Decades into a career that transformed the soundscapes of Reggae and Dancehall, the Fireman’s energy remains untouched by time. As he prepares to return to the UK for his first full headline tour in over 13 years, we sat down to reflect on the spiritual discipline behind his legendary live performances, the enduring power of his Rastafarian faith, and why true music never dies.

Your upcoming tour in September follows a 13-year ban from performing in the UK. I know you’ve been back and done a couple of festival shows since, but what’s it like to have a whole tour in the UK coming up?

It’s a great joy, a good feeling, a great drive reconnecting with the fans, you know? Yeah, man, it’s a blessing. The time is now, so we just have to manifest and do what we’ve got to do to keep the people happy. It’s all about the fans, all about the culture and the music.

There’s a bit of a difference for an artist between a festival show and headline tour. What goes into the planning for that? What have you got coming up with this tour?

I’m all over the world, you know what I mean? So, I’m looking forward to this stop in England. It’s somewhere up close and personal. It’s not like a City Splash or a festival with 75,000 or 50,000–60,000. It’s a different kind of energy, a different kind of vibe—more intimate.

I was looking at the shows you did back in the 90s and 2000s. I think your last show before the ban was at Stratford Rex with Buju Banton and Taurus Riley, which must have been one of the most crazy, iconic shows. If it wasn’t that one, what was the most iconic show for you when you performed in the UK in those days?

There was an outdoor show—Cocoa Tea was at that show. When I was on stage, the sky was really dark. Then out of the blue, the sun just burst out of the sky. It was so mystic, people couldn’t believe it. It didn’t come out for long, it’s like the clouds just opened, the sun came out, and the whole place was brightened up for a couple of seconds, then it shut back up. People were talking about that for months. Even to this day, people still remind me about it. For real, it was a crazy show, very nice show. A lot of people, an outdoor show like a park.

That’s quite rare in the UK.

Very, very, very real. The UK fanbase is a very special fanbase. It’s just one of my biggest fanbases.

Why is that? Do you think it’s the heritage? Obviously, we have a lot of Jamaicans and other Caribbean cultures here.

Yeah, and I guess the culture, too. England people like positive music, you know, for over the years. They love Dancehall and everything, but the roots and culture—England thing that. People have been through struggles, the oppression systematically, and the music is the voice of the people. It speaks for the less fortunate, it speaks for the people that are oppressed systematically. It gives them soul, direction, and a sense of hope. Whenever there is despair, the music brings hope. Whenever there is sadness, music brings happiness. Wherever there is sorrow, the music will always bring joy. I guess it’s the music, the culture, the message, and everything.

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CKay has always been a master of translating raw emotion into infectious rhythm. With his latest project, the Nigerian singer, songwriter, and producer takes listeners on an intensely personal journey through heartbreak, chaotic nights out, and ultimate acceptance.

It is a storyline that begins with the initial sting of a breakup, spirals into a haze of wild indulgence and fleeting distraction, and eventually resolves in quiet clarity. From heavy-hitting Afrobeats and highlife bangers to unexpected genre fusions and heavyweight collaborations alongside Maleek Berry, Phyno, King Promise, and Mavo, CKay crafts a vivid chronicle of modern love and rebellion.

To mark the release, CKay sat down with VIPER to break down the meaning, inspiration, and story behind every single track on the record. Read on for his exclusive track-by-track commentary below.

NDA

“No Do Again” is a break up song. I came to a point where a love that gave me great happiness started to give me even greater pain. Sometimes, good things go bad and they have to come to an end. The whole album story arc begins from this moment. I go on to tell the story of my rebellion against love and how I tried to replace it with indulgence only to end up with another broken heart and more what-ifs.

BODY (danz) ft Mavo

This is about me being heartbroken and overwhelmed by a lot of negative experiences and wanting to party it all away. Mavo came through with a fire verse as well. one of my most out-of-the-box collaborations and one of the most interesting. It’s a song about liberating your soul and surrendering to the dance floor.

AFRICAN GIRLS ft kidd carder

African girls got nyash. African boys like nyash. No truer words have been spoken. African women deserve everything good in life because they are special and beautiful. This is a song that celebrates that.

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Few anthems define the sonic landscape of UK underground club culture quite like “Go.” Originally Released in 2007 during the peak of the UK Funky movement, the track’s enduring magnetism has crossed generations, recently experiencing a massive second life driven by viral digital rediscovery and a brand-new live orchestral reimagining. But behind the iconic vocal is Malika—formerly known as Meleka—a vocalist, songwriter, and businesswoman whose roots in the UK music scene run extraordinarily deep.

Born into a music family with lineage spanning pirate radio operators and Lovers Rock icons, Malika’s journey is a masterclass in creative patience, industry literacy, and artistic evolution. From navigating contract law as a teenager to retaining 100% ownership of her master recording, she represents a rare bridge between the physical era of UK club culture and today’s algorithm-driven landscape. VIPER caught up with Malika to discuss inheriting the culture, the true meaning of legacy, and why she is only just getting started.

Your relationship with music began before your own career—from your father running Time Radio in North West London to your aunt Sonia Ferguson recording Lovers Rock. Looking back, do you feel you chose music, or were you inheriting a cultural language passed down through your family?

100%, I inherited it. There was no choice; I had no choice [laughs].

UK Funky grew through clubs, pirate radio, DJs, and communities before the mainstream fully understood what was happening. Having lived inside that movement rather than discovering it retrospectively, what do you think gets misunderstood when people tell the history of UK Funky today, and who or what risks being erased when an underground culture becomes a documented genre?

That’s a big question. I think the misconception is partly in the idea of it being “mainstream.” Funky has always lived in a space of penetrating the masses without ever fully crossing the line into a mainstream ecosystem the way Grime or Garage did. There are maybe five core Funky songs that everybody knows, but even within this resurgence, there are so many tracks. The misconception is that Funky “made it,” but it really hasn’t had its full moment yet. It’s very interesting that ‘Go’ has been at the forefront of this new resurgence for me personally.

The first life of ‘Go’ required you to physically travel around the country promoting it, building relationships with DJs, radio stations, and audiences. Its second life has seen it reach number one on TikTok and surpass 120,000 daily streams. Having lived on both sides of that technological shift, have artists gained greater freedom through algorithms, or lost something important in how cultural movements used to be built?

In my opinion, it’s all the same. The way people discover music now is the same way they discovered it back in the day. You might get hot on pirate radio or in your local area, and then that filters through to other areas. Now, you might get hot on TikTok or Instagram, and it filters through. One is digital and one is physical, but both require you to put boots on the ground and do the work repeatedly—whether handing out CDs back then or posting online now.

You’ve said ‘Go’ truly belongs to the culture, which creates an interesting paradox because you also wrote, sang, and retained ownership of it. What has 17 years taught you about the difference between owning a record legally and allowing the community to own it emotionally?

What I’ve learned is that my personal experience of ‘Go’ and Funky House isn’t the important part. The only thing that really matters is that because I own it 100%, I have 100% of the responsibility to honour how important it is to everybody else. The journey of ‘Go’ hasn’t been simple, but it taught me that I’m just a conduit for the song for everybody else.

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Flanked by unreleased vault drops, West Coast funk alliances, and genre-defying electronic crossovers, whether you’re mapping out soundtracks for late-night city drives or building out your weekend rotation, we have your essential curation sorted.

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Whether you’re mapping out soundtracks for late-night city drives or building out your weekend rotation, we have your essential curation sorted.

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TOME isn’t afraid to go where it hurts. Blending Afro, Alté, R&B, and Pop, the Nigerian-Canadian singer-songwriter crafts sonic landscapes built on vivid narrative storytelling—often stepping entirely outside of herself to tell the stories of those around her.

From navigating technical hitches on stage with Wizkid to channelling personal grief into artistic rebirth following the loss of her father, TOME moves through the music industry with grounded honesty and unwavering poise. We caught up with the multi-hyphenate artist and actor to discuss stage highlights, vulnerability in her writing, and why true success simply comes down to peace of mind.

What five words define your sound?

Fusion, Afro, Rnb, Alte, Pop

Tell me something unique about your creative process

I love writing stories. Sometimes my songs really have nothing to do with me more so than an experience I witnessed or heard of.

Which song of yours would you like people to hear first?

Right now… I’d say ‘CC’ featuring Alpha P.

What inspired you to make that song?

DETTY December. Long distance romances.

What’s the most vulnerable you’ve allowed yourself to be when writing/making music?

Extremely. I’ve written about things from deepest levels of heartbreak and loss, as well as my intrusive / dark thoughts. I’m pretty honest with myself and I don’t shy away from expressing it in my music.

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Whether you’re mapping out soundtracks for late-night city drives or building out your weekend rotation, we have your essential curation sorted.

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For Omar Guetfa, making music isn’t about creating background noise—it’s about building entire audio worlds that demand intentional listening. Based in Austin, Texas, the producer has quietly helped craft some of the most striking sounds in modern rap, including the standout production on Don Toliver, Justin Bieber, and Future’s ‘Private Landing’.

In this edition of Sonic Architects, Omar discusses the struggle to keep your authentic voice intact on major records, why he believes a little gatekeeping in production might not be a bad thing, and the art of making vivid, dark, and imperfect beats.

Firstly, briefly introduce yourself: What’s your name? Where are you from? How would you describe your production style?

My name is Omar Guetfa, and I’m based in Austin, Texas. The beats I feel closest to are vivid, dark, and imperfect.

What would you say are the most popular beats you’ve created?

Most definitely Private Landing and Hitek Tek. There’s also a record I did for Gunna with Marshmello that made its way around leak communities (booo).

What is your favourite song that you’ve worked on and why?

Private Landing. When music passes through so many hands, your voice can get lost in the mix. Samples get chopped, keys get added.

But with Private Landing, the sample I made was preserved—BPM, key, arrangement. Everything I created is in there, speaking for me. We fight so hard to have our voices cut through, and that’s one where I helped define the sound of the track.

Grateful to Cardo, Derek, Sickamore, and Rob for hearing the kid out.

Do you think that production software becoming more accessible is a positive or negative thing for music? Why?

From my limited perspective as a guest in the rap space, I think it’s a double-edged sword. A lot of the originators of rap come from lower socioeconomic backgrounds, so removing that financial barrier to entry is ultimately a net positive. We need more voices from those communities to continue defining the genre.

On the other hand, it’s harder to gate-keep, and I believe some gatekeeping is good. Seeing the producing space get diluted by people who only superficially embody the culture can be tough.

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Today’s curation is anchored by major global project milestones connecting Lagos, London, and the West Coast, flanked by an extraordinary lineup of powerhouse R&B collaborations, high-octane rap links, and club-shaking electronic cuts.

Whether you are looking for late-night soul sanctuaries or high-volume street anthems, we have your essential weekend curation sorted.

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For an artist finding their footing, vulnerability can be a daunting prospect. But for Jososick, it is the exact tool he used to craft his debut project, ‘SickNote’. Stepping away from the traditional constraints of 140 to explore more melodic, reflective avenues, he is proving that musical freedom yields the best results.

Inspired by the versatility of early grime blueprints like Kano’s Home Sweet Home, Jososick’s approach is meticulous, relying on a cycle of drafting and reflecting until the sound is exactly where it needs to be. In this instalment of Viper Presents, we catch up with him to discuss stage mishaps at Outlook Festival, breaking the mould, and why true success is a mindset rather than a material goal.

What five words define your sound?

Mellow, Charming, Diverse, Reflective, Smooth

Tell me something unique about your creative process

I’m an avid fan of drafts and demo’s, especially with ‘SickNote’, I had previously recorded each song as a demo to get a feel of how it would sound. I tend to make drafts and reflect on them then redo them until they’re perfect. It’s time consuming and not the most productive use of time I guess but it works for me for now.

Which song of yours would you like people to hear first?

I’m stuck between ‘I like’ and ‘different’… If I had to choose between the two I think I’d choose ‘different’.

What inspired you to make that song?

At the time when I wrote it I was experimenting with more melodic aspects of 140 as a genre, I was finding my personal sound and I was drawn to different sounds … well, different compared to what people would usually expect from me. This song was a statement of me realising I don’t have to fit the typical mould and I can thrive being myself.

What’s the most vulnerable you’ve allowed yourself to be when writing/making music?

Throughout this whole project, I think there was a conscious effort to allow myself to be more vulnerable. Due to it being my debut release I wanted people to get to know me more. I was very open during this process and I feel its displayed throughout my storytelling, particularly on songs such as toxic traits and imma be alright.

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This week’s dispatch is anchored by a colossal moment for UK rap history, alongside high-stakes transatlantic link-ups, heavyweight New York drill projects, and an extraordinary wave of avant-garde R&B and club-ready electronic heaters.

Whether you are scoring late-night city drives or building out your weekend function playlists, we have your essential curation sorted.

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Music has always been at the core of Uncle Bubu’s identity, but the shift from playing sound to intentionally controlling it is where the real transformation lies. For the UK-born, Lagos-based DJ and curator, reading a room isn’t about following a rigid tracklist—it’s an intuitive, real-time conversation between the booth and the floor.

In this edition of Sound Controllers, we sit down with Uncle Bubu to discuss how relocating across continents sharpened his creative hunger, the rise of new DJ technologies, and the art of allowing yourself to evolve in public.

What inspired you to start DJing, and how has your journey evolved over the years?

Music has always been at the centre of my life. I grew up in a home where it was constantly present. Both my parents loved music, and it became part of my identity from a very young age. Over time, my relationship with music became more intentional. What started as a love for sound evolved into a deeper commitment to understanding how music moves people. My journey hasn’t been linear. It’s been wild, challenging, and eye-opening. But the most important thing is that I’ve remained open to learning and adapting. Every phase has shaped me into a more grounded and intentional artist.

Can you describe the creative process behind selecting tracks for your sets?

I don’t follow a rigid formula. For me, the process starts with arriving early at the venue and feeling the room before I even touch the decks. I observe the crowd, the mood, the energy, the environment. My goal is to take people on a journey. It’s not just about playing songs, it’s about guiding emotions. I don’t over-plan my sets. I trust my preparation and my instincts. I come with my library ready, my mashups ready, but the real magic happens in the moment. I let the crowd tell me what they need, and I respond in real time.

How do you stay connected with your audience while performing, and what role does that connection play in your sets?

Connection is everything to me. Beyond DJing, I curate events and build communities, so I’m intentional about making people feel seen and involved. I interact with the crowd, invite people closer to the booth, and create moments that feel shared rather than distant. I’m building a culture around my sound through community, through experiences, and even through merch. When people feel connected to you, they don’t just listen to your music, they experience it with you.

In your opinion, what is the most significant change in the music scene since you began your career?

Social media has changed everything. It has shortened attention spans, sped up trends, and made artists and DJs more accessible than ever. The barrier to entry is lower, but the competition is higher. At the same time, it has forced creativity to evolve. Artists now have to think not just about sound, but about how their art lives digitally. With AI and new technologies emerging, we’re only at the beginning of another massive shift.

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Few figures have shaped the trajectory of modern sneaker culture quite like Sean Wotherspoon. From co-founding the archival powerhouse Round Two to shifting the global design landscape with his legendary corduroy Nike Air Max 1/97, Wotherspoon’s career is a masterclass in treating streetwear as living history. His approach relies entirely on depth of knowledge—an education built not in classrooms, but through decades of meticulous vintage sourcing.

Now, as KLEKT’s Chief Community Curator, Wotherspoon is pivoting his sharp eye for storytelling toward a new multi-platform media project. Sole Stories champions the narrative weight behind the footwear we collect, focusing on the character, memories, and personal histories that give a sneaker its life. With Season 1 capturing the distinct energy of Los Angeles alongside cultural heavyweights like Ben Baller and Mike Cherman, Season 2 sees production shift across the globe to the capital of archival obsession: Tokyo.

For the latest instalment of our Creative Profile Series, Viper caught up with Sean Wotherspoon to talk about maintaining his dedication to plant-based, sustainable design with global powerhouses, the meticulous hand-drawn aesthetic of his new show, and why the sneaker community in Japan feels like a spiritual homecoming.

Your new weekly social series with KLEKT is built around the ethos,”Every sole has a soul.” How do you personally define the “soul” of a sneaker, and how has that perspective shaped your journey from a collector to a global designer?

To me, the soul of a sneaker is everything from the story behind the design, where they have been, personal stories the owner has, anything that could give them life and character. This way of thinking has been important for me because it allows my mind to see beyond the obvious and find areas of untapped potential whether that’s for design, etc.

Sole Stories focuses on “one guest, one pair, one story that changed everything.” Looking back at your own career—including your landmark Nike “Vote Forward” Air Max 1/97 design in 2017—what is the single pair of sneakers that holds the most defining story for you?

It’s really difficult for me to pick one pair. If you’re talking straight up impact, undeniably the Air Max were a game changer for me.

You are known for seamlessly blending streetwear culture with sustainable design principles, using natural materials and ethical collaborations. How challenging is it to maintain that dedication to sustainability when collaborating with massive global powerhouses like adidas Originals, ASICS, and Nike?

Yeah actually thank you so much for touching on this. I wouldn’t say difficult, but it’s a fun challenge [laughs]. I take a lot of pride in entering rooms with these massive companies and somehow finding a way to incorporate sustainability or my plant based diet in the projects. Honestly, it would be too easy without this added challenge, I love it.

WATCH EPISODE 1

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This week’s dispatch brings an absolute windfall of monumental studio albums and highly anticipated link-ups that challenge structural boundaries across the global landscape. We have definitive West Coast blueprints, high-fashion UK rap, boundary-pushing electronic garage extensions, and some of the finest contemporary R&B writing to grace our speaker systems all year.

Whether you are scoring late-night city drives or soundtracking afternoon link-ups, we have your essential weekend curation sorted.

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The ultimate test of any dance music producer is the ability to channel complex, heavy human emotions into a groove that unifies a crowded room. Johannesburg’s own Vanco has mastered this delicate balance, engineering a signature sound that is simultaneously bittersweet, emotional, and profoundly uplifting.

From massive collaborative records like Ma Tnsani (Yalla Habibi) and Wele Wele to his globally revered, unofficial edit of Water—which was born out of deep personal adversity—Vanco treats music production as a vital vessel for storytelling. For this edition of our Sonic Architects feature, the South African DJ and producer steps out from behind the decks to discuss his upcoming summer anthems, the legendary masterminds who influence his sonic palette, and why accessibility in music technology is a win for creative freedom.

Firstly, briefly introduce yourself.

I’m Vanco, a DJ and producer from Johannesburg, South Africa. I’d describe my music as bittersweet, emotional, and uplifting. I always try to create music that makes people feel something while still bringing them together on the dancefloor.

What would you say are the most popular beats you’ve created?

My favourite project is probably my ‘Water (Vanco Edit)’. It was never an official release—I made it simply because I loved the original song and wanted a version that fit perfectly into my DJ sets.I created it in January 2024 during one of the most challenging periods of my personal life. The music became an expression of everything I was feeling. I never expected it to reach so many people around the world, but it ended up putting a spotlight on my music.

That edit also inspired the sound that eventually became ‘Ma Tnsani (Yalla Habibi)’. What makes me happiest is seeing people celebrate life, travel, friendships, and special moments with my music. That’s what music is all about for me

What is your favourite song that you’ve worked on and why?

Some of my biggest records are ‘Ma Tnsani (Yalla Habibi)’ featuring Aya, ‘Isaka (6AM) (Vanco Remix)’, and ‘Wele Wele’ with Pablo Fierro and Una Rams.

Do you think that production software becoming more accessible is a positive or negative thing for music?

It’s definitely a positive. Music should be accessible to everyone because creativity is a form of freedom. The more people who create, the more we learn from each other, connect through music, and inspire new ideas.

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This week’s dispatch delivers an absolute goldmine of genre-blurring sonic world-building: groundbreaking collaborations connecting London with Kingston, historic supergroup extensions, and a deeply competitive field of essential new long-form projects from the local scene and global mainstays.

Whether you are mapping out soundtracks for late-night summer drives or tracking raw, unadulterated street stories, we have your rotation sorted.

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True longevity in music requires a foundation that outlives any internet trend. At just 23 years old, Zee Nxumalo has already conquered the charts, earning the title of the highest-streamed female artist in South Africa for 2025 and pulling in over 60 million streams for her smash hit Mamma. Yet, on her latest EP Izinja Zam, the Johannesburg-based vocalist deliberately turns inward.

Anchored by the cinematic pulse of 3-Step and the spiritual grounding of tracks like Guqa and Bawo, the project showcases the woman behind the accolades—vulnerable, faithful, and fiercely resolute. Fresh off a major UK press run and a global stage at Afro Nation this past week, Nxumalo joins us to discuss navigating viral success, building female-led ecosystems in music, and why South African stories never need to be diluted for international ears.

Your EP ‘Izinja Zam’ is described as a very deliberate, structured body of work that turns inward compared to your earlier high-energy records. What inspired you to pivot toward themes of vulnerability, spirituality, and reflection at this specific point in your life?

I think it came from growth. The last few years have been amazing, but they’ve also taught me a lot about myself. People often see the performances, the streams and the success, but there’s another side to the journey that’s more personal. I wanted this project to reflect that. I wanted people to hear the woman behind the artist. The vulnerability, the gratitude, the faith and the lessons. It felt like the right time to be more honest with my audience and show a deeper side of who I am.

The opening track ‘Bawo’ and the focus single ‘Guqa’ both carry strong spiritual themes, with ‘Guqa’ framing kneeling in prayer as a strategy and an act of strength rather than submission. Can you talk about how your personal faith and spiritual alignment guided the creation of this project?

Faith has always been a big part of my life. As my career grows, I’ve realised even more how important it is to stay grounded spiritually. For me, prayer isn’t something you do when things go wrong. It’s part of the strategy. It’s where I find clarity, strength and peace. Songs like Bawo and Guqa came naturally because they reflect real conversations I have with God. I wanted to remind people that surrendering doesn’t make you weak. Sometimes it’s the strongest thing you can do.

Sonically, the EP uses 3-Step as its structural backbone alongside Amapiano. What is it about the pulse of 3-Step that allowed you to tell these deeper, more cinematic stories?

There’s something emotional about 3-Step. It still has rhythm and movement, but it creates space for storytelling, space for melodies and space for feeling. When we started building the project, I realised those textures allowed me to express emotions in a way that felt bigger and more cinematic. It carries energy, but it also carries emotion, which made it the perfect foundation for the stories I wanted to tell.

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The power of music lies in its ability to construct worlds where physical borders cease to exist. For Lana Lubany, this isn’t just an artistic philosophy—it is a lived reality. Since her breakthrough track THE SNAKE seamlessly fused English and Arabic, the London-based artist has pioneered a haunting, avant-garde soundscape where ancient heritage and hyper-modern, bass-heavy production sit in perfect harmony.

Refusing to smooth out her edges for mainstream palatability, Lubany’s music serves as a sanctuary for the diaspora and a masterclass in world-building. Following a string of high-profile live dates—from Wembley Arena to touring with The Last Dinner Party—and a crucial partnership with AWAL, she is proving that absolute creative autonomy is the ultimate currency.

We spoke with the vocalist and songwriter to dissect bilingual rhythms, late-night intensity, and the necessity of protecting your true voice.

Your breakthrough track ‘THE SNAKE’ was a pivotal moment where you first merged English and Arabic (Arabizi). From a Rap and lyrical perspective, how did shifting into a bilingual delivery change the rhythm, flow, and cadence of your bars?

Adding another language to my writing unlocked a new perspective plus a new instrument. I feel like different parts of your personality come out in different languages. My Arabic wasn’t as strong as my English, so I couldn’t rely on a wide vocabulary or complicated descriptions. I had to keep things simple and find creative ways to connect ideas and build metaphors that communicated what I was trying to say.

Sometimes a phrase hits harder in Arabic because it carries an emotion or attitude that doesn’t really translate, and vice versa in English. They work so well symbiotically. Once I stopped treating language as a boundary and started treating it as part of the production itself, everything changed. It opened up new rhythms, new melodies, new flows and new ways of telling a story.

Your production heavily blends traditional sounds with avant-garde dark R&B, trap textures, and heavy bass. How do you approach the studio to ensure the ancient and the hyper-modern sit together without losing that raw, underground edge?

Everything starts with emotion. If the emotion is honest, the sounds can come from completely different worlds and still feel cohesive. I grew up between cultures, so hearing an Arabic melodic influence over dark bass-heavy production feels natural to me because that’s how my life feels. I think the underground edge comes from trusting my instincts rather than trying to make those influences more palatable or commercial. It all comes from my soul, from the elements that make me me.

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This week’s curation is anchored by two massive, highly anticipated full-length milestones: an uncompromised rage-trap blockbuster from Atlanta and a definitive, deeply conceptual magnum opus that signals a brand-new “post-drill” era for UK rap. Alongside these major statements, we have explosive dancehall link-ups, heavyweight street collaborations, and an exceptional wave of introspective soul and late-night R&B.

Whether you are scoring your weekend night drives or looking for raw, narrative depth, we have your rotation sorted.

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Hailing from East Atlanta, Eahluri is an artist operating entirely on their own frequency. Blending the ethereal and whimsical with the grit of the block, their sound is a brilliant contradiction—unfiltered, deeply soulful, and completely authentic. Fueled by a creative process that waits on the psychedelic and a profound loyalty to community and the memory of their friend Lil Yo, Eahluri’s music isn’t just a career; it’s a life-altering turning point.

Fresh off out-performing headliners and seeing a life-changing DistroKid notification just as things were reaching a breaking point, Eahluri is focused on the ultimate goal: building generational wealth and leaving an indelible mark on the culture.

We sat down with the East Atlanta native to talk about their standout track ‘No Hook 222’, putting their soul into the music, and why they are here forever.

What five words define your sound?

Authentic

Ethereal

YOVERLY

Whimsical

DOUBLEM

Tell me something unique about your creative process

I jus’ wait until the shrooms kick in.

Which song of yours would you like people to hear first?

‘No Hook 222’

What inspired you to make that song?

My friend Lil Yo

What’s the most vulnerable you’ve allowed yourself to be when writing/making music?

It’s no limits, I put my soul, sweat, and tears

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