Sounds from the city

Taken from the new limited-edition print issue of THE FACE, available in Manchester, London, Paris and Berlin.

As the old adage goes, there’s no place like home. Indeed, the place you live influences your swagger, your slang and the identity you hold on to as you move through the rest of the world.

The unique energy of a city is best captured by its music stars, those local heroes who proudly rap with their distinctive accents or represent the diaspora with the rhythms in their DJ sets. And so, if you want to be tapped into the most authentic music, you’ve got to listen out on street corners, lock in with community radio platforms and sweat it out on DIY dancefloors.

To celebrate the undefeatable spirit of underground music across Europe, THE FACE has paired four fearless artists with filmmakers living in the same cities, who then collaborated on a series of short films: one in London, one in Berlin, one in Paris and one in Manchester.

Here, after wrapping their shorts, the filmmakers sit down with their subjects, getting the backstories on how their cities have shaped their sounds.

Mention ​“Manchester music” and a lot of people immediately think of the Haçienda or Oasis. But the truth is that Manchester, in recent years, has been home to a swelling wave of ambient music producers, darkly experimental DJs, and underground rap: three microcosms that encapsulate the achingly intimate world of RenzNiro. The 24-year-old’s 2024 project Laissez-Faire is a sprawling mosaic of bass-heavy beats, up-pitched soul samples and clear-eyed lyrics about growing up in the north of England as a Ghanaian immigrant.

Another Manchester-based artist, Rawtape – aka director Rory Wood – linked up with RenzNiro to shoot a film diagnosing the city’s gentrification. In the short, Renz and his crew build a symbolic tower of sound to combat the encroaching developments.

Here, Rory speaks to RenzNiro about the influence of Manchester on his music, the power of peers and what it’s like being part of 0161’s new wave.

On your 2023 song Your Shadow In Mine you talk quite intimately about coming over from Ghana when you were five years old. How did that experience influence your music, and also your understanding of Manchester?

Your Shadow In Mine is a retelling of the first racist memory I have of this country, which happened when I was in school. However, I don’t feel like the racism that I experienced tainted my view of Manchester, because there was a lot more love than racism. I think I’ve recently started to realise that my music incorporates a lot of the influences that I had growing up, even if it doesn’t sound like it – like, my parents used to play a lot of highlife. [But] musically, when it comes to being from Ghana, I think it’s something a lot more subconscious.

What makes the Manchester scene unique? You said something interesting when we spoke originally: that it’s less about institutions and industries and more about people – a DIY culture.

I can only really name one Manchester-based hip-hop label, and that’s NQ. Up until NQ’s genesis, I feel like there wasn’t as much of a framework in Manchester for rap music or hip hop in general, not that I was aware of. A lot of my experience with making music has been through helping people, not through institutions. So I mean DIY more in the sense that it’s by friends, for friends.

When artists from Manchester do break through, they’re always backed by great skill and love for what they’re doing.

We’re really protective of our own. If someone’s from Manchester, people rally around them and help them get to where they need to go. It’s something that’s beautiful, and you see it with people like Space Afrika, Aitch and Nemzzz. And even Blackhaine and Rainy Miller – though they’re not from Manchester directly [both are from Preston], they made Manchester their home.

Did that localised scene help you when you were getting started?

Like you said, it feels quite small because there are all these people trying to make things or show their talent, so everyone is quite visible. I started as a photographer. I was taking photos for my friends, a lot of whom were making music. I was actually in a studio environment for the first time, taking pictures of people recording. Through that, I got comfortable being in a studio and then the next step was, ​“Well, we’re here having fun, you might as well hop on the mic.”

It’s like that Lesser Free Trade Hall gig [on 4 June, 1976] when soon-to-be members of Buzzcocks, Joy Division, The Smiths and The Fall went and watched the Sex Pistols, and thought, ​“Fucking hell, if they’re doing that, I can give it a crack.” I think that does embody the spirit of Manchester.

It was my friends who were pushing me to do more. Then the pandemic happened and I had all this time. Music felt a lot more like healing than it had done before. I got in contact with Rainy through one of my close friends and he ended up inviting me to perform at his Fixed Abode [label] night, which was my first post-pandemic performance. That night changed the trajectory of the music I make. I saw a completely new world. I saw Blackhaine perform and it was like a completely different art form.

Before that period, there wasn’t really an umbrella under which that new sound of Manchester could live. Do you think there’s a link between the music you guys make?

I’m hesitant to categorise it because, although I draw a lot of inspiration from Blackhaine and Rainy, I don’t think my music sounds similar to theirs. If anything, seeing the way they perform has influenced me more than the sonics of their music.

In the short film we’ve made, we tackle the theme of gentrification and how it’s changing the city for artists especially. Have you felt that shift?

One thing that happened post-pandemic is the space for events kind of got eroded because it got a lot more expensive to put gigs on. I went from being able to perform maybe once or twice a month at different spots in Manchester that had a rap or R&B focus to way less because, essentially, promoters were being priced out. From that point onwards, every opportunity to perform became a lot more precious to me.

It feels like every day there’s a new tower of flats going up or a venue shutting down.

You dedicate more of your time towards surviving and less of your time towards actually making art. I’ve noticed that, as time has gone on, I’ve had to work harder for less, and it’s draining. It’s really difficult to come to terms with, but we just have to go in and keep making the work that we want to make. Because if we give up and let the rising costs defeat us, then what’s the point?

What’s inspiring your new work at the moment?

Whenever I put together a project, it kind of encapsulates a moment in time, so I don’t really know what I’m saying until after I’ve got it all together, and after I’ve listened to it over and over. My method of recording is just, like, make, make, make, make, and then try and piece it together. I feel like, when the project’s finished, that’s when I actually understand what it’s all about.

With an affinity for leftfield beats and unpredictable flows, 20-year-old Tottenham rapper Chy Cartier (née Chyna) has quickly made a mark with her lackadaisical style. Over the last two years, she’s become one of the most talked- about rappers in the UK, causing a stir on socials every time she teases an upcoming banger. Cosigns from scene heavyweights including Central Cee, Little Simz and collaborator Headie One have become par for the course.

Elliott Elder and George Muncey – the filmmaking duo known as Uncanny – captured Chy in a stripped-back short film, punctuating an intimate monologue with flashes of London’s cityscape.

Here, the pair catch up with Chy to figure out how London has shaped her artistry.

Elliott: London just had its first real day of spring. Where are you spending your days when the weather gets hot?

Chy: Just a park that’s nice, you know? Back when I wasn’t Chy Cartier, maybe [North London park and venue] Ally Pally – that’s near where I’m from. But I can’t really go there now. It’s a bit baked.

E: Is there a difference between the real Chyna and Chy Cartier?

100 per cent. I deffo feel like Chy Cartier is my loudest self – an alter ego. I feel like me as myself, Chyna, I’m very laid back. I don’t really talk a lot, so when I’m rapping, that’s my time to express myself. If it’s not my close ones [I’m with], I’m not very talkative.

E: Do you feel that balance slipping over time? Do you have to be Chy more often now?

I think so. As an artist, you have to adapt. So, even when I don’t want to speak, I’ve got to – you know what I mean?

E: London has such a rich history of rap, grime and drill. Where do you see yourself fitting into that narrative? Or is that even important to you?

No, not really. I don’t feel like I have to fit into any particular drill or grime [scene]. I’m just trying to make a new sound, something that you can’t really put your finger on.

E: That’s how your music came across to us. It doesn’t feel like you’re in any one kind of lane. What inspires you to write?

Events that happen in my personal life, things that I see other people go through. Sometimes, I might be writing from a third-person perspective, but I’ll rap it so it sounds like it’s from the first person.

E: What is it about your music that feels so fresh and pioneering?

My unorthodox flow is very intentional. And definitely the beats. You might hear elements of drill or hood trap in the 145 BPM type of songs that I do, for example. Or on a 95 BPM track, I might mix rap with Detroit. It’s weird, and that’s what I like.

E: Do you feel like North London has shaped you as an artist?

Growing up in North London, it did shape me in a way – like it might influence my slang or the way I approach certain topics.

E: What about the London scene excites you at the moment?

I’m really excited by the new gen, like YT, Len, Fimiguerrero. BXKS is hard. Who else? Skaiwater is cold. Too many to mention! I like how we all support each other, too. I definitely want to see more females coming through and killing it – getting rid of that male-dominated vibe.

E: Is there a vibe that connects all these artists?

I like the way everyone sounds like themselves. Everyone’s coming with a new flavour. They’re kind of on what I’m on. No one’s trying to copy anyone.

George: Your ​“Bap!” ad-lib is so brilliant. How did that come about?

It’s onomatopoeia, innit? Maybe I heard a sound like that on a particular day and it just came out. But I’ve always said that, like, if you go back and listen to my earliest songs, it’s in there. Bap!

E: As your fame grows, how do you find it being in music videos more and more?

It’s natural. When I first started rapping, I did come onto the scene wearing a mask. It wasn’t a thing where I wanted to hide my face necessarily; it was more about privacy. But over time, having this newfound fame, being in front of the camera, it feels like second nature.

E: What was it that inspired you to start rapping in the first place?

Listening to different music in and around the house that my mum would play. I used to listen to Nicki Minaj a lot when I was growing up. I think it was Beez in the Trap [from 2012]. When I first heard it, I said, ​“Nah, she’s hard. I definitely want to try something like this.” So I did, I performed in front of my family, and they were amazed. I was like, ​“Yeah, this is something I can do.”

E: What’s your favourite place to eat in London?

I don’t really have one! I’d say [the American chain] STK, maybe. It’s a steak place. They’ve got one in Stratford and one in central London [on the Strand].

G: If we were outside a corner shop right now and I gave you £10, what would you buy?

Good question. I’ll buy Flipz [chocolate] pretzels, that’s my favourite at the moment. Probably a Twix, too. Evian water, Sprite… What else? Kettle Chips – Mature Cheddar and Red Onion.

G: You’ve only spent half your budget!

This is what I’m saying! That’s crazy. Maybe a Ribena.

E: Do you think an artist’s age is relevant?

I feel like, who cares, but then again, the younger lot at the minute are running it. The new gen, everyone’s in their early twenties, if I’m not mistaken. When you’re young, you’re new, you’re coming with something fresh.

E: Yeah, we’ve got like three years left. We’re washed.

Nah, I’m done. Not washed. I’m finished.

G: If you couldn’t live in London for some reason, where would you go?

Maybe Hertfordshire, does that count as London? [Laughs] Or Jamaica, somewhere nice.

It’s wild to think that Cora has only been behind the decks for two years. The Berlin-based DJ, producer and singer has built a solid rep with dextrous sets that mix just about every club genre. She began her career as a booker for .TAG, a club in her native Chengdu, China, before Covid restrictions left her with plenty of time to hone her skills at home. Once lockdown was lifted, she set her sights on Berlin and has now played everywhere from queer techno night Herrensauna to Berghain and the Whole festival in Gräfenhainichen.

On new track The Heart Sutra, Cora chants a grounding Buddhist mantra in Chinese. When Berlin and NYC-based filmmaker Anna van der Velde heard it, she knew it would gel with the short she wanted to make: a spiritual journey that goes from the decks to a metaphysical moment.

Here, Anna asks Cora about her East to West journey, and how it was to unpack her love story with one of the most permissive dance music communities in the world.

You’ve been in Berlin for a bit more than a year. Have you been able to integrate into the local scene?

I did that very quickly. Luckily, I had been coming to Berlin for a while, every summer, or even more often. Sometimes I would visit three times a year just to see friends and party. So I had a lot of friends here already.

What’s the difference between Berlin and Chengdu when it comes to the music scene?

It’s funny actually. I left China when I was 18 and was away for more than ten years. When I went back to Chengdu, I accidentally went to .TAG one day and immediately fell in love. The owner offered to hire me as a booker, which was the reason I decided to stay in China. Chengdu has a lot of similarities with Berlin: people are more into techno, the ravers are very professional – like they’ve been going to the club for a long time. Chengdu is also freer than the rest of China, sort of like Berlin and Germany.

So maybe it’s more about similarities than differences?

Yes, but there are differences as well. The Berlin scene is obviously bigger and has been around for much longer, and it caters to more specific genres. It’s also much more open.

Yeah, the openness is an important aspect. How do you experience the scene in Berlin when it comes to inclusivity and safety, especially in the queer scene?

Chinese clubs don’t really have door policies, but in Berlin a lot of parties and clubs do select people. That’s a big difference. Maybe that selection filters out people they think won’t feed their vibe. I prefer to go to queer parties anyway.

What are some of those parties?

I often go to Mala Junta. That party really fosters the scene. I feel safe there. Also I’m pretty close to that crowd – it’s a family vibe. I also like the Herrensauna boys. I’ve known them since before I moved to Berlin, when I would book them at .TAG. So there are a few parties where I feel comfortable enough to even go on my own. The crowd in Berlin is better than in other places, I would say.

Do you ever feel like the Berlin scene can be competitive, given that it’s so big?

Not at all. That’s the beauty of it – there are so many people from all different backgrounds coming together. There’s room for everyone. Of course, it’s important to find your unique voice within the community, but people are pretty supportive of one another. It feels very healthy.

What’s been your most memorable moment DJing in Berlin?

It sounds a bit cliché, but I have to say my first time playing Berghain in 2022. One reason why it was so special was because I was locked down in China during Covid for three years. I couldn’t leave the city. Then suddenly I got this offer, which was a big deal for me because I only started DJing during the pandemic. It had only been two years at that point, and every DJ dreams of playing Berghain. But it was still almost impossible for me to travel – a friend whose uncle runs a travel agency in Chengdu had to help me get a business visa. A few Chinese DJs had played label nights [parties where a label or collective are invited to play] at Berghain, but at the time I was told that I was the first DJ from China to play Klubnacht [Berghain’s weekly flagship party], which was huge. The only sad part was that none of my friends from China could come because no one could leave the country. We always had this joke that, whoever makes it to Berghain first, we’d all be there in the crowd.

In the film we just shot together, we worked with your track The Heart Sutra, which you released on Herrensauna’s label. Would you say it has both Chinese and German influences?

Well, I sing on the track in Chinese, but I think Buddhism is universal. I just wanted to express it in my mother tongue. My grandma is Buddhist and I used to always go to the temple with her. I’ve always felt connected to Buddhism, even though I’m not a practising Buddhist. I’ve done a lot of studying on my own and I always wanted to make a track about the heart mantra. I feel this track opens up a portal that makes me feel calm.

The message of the song really fits with the film. This idea of introspection and finding an inner journey – that is what, in a way, the Berlin club scene can be for people. It’s about going inwards and transcending. Does that resonate with your time in Berlin at all? Has it shaped you?

Yeah, I think it’s hard not to change when you’re surrounded by all the best artists. I am still a new artist and everyone around me has been doing this for ages. I’m still learning and growing. But I think the deeper you go into the Berlin scene, you just become more underground. You can really play whatever you want. In Berlin, you can just be you.

La banlieue, which roughly translates to ​“the suburbs”, is home to much of Grand Paris’s (‘Greater Paris’) immigrant community. Hailing from Val-de- Marne – ​‘le 94’, for those in the know – the 32-year-old DJ and visual artist Crystallmess draws on her hometown’s rich cultural heritage as well as her African and Caribbean background. Her sets weave classic rave genres like Chicago house and Detroit techno with logobi, kuduro and other sounds from the African diaspora. Crystallmess began clubbing at 13 at Paris venues like the now- defunct Le Triptyque (“I was not on my Drew Barrymore shit!” she makes clear), building the confidence to step behind the decks from an early age.

In a short film directed by French-Iranian filmmaker Léa Esmaili, Crystallmess serves as a sort of pied piper, drawing people into her world by disseminating her sound across the French capital.

Here, Léa quizzes Crystallmess on her journey, discussing outer Paris, law school and the club culture of the City of Lights.

You studied law at university. When did you choose to transition to music?

Well, music was always in my life. I feel like my parents were always very eager to play music at home and throw parties and invite people over. When I was little my cousin used to intern at this radio station called Générations and she was also in this hip-hop band from the 13^th arrondissement called Mafia Trece. [Cypriot-French rapper] Diam’s was in the group and my cousin used to replace her when she couldn’t make it – she was like her doppelgänger. I was like, ​“This is the life I want.”

At some point during my final exams, I started experiencing this existential fear because I was like, ​“Oh my god, this is a decision that I’m going to live with my entire life.” I was already DJing. Even my dad was like, ​“You don’t look happy.” And I said, ​“Yeah, I’m not happy! I don’t think that music is a hobby for me. I feel like law school is the hobby.”

I have the same story as you. I studied international law and business, basically for my parents.

I like learning things, and I miss school sometimes, but it’s about what you want to do with your life. What do you want to wake up every day and do? Also when you practise law, you have to take it seriously because you have people’s lives in your hands.

You grew up in the suburbs, right?

Yes, I grew up in the suburbs, in the 94. Are you from the suburbs too?

No, I’m from the 17^th. My parents are political refugees from Iran who came to France with nothing. They studied and my mum became a lawyer. She really cared that her children were financially stable. And for Iranian people, you have to be either a doctor or a lawyer.

I have a lot of Iranian friends. I didn’t go to school in my neighbourhood because my neighbourhood was bad, so my dad sent me to another school in another city. My Iranian friends were the only people who understood me at my school. I went to a house one time and I opened some door, and there was a bust of Lenin. They were like, ​“You can’t tell anybody, our parents were communist fighters!”

In France, we have the expression, ​“The suburbs influence Paris, Paris influences the world.” Do you think that’s true?

As French people, we use ​“the suburbs” as the translation for ​“la banlieue”, but ​“suburbs” has this American connotation of Desperate Housewives, picket fences, showing up to your neighbour’s doorstep with cookies. I would translate it more like ​“the hood” than ​“the suburbs”. Paris is influenced by the hood, for sure, but I would also say that it’s a two-way street because people from the hood also want to experience the Parisian luxury lifestyle. A lot of DJs that come from la banlieue completely shifted the way people are currently DJing in Paris.

What else makes the Paris scene different from other cities in France?

We’re not scared to be blédards [someone living in the banlieues of North African and sometimes African or Afro-Caribbean descent]. Sometimes people get mad or defensive when I use that word because they think that I’m looking down on someone. But the reality is that, for me, blédard is a term of endearment. We stay true to our roots and the roots of our parents’ countries.

Yeah, in France we really embrace our parents.

Exactly. I think the only thing that we need to be wary about is to make sure that people in Paris really know where these sounds come from.

If you could change one thing about the Paris scene, what would it be?

The sound system culture. Sometimes you want to throw a party and the sound is terrible. I would love to change the cliquey mentality that exists sometimes. Oh, and I would love to change the body politics in Paris. If you’re not skinny, people are like, ​“Why are you not skinny?”

I agree.

It’s not even like I’m trying to advocate for anything. I’m just saying not everybody can look the same. When I go to New York or London, I feel like people are much more accepting and supportive of those who look different. And when I say different, I don’t mean race – I mean body types.

What’s your favourite club to mix at in Paris?

Without a doubt, La Station. I love it. It’s between Paris and Porte d’Aubervilliers, literally on the périphérique [the 22-mile motorway encircling the city limits]. It has a lot of symbolic power because of where it’s situated, at the intersection of Paris and la banlieue, and at the same time, [it’s at] the intersection of many genres.

You know so much about genre and you really go deep. How did you learn all of this? Because it’s a real DJ culture.

I experienced DJ culture as a kid, which changes your perception of music. I come from an era where I used to go to the supermarket and buy a CD, open the booklet and Google the names of the producers and musicians. I feel like people don’t do that any more. They wait for things to come to them too much.

HAIR Yann Turchi MAKEUP Rebecca Wordingham NAIL ARTIST Sylvie Vacca CREATIVE DIRECTOR Kieren Carter-Birtchnall SENIOR PRODUCER Katherine Bampton MUSIC DIRECTOR Davy Reed BRANDED CONTENT EDITOR Joe Bobowicz LOCAL PRODUCTION Company Paris PRODUCER Clémence Delafontaine PRODUCTION CO-ORDINATOR Jules Romero LIGHTING ASSISTANTS David Fanfani and Paul Naophell DIGITAL OPERATOR Vittorio Biscaro STYLIST’S ASSISTANTS Anna Sweasey and Emilie Carlach TAILOR Anh Duong HAIR ASSISTANTS Ruth Jay and Ushka Nochi Tela MAKEUP ASSISTANT Emanuela Farano NAIL ASSISTANT Melvyn Renaud