Relinquishing Hope & Seeking Truth

Your recent body of work Euthanasia Party / Twenty Seven centralizes the themes of death and loss, with the title presumably as a nod to the 27 Club and the popular artists who lost their lives at this age. Has there been a particular event has lead you to reflect upon death in this way?

In London, in 2007, there were 26 young people who were shot or killed in the capital. The years either side of it were equally violent, but so many friends were robbed or rushed or stabbed or mobbed or shot at, such that it became part of daily life. This period of time really had an impact on the way I approached life, friends and acquaintances were falling like flies and so it was almost as if, perhaps as a defense mechanism, I learnt to appreciate life as a fleeting thing. Live for the moment, appreciate the people around you and do what the fuck you want. Feel no guilt; it's your one and only life that could be snatched away from you in a heartbeat. 2017 marks a decade from that period in time, and London has changed and so too has my relationship to life and sex and death. I wanted to document that change and do so in a way that honors previous iterations of myself, whilst also cementing the passions and desires of my present self. EP27 was the project that enabled me to do that, and it's probably my proudest work to date.

The Poetry Session event you hosted at Boiler Room HQ in London earlier this month saw some great performances from young, London-based poets including yourself, Soph LS and Abondance Matanda. Is there a strong sense of community within the poetry and spoken word scene in London or do you have to dig deep to find these emerging talents?

It's funny because I don't necessarily think of myself as being part of a "scene", and if so then certainly not part of a spoken word scene. I think the main thing that links me to the poets that I choose to work with on the sessions and other projects is a shared philosophy or appreciation for a certain creative ideal. The poetry sessions are a space for writers and musicians to try things out and collaborate and exist in a space that is intended to give way to nihilism. Those who enter are either already there, ideologically speaking, by way of declaration or rather more subtly are showing alignment with this idea through the content, form and delivery of their work. I tend to find that I am drawn to these sorts of people. They are rare, so when I see them I snap them up! Anyone who shows any inclination towards rebellion against social or ethical or creative norms is someone whose perspective I want to hear and all the poets at these sessions are those kinds of people.

Poetry by minorities have traditionally fallen into the category of “politics” and/or “sociology,” Do you view the internet as being an important tool in opening up this narrow view of poetry and the voices within it?

I don't know if the Internet is changing the fact that some people still view work by minority (disclaimer: I hate the term "minority") writers as living purely within those categories, if they even do. For me there is no one social or ethnic group which has a monopoly on poetry and so from my perspective it exists as a meritocracy, where those who have the most engaging work are granted the accolade and the plaudits, despite their background identity (personally, not in terms of national awards or honors, only in my estimation here). Again, that is only my perspective and I'm very aware that everyone does not share this perspective, in particular maybe those in decision-making positions. So when publishers or literature festival promoters do their outreach, they may still impose distinctions knowing that particular Tumblr blogs or YouTube channels or whatever the medium may be, features younger writers, black writers or gay writers and they still go about conducting their business with these individuals in the same way. I almost think it can't be helped to a great extent, so I just do my own thing and people can categorize it however they want to.

There’s a rather beautiful but perhaps romanticized idea of poetry being the least popular and packageable medium and the freedom of expression that this affords. How do you view this in line with your own work?

I'd say that as a poet who has worked on commissions for other people, it could be quite lucrative at times. I suppose in comparison with other forms of literature and performance there may be less demand for it, but within certain pockets it's demand is concentrated and if you're able to find that niche then you'll be just fine. I guess it could be argued that poetry exists in many places and is popular with many people in forms they may not recognize. Many adverts and their associated copy rely on poetic forms for their structures and pop songs and plays use rhyme and rhythm in ways not too dissimilar from the ways in which poets use these devices in their work.

With this in mind, it’s interesting that you acknowledge the constraints of poetry as a medium, given the hierarchy of elite poets in your piece A Real Poem. It’s great to see a poet turning poetry on its head and examining the inordinate importance placed upon stuffy traditions. Was there an element of wanting to encourage more young people and more diverse voices into poetry in this?

I think that it was less about encouraging others as it was about encouraging myself, to continue pushing the boundaries for the sake of allowing me more freedom to explore and experiment. There are expectations on writers from certain backgrounds to think and work in a particular way, and as a writer from such a background, there are opportunities that may not be thought suitable for me because of the assumptions that people have made about me by looking at me rather than at my work and in the same breath, people will offer me things that really don't suit for the same basic reason. It's more of a critique of identity politics and the ways in which some people look to absolve their guilt through tokenism as much as it is a dig at anything else which it may address.

You wrote a really great essay on empathy and the disproportionate value society places upon it. Were you suggesting that an attempt at empathizing with others actually leads to complacency with regards to social issues, rather than an attempt to change things?

Not as such. I subscribe to a school of thought known as psychological egoism, which states that all human behavior is fundamentally motivated by self-interest and as such; an individual's intentions are made evident by their actions. Empathy is not an action, in the way that many people think it is, empathizing is not something you physically do. It is merely a thought exercise. Calls for empathy will not bring about the sort of change that people who call for it will want to see, as I illustrated in the essay it is possible to empathize with someone and still do something that individual finds to be distasteful. Empathy, like love, is immeasurable and therefore a weak mechanism for judging the will or intentions of a given individual.

In your 5X15 talk, you tackle the idea of intolerance on the left, something that is particularly pertinent and very much needed in the current political landscape and one that resonates strongly within the US as well. Do you feel hopeful that opening up these important discussions will lead to change?

I don't know if the change people talk about, often in broad brushstrokes, is what I'm passionate about. I'm almost apolitical, having dedicated a lot of emotion and time and energy to conversations and actions in the name of change in times past, only to realize that there are some things in life that never will. There will always be winners and losers in any situation involving the desires of large groups of people who are bound by a shared geography rather than a shared ideal, as within nations. I think that I have forfeited hope for something else, stoic acceptance maybe, with a deterministic worldview it's almost as if I accept some things will always be against the favor of someone or other. I just know that what I do is all I have responsibility for, not the actions of others, be they politicians or policymakers in other realms. I do what I can to look after those that I care about in more direct and acute ways, micro rather than macro and therefore detached from the wider "political landscape" in some ways.

Much of what you do offers a snapshot into London life, is it important for you to share stories and experiences which are specific to your geographic location over touching upon more global or universal themes?

I think it happens almost by default in my case. I also don't think the two are mutually exclusive. London and the lifestyle here serves as the lens through which I view the world and its inhabitants, but the themes of death and self-determination and sexuality are all universal themes, so it's the ability to ground my writing in my own experience, but to build monuments that can be seen from afar by virtue of the skill employed in constructing them as works of art that offer an insight into the broader human experience.

Culture

The Club Is Coming to the Stage

We enter and make our way to what is approximately front left of the DJ booth, where we’re accustomed to dancing at clubs in New York. “So is this a techno club or a dance performance?” yells an uncertain participant in my boyfriend’s ear. He laughs, bouncing along to Ben UFO, and yells back, “It’s both!” The club has long been a hot topic in European contemporary dance but it is only now making its way into New York performance venues, largely through transatlantic tours. R.O.S.E. follows recent examples like Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1 (May 2024), (LA)HORDE’s Room with a View at NYU Skirball (October 2023), and Gisèle Vienne’s Crowd at BAM (October 2022).

Do these performances compromise the club’s spirit — a space idealized for its anonymity, dark lighting, and thundering music? The notion of the club as a utopian escape is admittedly just that — an ideal — because of how its intense conditions can create barriers to entry. Still, the club remains sacred for many, a place to forge connections and embrace an alternative state of being. Looking at how performances transfer this spirit to new settings reveals what aspects of the club are essential and those that aren’t.

Sharon Eyal, R.O.S.E. 2024. Photography by Stephanie Berger, courtesy of Park Avenue Armory.

Eyal’s dancers make their entrance. The lighting shifts from roving blue to yellow spotlights as Ben UFO’s tracks transition to more melodic beats. Clad in deconstructed lace Dior lingerie with dark red tears painted on their faces, the dancers move cautiously in a tightly maintained pack, slicing paths through the horde with hoof-like steps and jerky leg extensions. After around ten minutes of this controlled choreography, the dancers vanish as the lighting shifts back to blue and Ben UFO picks up his dubby beats. The club, as we knew it, resumes. This cycle of tightly executed movements and free-flowing club-goers repeats several times, each time emboldening the dancers to plunge further into the crowd.

Clubbing in a building once built for the U.S. Army National Guard on Manhattan’s Upper East Side turns out to be surprisingly successful — at least for the audience. What starts as an awkward, scattered group searching for their non existent seats gradually gels into an engaged, bouncing crowd that erupts in cheers each time the dancers enter and exit. Performance patrons who might never step foot in a club find themselves swept up in its potential for communion, moving in unison with fellow ticket holders. But it isn’t until the very end of R.O.S.E. that the dancers finally break free from Eyal’s choreography and join the fired-up audience in a brief moment of improvisatory movement with the music. By keeping her dancers at arm’s length, Eyal seems more interested in the club as a backdrop for her signature movement style than wholly as a space with meaningful stories to be told.

Michele Rizzo, HIGHER xtn. 2024. Photography by Cameron Kelly courtesy of MoMA PS1.

Back in May, I attended Wire Festival, a multiday electronic music event at Knockdown Center that had no shortage of organically united dancefloors. It attracted a crowd of seasoned ravers who were eager to celebrate the start of spring as they danced alongside DJs who played well into the daylight. I left Wire in an afternoon daze to see Michele Rizzo’s HIGHER xtn. at MoMA PS1. My sleepless euphoria only deepened as the performance unfolded, starting with a lone dancer who looked plucked out of the festival.

The dancer, dressed in sneakers, baggy jeans, and a tight tank top, shuffled slowly into the gallery, perfectly in sync with the looping bars of an understated electronic melody. Soon, other dancers, clad in the same staple rave uniform, joined him — each having traveled from Europe for the U.S. museum debut of HIGHER xtn., which premiered at the Stedelijk in Amsterdam in 2018 and quickly became a fixture at kunsthalles and festivals across the continent. As the score’s tempo climbed, the choreography locked into a 16-count sequence, which the dancers executed with precise synchrony. They remained intensely focused, never making eye contact with each other, as they sought release in the endless repetition of synthesized beats. Once the dancers reached their limit, they stopped the sequence and exited the gallery, one by one.

HIGHER xtn. used the focused daylight of the gallery to highlight the meditative release found in the repetitive movements that dominate dark dancefloors. The performance’s restraint brought more consistency and intentionality than Eyal’s all-encompassing club construction in R.O.S.E. Yet both performances offer enticing entry points into club culture for those who may not frequent raves. Rizzo’s ecstatic, hypnotic repetitions reveal how the club can mirror other meditative practices, while Eyal’s interpolation of performance and clubbing helped hesitant audience members blossom by the end. Still, both works overlook one of the most underappreciated aspects of clubbing — its potential for individual expression. HIGHER xtn.’s pristine uniformity especially risks promoting the outdated techno trope that there’s a “right” way to dance to electronic music.

Maybe this shortcoming is, in fact, a benefit. For habitual ravers jaded by one too many sunrise sets, it’s a reminder to return to the club with more intention. If you pause and peer through the darkness, you’ll see hundreds of people moving to the same beat, each with their own subtle variations. This collective choreography is a ready-made spectacle that doesn’t need validation in a theater or museum. And when the music shifts slightly, you can watch the ripple effect sweep through the crowd while feeling the new beat in your body. Maybe this small bit of magic is best left on the dance floor.

Culture

Real Slick, Jack: Psyche Organic Arrives in New York

Shop Psyche Organic at Happier Grocery and Dimes. Coming soon to @citarellagourmetmarket @unionmarket @gourmetgarage @deciccos @fairwaymarket plus many more.

Culture

Porsche SCOPES Brings Art, Music, and Design to Toronto

The festival was a full immersion into Toronto’s dynamic creative energy. Day one set the tone with DJ collective Living Room, followed by an experimental performance by Claire Rousay that captivated the crowd. Jewelry designer Steff Eleoff unveiled her Porsche Taycan 4S art car installation—a bold fusion of automotive and wearable art inspired by her Sedona ring—while OVO Sound’s Naomi Sharon and DVSN wrapped up the night with powerful, genre-defying performances.

We witnessed SCOPES Toronto bridging underground and mainstream with day two’s lineup. DJ Korea Town Acid’s set paved the way for Angelphroot and Dameer’s debut of BASSMATI, a track blending South Asian influences with bass-driven sounds. Chippy Nonstop’s return to Toronto and Richie Hawtin’s extended set were milestones of the evening, proving that the city’s underground scene has a global resonance.

The final day featured standout performances from local pianist Harrison, Indigenous artist Tia Wood, and hip-hop visionary Sean Leon, who elevated his set with a live choir. Moonshine Collective’s film and musical performance explored themes of African utopia, showcasing art’s power to bridge culture and technology. Rising Toronto star SadBoi, who paused her tour to perform at SCOPES, further underscored the festival’s commitment to nurturing local talent.

Throughout the weekend, we experienced installations from artists like Mitsu Mitsu and culinary creations from Bar Mordecai, capturing the multifaceted creativity Porsche SCOPES brought to Toronto. This milestone 10th edition, open to all, allowed Toronto’s vibrant arts scene to thrive, underscoring SCOPES’ mission to celebrate local talent while connecting it to a global audience.

office had the chance to connect with rising star SadBoi ahead of the event. In our conversation, she shared insights into her creative journey and reflected on what performing and growing up in Toronto means to her and her work.

How are you, and where are you at right now? You told me you were traveling.

Um, I’m good, I’m feeling really good right now. I’m traveling back to Salt Lake City. I had a show yesterday in Seattle. I’m on tour right now with Coco and Claire.

How is touring life treating you? Do you like it?

I love being on the road. To be honest, I feel like I don’t know—like I’ve had good experiences and bad ones—but this time it’s really fun, especially with the people I’m surrounded by. It’s also the longest tour I’ve been on; I have about four more weeks to go. I’m trying not to think about how many days I have left.

Do you feel homesick?

Yes, because when I start thinking about how many days are left, I start to miss my dogs. I’ve just been trying to stay in the moment—I don’t even know what day of the week it is, to be honest with you.

Oh, sweet! What are your dogs’ names?

Jillian and Winston. I know, they’re crazy names.

You’ll be performing at SCOPES in Toronto, which is where you grew up. Do you feel like the crowd is different when you perform in Toronto compared to other cities?

Yes, I mean, Toronto just feels different because it’s home. Every time I come back to perform, something in my career has changed. The last time I performed in Toronto, people just wanted to have a good time, and I’m excited to perform back home again to see everyone’s reactions. I know it’s going to be different from the last time. It’s exciting to see your own growth. Toronto is a tough crowd, though. If we’re with you, we’re really with you.

So, they’re super picky? You have to gain their respect, or what is it?

I think Toronto people are in their own world, but when something really connects with them, they’ll lose themselves in the moment. But it takes something to bring them out of that. Toronto crowds are tough because even if they like you, they won’t show it outright until they’re really vibing with you.

It’s like a vibe check, right?

Exactly. They’ll enjoy your performance, but it’s hard to explain. When people visit Toronto, they often say, “Oh, you guys are so nice,” and I’m like, “I don’t think we’re that nice, we’re just polite.” Like, you can walk down the street, and no one will say anything, but it’s just our mannerisms.

You mentioned Toronto can have a moody energy, especially at night, and that the underground night scene there really inspires you. Can you talk more about what makes Toronto's nightlife so influential for you?

Absolutely, Toronto has this unique energy that comes alive at night. Similar to New York, there are the popular clubs everyone knows, but you need to find your niche—the people who know where the real parties are. I remember going to raves in high school yards, sneaking in because I wasn’t old enough. Events like Baby, Jerk!, and Yes Yes Y’all were pivotal, exposing me to DJs blending dancehall with EDM—something I hadn’t seen before. Toronto nightlife is moody and intense, but when everyone’s out, it’s like the whole city is alive.