Lamsi is a Dutch-Surinamese artist embedded in Amsterdam’s experimental club scene, known for his genre defying blends fusing grime, Afro-diasporic electronica, deconstructed breaks, and traditional Kawina rhythm. In the 2 years since his breakout hit “Give It 2 Me Now” and collaboration with Bambii on “Slip Slide”, he’s made his Boiler Room debut, penned as an ‘Artist Who Could Define 2024’ by Clash, and worked with grime legend JME as well as LA’s Bianca Oblivion.
We spoke to Lamsi about his connection to Suriname, where he spent his formative years. While both his parents are Surinamese, Lamsi was born and raised in Amsterdam. Nonetheless he remains deeply connected to his heritage through his family. “Until about 10 years ago, I used to travel to Suriname every year- a lot of my family still live there. Through these trips, my parents, and my cousins’ influence- I became connected to the rhythms from a very young age, and always felt a personal affinity to the music.”
Lamsi’s music is clearly informed by Suriname, a country where almost everyone is raised learning how to play traditional instruments like the Agida and Skratjie drums. Lamsi, who’s familiar with the practice, explained that the specific ways of playing these instruments are an extension of each region and its sound. There’s no way of emulating the specific regional sound, apart from being taught by those embedded in the culture – history passed down through generations. A natural form of preservation of local identities, even if that may be beside the point, it’s still precious knowledge as much of the world is still widely unaware of Surinamese culture and music.
Lamsi’s forthcoming EP, titled Dimi, (the name of his late cousin) and an extension of this need to dig into the music of Suriname’s past and forgotten corners. “[Dimi] was the first person to get me into dance music, he also introduced me to a lot of underground electronic music in Suriname. He took me to a lot of record stores, where we dug through vinyl and CDs – discovering the sounds of unknown producers that still to this day I haven’t uncovered. He’s no longer with us, so I can’t ask him about the producers and music that we used to listen to. But this year I’ll go to Suriname for the first time in 10 years, and look through his collection.”
It’s thanks to people like Dimi and their record shop digging sessions that Lamsi began to pick up on the heavily percussive rhythms and patterns of the region, connected it with his electronic affinities, and learned the drum patterns and use of instruments in Kawina (Suriname’s best known local genre). Lamsi recommends listening into a run through the history of the sound curated by the formidable Tash LC, Evolution of Afro Surinamese Kawina, featuring Kawina, Kaseko, and all sorts of call and response singing.
“Tyar Faya” the first single from Lamsi’s EP features a modern, club twist on call and response. It’s a darker abstract, a call to action that translates as an invitation to “bring fire”. It’s the evolution of the technique born through a need for communication, community and entertainment by our enslaved ancestors on plantations, in prison work camps, later adopted in the church, and developed across history in Black music including kawina, soul, gospel, jazz, blues.
“Surinamese music is historically uplifting. I’ve taken these elements and added a dark, club twist,” Lamsi explains. “Rather than featuring purely traditional sounds or samples, I’m creating something new and modernising the sounds I grew up with. I’m adding a textured layer – linking it to the origins of the music, especially with it being protest music. It was created by those pushing back against colonial influences, and I believe this is coming full circle. People don’t usually understand the words per se, but they can feel the message and the energy.” Lamsi, and the diaspora across the Netherlands, have developed a new, specific, imaginative, and darker euphoria as previously featured in traditional Kawina.
Lamsi again refers to the music coming out of Jamaica and the diaspora, and the use of Patois. “It’s the language that we have chosen.” He tells me of recent conversations around how “it’s now considered surprising when people speak the Surinamese language – even in Suriname. In school, they learn Dutch.” They have begun forgetting the language, losing the whole heritage through language and with it, a piece of history. “The youth in Suriname don’t really speak the language anymore, it’s strange.” There’s a sense of remaining connected to your heritage through the language. Will this connection begin to fade without it?
We create our own versions of connection to heritage in the diaspora. It’s an unknown home that we still dream of, feel nostalgia over, and try to recreate in our communities. Suriname is a melting pot of both cultures and languages. The creole adaptation meshes English, Dutch and other languages to enable flow of communication through those without the ability to speak each other’s languages. It’s been adopted as the ‘lingua franca’ of Suriname, despite the official language of the region being listed at Dutch. Creole can be described as protest against the enforcement of colonial language, and immortalising it through music is something that is vastly important, as the erasure of these languages amounts to the erasure of struggle.
Lamsi compares the widespread popularity of Surinamese music and sound across Holland to the Batida movements in Lisbon. “Travelling outside of Lisbon you don’t really hear it – but you do in Lisbon. It’s the same as Amsterdam, Rotterdam and the South. You’re going to hear the Surinamese influences.” The diasporic translation of the traditional sound is heard across the space and has been adopted by many, a hazy memory- reimaged and retold. “I’m really trying to take all those elements and the way we experience the club outside of Holland. This is what I try to do with The Herd.” Taking the sound to the masses, and continuing to feed into a melting pot of cultures.
I asked Lamsi for a track that he feels like best showcases the sounds of the Surinamese diaspora, and he highlighted a Prince Pasensi track called “Rutu”. “He’s really a mentor for me. If you talk about Surinamese music for the club- he’s one of the OGs. He started with taking records and CDs, using samples and making it more electronic. CARISTA also always represents Suriname, wears the soccer t-shirts. I’m very proud of her, and taking it so wide.” She represents the diasporic feeling of being connected to a home and culture that we begin to emulate in our cities. Similarly to Lamsi feeling the urge to bring the community together through The Herd, CARISTA has done so through radio show, event series and label, United Identities.
“There’s not a huge club scene in Suriname at the moment, and that’s what we’re trying to change. If you go to Ghana, Nigeria there’s a thriving scene. Why are we not doing the same? A Surinamese person in Suriname is so different to a Surinamese person in Amsterdam. I want to be able to nurture more of a connection and bring ourselves together. To strengthen the people, the message, the sound. What happened to Suriname during slavery and oppression, I think that people began to stop working together. How can we make sure that people work together to push each other forward, to create a system in which we can continue to push each other forward and prop each other up and to become less fragmented?”
“Tyar Faya” is out now on The Herd Records, Dimi will be released on the 10th of October.