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.

L:

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.

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.

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?”

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.

L: Exactly. A lot of people do that.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

L: Tattooing. I work as a tattoo artist.

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.”

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

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.

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.

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

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. 

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.

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.

FRANKA MARLENE FOTH:

I have to dig really deep for that, because I started so early. I’m not loyal to one specific medium and I never had that thought in my head: “I want to become a dancer.” It just happened. It was always a very effortless ambition. I trained incredibly hard from a very young age, simply following my passion, and then quite early on, I got my first jobs as a dancer at 16, alongside school.

FMF: As a background dancer, and I also created shows for live events. That showed me pretty directly that I can do this, I’m already earning money while still in school. It really fueled my desire to pursue it. But it was a gradual process. I just followed what I wanted to do. I was obsessed with training and was sometimes given leave from school to compete. I was completely absorbed in it. When I got my first jobs through my hard work, I realized: Oh, this is actually working. I’ll keep going. And since it was happening alongside school, I lost interest in school entirely. I just wanted to work as a dancer. So I wasn’t following some grand dream; I was following my passion, my desire.

FMF: Exactly. I had no external idea at all. Which many people do have, and with it a false notion of what it means or how you get there. Meanwhile, I was training six hours a day.

FMF: That was during that period, yes. I always dabbled in everything, but I was really deep into those styles then. There have always been phases in my life where I focused on certain styles. I needed variety and got bored quickly. Ideally, I’d master everything perfectly, which obviously isn’tpossible, so I was always jumping around. That actually paid off, because it made me totally versatile. But it was never a deliberate decision; it was more like: this interests me more right now.

FMF: Straight into a dance training program. I always say it was just additional training, since I’dbeen doing it all along anyway. But I wanted a contemporary education, because up until then, I’dmainly focused on urban styles. I thought: Okay, I want to move more into theater, do more contemporary work, immerse myself in that world. So I did the program.

FMF: That one was more conscious. By a certain point, I’d been working as a dancer for a long time, and there was always something that bothered me, something I would have done differently. Then I realized: I can’t keep criticizing others for ideas I don’t think are good. I have to do something different myself. That was the shift. I want to show my own vision, realize my own ideas, and follow my own aesthetic affinities, not execute someone else’s.

FMF: Absolutely. I’d frame it more on a psychological level, the way the dance world operates. Speaking critically from my own experience and that of most dancers: What mattered to me was not wanting to be treated that way anymore, and doing it differently. Many choreographers work together with dancers, but the dancers develop a great deal themselves. I experienced giving everything I had, only for the choreographer to put his name over it at the end. I thought: Wait, that’s not my vibe. What I give, I don’t want to do under someone else’s roof. What really confirmed it was this: I created something, it was immediately taken, and I thought, wait a second, I’m doing this on my own now.

FMF: Totally. It was a process where I realized I want to do this myself, because I’ve already been creating most of the repertoire and my own visual language came through. The artistic ethos and the way of working with other dancers and artists should be different on a human level, precisely because it is a collaboration.

FMF: It’s always different. I have very strong and precise visions and I’m quite specific and perfectionistic about what I want. I know pretty clearly what I want. But the dancers, with what they’re capable of, are of course crucial. Without them, I couldn’t do what I do. It also always depends on who’s involved. If it’s dancers I’ve worked with for a long time, like the people from FMKF, my collective, then by now, it’s a kind of symbiosis, because they know me and I know them. If I say I’d like something a certain way, they’re already moving roughly how I want. And of course it’s a total interplay. I’m very specific in the choreography and instruct my movements concisely; I create the framework and the foundation of the entire piece. But every dancer also brings their own character, and I love that. I don’t want clones. I love synchronicity, but I also love the different characters and the fact that they come onto the stage individually and bring something of their own. It’s a process of give and take.

FMF: Yes, I have a precise idea and I prep. I want everything to be executed with excellence and quality, but I’ve also trained myself not to over-prep. I used to do that, and when something didn’twork out, I’d lose it: bad perfectionism. These days, I try to be more relaxed, because keeping that window open for interpretation and spontaneity is really important. On a day like that, I’m also trying to compress five weeks of work into a single day, which only works with the right dancers. And something else that is really important to me in my work is how people are treated. Especially on set, where it’s always stressful, or in rehearsals, it matters to me that they feel seen, even when I’m telling them very precisely how something should be. I think by now, I manage that quite well, so that they feel valued as artists.

FMF: It was always my trainers who shaped me. There were so many of them, and I switched when something no longer worked for me. But they were truly personal relationships. It wasn’t just someone somewhere in the world I admired from a distance. I also never really thought about dance theoretically or read much about it. It was always physical work. Inspiration came through colleagues, trainers, and dancers I worked with, or through people I met at workshops and training sessions around the world.

FMF: A lot came through conversations among dancers, of course, but I was physically far too busy to be reading much about it. It’s competitive sport; I was focused on becoming a better athlete and just getting better in training.

FMF: It depends. You can apply that to anything. First and foremost, I prioritize substance overhype. I wouldn’t ever say that engaging with dance is a problem; it’s much better than engaging with plenty of other things online. But these trends exist, absolutely, and that’s also down to online culture and social media, which is why I keep trying to do a complete detox. While I appreciate other people’s dance, of course my creative inspiration is shaped far more by influences beyond it.

These trends get boring fast. Something goes viral and everyone rushes toward it. I prefer authenticity over trends. I always think: This didn’t just appear now, I see the reference and there are a thousand other versions of it everywhere. But now, everyone piles onto this one piece, even though there are ten other great ones out there. What bothers me more is that the hype is rarely questioned. The visuals circulating online are barely analyzed or critically examined. Where does this come from, what references were used? I immediately see: Oh, this aesthetic comes from this or that context, and I think, people, do your research. That’s just the curse of social networks. I’m also not even sure if more is actually happening, or if we’re just seeing it more often. Because it’s constantly being shown, you get the impression it’s everywhere.

FMF: These days, I’m guided more by desires than by fixed ideas. These wishes and desires are very intuitive, influenced by life, by personal experiences, immediate observations and events, and sometimes by things that aren’t personal at all. Ideas can be spontaneous, irrational, but still precisely structured. Music and sound are a primary part in my creative practice and stimulate me above everything else. That’s the key mood for everything I do, creatively and especially with dance. I am more engaged with film, surrealism in all its forms, scents, poetry, surrealist poetry, psychology; all of these things influence what I want to create, not visual things I see from others.

The inner processes are shaped by all of that, which leads to new things emerging, or to me feeling stimulated. In dance, I’ve already seen so much. I understand most things immediately. But I’m also making it myself, so it became more an observation of something that exists. I’m always curious, and enjoy being in circles where people are more used to avant-garde ideas, and even though everything has existed in some form before, new impulses still emerge. At some point, inspiration shifts toward other fields. You develop other interests or a different understanding of what you’redoing. I haven’t been doing just “the one thing” for a long time now. I am operating in many fields such as directing, photography and design. I think it’s just a process you go through that can’t really be defined precisely.

FMF: For me, it goes like this: When I’m told to create something, there’s first a storm up here. A thousand ideas in my mind, then I have to limit myself.

Inspiration came initially from the Chanel New York collection. I looked at what the aesthetic was and quickly realized I wanted to create a contrast, because the collection already implies something. You can go along with the aesthetic or set a contrast; I usually find the contrast more interesting than what’s already expected. Through that, I then realized what I actually wanted to create: an emotional atmosphere, something extreme, with a lot of expression, with wind, storm, effort, heaviness. Those were my keywords. You also shared the editorial direction for the issue, and it was quickly clear: women, strong, untamed women. I don’t need to go searching for that; all the dancers I work with already embody it. Then came the question of who to bring on, and from there, the characters I want to create emerge immediately. In parallel, I developed musical ideas, also in contrast to the collection. Everything happens first in my head before I go into the studio. I have an understanding of how things go together that’s purely sensory based, so the music I create in turn influences the visual images I want to realize. And I play with sounds and images until the two ignite each other.

FMF: Naturally, I have musical references that come to mind immediately, and those shape the key mood.

FMF: I actually played the snippets, I think. Those were references for the various emotions I wanted to bring in. I had a fairly broad spectrum of playlists, because each emotion I wanted to convey is carried by different tracks and genres.

Every genre has its own mood, which influences what’s being portrayed. Since I wanted to show a variety of emotions, I played many different pieces, which I then bring together in the final version. I experimented a little along the way: What happens here? Oh no, that doesn’t work anymore, that goes out. Or suddenly, something different is happening than I expected. I deliberately leave that window open for spontaneity and interpretation, and if necessary, I rewrite sections afterward.

FMF: They can be quite varied, to generate different qualities and characters. I write down keywords I give to the dancers. Unapologetic, chaos, dreamlike, self-possession were a few in this case. In group work, which I love to do, I can use that to create compelling images with the bodies. When the dancers bring a variety of emotions into it, I find that especially interesting. So I give everyone different keywords on the day, exactly as I did this time.

FMF: Sometimes I also do it contrarily. If I see that something is happening on the left, I need exactly that from her at the top right. I react spontaneously on set, adjust things quickly, and change instructions at short notice. That’s why I need ultra-professional dancers who can respond immediately. I can say: “Forget what I told you two days ago, I need exactly this now.” Or I switch roles: “You’re playing this role now.” It’s very dynamic.

FMF: I work with poetic narratives rather than with classic stories because for me, it’s primarily about expression. I’m reluctant to prescribe a fixed meaning because that often limits the viewer’simagination. Even I sometimes see something different depending on my mood on a given day. That’s why it’s important to me not to give concrete guidelines, and even when I have them, I’m hesitant to voice them.

FMF: I agree. When it comes to dance though, I’m here for it all. Everything has its place. It’sexpression, and it should also be fun. If you want to let yourself go and throw yourself onto the floor, naked or half-naked, and perform classic forms of sexy-coded movement, go for it. But this alone does not do it for me. It, again, is more about finding interesting contrasts. I, for example, always wanted to move like my male colleagues, also in a sexual way. In the end, it’s all about poise, charisma, and remaining authentic.

FMF: The women I work with are sexy just by being themselves; they don’t even need to express it. When they then consciously do so, it’s often a tick too much, because sexiness for me doesn’tautomatically mean moving in a certain expected way. It’s not about delivering what people already associate with sexiness, but creating a contrast instead. And that’s exactly what I find especially compelling. A rupture. I also like the word “attractiveness” better than “sexy,” and I think it’s much more powerful. Attractiveness is presence: charm, facial expression, body language, walking upright. That alone is enough to seem sexy, and you can go into a lot of detail there. In dance,especially, I pay close attention to moving away from clichés. Even though I find classically clichéd dances totally admirable, in my own work, I always try to set a contrast, to move away from the first association. That’s really my main creative process: thinking about what the obvious association would be, and doing exactly the opposite.

KWN: I think growing up in Walthamstow made me realize how hard I need to work to push the boundaries to get myself to a different place. I wasn’t surrounded by a lot of creative people, but I still knew I needed to do better for myself. 

KWN: I didn’t have any pressure on me to get it done in a certain time frame, it was just me not thinking about making a project. It was just me in my room having fun and creating, being free. Not thinking about it has to be ‘like this’ or has to have a certain ‘message’ behind. It was just me having full creative freedom and having fun with it. I was just making songs to make songs.

I look back at that time and I’m like, wow, I probably won’t get that again for a minute, when I can just lock in and just not worry about anything else. Doing this project now, I’ve done a whole tour and loads of shows and promo and press and there’s been so much time in between where I can’t even just make music, so I hold that year and a half really close to my heart because I was fully able to just focus on music. I’m so grateful for the things that have come, but it’s such a strange feeling to know you may never get that type of freedom again. 

KWN: Not caring about what people think and just being me; I’ve always been like that. 

KWN: When I’m on stage, that’s where I feel most at home, I guess. Probably in “do what i say” and “back of the club,” every show holds the same energy so every time I perform those songs, I feel really present. 

KWN: I always stick to my guns, I never do anything I don’t feel comfortable doing. 

I’m super open to stepping out of my comfort zone but there’s a boundary where there’s only so much I’ll push it. I surround myself with people who allow me to be myself at all times. My team are a big part of that, they work with me because they love what I do and what I represent.

Of course there are chefs in the kitchen who give me other ideas, but at the end of the day, if it’s not something I want to do, I won’t do it.

KWN: Yeah, absolutely. But I’ve only realized that as I’ve grown up in the past two years. I had to realize that being vulnerable and being open about my emotions and feelings is the strongest you can be. As an artist, people look up to you and listen to what you write about and people take that in. I’m grateful I’m able to be part of people’s healing journey. In any form, not just sad stuff. Just for people to confident to say what they want to say. 

KWN: Yeah, absolutely. It’s kind of bittersweet, even as much as I say I don’t care what people think. Being in the public eye makes me think, “Should I do this?” If I’m going shopping, I think I should make sure I don’t look terrible. It’s definitely changed. I don’t see it in a bad way, but it’s a surreal feeling to think that my life probably won’t go back to what it once was. 

KWN: I much more enjoy getting creative about the sensual stuff and keeping it sexy and fun and light; when I delve deep and talk about emotions, it’s like I’m having a therapy session with myself and it can be heavy. I’m learning how to manage that as I get older; I can’t hide away from vulnerable stuff just because I don’t want to feel heavy that day. It boils down to me having the most fun when I’m talking about sensual things. Being drawn towards that fun stuff is an instinct that is almost like a shield; it’s an instinct I naturally go towards because I don’t want to be vulnerable all the time because it feels safe. It plays a big part in my creative process, but instinct has driven me away from being vulnerable and talking about things I should face some of the time – it’s a double-edged sword. 

KWN: No, it just happens naturally. Like I said, I have a lot of fun writing about that stuff and it just feels natural. 

KWN: I’m working on showing more of myself and getting there so it is all fair game. So I can go into the studio and be honest with myself in the studio and out of it, that’s something I’m working on consciously. 

KWN: Working on my next project, it’s very different from with all due respect. I feel almost nervous about how the community of fans I built will take it. I know they’ll love it, but it’s nerve wracking as it’s very different to what I’ve done before. I’m confident because I’ve built a brand on doing what I want to do. I’m hoping that travels with it. I’m hoping it will be good regardless as I tell more of myself in this project. It’s a lot more personal as it lets people know more of how I am as a human. 

KWN: Writing sad songs, being in touch with my emotions and how I genuinely feel. I struggle with that generally and having to do that creatively is even harder. I’m learning as I’m going, I’m still young, writing songs is like a 1-1 therapy. It’s an uphill slope to share it with other people – and not just other people, but strangers, at that. 

KWN: I think ‘safe’ energy. I want people to know that I’m not what they see on the exterior. Sometimes people with a quiet confidence can come across stand-offish and I don’t mean to be. 

KWN: Being comfortable in your own self.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

B: Less Hype. More Hips.