15 minute read
Dialled In
CALLING THE SHOTS
Dialled In festival is shining a light on British South Asian artists – and empowering a generation in the process
Crowd pleasers: the view from the decks at Dialled In festival in April (Yung Singh pictured far right)
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young woman standing close to the decks has been crying for the best part of three hours. She’s wearing a purple sari, matching eyeshadow, giant hoop earrings, and a bejewelled bindi in the centre of her forehead. The tears started to roll when Pxssy Palace began their set, and they keep rolling as Suchi, Yung Singh, DJ Priya and Gracie T take over. Every time a Punjabi-fused UK garage track thunders from the speakers, her face crumples into a disbelieving screw face and both hands become gun fingers. These aren’t tears of sadness but of joy, that she’s found a space that celebrates every aspect of her identity. And the tears, the sari, the UKG and the gun fingers are a fairly airtight summary of what Dialled In festival is all about.
Last year was a big one for British South Asian artistry. It was in 2021 that Daytimers, a music and art collective grounded in the creativity of the diaspora, burst onto the scene. This was also the year Sikh DJ Yung Singh played a Boiler Room set chock-full of Punjabi garage, UK breaks and hip hop. And it was the year the first Dialled In festival took place, catapulting the community onto the world stage. A team effort between British South Asian collectives Daytimers, No ID and Chalo, Dialled In feels as if it has been running for decades. And that’s because it has, in some form or other – it’s just only recently the world has sat up and listened.
Back in the ’70s, the UK’s South Asian youth had a variety of obstacles to overcome if they wanted to party. The offspring of first-generation immigrants lacked the freedom of their white peers. Partying wasn’t seen as an acceptable pastime, and overt racism meant South Asian teens could barely get into clubs, let alone run nights in them. So the young diaspora had no choice but to create a space of their own, in a format their parents wouldn’t discover.
The original ‘daytimers’ events were underground out of necessity. They took place in the daytime so attendees wouldn’t return home late, and because venues were happier to hand over their space when no one else was using it. South Asians from across the UK would head to basements in Leicester or ballrooms in Birmingham to let off steam, dancing to a unique blend of UK-infused Punjabi and bhangra tunes, resulting in one of the most vibrant creative communities in British musical history.
Throughout the ’80s and ’90s, these events cultivated numerous crews and parties, including Panjabi Hit Squad, Joi, Nasha, Bombay Jungle and Asian Vibes. With no cultural blueprint to replicate, the community turned to its own heritage and Black music for inspiration. However, while Black culture was afforded ‘cool’ status sometime in the ’90s, its South Asian equivalent was either ignored or dismissed as uncreative. So, although an outsider might think Dialled In is spearheading South Asian artistry, it’s simply following in the footsteps of the parties and collectives that never got their dues.
Yung Singh is arguably the best-known artist to emerge from the new British South Asian underground. Prior to his Boiler Room set in 2021,
Shivum Sharma
In preparation for his eventual free solo of Yosemite’s El Capitan, Honnold headed to China in 2016 to practice roof climbing on the Getu Arch.
Dial-hard clubbers: (opposite) DJ Yung Singh in deep concentration; (this page) a mix of bass, grime, hip hop and Punjabi garage and more keeps the partygoers jumping
Movers and shakers: (above) DJ, producer and Dialled In cofounder Ahad Elley; (opposite, top) DJs Gracie T and Priya; (bottom) Shivum Sharma soothes the ears of the crowd
the Midlands-born DJ released a viral mix for UKG collective Shuffle ’n’ Swing, which championed Punjabi garage music from the ’90s and beyond. The revivalist mix hit the electronic music community in the jugular, but Yung Singh refuses to take all the credit for its success; whether headlining festivals, inciting moshpits and taking over Fabric, he’s never forgotten to acknowledge the OGs who came before.
In March 2019, Yung Singh attended No ID, a party launched by DJ, producer, promoter and Dialled In co-founder Ahad Elley, aka Ahadadream. No ID’s aim – to connect and celebrate British South Asian artists – was inspired by DJ Nabihah Iqbal’s 2017 party in Tottenham, north London, and DJ Manara’s Pure Spice show on BBC Asian Network. Here, the cycle of inspiration never ends, and no one is interested in hogging the spotlight; this crew are much happier bigging up each other.
Elley is hosting today’s Dialled In festival at EartH Hackney, an arts venue in Dalston, east London. He’s wearing an orange shirt and a cross-body bag and has a lit-up look about him, like his soul is alight. When he was approached by Waltham Forest Council last year to launch Dialled In, Elley vowed to take control of the narrative. For too long, his community’s identity had been hijacked and dictated by the British media and society, so this festival had to be run entirely by the South Asian community. Now, Dialled In hosts mentorship programmes, Q&A sessions, movie nights, and plans to launch its own publication. “The media might brand us ‘cool’ now, but we’re very sceptical of that,” Elley says. “We’re building our own structures and platforms so we can be self-sustaining.”
Elley was born in Pakistan’s fourth largest city, Rawalpindi, and moved to the UK with his family at the age of 13. He soon discovered he was one of only a few Brown Muslim people in his new hometown – Sandy, Bedfordshire – and there wasn’t much more of a community at the University of Surrey when he enrolled in the late 2000s. But, around that time, the emergence of dubstep inspired Elley to start DJing and throw parties in Guildford, championing bass, UK funky and garage.
Generally speaking, young people in South Asian communities are discouraged from taking creative paths. More often than not, their elders moved to the UK for economic stability, so being a doctor, scientist or lawyer is preferred over, say, producing garage. Elley studied chemistry, but moved to London after university to work in the marketing team at Boiler Room, the online music broadcasting platform that streams live sessions.
“For my parents, music was a side thing,” Elley says. “They always encouraged me to go down the academic route.” But then he launched his own record label, More Time; started releasing music on established labels, got plays on BBC Asian Network, and was booked to DJ at London clubs Fabric, XOYO and Brixton Jamm, so his parents had to give up the ghost. But Elley was still missing a community that understood his British-Pakistani heritage, so he launched No ID to create one.
DJ Priya grew up in a large South Asian community in west London, but felt like an outcast because of her red hair, piercings and penchant for punk. “I felt too Brown to fit in with the white girls and too westernised for the South Asian girls,” she says. “So I struggled with my identity.”
It certainly does not seem that way today. Dressed in a majestic red sari with jewels that flash in tandem with her lip piercings, Priya is headlining Dialled In festival with her best mate Gracie T because, she explains, “We are sick.”
Ahad Elley
Mya Mehmi (right)
Pushing progress: Nadine Noor and Mya Mehmi of LGBTQ+ club collective Pxssy Palace Mr Entertainer: musical virtuoso Nikhil Beats has the Dialled In massive vibesing from the very first note
Dialled In works tirelessly to ensure a safe space for women and members of the LGBTQ+ community. “Tonight we’re going to make sure female, non-binary, trans and queer people are at the front with us,” says Priya. “That’s what we do. We play for the outcasts.”
In many ways, DJing saved Priya’s life. She grew up in foster care, fell in with the wrong crowd, and was flagged a flight risk. During a particularly bad period, she saw an advert for DJ lessons at the Southbank Centre. “As soon as I touched the decks, something unlocked in me,” Priya says. Now she plays bass, grime and Punjabi-infused bassline at Fabric, Adidas events, and in cities across the UK. “Music transformed me. It gave me a reason to live.”
Shivum Sharma’s music shimmers. He looks small on this huge stage, but his energy fills the Amphitheatre. He shines up there in his sea-green kurta – the collarless South Asian shirt – singing and playing piano, backed by his band. Sharma takes inspiration from ’70s soul, pop ballads and classical Indian to create music that’s described as alternative pop but is indefinable like a dream.
Sharma is half-Irish, half-Indian, and grew up in south London. As a kid, he became obsessed with NOW That’s What I Call Music CDs and would listen to Aaliyah, Destiny’s Child and Basement Jaxx on repeat. He remembers feeling frustrated when an acquaintance boarded the same bus, because it meant he had to turn off his Walkman and talk to them. Sharma DJs, too, with a residency on Foundation FM, and his 2020 four-track Diamond EP was played on BBC Radio 1Xtra, BBC Asian Network and Reprezent 107.3 FM. His vocals are so soothing, half the crowd sit swaying with their eyes closed.
Before Dialled In, many of the British South Asian artists weren’t aware of each other, but now the community extends beyond music. Daytimers has a Discord group that shares recipes, music and job opportunities. And if one of the members is in LA, Mumbai or Colombo, they’ll tell the group and they might end up being fed by another’s grandparents.
Sharma says that communities like Dialled In empowered him to embrace his heritage. “A lot of the artists at Dialled In have felt very stifled by society’s idea of what a South Asian person should be: that they’re uncreative and unexciting, and that their culture isn’t something to be proud of,” he explains. “But Dialled In rejects those standards that society pushes on us.”
One for the fans: “We play for the outcasts,” says Priya, pictured (left) alongside DJ partner Gracie T at the decks
Nikhil Beats is an instrument whisperer. He’ll lay his hands on anything – a guitar, a violin, a hornucopian dronepipe – and it’ll pretty much start playing itself. Nikhil raps, produces and sings; today he’s performing for the first time with his new live band. There’s a saxophonist, drummer, bongo player, electric bouzouki player, and Nikhil on guitar, playing a seamless blend of R&B, hip hop and jazz. “This one’s off my new EP,” he tells the crowd in a thick, east London accent. “So when you’re feeling it, I wanna see you vibesing in it.’”
It’s impossible not to start vibesing when Nikhil Beats is in the house. His charisma is palpable, his enjoyment contagious. The man is in his element on stage, surrounded by eclectic instruments and guest artists, looking out across a sea of enthralled faces. He’s as happy as a baby lizard on a sunlit rock.
“We were already doing our own thing before Daytimers came along,” Nikhil explains. “But if you’d asked me about other South Asians on the scene, I didn’t really know anyone. In a way, it was like none of us knew the others existed. But now [Daytimers] has shone a light on the community, we can all see each other.”
Nikhil grew up surrounded by instruments and began rapping and producing music at school. “It’s not like I’m an Indian artist,” he says. “I’m BritishAsian – I was born here – and I never necessarily felt excluded from things. But when you’re a person of colour, you don’t always know you’re being excluded.”
South Asia is one of the most diverse regions on the planet. People across the area – from India, Pakistan and Bangladesh to Sri Lanka, Bhutan, Nepal, Afghanistan and the Maldives – speak hundreds of languages in hundreds of dialects, and follow four main religions. Needless to say, this diversity extends to the diaspora. Nikhil’s parents are both Indian, but one is Gujarati, the other Punjabi. “They speak different languages, dress differently, eat differently; their cultures are completely different,” Nikhil says. “People say I’m Indian, but there are these huge cultural differences between two sides of my family.”
Kids in the diaspora often grow up navigating two worlds: one inside the house and another outside.
But with spaces like Dialled In, these two worlds can meet. “Growing up, I don’t remember thinking it was cool to be Indian,” Nikhil says, “but now it’s cool to showcase your heritage. This isn’t just a trend or a phase for us, though – it’s our culture.”
Mya Mehmi and Nadine Noor cut striking figures behind the decks in the dark, cavernous main room known as The Hall. Dressed in skintight bodysuits, they mix expertly despite fingernails the same length as their stiletto heels. This feels like a different world to the Amphitheatre: smoke and lasers shoot across the blackness, lighting up wide-eyed faces in snapshots of euphoria. The place is heaving, bodies dancing to garage, breaks and booty bass from the two Pxssy Palace representatives. The crowd lose it when Mehmi plays a Punjabi remix of Rihanna’s Bitch Better Have My Money. As a tattooed woman in a beanie and glasses holds up her phone to film, her Apple Watch flashes 20,000 steps. It’s only 6pm.
According to its Twitter account, Pxssy Palace is “a slaggy club nite that celebrates and centres queer women, trans, non-binary and intersex BIPOC [Black, Indigenous and People of Colour].” Pxssy Palace changes lives, and it helped Mehmi make sense of who she is.
Growing up in Leicester, music was a form of survival for Mehmi. “I was really bullied for being queer, so music helped me escape reality and gave me something to look forward to,” she says. She grew up deeply unhappy, fighting against everything that felt natural to her. “The way I walked, the way I talked… I grew up knowing that these things coming from me were wrong.” Before Mehmi understood she was
Pitch perfect: Pxssy Palace DJ Nadine Noor drops garage, breaks and booty bass in The Hall
Nikhil Beats
trans, daily tasks took maximum effort. Walking to the station, going to the supermarket, chatting to a friend – everything was a battle.
As a kid, Mehmi begged her parents for singing lessons. They gave in when, during a holiday in Goa, she stood on a table in a bar and belted out Black Eyed Peas’ song Shut Up to a sea of astonished onlookers. When she was 17, Mehmi moved to London to make music, but only tuned in to her authentic self when she began her transition in 2020. “Before then, I was just trying to find a palatable way to be a man in music,” she says. “But it never felt natural, because I wasn’t really a man.”
She found Pxssy Palace in 2017 and began to learn more about gender and queer theory and meet trans folk. When her friend Elie Che, a trans activist, passed away in 2020, Mehmi felt she could no longer live a lie; she started her transition that week.
Mehmi, who identifies as Punjabi, says there was so little representation while growing up that all her references came from Black culture. She takes great pains to credit the Black artists who inform her work, and to centre the marginalised. “I love the fact two femmes are headlining this festival,” she says. “That’ll really push the culture forward and show people our tolerance for bullshit is getting thinner and thinner.”
Yung Singh has whipped the crowd in The Hall into such a frenzy that three separate moshpits have formed. The bass is so thunderous, the speakers visibly quake, and the crowd jump to his garage and grime tracks in unison, as if at a punk gig. Young men in turbans reach out to shake his hand between mixes, and the energy feels more like a wild, euphoric celebration than a DJ set at a festival.
As Yung Singh’s last track rolls out, Elley grabs the mic. “Next up, we have our headliners,” he bellows. “We want all the women to come forward!” DJ Priya and Gracie T step behind the decks, the latter wearing a zebra-print sari with ruched lime-green trim. From the moment Priya spins Cho’s Popalik, she doesn’t stop bouncing, and neither does the crowd. It feels like an invisible thread connects the two DJs with the audience, and when Gracie plays a UKG remix of Daddy Yankee’s Gasolina, Priya stands on a speaker and fires out banknotes printed with the duo’s faces. The young woman in the purple sari standing near the decks jumps in the air to catch a note and clutches it like she’ll never let go. Seconds later, Priya drops Azealia Banks’ 212 and the gun fingers come out, along with the screw face. It looks like she’s just come home. dialled-in.com
