In Conversation with Charisse C

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Charisse C is a multicultural DJ, storyteller, curator, musician, and creative entrepreneur who has dedicated her career not only to making good music but also to crafting spaces for audience development and establishing infrastructure for young musicians, particularly DJs, to thrive and build sustainable livelihoods. In this conversation, she reflects on her relationship with home, the evolving role of music in shaping identity, and the collaborative spirit behind her growing platform, Abantu.

You have lived in the UK since you were 3 years old. As you grew older, did you experience any language barriers or identity complexities?

My parents tell me that when I started preschool, it took me a while to adjust to speaking English, but I don’t have much recollection of that, and it was also for a short period because I was so young. And you know, as kids, we are moldable. So, from a communication perspective, I can’t say I have had any challenges or barriers. Later on, in primary and then high school, I met other Black British people who would become my friends, and the unique thing about that is that we all have an understanding of our origin. We share the information we have with each other, and that becomes a melting pot where we infuse our individual cultures and lingo to form our own way of being.

Where it’s taken more work for me to find my feet is in the context of home. As I became an adult, it became important for me to have my own understanding of home that wasn’t connected to my parents. Before that (adulthood), I would be following them around – hadn’t had my own friends, own spaces. Over the last five years or so, I have come home annually for stays of about three months at a time to develop my own connection to home – discovering just how complex the history is and the tensions between the two countries, and within the countries themselves, among the tribes. Growing up in the UK, viewing identity through tribe wasn’t my way of viewing identity because I have always existed in dualities and multiplicities. So it was, and still is, hard for me when I’m asked whether I’m this or that because it’s never been a question of this or that -it’s always been all for me. All the different parts of me make up the whole me, and they are equally important to me.

Given your evolving understanding of your heritage, is the music you make a reflection of your relationship with home or your reconstruction of home?

It’s both. The music I make and the genres I play are rooted in or influenced by South Africa, and as such, I play numerous genres in my sets. People often ask me what kind of DJ I am because I seem rather confused, jumping between genres, and I tell them that I am not confused at all. I’m very clear about what it is I’m doing. I’m clear about the distinctions between the genres and the history of the genres. I pay attention to how I present each and every one of these genres. But equally, I am interested in the meeting point of these genres, because at the end of the day, people are the root of genres – as in, socially, how we operate is what informs how the genres are made. And in tracing the history of the genre, I am able to trace the history of my people. Music has always been a great way for me to trace history and to understand the social movements and the migrations that happened in Southern Africa.

It’s a curiosity, a discovery, a learning for me. Music is where I feel at home because home, to me, hasn’t been fixed in one place. Home, to me, has always been in-between spaces, and it’s been the people that have made me feel at home, not the spaces. I’m home in my communities, in my friendships, and in my family, wherever in the world they are.

Beyond that, I use the music and the learnings through music to create the spaces I want to see, and in so doing, I’m beginning to understand that when I’m creating these spaces for myself, I am also creating them for people like me — so it becomes our spaces. Electronic Dance Music (EDM) is a huge beast here, largely because the infrastructure to create a global career is rooted in this part of the world. But it cannot be ignored that a great deal of avant-garde innovations, such as Afrobeats and Amapiano, happen outside of here, and because of that, visibility of the original creators can be a concern. The music will make it onto rotation, but not the name and face of its creator — and this is one of the barriers I’m trying to dismantle through Abantu.

Tell us about Abantu. How did it originate, and what’s the vision for the platform?

Abantu started as a radio show on a community station called No Signal Radio, and this was during 2020, when people were attuning to Amapiano. To give you some background – when I was in school, it was cooler to be Caribbean than African, and this was largely because Jamaican culture, in particular, had taken root in the UK to the extent of their culture being interwoven into UK culture. Whereas there was no traction in being African, not until the rise of Afrobeats, anyway. The rise of Afrobeats here was a huge moment of pride for all of us. It slowly began infiltrating popular culture, and with time, more businesses like Nigerian food stores were built off the back of that momentum.

When Amapiano came along, it too started infiltrating popular culture. People would be walking around saying “danko” and trying out the dance moves. But because the creators of the genre are not UK-based, and there are cultural gaps, tensions developed with regards to the interpretation of the music. So, with Abantu, I wanted to bridge that gap by inviting the creators of the music to explain to the audience the significance of the music, from its tempo to the lyrics, so that there could be a greater appreciation of the genre beyond its feel-good capabilities. On the show, I invited the likes of Aymos, Lady Du, and DBN Gogo, to name a few.

When the pandemic eventually subsided and we could host gatherings again, Abantu expanded to curated parties of the same music. We booked the likes of Dlala Thukzin to headline one edition, and I headlined another edition. More recently, Abantu evolved into a record label as well, and we’ve just signed a single by AV on Decks and Sam Beazy, who are from the Eastern Cape.

So, Abantu keeps evolving into the things I am interested in and passionate about. I am of the understanding that if we do not own things and have infrastructure, we will hit a ceiling at some point, and it is therefore in my own interest that I build infrastructure for my creations that can also assist other artists. It doesn’t make sense to me that I would go through all these learnings, only to have those who come after me go through the exact same thing. I named it Abantu because I want this vehicle to always be rooted in people first.

The space of music and arts that you operate in is competition-centric, and this is something I’m sure you are well aware of. But even so, you have chosen to go the collaborative route more often than not. Why is that?

Being part of the minority in the UK means that I have been in a number of spaces where I was either the first or the only – and that can easily become a badge of pride. But my belief is that if I go at it alone, it will end with me, no matter how big I make it or how great I become. Another thing that never made sense to me is how women, particularly Black women, are pitted against each other because “only one of us can succeed at a time”, yet in the very same industry, men can co-exist.

Brands are built on this narrative of community and “for the culture”, and my stance is that the only way you can do things for the culture is by considering and involving the collective. If you are not considering the collective, then it is not for the culture, it’s for you.

I operate from a place of abundance. I believe we can share and multiply instead of hoarding and sabotaging one another. There can and should be many of us at the table of success at any given moment. We have not done enough if only one or two of us can succeed at a time.