Stories

15.03.2024 • 08:45

Okay, the countdown is running: One week until m4music officially opens its gates.

And I can’t postpone the necessary preparation work any longer. I have to have a plan, which I will inevitably throw overboard during the festival because that’s just the festival’s nature.

But here’s my preliminary plan for the conference on Friday:

• A love story – SRG and the Swiss music industry
• Sexualised violence in the music industry – prevention and awareness
• Music and AI Now is the Future of the Past

On Saturday, I’ll probably only attend «Fair pay in the music scene: between expectations and reality» since I’ll also hang out at the invite-only «Business Mixer Brunch» by Swiss Music Export.

By the way, the official conference panels are free, so if you’re curious about any of them, you should definitely drop by. Here’s an overview of all panels.

I feel that the panels have become way more artist-focused, which is not bad but less attractive for me to cover as I’d be more curious about industry challenges. Also, a more fun and lighthearted panel is missing.

18.03.2024 • 07:25

After my recommendations for the conference, it’s time for the concerts I’m most looking forward to at this year’s m4music festival.

Moonpools
My favourite Moonpools memory dates back to July 2022. They’ve released their single, Damaged Goods, which immediately landed in my heavy rotation. We spent a week in Scotland and, one day, picked up two hitchhikers. The song was playing faintly in the background. One of the guys was in awe and asked who was playing. So far, I haven’t seen the Swiss band live. After their incredible new single, Never Mind, I can’t wait for their show.

Mary Middlefield
I could get a taste of Mary Middlefield’s raw live performance at last year’s «Musikfestwochen» in Winterthur, leaving me wanting more. She performs her indie-folk songs with the verve of a rockstar: intense, pressing, demanding.

BARON.E
The Swiss electro-pop duo BARON.E has been floating around my head since 2021’s COMME RÊVE. Their oscillating quality, paired with a love for detailed melodies, always grabs my attention. As with the Moonpools, I haven’t had the chance to catch them live on stage. It’s finally time to see them.

Hannah Jadagu
Last year, US artist Hannah Jadagu released the exceptional debut album Aperture. Songs like Warning Sing or Lose combine refined songwriting, soul-esque grooves, and rough-edged rock flair. And since up-and-coming musicians from the States rarely come to Switzerland, it’s definitely a must-see for me.

Deadletter
Skimming through the festival’s line-up, Deadletter stood out, but then again, I’m a sucker for UK post-punk, and the band adds a flavour of DIY and 2000s indie-rock to the sound. I’m predicting a sweaty and escalating show.

22.03.2024 • 08:21

Good morning. Today, I will start scribbling in this festival diary for real. And the first day obviously needs to start with fuel.

I’d say I’m more or less prepared for the whole thing, but I still need to pack the essentials. In a way, m4music is unique since I get to sleep in my own bed tonight, but simultaneously, it’s also a drag not to have a place to sleep really close by—even if it just would be a tent.

22.03.2024 • 12:30

Okay, all set and on the way. I’m not sure if the laptop will be really necessary; we’ll see. Better save than sorry.

22.03.2024 • 13:30

Okay, it feels like always: A slow start, people hanging around, chit-chatting, saying hello. Some drink beers, while others still rely on coffee. The sun’s shining, life’s good.

And as always, the growing crowd is a unique blend of business casual industry guys, cliché rocker dudes, and everything in between. For now, I’m just waiting for the first panel to start. And I think I’ll stick with Mate for now.

22.03.2024 • 16:00

As expected, the plan starts to fall apart. I’ve been to the SRG panel; however, as soon as I sat down, I thought this might get quite boring: It was supposed to analyse the relationship between Swutzerland’s public broadcaster and the music industry. «A love story,» as the panel’s title hinted.

The panel started with a speech by Gilles Marchand, the soon-to-be-ex director of the public broadcasting institution. He obviously praised the SRG’s efforts in promoting Swiss music, and some of the numbers he presented were quite impressive. Then again, this speech could have been a PDF.

The essential question, the political threat against the SRG, was only touched lightly. If you’d like to know more about the potential impact of cutting the public broadcasting fees in half would have on the music industry, check out this article:

Far-Right Referendum Threatens Swiss Music Scene

A referendum seeks to cut the public broadcasting fee in half. It not only threatens independent journalism but also the opportunities for Swiss musicians.

Negative WhiteJanosch Troehler

Marchand’s speech was followed by individual presentations of the language divisions of SRG. Also, impressive numbers, cool visual trailers, but ultimately nothing new or controversial. The actual discussion panel, featuring two SRG people and two people from the music industry, started off with enough cringe to get out and start with the first beer.

22.03.2024 • 18:00

My plan completely derailed. I skipped a couple of panels and caught up with some people instead. Mary Middlefield drones over the place outside of Schiffbau, the festival’s primary location.

We’re talking about wokeness, awareness, and the fact that the Swiss music industry is too nice. No drama. No scandals. Everybody’s playing ball. Cheap supermarket beer fuels the debate.

22.03.2024 • 20:00

I’ve been slacking around a bit. Undoubtedly, witnessing the saddest moment so far when Neil, singer of Bahnhofbuffet Chancental, kicked and spilt his beer.

Also, I had a quick chat with Frank from Lautstark, a music promoter. Now, it’s time for music. Club Exil. Deadletter.

22.03.2024 • 21:00

It smells like sweat, beer, perfume, and maybe a bit of piss. The only atmosphere the UK band Deadletter truly deserves.

They play with the aggression of earliest post-punk, dressed in 90s grunge, handling their instruments with the exceptional sophistication of art-rockers. Explosive. Disruptive. Angry.

One can’t be sure if it’s their attitude or the frontman is actually pissed. The audience could have been more enthusiastic, but that’s just Switzerland for the most part… No comparison to a pub full of drunk Englishmen. 

And the saxophone… oh my! If you can, see them!

22.03.2024 • 22:25

After Deadletter, it can only go down. Well, probably. Right now, and that’s the exhausting thing about m4music, I can’t walk 10 meters without saying hi to someone.

That’s why I sit in the Hall, the biggest stage at the festival, and a guy from Paris is playing. Aime Simone. I don’t know, and it sounds rather underwhelming.

23.03.2024 • 00:16

On the train home, or at least in that direction. I’ll have to call a cab to get home. But it was time and a good opportunity to say goodnight. The first day is done—and, unfortunately, but expectedly, relatively unspectacular.

However, some of the conversations I had (which made up the bulk of my first day) went deeper, discussing the broader challenges the music industry is currently facing. But, let’s be honest, we also reminisced a lot about past times.

It’s the beauty but also the dirty little secret of m4music: The music is incidental. It’s about seeing and being seen, about connecting and networking—building relationships—especially for younger artists. I met a woman who worked in my team a few years ago, moderating comments for a big media brand. She has now started creating music. For her, the festival provides the perfect opportunity to learn and meet people.

The industry aspect of m4music seems more profound this year: The conference mainly provides hands-on information for musicians, event organisers, or other professionals. Admittedly, for me, the unfortunate thing is that these topics make rather boring stories, even for overly interested music fans. It’s too nerdy.

Nevertheless, tomorrow—well, later today, actually—there are definitely more bands I plan to see. But you know, plans and m4music don’t really work out as intended.

23.03.2024 • 09:15

After two coffees, I’d consider myself halfway living again. A glance out the window offers all the reasons you’d need to stay inside: It’s cold, wet, and terribly windy. But it can’t stop me from finally seeing Moonpools today, whose song Never Mind is already a high-chance contender to land on this year’s best list.

I had the chance to talk to Alain and Arthur from Young+Aspiring, Moonpools label and booking agency. They assured me their upcoming EP, Hide and Seek, will feature another excellent banger. They also revealed that there are about ten demos for their debut album. I’m already excited.

23.03.2024 • 12:30

I’m later on the train to Zurich than I originally intended. I needed more time to get in a ready state, ready for another night of standing around, talking, and listening.

Some of yesterday’s discussions are still ringing in my head—especially those around the function of music journalism in small Switzerland.

If you’re a regular reader of Negative White, you might find that we rarely write negative things about Swiss artists. There are two reasons:

First, Negative White is a volunteer project. Nobody earns any salary, and at least I have no interest in spending my free time ripping apart music I don’t like. Then, I would not write about it, although I know it would generate way more traffic.

Second, I see a significant difference in writing about an artist’s work, critiquing or praising it, and reporting on the industry itself. The latter requires much more journalistic distance and rigour. There is no reason or need to be overly cautious reporting on institutions and large organisations.

23.03.2024 • 14:15

Just came out of the interesting «Fair Pay» panel, which definitely needs some more digestion. But now, with perfect sunshine, Moonpools.

23.03.2024 • 15:11

Moonpools promised. Moonpools delivered. The Swiss band pushed its already heavy wall of sound with pressure over the sunny place without compromising on the dreamy wave elements.

23.03.2024 • 15:55

Waiting for Obliecht to start. First beer.

23.03.2024 • 16:15

Obliecht. Atmospheric dulcimer indie rave sound with Swiss German and English lyrics. Weird but good.

23.03.2024 • 19:25

Alright, a quick update on what happened. Had a couple of beers and met a couple of people—old and new. And I saw EDB, a Swiss guy, live on stage. With his Swiss German lyrics, he certainly has boundaries, but his show was energetic and charismatic. Now, I’m mostly looking forward to Hannah Jadagu.

And, completely honest, after that, I’m probably done.

23.03.2024 • 20:50

Hannah Jadagu hammered heavily in Exil Club. Between sugary melodies, raw rock energy, droning noise, and R&B groove, her performance was incredibly cool. The loudness perfectly contrasted with her soothing voice, and when the sound got more complex, Jadagu and her band really shined in sophistication and brilliance.

23.03.2024 • 21:30

Alright, final entry of the festival part of this diary. I call it a day shamefully early, but I’m too old for FOMO, and Hannah Jadagu’s concert seemed like the perfect final closure.

Over these two days, I’ve experienced great performances by local and international artists, reconnected with musicians and industry people, and generally had a good time. But there’s also some criticism, which I’ll elaborate further in the diary’s third and last section in the coming days.

In the meantime: Thank you if you followed my reporting so far. 🙏

The m4music 2024 is now part of history. Although an overall urgency was absent from both the festival’s line-up and the conference, it was again a must to be there. It is the one event almost everybody in Switzerland’s indie music scene is attending and for me to have some face-to-face time with people whom I only am in contact via email throughout the year.

So, in a way, it doesn’t really matter if the programme is better or worse—the main focus remains networking and relationship-building. However, that makes for a terrible report.

On the other hand, I could still experience some musical highlights: Deadletter, Moonpools, Obliecht, EDB, and Hannah Jadagu delivered all energetic and impressive performances I shall fondly remember. Also the moments of genuine laughter and fun. Or profound debates with people, which added new insights and perspectives to my understanding of the challenges of the music business.

Nevertheless, when I reflect on this year’s festival edition, everything felt a bit too cosy, a bit too nice. There may be no need for a big scandal, yet a pinch of controversy and opposite opinions might create more intrigue and new ideas. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the business remains stalled in the face of significant global shifts.

Hubert Tuyishime is bridging cultures, identities, and styles. As Porcelain id, the artist who migrated from Rwanda to Antwerp, Belgium, released their album Bibi:1, which received exceptional praise.

«We are only at the beginning of this calendar year, but this album could easily end up on many end-of-year lists in ten months’ time,» writes Bryan Regtop for «Dansende Beren».

The resonance had been «honestly amazing», Tuyishime tells Negative White in an interview via video call. «I got much more press than expected,» adding that keeping expectations low was a form of self-protection. «The feedback from fellow musicians was a different kind of acknowledgement. People who are better at what you do are into what you created.»

Bibi:1, released mid-February, is a highly condensed debut album containing eleven tracks, with Feeling being a short interlude in the record’s middle.

But most of all, it is a stunning work of art. Porcelain id provides at its core a folky canvas yet paints with a vast pallet of colours—indie-rock strokes, dots of electronica, faint brush tips of hip-hop, even splashes of experimental noise. 

The songs effortlessly blend Western sounds with exotic elements. Some, like Low Poly or Adam Coming Home, conjure memories of The Libertines. The opener, Habibi (R U Alone?), and closer, Lights!, remind us of Nick Cave.

Occasionally, Porcelain id plays with reduced compositions—as in Moon—emphasising effects and melody. Then again, indulging in opulent grand gestures in Man Down!.

The duality, juxtapositions, harsh breaks, and sophisticated contrasts within Bibi:1 are deeply rooted in Tuyishime’s story. On the one hand, their musical upbringing brought a wealth of versatility. This diversity of influences led to the conclusion never to choose just one thing.

Then again, the album is inspired by the city’s neverending buzz. «There is never just one thing going on. You can’t really catch a break,» Tuyishime explains. «I come from a small village, so most of my world has either been on the internet or a very small group of friends or community.»

Being in the city for the first couple of years was a shock, artistically expressed in Bibi:1 through its variety of sound, or as they put it: «It would have been a shame if I only picked a single genre or experience to be the album,» Tuyishime elaborates.

«It’s about culture; it’s about finding your identity.»

The intense collaboration of Tuyishime and producer Youniss Ahamad further drove the experimental sound. Ahamad brought a significantly different musical background to the table. Ahamad started weaving non-Western elements into the sound, like the extensive use of the duduk.

«These elements brought an almost literal soul to the album. We could have done it without it. It could have been a trumpet or anything else. But it very much is not, so it goes into what Youniss works around a lot in his music. It’s about culture; it’s about finding your identity.»

Tuyishime has a hard time illustrating the significance of these sounds: «Those sounds, really… I don’t know. It’s like trying to explain who you are. That’s really hard. Youniss brought me an opportunity to find some kind of identity, to connect me to a culture that was close but I did not grow up with. It is one of those things that I will keep studying and looking into.»

«The upward failing of trying to sound like someone. I’ve tried my whole life, and I still do probably.»

The diverse sounds, paired with its sometimes sharp contrasts, make Bibi:1 objectively not easily accessible. However, you can feel the convolution of different streams coming together. And somehow, despite all of it, you can relate to the song’s high emotionality.

«I think people connect with the way I sing. I’ve had the privilege to work with artists who understand my ambitions for the sound but also pushed me towards accepting the way I sound and not compromising that in any way.»

However, Tuyishime does not think of themselves as much of a singer: «A lot of people can sing well, so it’s not that special. But the skill I try to learn, if that’s even possible, is to bring a song as real as you can. I could learn my songs in a very technical way and I would probably sound better as a singer. But it wouldn’t necessarily translate all the minute details I need to be in there to be able to sing them properly.»

But does technical skill really matter? Music history is full of people who are objectively not great singers, most famously Bob Dylan, yet they manage to touch people nonetheless.

«What do you perceive as a singer or vocalist? And what standards do you put on them? Bob Dylan and Sam France from Foxygen are two very different singers. One of them is the original, and then Sam sounds like all his influences. Because he tries to sound like them but is unable to, he becomes another sort of vocalist.»

Porcelain id sees themselves as the latter type: «It is very true to me as well. The upward failing of trying to sound like someone. I’ve tried my whole life, and I still do probably. So far, that you don’t even know whether you sound like yourself or whatever came from trying to sound like anyone else. But you don’t have to be technically good; just try to bring something as honest as you can.»

«I guess if it’s always been a way of coping, there is no way that it doesn’t affect how I write in the future.»

Authenticity is Bibi:1’s key ingredient. While the apparent layers of cultural clashes and sonic juxtapositions are intriguing, understanding Porcelain id needs an even deeper understanding of Hubert Tuyishime.

«I experienced a lot of different heartbreaks, and the way I dealt with them wasn’t necessarily healthy. The album does sound like the way I went through those hardships. It was a lot of ups and downs, and sometimes, I would be kinder to myself; other times, I wouldn’t.»

Born in Kigali, Rwanda, Tuyishime migrated to Belgium in 2007, accompanied only by the mother, as the Rwandan government prohibited the departure of the father and the sister. Hubert, however, could go because doctors could not diagnose their kidney disease. Following a dialysis treatment, a kidney transplantation was necessary at the age of 12—and countless hospital stays came with it.

In 2012, Tuyishime’s father and sister also came to Belgium. After several movements in social housing, the family is finally reunited.

Nevertheless, these traumatic, existential experiences shaped Hubert Tuyishime into the songwriter they are today: «It shaped me in many ways I’ve yet to understand or even be able to understand. I started writing consciously around 12 or 13. I spent a lot of time alone. Writing as a means of working through anything has shaped how I write and sound.»

Tuyishime describes their process as mood boarding: «I collect sounds, images, specific references to whatever situation it is, and I’ll just leave it at that. I’ve been working like this for so long that I also think like this. It’s almost borderline obsessive at times. But I guess if it’s always been a way of coping, there is no way that it doesn’t affect how I write in the future.»

Porcelain id’s challenge as a songwriter is not to get bored by themselves. Wanting to push further is engrained in their will, and they are not frightened by the abstract. «I could go as vague as anyone could ever be, but somehow, I have to be able to sound as if I mean what I’m saying—even if people actually have to listen to the lyrics, which is another thing. I’m not that hard to read. I think people make me much more complicated than I truly am…»

Why does Tuyishime think that?

«I came to this country, I got into whatever it is that the culture is, and that is perceived as truly strange. Hilarious.»

«It’s like Charlie Chaplin. If you only know the character, it’s hard to imagine there must be more. It seems very complicated when you see me light-hearted and happier and then hear certain stories or how the music sometimes sounds. It complicates the expectations people have.»

However, culturally, being in Belgium and very much into «what is perceived as Flemish music» also defies expectations towards the artist. Tuyishime deploys a bone-dry sense of humour when discussing their migration and assimilation into Belgian culture.

«It is hilarious. I came to this country, I got into whatever it is that the culture is, and that is perceived as truly strange. Hilarious. I assimilated as well as anyone could have done. But still, there’s no winners.»

«Obviously, people contain multitudes. I am not one thing. But lyrically, I’m still a poet first and a musician second. And I take the freedom to do whatever I like. But if you just read the lyrics, I do try to invite people. If I wanted to estrange people to my music I very much could, but I don’t think this album is that. There are very abrasive moments because that’s the song, because that was the thing going on in the sound.»

Tuyishime refers to Reach Me / Reaching Higher, the album’s most disruptive force, where Youniss goes all out on the beat created by Tuyishime. 

But it was not an attempt to irritate or estrange, but rather to set the stage for the album’s final song: «You could come out of a party on the worst day of your life, and that’s what it will sound like. And then you still have to get home, and that’s Lights! then. So, am I complex as a human? Probably. But musically, I’m not that hard to read.»

«The only thing I was building towards was making it as a musician. And when that goal seemed to move further away each month, things just fell apart. Literally, my identity just fell apart.»

Whether or not Porcelain id’s music is overcomplicated by people when they know the artist’s story, one thing remains true: Music is an indispensable coping mechanism for Hubert Tuyishime. And naturally, it comes at a personal risk of laying one’s soul bare in public.

«I have asked myself ever since I dreamed of standing in front of thousands and thousands of people: Why? Why bother even? I think it’s part of a dream that began when I realised you could be a performer. When I saw Michael Jackson’s Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough.»

Porcelain id admits the maybe unhealthy nature of this relationship to music and coping:

«It could be healthy, but there was a time when I quit making music because there was no other way I could cope. And life gets in the way of so many things, including making music. Then, for the first time, I hit the wall. For almost all my teenage years, the only thing I was building towards was making it as a musician. And when that goal seemed to move further away each month, things just fell apart. Literally, my identity just fell apart.»

«There must be other ways, hopefully… So, yeah… Don’t know, should as a psychologist probably.»

«So, I don’t know why I want to share music. But I’m hoping that getting older and working with others, seeing how others make music, and seeing their reasons why will help me mature to see music not only as a coping mechanism but also as a thing to share because it can help me connect to others and learn about their experiences.»

«It is an obsession; it very much is. I hope to get more out of it because I love the greatest moments when things go well on stage or I feel something from an audience. The singing together, no matter how bad or how out of fucking tune I am, mostly. I hope to find more of that. I feel like… I’m kind of done with just having it as a coping mechanism. There must be other ways, hopefully… So, yeah… Don’t know, should as a psychologist probably.»

But it is because of the difficult times that Tuyishime became a musician. When having to stay for extended times at the hospital, they attended music therapy—and music became the only true constant in their life.

«It must have been love at first sight. It’s unconditional. At the end of my teens, I thought: If I cannot make it as a musician, what’s the point? But I still made demos. I kept recording without knowing if it would become anything. It is an unconditional love.»

It would get tropically hot on this rainy Thursday night. And a surprisingly large and heterogeneous crowd rushed under umbrellas to the club Exil in Zurich. An evening with Son Mieux was about to go down. The band's heavily disco-styled sound attracted young and old, fashionable and boring business casual, united in their search to flee the dreary everyday life for a short moment.

Then again, the pull of Son Mieux is not too surprising. In the Netherlands, their home country, they will soon play their first stadium shows. A success like that is always going to spill over to other countries.

In the interview with Negative White, however, Son Mieux's mastermind, Camiel Meiresonne, looked forward to the more intimate shows on their European tour: «We can be a band with a big show and grand gestures. The gigs in Holland have become huge, so it's fun to play smaller venues again and find these smaller moments of intimacy.»

Asked what people might expect from their show in Zurich, Meiresonne said what he would sort of repeat on stage later: «We want people to feel that they can simply be whoever they want and feel whatever they want for that night. Life is everything between happy and sad, and I hope our concerts can be a place where you can feel all of it.»

But first, it was on Pat Burgener's shoulders to get the audience cooking. The active professional freestyle snowboarder from Lausanne, Switzerland, has been setting up an alternative career path in music since 2014 with remarkable success. And a portion of the crowd came just to see him.

«We met before, right,» Camiel Meiresonne asks on the other end of a video call from his hotel room in Budapest. «It was backstage at a picknick table, right?» The moment, the frontman of Dutch indie-pop sensation Son Mieux recalls, lays way in the past:

It was their first show abroad, at a small open-air in Switzerland in 2016.

«I do remember that gig. We had a little event for our crew and management about a month ago. We had a pub quiz, and there was a question about our first-ever gig abroad.»

Today, almost eight years later, Son Mieux are in a completely different place. In their home country, they sell out huge shows. Their second studio album, The Mustard Seed, was awarded an «Edison», the Dutch equivalent to the Grammys. Shortly after, they released the single Multicolor, which remained the number one spot for most airplay for eight weeks.

Son Mieux currently tours through Europe with concerts in major cities—also in Zurich's Exil club on February 22. Time to catch up before the show.

It has been a while since we last spoke, and a lot has happened for you and the band. Looking back, what are the most significant aspects?

The main thing is that we've actually truly become a band. Back in 2016, everything felt like a solo project. We had the live group, but I was writing and recording the songs. The records we've made and the shows we've played for the last couple of years we have been making as a group where everybody found its place.

Collaborating as a group also has evolved the music. Where things, in the beginning, were more acoustic stuff with electronics around it, now the sound is formed around the people that make up the band. We've been taking our time to find the right sound, the right stories, and the right people. If I look back now, we were not rushed to make it. Step by step, we found the place where we felt comfortable but still excited.

You already touched on the evolving sound. You have developed a certain vintage vibe, a lot of disco feeling. What is it about this sound that fascinates you?

We always look for ways to give our songs a twist. Most of the songs that we write are still folk songs. They are even a bit sad if you play them on an acoustic guitar or a piano. Their themes are not always only positive.

About two years ago, I wrote a piece about Spotify and the power of their product regarding design, where I compared the streaming primus with Apple Music. The conclusion then was easy: Spotify has simply the better experience.

However great the product might be, I still dislike the company. The decisions they have made in recent times are at odds with my values as a music enthusiast. Their payout model is abysmal. And yet, as someone writing about music and curating playlists, there is no way around the green goblin.

Also, as a music writer, I already pay for many music subscriptions: Spotify Duo (for my personal and Negative White’s account), Apple Music, and YouTube Music (bundled in with YouTube Premium). They amount to about $60 monthly—not an insignificant amount.

Having this arsenal of streaming services at hand, I once again started the journey of switching my primary service: Goodbye Spotify, hello Apple Music. It has been about a month, and here is what I learned.

Almost exactly five years ago, Moyka entered my life and playlists and never really left. In March 2019, the then-21-year-old Monika Engeseth released her debut single, Colder. After that, the Norwegian artist became a frequent subject in Negative White's reporting: eight times I featured one of her tracks in Weekly5—more than any other artists.

But in all those years, I have never been able to accurately capture my fascination for Moyka in words. Rereading the short reviews, they only scratch on the outer layers, unable to crack the code and bust open the door to reveal the answer.

The blame may fall onto the music itself: Moyka produces pop music, and that is precisely the opposite of what I usually love. However, between these addictively catchy melodies, there is a pinch of melancholy, even sadness, and a cinematic quality to her songs, coated with a Nordic frost.

Zurich, 8th of February. The day has finally come: It is Moyka's first concert in Switzerland. Marking the end of her first European tour, she would bring her sophomore album, Movies, Cars & Heartbreak (2023), to the stage.

After writing concert reviews for years, I still struggle, even dislike them—especially if the show was great. I believe people have a lifetime quota for superlatives in writing, and I have already used mine. You try to capture the vibe, and sometimes you succeed. But that is more often pure luck. A writer's happy accident.

And there is this other danger lurking: Anticipation. For months, I have been looking forward to the show; for years, I listened to the songs. What if the concert crumbles under the weight of imaginary expectations?

But I had a mission that night: Find the deeper roots of my fascination for Moyka.

There is something inherently unique about small-scale concerts. Around 30 people found their way to X-Tra Musikcafé that night—a relatively small crowd barely filling half of the already tiny venue. But each and every one wanted to be there.

The show started. Already Gone. Already goosebumps. 

The evening defied all challenges: The sound, light, and setlist were exceptional. It lasted an hour, but somehow, Moyka's meandering voice took us into a different dimension where time did not exist. Framed by two men on synthesisers and drums, she delivered a mesmerising, otherworldly vocal performance.

However, it was in between the songs that the pieces finally fell into place. «This evening is a space for big emotions,» Moyka told the audience.

Understanding Moyka means appreciating the duality of music and its inspiration. The Nordic crystalline sound of her ethereal pop creates a reserved distance. These angelic hymns seem larger-than-life, reducing one's existence to a tiny spec of dust in eternity. But underneath this cathedral-sized sound, undiluted emotion builds the foundation and pulls you back into the most profound definition of being human.

Once this connection bridges the gap, it all makes sense: We are capable of fiery love, despairing sadness, and profound gratitude. Moyka sounds large because our feelings are overwhelming. Her music becomes a catalyst for recognising and accepting these moments of emotional excessiveness.

I know you're holding your guard up
And I know that you think you're bad luck
But darling, that's not who you are to me
—Moyka - Rear View

Moyka led by example: There was no filter, no stage persona clouding her authenticity. She not only accepted but invited and embraced vulnerability. She spread pure joy. When two people in the audience kissed, her eyes lit up so bright they could convert the devil to a saint.

And we followed. We danced in tender escalation, closed our eyes and dreamed, revelled in delight, escaped reality and received catharsis.

What is an album worth in the age of streaming and playlist domination? The Parisian trio Keep Dancing Inc. released their sophomore album—A Taste of Possibility—and it might provide one potential answer to that question.

Louis de Marliave, Joseph Signoret, and Gabrielle Cressaux initially found each other through a shared love for acts like «LCD Soundsystem, Depeche Mode, and Palma Violets,» as de Marliave states in the album’s press release. Adding in a constant fascination for synthesizers, the Beatles’ harmonies, and electronic formations like New Order and Hot Chip, the trio’s sound is easily deciphered.

Entering the public spotlight with their debut album Embrace in 2020, the dance-pop band followed with an array of singles—as it is best practice today—culminating in the EP Can’ttrio’s Get You Out Of My Mind that features four out of the ten tracks on A Taste of Possibility.

Recorded during the pandemic’s height, the process differed from before: «We were working with a more stripped-back sound of just a synth, guitar and drums and found that we were much tighter as a band,» states bassist Joseph Signoret.

But it wasn’t just the songwriting process or the live recording that challenged Keep Dancing Inc. The trio embarked on entirely self-producing the record. The band’s collaborative spirit meant that everyone could pitch in: «Everyone brings ideas to the table that we work on together,» explains Signoret further in the press release.

Keep Shifting Inc.

All this information sets the backdrop for listening to A Taste of Possibility. And it seems the album’s title is already engraved as a prophecy for what to expect. Keep Dancing Inc., so the perception, took the possibilities quite literally and explored their sound in all directions.

It starts with 96, an eclectic instrumental track featuring heavy guitar work, fuzzy bass lines, and playful synth melodies, pulling back the curtain of what Keep Dancing Inc.’s sound entails. There’s just enough jam session flavour and drive to create something intriguing.

From there, we arrive at A Taste of Possibility, the album’s namesake song. To say that it sounds different from the opener would be a gross understatement. We are greeted by summer-warm pop, refined with a pinch of funk. It is an almost unbearably happy sound.

And the sound keeps shifting colours from there on out like a hyperactive chameleon: Murders Mourns Again, criticizing Western hypocrisy, is a fast-paced rock sound, housing a bit of surf vibe and post-punk ambience.

Followed by the slowly building synth-pop in Chinese Town, we arrive at the mellow Can’talbum’s Get You Out Of My Mind—a reflection of long-distance relationship and isolation, and the acoustic-guitar-dominated You’reCan’t My Healthiest Addiction.

GPS then throws another wrench with its garage sound—inspired by Let the Beat Hit’You’re Em by Tru Faith. The admittedly funny ballad Pollination Nation Invasion, telling us about the first time experiencing hay fever, is followed by the building pop composition in Tell Me Again, while Radio, the album’s most straightforward rock song, concludes A Taste of Possibility.

Individually Great—But Not Cohesive Enough

There is something exciting about artists willing to branch out, explore different styles, and chart untrampled routes through the sonic jungle. Nobody who truly cares about music wants an album with ten copy-pasted songs.

But with A Taste of Possibility, Keep Dancing Inc. unfortunately went too far with the concept of variability. The album feels disjointed, only held together by an underlying story of creation and first times for the band itself—a story that remains ominous to the uninitiated. It is simply not enough to throw a bunch of singles together and call it an album… even with the premise of that title. There must be an apparent thread and maybe even a sense of direction.

However harsh the criticism might be that Keep Dancing Inc. shot miles past the idea of an album, it is by no means a criticism of their songs individually. Individually, they are great, each in their own regard.

One might enjoy the overwhelming happiness and retro-pop vibe in A Taste of Possibility or Chinese Town. Others may find the instrumental opus 96 or the post-punkish Murderer Mourns Again, easily the album’s best tracks, an incentive to listen.

The album’s overdone variability means that many might find one or two tracks they like—and forget about the rest. And it ultimately remains sad that Keep Dancing Inc.’s second album—after a promising and cohesive picture provided in Embrace—went overboard with their sonic kaleidoscope.

Maybe At The Crossroads

You can now argue that today’s world doesn’t need cohesiveness anymore. Who even cares about albums when playlists are the main driver for music discovery? And I wouldn’t necessarily disagree with you. In such a world, it makes sense to create bolder variety.

But then, there’s no need for an album anymore: You gain more attention by steadily releasing singles throughout the year. However, Keep Dancing Inc. decided to bundle the songs nonetheless.

On the other hand, we can give this a positive spin: Maybe we see A Taste of Possibility in hindsight as an album that was searching for the future—heavily impacted by the departure of a former band member, the pandemic, and an urge to experiment. Keep Dancing Inc. states that the album feels like «a big milestone» in their careers.

Each of the record’s songs provides a potential outlook on where the band might be heading. «We’re already thinking about what’s next now, like maybe developing a more minimalist sound for the dancefloor. But for now, we’re just happy to continue defining what Keep Dancing Inc. is all about.»

With the best of intentions, you could see it as a canvas full of promising ideas. And as a cliffhanger for the band’s further adventures.

Keep Dancing Inc. – A Taste Of Possibility

Release: January 26, 2024

Bell Baronets are an independent rock band from Switzerland. The trio around guitarist Silvan Gerhard has been releasing music for over a decade—with the EP Mount Yeast Tapes (Side B) being their latest in 2022. They are a small band with currently 574 monthly listeners on Spotify.

However, a new EP suddenly appeared on Spotify and other streaming services. I Will Not Surrender with six new songs. Fans might have been excited, but there's a problem: It's not Bell Baronets.

«My brother wrote me because he had it in his Release Radar on Spotify,» Gerhard tells Negative White over the phone. «At first, I definitely was perplexed and also angry, but the more I think about it, the more I can laugh.» He made the fake EP public on the band's social media profiles.

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«I thought the EP got accidentally attributed to us, but then I listened to the songs, and it felt odd. It sounds like us, but not quite. The mix is pretty whack. The voice sounds different in every song,» Gerhard explains. After that, he suspected that it was AI-generated music.

So what happened exactly?

How The Scam Works

A combination of criminal energy and lacklustre controls enabled this fake EP to arrive at Bell Baronets' profiles. The ingredients for the scam are simple: Anyone can sign up for an aggregator like DistroKid. Aggregators act as interfaces to various streaming services like Spotify and ease the digital distribution for artists.

However, you can also attribute your uploaded music to any artist you like on these aggregators. Streaming services and aggregators assume that people naturally want to upload to their profiles.

But how do they get the money?

One would think uploading fake songs to another artist's profile is useless since the money would go to said artists. That's wrong in the case of aggregators since streaming services pay the aggregators, who then pay the people who uploaded the music. And that is, in the case of Bell Baronets, not them.

There is no check from aggregators or most streaming services if the upload, and by extension, the payout for those, are legitimate. These insufficient checks open the doors for scammers who probably deploy their scheme with thousands of artists to make it profitable.

Gerhard mentions that the EP wasn't uploaded to Apple Music as their upload policy is more strict.

«We Won't Be The Last Ones»

For Silvan Gerhard, it comes as little surprise that Bell Baronets were used for the scam. He reckons that the people behind it specifically target smaller bands because it's less likely to be discovered, and legal ramifications are unlikely. «We definitely won't be the last ones where this happens.»

«The insane thing is that I can't get these songs deleted easily,» he explains. It would require a lot of legal trouble, which Bell Baronets can not afford. Although the fake EP has meanwhile vanished from their artist's page on Spotify and moved to a new artist with the same name, there's still continuous damage. If you search for Bell Baronets, the fake songs are the first results.

«The whole AI thing is scary, but our example also shows that it's currently not possible to generate an entire EP with any sort of consistency,» Gerhard states. But he admits that it adds challenge for independent artists. According to his distributor, the AI-powered scams are also top-of-mind with Impala, the European indie association. He hopes there will be a solution soon.

While the incident is a nuisance for Silvan Gerhard, who earns his living as a session and live guitarist for several Swiss bands, he took the bull by its horns. He turned it into a good marketing opportunity and simultaneously raised awareness for the issues of AI music scams.