Bloodline. City of London. Anamorphic artists. Poets. Authors. Auteurs. Part Anarchists. Part Economy. Shared past gilded from reconstituted stone. Industrial glass. Decimated paths within the ancient cultural caucus.

Between living brotherhood and ancestral memory, , and have emerged as cultural custodians from the time-worn streets of London. The city is both symbol and setting  to their stories; a backdrop to their origins, an impenetrable bond forged over a decade ago, their respective breakthroughs and now, a stage for their most recent transformations. 

“The city of London is so rich in terms of culture and creativity,” says Ross. “There’s all these different tenets that make our individual relations to the city so interesting. London is huge on the world stage. That extends to us three. We’re all so distinct but very much informed by this city.”

Samuel Ross MBE emerged as a renegade figure in fashion with the launch of his label A-COLD-WALL* in 2015, a self-funded venture grounded in the lived reality of experiencing class disparity growing up in Brixton while studying design.

Since then, Ross has actively pursued artistic legitimacy and authorship in his work by establishing his studio, SR_A SR_A. A dedicated engineering space for industrial design and spatial architecture, the studio resists institutional framing, thoughtfully reshaping notions of Black British identity from raw materials – an evolving record of ritual, time and transformation. 

Ross crossed paths with Hublot in 2019 when he was awarded the Hublot Design Prize. As is the case for all of the brand’s ambassadors, Ross has helped define Hublot through both functional design and innovation. Hublot and Ross strengthened their design partnership this year, debuting the Big Bang Unico SR_A the first signature SR_A model equipped with the Manufacture’s Unico chronograph calibre.

A pioneer of glitch-in-the-matrix “dream rage” – a psychedelic fusion of trillwave, the shadowy cadences of UK drill and high-impact dance music – Lancey Foux came of age in Stratford, Newham in East London, inheriting his DJ father’s love of rhythm. Lancey’s influence on a generation of hyper-online UK rap upstarts is unmistakable, but his new era is an antidote to that digital myopia; a call-to-arms for real-time connection, not the monotony of virtual existence. 

Lancey – the latest ambassador for CUPRA, with our shoot featuring the new CUPRA Raval (open for order now) – is cultivating an after-hours space through his CLUB BLUE takeovers and forthcoming album ‘The Time Of Our Lives’. A cumulative rendering of his high-volume solo releases and collaborative work as part of Conglomerate (with Len and Fimiguerrero), ‘The Time Of Our Lives’ is a liberatory dance album that offers a cathartic getaway from the mire of our modern times; a neon-lit, deep blue dreamscape that celebrates the poetic motion of Black bodies in synchronicity.

“I named my album ‘The Time Of Our Lives’ because it’s fun and a good time, but it’s also what I’m going through right now,” Lancey explains. “I’m a very conscious person and I’m hyper-aware of my surroundings. It’s not all fun and games. But I do want to offer escape. This is my release.” 

Hailing from Camden Town, North London, Bakar has achieved that rare feat in music: crossover glory. Just as much of a name in the US as he is a homegrown success story, Bakar’s projects – 2018’s breakout mixtape ‘BADKID’, albums ‘Nobody’s Home’ and ‘Halo’ – bridged the gap between lo-fi indie revivalism, narrative-driven pop and the beatmaking dexterity associated with hip-hop. His storytelling reflects his cross-cultural upbringing in the city, where systemic hurdles and everyday mundanity is communicated from a voice that comfortably sits on the fringes. 

Mere weeks before he cameoed on Justin Bieber’s ‘SWAG II’ on the MJ-coded, ‘80s pop jaunt ‘DON’T WANNA’, Bakar shared the self-surveying project ‘BEASTIE’ – an artistic spark after a period of inertia. Now, he’s moved past the frenzied feel of that chapter to the makings of a new one that reconciles his idiosyncrasies with carefully-honed, classic song craft. This time there’s no dressing or sheen, this is Bakar unfiltered, in pursuit of something timeless.  

“Now, it’s more about releasing twelve great songs,” Bakar says of his upcoming album. “I’m talking Tracy Chapman level of greatness. What if I had everything at that top level and then I delivered it to a gold standard level as well. I’m reverse engineering it from the way I did it before. I’m focused on the structure of this house; the materials and the foundations.” 

Bypassing the conventional cover story format, in keeping with the non-conformist spirit of all three artists, we present a conversation between friends, brothers and peers.  

I want this conversation to get across the purity each of us has as artists. We’re all at a point in our careers where we don’t have to explain ourselves. But to anchor this all, I’m going to ask some questions that get across our personal manifestos. Can you both pinpoint five key emotions in one word? 

Triumph. When I think of that word, I think of victory and vindication. It captures a point of finality I’ve worked my way towards in my life and career.

Resilience. I think under the umbrella of resilience comes toughness, stamina, endurance, and also love. These are emotions tied to my experience of the city. This city can be tough for people. There’s so many hurdles because of the economy of the city. Are you down to be broke? 

Even within the art space, you get very used to a patron being there to accept or buy your work. But we lose track of the fact that you’re supposed to put your own money up and the rest will follow. In the art world, you’re classed as a young artist from the ages of 44-55. There’s scope to learn, fail and grow. 

You’re classed as old and washed out when you’re thirty in rap music. 

An artist has a longer career span. Sonia Boyce was the youngest Black British woman to get a solo exhibition at TATE Britain. She had some ups and downs and then represented Great Britain at the 2022 Venice Biennale where she was awarded the Golden Lion. She built gradually in a forty-year span.

Even when I first started music, people wanted me to rap. But I wanted to be like Bill Withers. 

Rap as a whole is still one of the younger genres, but you get to a point when you’re an older one. 

It’s evolving though. Now you’re seeing that there is more shelf life. You’re never going to kid the audience, I think it was Jay Z who said that. The problem with rappers when they mature is there’s too much of a disconnect. 

When I listen to what you’ve both produced, you’re pushing boundaries. You’re pushing the art form forward. It’s elastic now. 

It’s fun to push against things. I can choose how I want to push boundaries. People associate it with eccentricity but it can be innate and normal also.

After a while, your instinct leads you. For any trailblazer, in any art medium, you have to go where the feeling is. 

Look, we’re pushing boundaries simply by being Black. We’re young Black men finding our own way and providing for our loved ones. I’ve always been around successful Black men in the city. Every year that we’re still producing work that connects with people, we’re pushing boundaries. 

Black creativity. Black art. Black objects. It exists and sustains itself. For me the diaspora of connection is key. 

Don’t you feel like it’s separating us a bit though? It started off connecting us and now it feels like a barrier. We’re really fragmented at the moment. We’re too individualistic and it doesn’t feel like we’re part of a whole. 

I think it’s important to find people to build with. There are industries geared towards helping young artists who didn’t go to elite schools get their foot in. At times, it can make our world feel small, overzealous, and too self-important. 

: I met you both in real life. I’m always going to find what I need to find and attract what I need to attract. Meaningful relationships will always exist for me in real-time and real life. My creative circle is based on tangible connections.

How much can we keep things in real-life that are exciting and progressive? How can it inform the art? 

As a father, I’m thinking about legacy. I’m spending time with a tailor or fabricator to get the welding right, or I’m meeting with an architect. I’m reaffirming the physical and reaffirming having autonomy. How do we make sure more people can get through so things aren’t as niche or elitist? It’s a constant focus of mine.

Now, the second primary question: name two immediate visions as one word?

Connection. It explains having a vision or a goal and using your repertoire to tie it all together. Ideas aren’t always clear cut. I’ve always been someone that can’t plan; I plan as I go along. 

I was speaking to a business partner recently. We were going over this principle of what it means to develop a model for a creative company. The reality is: there is no model. It’s a life’s work. There is no correct model. It’s a hero’s journey, and a political act. 

I think if you’ve never created and you get there one day, there isn’t an easy explanation on how to do it. 

The artist’s role is to push against the grain and challenge the status quo. 

The third question: name one poetic philosophical contemplation in either haiku, prose or abstract language. 

There’s a change in the way I go about my process that has given me a different version of myself. I’m adapting my philosophy even if the fundamentals stay the same. I always use the football analogy to describe my creative process; I still want to play ball but the game has changed. Music making now is more physical, like the premier league. I need more fullbacks! 

I’ve finally reached my evolution through things that were once a nightmare. In my career, I’ve had a lot of back and forth between people who don’t make music. At one point, I pushed back. But now, I’m there, I embrace it all. 

As an artist existing today, you get a signal of what’s popular based on a trending snippet. It’s so fleeting. We’re all becoming machines, everything is pre-determined. Music needs to be experienced in the purest form. My CLUB BLUE takeovers aim to do just that. This is me endorsing next-gen talent in spaces that emphasise the physical experience of music in community. Some of us can remember what it was like going out without phones; what it was like when you were present in a room with your friends. 

I hope to take this global, where we have five DJs on the bill, where rap and dance converge. It’s only unreleased music, and they can test out their material in a room. It’s not a ticketed show where we’re moshing for three hours. CLUB BLUE gives that power back to creators to enjoy the art in a room, with other people. 

Lancey is genuinely one of the most talented people I know. It’s scary. For me, my EP ‘BEASTIE’ was a palette cleanser. I needed to make it to fall back into the groove of making music after I had a bit of wobble in my career. Now, I’m in the midst of creating my most ambitious and intentional piece of work. I have a lot of information to work with. I’ve taken my time. I’m more purposeful because I understand myself better now.

It’s like it’s a sin if you don’t act on instinct as an artist. 

Exactly. I’m patient with it now. What is it I’m trying to say? A lot of last year was learning and doing the pre-season work before my next cycle. Before, I had to leave the studio with a bounce in my step. If I didn’t, it was a failure. Now, I’ve written 50% of a new album and there’s a quiet confidence about my stuff. I’m in love with the process again. 

We’re fighting this system to create for the sake of creating. I’m slowing down my process, and I’m using my hands again. On the fashion side, you have to create between 4-8 collections a year. No one needs that amount. Are you going to go against the grain, and keep your independence as a designer? I’m shedding that insecurity and I’m letting my soul lead me. 

I was hitting a wall for a long time. So I had hard conversations with myself and my collaborators. The process had to change. 

You’re both my peers and brothers, you’ve shaped my process as well. It’s a joy to be in conversation with you. Truly. 

I remember the moment when the buzz was crazy around Samuel and his designs. It was fashion week, and it was a breakthrough moment for Black designers and artists to have access to these spaces. I saw your show that year become a template. We were sitting front row and it felt new. 

I didn’t go to fashion school, so I learnt from tailors and factories. At that point, it wasn’t a business but a project. I just wanted to make, create and show it off; I wanted to see my ideas materialised. I wanted people to feel close to the work but I didn’t care about who was sitting front row. 

The shows needed to feel radical because I had this space, and I didn’t want to retread old ground. I was spending a lot of my money on these shows back when the brand was still independent. I was feeding back into my work. 

But people knew you and it all felt important. 

Well this was ours and it felt sacred. Do we spread this seed as far as it can grow? Early on there wasn’t this separation. With the fashion thing, we’d have to assimilate. Things needed to change. If I had to be a sacrificial lamb, then I’d throw myself at it.

It’s a never-ending conversation for me. I love rap more than most UK rappers, but I’m here to provide an alternative. Even if my crowd was white, I’d feel like they understood. But then I realised I had a very white audience, and I didn’t know how that made me feel either. 

The reason I did ‘Lonyo!’ was because I had an insecurity about a certain part of Black Britain not knowing who I am, and if they did know who I am, they didn’t know enough. What do I want from my audience? 

That’s a life question as well. The only answer is going back to creating; a painting, a poem, a song. The answers will be in the answers. 

With the audience, it always changes. Your audience evolves with you or evolves away from you. If you were to start making art today, would you really know who you were making it for? 

It might land on someone’s lap that you didn’t intend to appeal to. 

There’s moments when you have a commercial or cultural hit and it feels great, but making art is always about making sense of my life. It’s like breathing. You see the pain, the happiness and the joy in the work. It’s an emotional one because it’s all man knows. 

I’m trying to go out like the Black Johnny Cash. 

We’re all rockstars in our disciplines. With age, what rockstar do you become? I’m not allowing myself to die at 35. 

Western society is set up to beat you down when you turn 35 as a Black man. It’s so important we stay alive. We have to stay alive. It’s an honour to be in a conversation with you both. This is a flag in the sand. This is real preservation of Black art. 

We are roses who rose from the concrete.

As seen in CLASH 134. Order your copy .