connected to certain emotions?

C: I pay a lot of attention to phonetics. In German, there are often things you can’t express as beautifully phonetically, so I’ll say them in another language.

And there’s also research showing that people have different personalities in different languages. I think that’s true. When I speak German, I’m not as soft as when I speak Spanish or Italian.

So sometimes it’s probably subconscious – there are things I say in another language because they fit better. And honestly, sometimes it’s also because saying something in German feels a bit cringe.

LK: What kind of music do you listen to yourself? What’s your current go-to song?

C: I actually listen to a lot of my own music, especially when I’m working on an album. People around me are always like, “What the fuck, you only listen to your own music?” But when I’m working on something, I want to keep developing it.

I’m listening to a lot of ’80s music right now, but I’m also very inspired by the trap world, like Travis Scott or Lady Gaga. She especially inspired me a lot back then, also with using Auto-Tune.

Right now, because I’m on vacation, I’m listening to a lot of Latin music. I have two songs I play constantly at the moment – but it always changes for me. I really listen to everything: every era, every genre.

LK: If you could meet your 18-year-old self today, what advice would you give her?

C: I would tell her that everything that won’t matter in two years also doesn’t matter now. When you have moments where you don’t know what to do or where you feel stuck, you just have to get through that moment and keep going. Usually, it’s not as deep as it feels.

And I would tell her not to overthink so much. I would also tell my current self that. It doesn’t really help. You just have to try to stay present – even though that doesn’t always work.

LK: Is there a dream or goal you still want to achieve?

C: I want to reach the point where I can say I’m truly happy with what I’m doing. Of course, in terms of size and my musical reach, I definitely want to grow much more and reach many more people.

I think the moment where you can say, “I lowkey made it,” where you stand there and think, “Wow, this is really what I imagined as a little girl” – that’s the moment I’m working towards.

LK: I always see these artist “I made it” moments on TikTok. Would you say you haven’t had yours yet?

C: No, not at all. Sometimes you have moments where you think, “Wow, this is everything I wished for.” But I haven’t had that one big “I made it” moment yet.

I don’t even know if you ever really have one when you’re a little crazy and keep pushing yourself. But I think I’m still waiting for that moment.

ON TOP OF THE WORLD: HOW YE’S CONCERT REFRAMED ALBANIA’S CULTURAL FUTURE

Anna Klusmeier — Mon, 27 Jul 2026 13:51:10 +0000

Few artists have shaped 21st-century culture as profoundly as Ye. Instead of following cultural conversations, he is shifting it. With his shows he changes how music, art and performance are imagined today. Ye’s recent show in Tirana underscored just how far his influence extends across today’s s cultural landscape.

Long before the first sounds echoed across Eagle Stadium, the concert had already become something larger than music. It was a statement about cultural ambition of a country willing to place itself on the international map through one of the most influential figures in contemporary culture. For Albania, this wasn’t simply the biggest concert in its history. It was a declaration that culture can be infrastructure, capable of reshaping perception, attracting investment and accelerating an entire creative economy.

Organised by Berlin based promoter Streetlife, the event brought thousands of visitors from more than 80 countries to a purpose-built venue outside Tirana. Prime Minister Edi Rama described the concert as an investment expected to generate close to €100 million in economic activity—a figure that remains a projection, but one that reflects a broader strategy increasingly adopted by countries positioning themselves through cultural capital rather than conventional tourism campaigns.

Yet what ultimately distinguished the evening wasn’t only its scale. It was the way Ye’s visual language settled into the Albanian landscape.

The monumental globe installation, first unveiled during Ye Live at SoFi Stadium in Los Angeles in April 2026 – which was the highest grossing concert ever reached by a hip-hop artist with Ye making history again – serves as the visual centerpiece of the tour supporting his latest album, BULLY. It was developed with longtime creative collaborator and artist Aus Taylor, who began working with Ye in 2021, directing the „Free Larry Hoover Benefit Concert“, a joint show by Ye and Drake, but also the Vultures Tour installation, the Vultures album cover, the Donda 2 livestream and music videos such as „City of God“ are part of their creative collaborations, too.

WORDS BY SINA BRAETZ IMAGE COURTESY ALONZO HELLERBACH & KADEEM JACKSON DESIGN BY YE & AUS TAYLOR

The world stage transforms Ye into a solitary figure suspended above the world rather than a performer standing before it with the stage itself becoming less of a place to perform than a place to observe. Blurring the boundaries between sculpture, architecture and live performance, the installation expands his long-standing exploration of scale, isolation and mythology, heavily inspired by „Akira’s Nuclear Explosion“, Luke Skywalker’s „Star Wars“ Home in Tatooine, Raimund Abraham’s utopian concepts „Living Capsules for the Space City“ and Wieland Wagner’s minimalist stage design.

Equally essential to the production was its lighting design, which deliberately resisted the visual overload that has come to define many contemporary stadium shows but focussed on precisely choreographed high-output beam fixtures as architectural elements in their own right. Acting almost like vertical columns or cathedral-like vaults of light, they carved spatial dimensions into the darkness, continuously redefining the relationship between the performer, the audience and the surrounding landscape.

Rather than reinventing the format, Tirana offered something different: context. The temporary Eagle Stadium, rising from an otherwise open landscape between Tirana and Durrës, gave the production an unexpected sense of vastness. Without the visual boundaries of a traditional urban arena, the iconic beams of light appeared almost limitless, dissolving into the night sky and transforming the performance into something closer to environmental installation than stadium concert. Architecture, landscape and performance briefly became one composition. It is the tension between reduction and monumentality that has become one of Ye’s strongest creative tools. Instead of overwhelming audiences with visual information, he allows scale, silence and light to carry emotional weight. The result feels less like conventional entertainment than contemporary performance art. Every emotion feels even more intense. A few days later, an Instagram reel goes viral showing thousands of people singing along to Ye’s „heartless“, and a title reading: Who broke all these people’s heart? I felt that.

Ye continues to occupy one of the most controversial positions in contemporary culture, and the debate surrounding the concert was as present as the performance itself. But that is precisely why the event mattered beyond Albania. It demonstrated that cultural moments capable of shifting international attention are rarely comfortable, and almost never universally agreed upon.

Across more than two decades, Ye has continuously redefined the relationship between music, fashion, architecture and design, turning every album cycle into a broader cultural proposition rather than simply a record release. His influence reaches far beyond hip-hop, informing the work of musicians, designers, architects and creative directors across disciplines.

From reshaping the sound of contemporary rap to challenging the aesthetics of luxury fashion and live performance, Ye has repeatedly shifted the cultural conversation. While his career has become increasingly defined by controversy, his creative impact remains difficult to overstate. Few contemporary artists have altered the visual and sonic language of popular culture with comparable reach or consistency.

The Tirana performance served as another reminder that Ye’s concerts are no longer experienced solely as live shows—they have become cultural events that continue to shape how music, art and performance are imagined today.

Streetlife deserves particular recognition in this context. Beyond bringing one of the world’s most technically ambitious live productions to the Balkans, the promoter proved that Albania possesses the logistical capacity to host events on an international standard. Nearly 3,500 workers contributed to building the temporary venue and production infrastructure—an undertaking that government officials described as unprecedented for the country.

History shows that landmark cultural events linger in perception. They encourage artists, investors and creative industries to look at a place differently.

For one evening, Albania wasn’t simply hosting one of the world’s biggest artists. It was introducing itself as one of Europe’s most ambitious emerging cultural stages.

WEEKEND MUSIC TIP PT 102 LAVENDER

Anna Klusmeier — Fri, 24 Jul 2026 13:23:04 +0000

He has quietly worked his way up through Germany’s underground rap scene, but recently made a lot of noise with headbangers such as MOSHPIT: Lavender.

After warming up the stage for Levin Liam during his tour last year and performing at festivals such as Splash this summer, the Wuppertal-born artist finally released his debut EP, “1/1.”

Lavender refuses to be confined to a single genre – nor a single artistic medium. With a background in painting and graffiti, he now almost seems to be drawing entire worlds when rapping: symbolic visuals, sharp wordplay, and poetic skill over vibrant beats.

After spending time at fashion school, he is now also active as a tattoo artist and model alongside his music career.

In conversation with Numéro Berlin, he shares more about his new EP, biting in (and outside of) graffiti, and how he is, against contrary beliefs, quite the overthinker.

Leonie Kampen: LK: Lets talk about your new album, it came out last month. How did you come up with the name 1/1?

Lavender:

1/1, one of one. I always thought it explained itself. There’s simply no comparison. That’s what I believe in and what matters to me: not being like everyone else, but doing your own shit. Doing what you feel from within. That’s what makes you your own version, your own one of one. That applies to everyone. I’m not saying I’m better than anyone else. I just stand by doing what I want to do, because that’s who I am.

LK: Is that also the message you want to send to the German rap scene?

Definitely. Right now, so much sounds the same. Someone does something, it becomes successful, and the next week ten other people are doing the same thing and succeeding with it too. Ikkimel is a perfect example – she does her thing really well. But then so many others follow. That’s not necessarily bad, it’s just a shame. You can tell people see something works and think, “Okay, I’ll do that too.” To me, that has nothing to do with art. I want to make art. I come from painting, tattooing, and graffiti. It’s always been important to me not to bite. I don’t know if you know the term – it comes from graffiti culture and means copying without permission. Back then, if you bite someone’s style while painting, you got beaten up. It’s important to do your own thing. That’s how I grew up. That’s why 1/1 felt so obvious to me.

LK: What are the main themes on the album?

L: That’s actually the funny thing. This tape doesn’t fully reflect its name. It’s only one part of it. The next tape will reveal more of what I mean and show another side of me. I don’t know what I’ll call it yet. Calling it 1/1 again would be a bit stupid, so I still have to think about that.

LK: I wondered if the title meant this would be the only album there would ever be.

L: No, definitely not. It’s the beginning of showing that I really do whatever I want. I’ve always made a lot of trap – I come from trap. That’s why I wanted my first EP to be a trap record, because that’s where I started. Since then, I’ve made a lot of other things too. The next project will be different again, to the point where people might think, “Wait, is this still him?”

LK: So you think you’ll move away from trap a bit?

L: Definitely. I’ve also been listening to Afro music and alternative stuff. There’s already a lot of alternative and pop-influenced music too. I just want to be free. Every project can be different and mix different elements. Just because I made trap and it worked doesn’t mean I’m going to do it forever. I think that’s the message.

LK: Otherwise you just end up limiting yourself.

L: Exactly. A lot of people do that.

LK: According to my research, your artist name comes from your calm personality. How do you stay grounded?

L: By sleeping a lot, good friends, good food, and living alone. Moving into my own place helped me a lot because I’m not constantly dealing with other people’s stress.

LK: Is there anything that throws you off balance?

L: Definitely. I’m an overthinker. I probably seem calmer than I actually am because people always tell me I’m calm. I think a lot, and sometimes that worries me – especially when I think about the future. But in the end I always manage to ground myself again. I remind myself that you can achieve anything as long as you keep working and don’t give up.

LK: Your music videos are full of symbolism – snakes, swords, and so on. Does everything have a meaning, or is it mostly about aesthetics?

L: Aesthetics come first. It has to look good to me. I’m always involved in directing because I know exactly how I want things to look. I like symbolism, but I’m not trying to force a deeper meaning. I want people to interpret it however they want.

LK: Where does that aesthetic come from?

L: It’s just me. It comes naturally. I don’t copy anyone – I don’t bite.

LK: Fashion is also quite present in your visuals. What role does it play for your music?

L: A huge one. Ever since elementary school, when I was first allowed to choose my own clothes, I realized how much fun it was. I remember picking these crazy slip-ons with skull graphics instead of the normal shoes. Fashion has always been a way to express myself and show that I’m on my own lane. I’ve also been modeling for a long time.

LK: What would you do if you weren’t making music?

L: Tattooing. I work as a tattoo artist.

LK: Do you still tattoo regularly?

L: A bit less lately because I’ve been focusing on music, but I finished a new flash sheet today. I love tattooing and drawing. It gives me almost as much as making music. I also love the exchange with people. My best friend, Babyrentner, is a tattoo artist too. It’s a great way to express creativity. Someone comes to you and says, “I want your art on my body.”

LK: That’s a huge commitment. People carry your art forever.

L: I actually think that’s even cooler than selling art pieces, even though I’d like to do that too.

LK: Do you still paint as well?

L: Yeah, I actually started with painting. Tattooing came later because I had to make money, and then I realized how much I enjoyed it.

LK: You live in Berlin now. Do you still feel shaped by growing up in NRW?

L: Definitely. You can hear it in the way I speak. Even if I don’t show it as much anymore, the street stays with you. I love being from NRW. I probably never would have left if it hadn’t been for label opportunities and the fact that so much creativity is concentrated in Berlin. Back home I was surrounded by people without much drive, and that wasn’t good for me. Funny enough, a lot of the motivated people I hang out with here are also from NRW. If everyone had stayed there, maybe I wouldn’t have had to move to Berlin.

LK: I get that. Creative people almost inevitably end up in Berlin, it happened to me too. Who inspires your music?

L: My friends mostly. I can’t really name one specific artist.

LK: What are you listening to at the moment?

L: I wasn’t even a huge Ken Carson fan, but his latest album is incredible. I saw he was playing Splash! and skipped the show. Two days later I heard the album and thought, “I should have gone.” I also listen to Afro artists like BiG Tinny and svn4vr. They’re really raw. Then there’s alternative stuff like Lost Coop, Yellow Days, and of course trap. Also Zackavelli.

LK: Can you tell us anything about upcoming projects or still a secret?

L: It’s not a secret – I just genuinely don’t know. I’m terrible at planning. I make music all the time and end up with too many songs. I’ve already made around a hundred songs this year. Choosing what to release is the hardest part. I usually decide at the last minute based on instinct. I do know that the next project will be less trap-focused and much freer. I want people to think, “Wait, I thought he was just a trap artist, and now he’s singing about love over an Afrobeat?” I’m looking for that “wait, what?” reaction.

LK: Are you planning shows for the tape?

L: Yeah, but for now I want to keep performing One of One. People are still in that trap mindset and expect those songs, so I want to give them that first. After that, I’ll start switching things up. I’d also love to do collaborations with people from that world, like Lewin Liam. I opened for him on tour last year, and he’s a really inspiring person.

WEEKEND MUSIC PT 101 BASHKKA

Anna Klusmeier — Fri, 17 Jul 2026 06:36:00 +0000

Munich-born DJ and producer BASHKKA has carved out a singular place within contemporary club culture. Of Turkish descent, she spent a decade in New York, where she became immersed in the city’s ballroom and trans communities. That influence continues to shape her sets, which move fluidly between house, ghetto tech and ballroom, while informing her belief in the dancefloor as a space for care, connection and community.

This weekend, she returns to WHOLE Festival, one of the world’s leading queer festivals. The appearance comes just ahead of the launch of INVIGORATE AM., her first party series at Amsterdam’s Club RAUM, an extension of the ideas around intimacy, connection and community that increasingly define her work.

We spoke with BASHKKA about WHOLE Festival, queer joy in challenging times, the importance of protecting dancefloors, and why creating spaces built on care, connection and community have become central to everything she does.

BILLY BURRELL: Much more than a music festival, WHOLE feels like a queer utopia. What makes it so unique?

BASHKKA: There’s no mental negotiation. You’re not adjusting or holding back. You just are, and that’s enough.

BB: You’re playing a 4am Monday slot, one of the last of the weekend. What kind of energy does a closing set call for, and does it give you more freedom to take risks?

B: By then it’s more internal than external. You’re not chasing reactions. You’re guiding a shared headspace. That’s where risk feels natural.

BB: In an increasingly hostile world for queer and trans people, WHOLE feels unapologetically joyful. Does that make spaces like this feel more necessary than ever?

B: More than ever. There’s a gap between being welcomed and being centered and you can feel it. It matters when that joy is real, not just aesthetic.

BB: People often talk about dancefloors as spaces of freedom, but freedom doesn’t happen by accident. What makes a dancefloor feel safe enough for people to truly let go?

B: A real dancefloor works because people protect it. That’s what makes freedom possible.

BB: You play some of the world’s most influential clubs, while remaining deeply connected to grassroots queer communities. How do you stay connected to those communities as your career continues to grow?

B: Spaces are/can be a chapter, but even more so they’re the core. So I stay close by being intentional, who’s in the room, who’s shaping it. Because sometimes the narrative is smoother than the reality.

BB: You’re launching your first party, INVIGORATE A.M., at Club RAUM in Amsterdam. You say it’s about creating “a recalibration of energy that connects rather than consumes.” Is that something you’ve been searching for on dancefloors yourself?

B: Yes, and I think a lot of us have. There’s been this shift where dancefloors can feel a bit transactional and parties feel performative. INVIGORATE A.M. is my way of reintroducing intimacy into that space slowing things down emotionally, even if the music still moves. It’s about depth, not just intensity.

BB: And finally, if your WHOLE set had one intention, what would it be?

B: Less Hype. More Hips.