Throughout 2021, RA will host a series of interviews in partnership with Black Minds Matter UK, an organisation whose mission is to connect Black individuals and families with free mental health services by professional Black therapists.

The interviews, which will be published as written features and audio RA Exchanges, focus on Black creatives working in electronic music at all levels. These conversations will touch on issues surrounding mental health, in keeping with Black Minds Matter UK's mission to "make mental health topics more relevant and accessible for all Black people in the UK, removing the stigma and remodelling the services to be relevant for the Black community."

Next up, East London DJ, broadcaster and passionate advocate of mental health Vanessa Maria speaks to Ifeoluwa, a DJ, academic, and founder of workshop and event series Intervention.

This is a full transcript of this week's edition of the RA Exchange, edited slightly for clarity.

RA Exchange · EX.550 Ifeoluwa

I don't know if you remember, but we were meant to link up about three years ago in Bristol. I invited you down to 1020.

Yeah. I remember, yeah.

It feels like a full-circle moment to be finally joined with you and to connect properly.

Yeah. It's been so long since that moment as well. So much has happened.

Fill me in. That's about three years ago. How has life taken you?

In mad, mad directions. I did my master's in Manchester after doing one in Bristol. Then I started my PhD in October. Finally got to play, before the pandemic, in Europe, which was so much fun, and just writing more, exploring more artistic things. Trying to get into visual projects, which I've always wanted to do, and moving image, shooting on old-school film. It's been a really tough but great creative process the last few years.

How has it been moving into moving images?

At first, it was quite tricky because I'm used to doing photography, so it's a still, you have this subject, and then that's it. Moving image, I had to expand the way I see the world around me and even my relationship to music. Instead of music being at the forefront of a creative project, it had to sit alongside something and match. That's been really good.

Have you always wanted to go into moving images, or has music been at the forefront?

Yeah. I was part of the BFI when I was at college. We used to make mini-documentaries, assist on some of them that were in London, go to different film festivals, and I played instruments growing up. I played guitar, bass, violin, piano, and it got to a moment when I was at college, and I was doing visual arts, where we had the option of combining them. And, I don't know if you remember Kidulthood.

Yes, oh my gosh. I love Kidulthood.

Noel Clarke was doing talks in London when I was at college, and that's what inspired me. And obviously, even things now, like Top Boy, that sort of thing, merged where I'm from and tell my story through that medium.

Yes, and Top Boy is so linked with music, the culture, London culture. Where does culture come into it for you when we're looking at music, moving image, and the creative process?

For me, culture underpins everything I do. I try and have an honest approach. When I was younger, maybe 18, 19, I naively thought that if you wanted to make it in the industry, in the creative arts, you had to do what was trendy, what was big at that time, and it felt inauthentic, and it just wasn't good to be honest, because my heart wasn't in the right place. I wasn't able to concentrate.

As I got a bit older, I realized if you want to make something that's good, you need to think it's good. You need to believe in it. It's about expressing yourself, and that's what I'm trying to focus on now, combining all the things I've learned about Black British history, for example, and all the skills I've learned in more professional settings as well. Because I do feel like it's a really good moment, now, to be doing quite DIY things, because we have had to look at that, to the pandemic and whatnot.

Definitely. And I think DIY hits the spot, especially when it comes to the lockdown and quarantine. I think people have become more resourceful and more innovative with the ways they're working.

Yeah, definitely.

Have you found that for yourself as well?

Yeah. I found myself looking at possible digital realities and thinking about how to forge communities online, which is how I expanded Intervention in the first place. Because when I moved to Bristol, I moved for my undergrad in philosophy, and as you can imagine, it's mostly white people. I was the only dark-skinned Black person. There was one mixed-race person in it, and it was so alienating. I had to find a community—I had to build things so I wouldn't have a breakdown every few months.

I think that's what the pandemic has taught me as well, how important those things are, especially from an accessibility point of view. Some people can't physically get to spaces, and they're still part of the world, they're still part of society, they're all around us, and it's really, really important that we include those people.

Definitely. You mentioned Intervention, and you mentioned community, which I think is special because I got into DJing through Intervention. For those that don't know, what is Intervention, first and foremost?

Intervention started in 2016 when I'd just played my first gig at Rye Wax, supporting Machine Woman.

Jeez!

It was mad. When I think back to it, it was actually kind of crazy that I hadn't really touched decks before, but I went with my heavy bag of records, played a load of tunes, and it was such a liberating moment for me because I played genres that meant a lot. I played Jersey and ballroom, a lot of Black queer music, and heavy slamming techno. It was obviously influenced by the club culture from 2012, 2014, and then I just merged them together. To me, that set is what sounds like me. And I wanted more people to have that opportunity. Because I started clubbing, maybe not legally, in 2010, with cable, dubstep, and it wasn't diverse at all. And that's London, as well, and that played on my mind while I was playing to the crowd who was supportive, but I was looking, like, not many people here look like me.

And then, when I made a group on Facebook, and I was like, "Is anyone else feeling like this," and loads of people were. So I thought there needs to be a space where people feel comfortable and can make mistakes and grow together. One of my friends, Patrick, let me use his studios. That's where the workshops have been, and it expanded from there. Other people in different cities contacted me, so I've done workshops in Sheffield, Leeds, Manchester, London, and it snowballed from that.

A lot of workshops, a lot of events, are very London-centric. I've always felt that it needs to be decentralized. When I saw all of these Intervention classes were popping up [across the UK], I was like, "yeah, this is exactly what we need." Was that something that you did intentionally?

100 percent. And it did stem from what I was saying earlier about online communities because people are like, "I wish something like this was in my city." It drove home the necessity of it. Being from London, there are opportunities. A lot of time, they do obviously go to the same demographic, but at least they're there, and at least you can aspire to do other things. When I moved to Bristol, there wasn't anything like that. I didn't see opportunities, and...

I can vouch for that. When I was in Bristol, I was like, "there is nothing here." There was Ujima Radio, and there was 1020 Radio, and Noods and Smooth FM, but there's not any sort of space for people to go learn.

Yeah, exactly. And I am noticing a shift now. Even with the Youth Music Initiative fund that they set up, where they've got different collectives, record labels, organizations to be part of it, there is a focus on entry-level positions and helping young people from every demographic to break into it I think that's where we're heading towards, which is good.

I wanted to go back to the Intervention classes and ask how you set those up. Was it difficult?

Yeah. I'm going back into my memory because that was the very early days. The idea behind it was: we have two vinyl decks, and we have Serato Scratch, and people bring a USB and I try and emulate a club environment.

Was it difficult to reach out to communities in those different cities? When I moved from London to Bristol, it took a while for me to understand who the community leaders were, who I could talk to to book certain spaces, and it was hard to get immersed.

In Bristol, it was difficult because generally, anywhere you go, people aren't receptive to change. When you're proposing to people that the way they're doing things is perhaps not the right way, a lot of people are angry. Especially before we had these public conversations, before last summer with BLM, to try and say to somebody they have privilege, they'd be like, "what are you on about? I didn't grow up with money, I'm not a CEO of a company," and it's like, "okay, yes, that is true, but you're afforded the benefit of the doubt."

Even if I try to book venues in Bristol, I used to get laughed at. People are like, "oh, yeah, but we don't do private parties here," or like, "do you even know how to throw a club night?" And it's like, "yeah, I threw my first club night in 2013." Like...

Jeez! Tell them again.

But even those instances, which are horrible, drove me to do more. To look outside that, to look towards other parts of the city to do things in, that's how I stumbled across the Bristol People of Colour [Facebook] group, and a lot of them are still my friends to this day. That was how I started to speak to people of colour, especially who are from Bristol, and ask them what they needed, what they wanted me to do, and what skills they had.

And so, Intervention then turned into a skill-sharing thing. People would come at the weekend and, some people just needed a photographer, and then we would find somebody who needed press photos taken, for example, and we would link them together. So, we started doing that. It became more of a social space, which is what I miss about Intervention during the pandemic.

What does community mean to you in those spaces?

As cheesy as it sounds, everything. Being a creative can be lonely and isolating because you are just focusing on what you're doing. And even if you collaborate with someone, it's just you or a few people. But building that community I've found helped my mental health a lot because you can find people who are going through similar things to you. Before I found the Bristol People of Colour group, I was going a bit insane at uni, being like, "what on earth is going on here?"

Because when you apply to uni, especially, they sell you the dream of diversity, of inclusion. And you know it's fake, but then a little part of you really wants it to be true. I didn't have a community when I first came to Bristol, but then once you build those connections and start creating different relationships, it's so powerful. It can give you a real sense of self.

I think that's been the hardest for me, during lockdown, because that [sense of belonging] has been eradicated. We don't have that human connection anymore.

In this podcast, we've partnered with Black Minds Matter, and we want to look at wellbeing and touch on that area. How do you manage or maintain good mental health?

I think one thing is rest, which is a big thing I've had to teach and remind myself to do, taking a step back, reflecting, and thinking, is what I'm doing any good for my health? Because being involved in music, they do push you to party five days a week, and it's not manageable for most people, and it's not healthy. To be drinking, doing whatever, day after day after day, to six in the morning, it's really hard.

I usually take note, and then once I've noticed a pattern of not resting, I have to cancel things and say no. Especially the way that freelancers have to work, it's hard, but it also means that you can perform a lot better. I used to go to a few support groups specifically for Black people, and even just being in that space, even if I wouldn't say anything because I was too anxious or too shy, that helps. You would hear people who've gone through similar things and who have survived and ended up being able to thrive, it's really powerful.

Do you feel like, as a Black person, [rest] is even harder because of the whole narrative that you need to work twice as hard? I know when I was growing up, my parents would be drilling that into me, and it feels really difficult. Have you ever struggled with that, or has rest always been something that has come easy to you?

It definitely doesn't come easy. Even when you introduced this podcast and you were saying all the things I was doing, I was like, "this is way too much for one person. I need to cut it back a bit." I do so many things because I love all of it, but I do still, even to this day, feel that I need to do more. Especially after last summer, I feel an even heavier weight of, if people aren't going to make the kind of changes we need to see, then people like me need to use their voice and platform to do it. But then, as you're doing that, you're burning out. I usually burn out every six weeks.

Wow.

Yeah, it's mad. It was only after having Covid and being seriously ill that I had to be like, "no, I can't function like this." And it's even the narrative of the strong Black woman. The stereotype of the strong Black woman only benefits everyone else. It doesn't benefit Black women. It's unlearning the things we're conditioned to believe are true that are not that can really improve your wellbeing overall.

100 percent. It's almost like it's a burden, but it's also this responsibility you carry on your shoulders. Being nurturing, kind, bringing everyone up together, looking out, being the voice for the voiceless, and I feel like Black women are always there in the front lines, waving the flag, but there's no one there to support you. Which is the difficult thing, and the burnout, I think a lot of people can relate to that.

It's interesting that it took a whole pandemic to slow you down. Has it been a blessing in disguise?

Definitely. Even on the creative side, because I've actually listened to music just for fun. Before, I was spending hours digging, being on SoundCloud like, "oh, this tune is sick, it's got 20 views, I could call, make some content, contact them, try and get a dub," all this. It's unnecessary. I'm just more chill in the way I approach things, the way I deal with things, which also means I can put more energy and love and time into my mixes. I feel like the quality of my mixes has gone up. Everything I write about, there's more humour behind it because I'm able to not be as stressed, as anxious.

For me, everything you were saying, I fully relate to it, because I would be on SoundCloud, like, "oh, that's a banger for the club, this will be great for X, Y, Z." Instead of being like, "what do I really want to listen to?"

My music taste actually really changed. Have you noticed a difference in the energy of the music you're consuming?

Yeah. I guess I've had more time to reflect on my life generally, so I've gone back to listening to a lot of emo music.

Emo. Yes.

Which has brought back why I loved music in the first place and what about it inspired me to even try and join the music industry. I always see people tweeting that I listen to really calm music, I don't think I do. I'm still listening to 160 Hard Dance at 10 in the morning. I'm still waiting for the clubs to open safely.

I put on a bit of a Drill in the morning, it's all good. When the outdoors open, what are you most looking forward to?

Two things. Just the energy in the club, because it's so infectious. The first wheeler, I'm going to pass out. I'm 100 percent not ready for that amount of energy, to be gassed, to be hyped, to be like, "what is this tune?" And then look around, and everyone else is like, "what, what, what, what?" I miss that mini-community feeling that you have on the dance floor. I miss it a lot. And obviously, the afters. Because my 1020 show is literally just about afters. Just about the different moods I experience when I'm at them.

I miss it. And what do you think you'll miss about being locked up?

Resting. Because I'm able to do more meditation. I'm able to read more about Yoruba spirituality and make those connections with people who've come before me, who've struggled with the things I'm struggling with now. I'm going to miss that time to just try and figure out who I am rather than having to keep going.

You're setting that foundation for yourself. What do people say? Self-knowledge is the truest form of power. When did that conscious journey start for you?

For me? Young. I nearly got expelled from school in year seven because I tried to hold a protest.

Oh, my gosh, what did you protest?

It was actually a really, really serious thing about racism at school. I made posters and everything. I remember going to school and the next day, being like, "yeah, I'm on strike. You can't treat me like this." Because I was the only Black person, it became apparent that I was being singled out every day, and I didn't have the depth of knowledge or understanding that I have now, but I knew that it was wrong. That's pretty much where my journey began. I think if I hadn't had that moment where it clicked that, no, this is all mad, life and society can't be like this. I don't care who said it's like this. To me, it's not going to be. Then I wouldn't have created Intervention. I wouldn't be the person I am today.

What strikes me is that you've used your voice since you were very young. Year seven is very young to be like, "no."

Yeah.

Like, "I'm going to organize a protest, I'm going to show you that you need to back away." That is so impressive, and I just love that for you. How did you find your voice that young? Is that something that's in your family background, or is it something that you have?

I think it's something that I have. Because I'm a first-gen immigrant, so I grew up here without my parents, and it's only when I've got to my twenties I realized that I'm very similar to them, just in the sense of Nigeria only had independence during my parents' lifetime and things like that. You have to be more conscious of your history because there's erasure happening right in front of you, and they're trying to destroy entire families, entire generations—just basic colonialism.

I think being away from them, feeling isolated, you start looking inwards and thinking almost existentialist questions, which probably is not the best thing to happen when you're 10, but it's the reason why I did a philosophy degree. I wanted to know why we're here, why things are the way that they are.

And philosophy, how does that feed into your expression musically?

For me, it would be the counterculture. In terms of philosophy, I look at a lot of critical theory, which really came to a head in the 1960s, where we had the civil rights movements, different LGBT movements, and it was realizing that the information we're presented about those events is not the truth, it's not really what happened. They whitewash a lot of different things. An obvious example is Martin Luther King. I've read the entire "I have a dream" speech, and it's not passive. It's actually really violent. It incites anger in you, incites you to be like, "I'm not taking this anymore." But the way it's presented to us is that he's a pacifist, and we should be gentle with racists and all that. It's just not true. In philosophy, you learn how to grapple with that contradictory nature.

I guess it's a lot to do with analysis, and I love that you have those different sides, the philosophy, academia, but also the music and DJing, because music is very analytical, as well. Especially putting together a mix and understanding what works together.

Definitely.

It will be a similar skill but in a very different capacity.

I tried to really think about the music I play and think about why I play it. When I put together a mix, it's not just like, "oh, this is a load of bangers." No, I've actually sat down and been like, "what am I trying to portray through this mix? What am I saying, and who am I saying it to?"

Right.

And I think that's why there's been a slight shift in the way I play music. I think probably the best example of it is my Discwoman mix because it starts with a Black trans woman speaking about her experiences. This was before I publicly came out as non-binary, and even subconsciously, I was trying to tell the world something about me, and it was through these different artists I was able to express myself.

It's another language, isn't it? That's what it is.

I remember being in Bristol, two years ago, and I was at an afters, and a friend came up to me and said, "I went out last night and saw the most amazing DJ." And I was like, "oh, yeah? Who was it?" And he was like, "Ifeoluwa, the way they were mixing, it was so mathematical. They were breaking down the BPMs and what would work..." He was in awe of you.

The idea of how analytical the BPMs were and how that didn't stop you from playing the tune you wanted to play really speaks to me. You're not looking at what fits where. You're actually being like, "no, this is what I want to do, and I'm taking you on a journey."

I do actually carry a calculator in case I'm too wave when I'm DJing, so I can start calculating quickly how the different BPMs might go together and then doing time signatures in my head. It's interesting to see that people clock both the sociology side and the math side.

Yeah. He was feeling it. I need to start carrying a calculator around. I'm scared, though, if you're waved and you put in the wrong number or something.

It's definitely happened, but you almost go with it. That's another thing I've had to learn over the years is, it's alright to make a mistake. People do it all the time. I've seen Ben UFO make mistakes. This is a thing I really try and make sure people hear and understand at Intervention, is that it doesn't have to be perfect. Even the Crack mix that I just did, I purposely didn't record it again because I didn't want to submit a perfect mix. I wanted to record it one time; this is how I feel at this particular moment.

Oh, I'm a perfectionist, so I'm taking notes on what you're saying. It's so true, sometimes those mistakes can be really good, and sometimes those are people's favorite moments in mixes.

It can feel like a massive relief, as well, because that pressure is gone. The pressure to make it perfect. You're just doing you, which is lovely. You mentioned that you started off your Discwoman mix with a Black trans woman speaking. Was that a relief to finally put it out there?

Yeah, because I've been thinking about how to say it, and even how to be within music, and having that track, and even all the other tracks that followed, like there was a lot of music by queer artists and everything. For me, it was empowering myself. It's great, things like Intervention, but you also need to make sure that you yourself feel inspired by the things you do. Because I think that's when those really beautiful moments can happen.

How do you take inspiration from yourself?

I think, looking at my journey and how I've survived and what I've done in dark times, and realizing there's so much out there in the world. Even taking five minutes to look at my record bag and be like, "I remember that tune, I remember that gig I saw them play at!" And being like, "oh, yeah, this is what excites me, this is what drives me to carry on."

I love that. I just love it. I'm smiling ear to ear because I think it's so beautiful. Normally people always talk about what they're inspired by, and it's an external source of some form. People, places, music, but to really think, actually, that I can take inspiration from myself, and it starts from me first, and then I'll branch out, is a really lovely way to be, and I think a lot of people should take note of that and look at themselves first. Because you forget how much you've done.

What would you say has been the best advice you've ever been given?

I think it has to be from Josey Rebelle when we played together in Sheffield, and she was like, "no matter what, just keep doing you. And if people recognize or they don't recognize, at least you've been you throughout this whole thing." It sounds so simple, but it's actually the most solid advice you can be given. Because once you start to perform in a way that's not authentic, you give in to this whole notion of performativity, even respectability politics, all sorts of things. You start feeding into a narrative that's oppressing you if you start to be disingenuous.

That's very powerful advice. What would you say, then, to your younger self at 16?

I'd say, "just keep being yourself." I'd also say, "dubstep is still going to be sick in 10 years' time." Because I remember many a smoking area chat and it was, "oh, dubstep's going to die, blah, blah, blah," and then me being certain, like, "no, no, no, no, it will be kept alive." And even having that same passion of being certain of something is something you really need to carry with you in life because different situations and events will test you and test your beliefs. You just have to stick by what you think is true.

When it comes to thinking about what is true and knowing and finding out the truth, I feel like it evolves, and the things that you hold as true change as you grow and learn and do better.

How do you keep evolving, how do you keep learning?

I've been going through a period of unlearning, and I do that through reading the history, reading about how we've come to this place. Because you can't look forward without looking back. It's easy for us to talk about systemic racism, but why is there systemic racism? Why are people systematically oppressed? Without that knowledge and then how it impacts you as an individual, even though it is obviously institutional, you can't really grow. I'm still unlearning misogyny, anti-Blackness, all sorts, because things I believed about myself, they're completely not true. And the purpose that they serve is to make me believe I should be in an inferior position, which is just not the case. So that's what I hope people took away from last year, from the protests, from people speaking about their experiences, it is hard, but once we start doing that process of unlearning, we can learn what it actually means to exist with one another.

Once you unlearn you can move forward, can't you? For me, it's misogyny which I'm trying to unlearn, and once you go through that, it feels like you're released. Everything becomes light on your shoulders. You start relaxing a little bit more. Things just become easier—self-care becomes easier.

Self-care is a really big thing for me, at the moment, especially.

Yeah, for sure, and unlearning is self-care, 100 percent. We've talked about unlearning and moving forward. What is next for you, then?

At the moment, I'm still doing my PhD, so I'm looking forward to getting into that properly because I'm doing it about how Black British identity has been constructed. I'm looking at archive material, I'm also going to record some oral histories, interview people, I'm looking at literature, looking at maps, looking at everything out there that influences our existence. This has also helped me look deeper and deeper into club culture and its history because I feel like I've got a good understanding of US club culture but not in the same way about the UK, and I feel that's across everything. Even with race, I feel like a lot of people can point out when something's racist in the US context, but we have a very different context here, so I'm going to do a lot more learning, unlearning.

And then, for Intervention, more streams, a compilation. I also set up a record label called Ipaadi, and we're going to have our first release in the next month, which is exciting—and taking time to rest. I've started to put in my diary, rest, or watch Netflix, or buy bubble tea, things like that.

I love bubble tea.

Yeah, it's so good.

That's lovely. I wish you all the best with Ipaadi, with your release, your PhD, which sounds incredible, your journey with Intervention. Where can people find you, and how can people stay updated with the work you're doing?

The best possible place is Instagram, @interventioncru, or, @Ifeoluwa_1234, across all the socials, as well.

Perfect. I just want to thank you so much for joining us today on this RA Exchange podcast in collaboration with Black Minds Matter.