HAFTW is a Berlin-based post-indie and Neue Türkische Welle band formed in 2021 by members from Turkey and Germany, whose music fuses the chaotic energy of Neukölln with the soulful melancholy of Turkish poetry. Their sound—equally cathartic and conflicting—is showcased in their single “One by One” from the upcoming album “Unknown Territories,” and they have earned recognition with releases on influential indie labels like Detriti, Cold Transmission, and Oraculo Records. Acclaimed for their dynamic live performances across Europe and featured in film and television projects, HAFTW continues to push musical boundaries while inviting audiences on a transformative cultural journey.
So to start with, why did you call the LP ‘Unknown Territories’
HAFTW: From the very beginning of our musical journey, we were placed within genres like post-punk and goth. We happened to make music in that style, worked with certain labels, and found ourselves in the goth scene, but it was never a conscious decision on our part to fit into a specific category. We have no problem with any scene or genre, but honestly, not many things about our musical journey have been planned or deliberate.
We wanted to explore, take the road less traveled, and embrace getting lost in the process. Maybe we got a bit too lost. It took us two years, after all! Haha.
Jokes aside, the moment that really shaped our perspective was when we came across a quote by David Bowie. He said something like:
“If you feel safe in the area you are working in, you are not working in the right area. Always go a little further into the water than you feel you are capable of being in. Go a little bit out of your depth. And when you do not feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you are just about in the right place to do something exciting.”
That gave us the courage to step into the unknown completely, to break free from any perceived boundaries, and to see where the music could take us.
What made you decide to start working on a LP instead of another EP or a single?
HAFTW: We felt an LP would give us the canvas to accommodate full-on discovery. A single would not allow for full-scale exploration. An EP was something we had done before, and we were expected to do another one, but that did not really suit the nature of the unknown discovery process.
It somehow also gave the possibility to build a whole map of the spheres we discovered. It felt more round if this makes sense.
For emerging artists, it is highly recommended to release singles to build a following and gain attention. Even for that reason, it felt liberating to break free and choose an LP, allowing us to create in the way that felt right to us.
What did you find to be most different about working on an LP?
HAFTW: The number of songs makes an LP a larger-scale project. The discovery-based approach of the LP also makes it difficult at times to have a clear reference point for individual songs. The purpose was to break free and get lost in the process, but that also made it harder to interpret the results of our discoveries. Overall, it took longer than expected. It could have been an ongoing process for even longer, honestly, but we needed to set a finish line somewhere to allow for new discoveries. We have more songs that will remain unreleased than the number of songs on the LP. We might release them at some point in the future.
Last but not least, collaborating with other artists, sound engineers, and technicians was a different process for this LP compared to before. It was also a unique opportunity to observe their approach to music and our songs.
How’s your relationship with LPs changed over the years? What was it like buying them back then, what is it like for you to listen to them now?
HAFTW: We always enjoyed buying LPs. It is like buying an immersive experience. You put it on more consciously and travel to this different place the artist created. Also, getting an LP gifted is great, I feel. Your friends invite you to share an experience which touched them. It is a concept from beginning to end. Everything is as it is for a reason and even though it might bring you to different destinations in itself, it is a whole. And every time you listen to it, it adds a layer of your own experience during those times. It’s a purely magical collection of different memories and emotions of different people.
For our own LP, we feel like we are archaeologists of ourselves. This is actually applicable to any artist. When the magical process of creation ends and the artist revisits their work, it can be haunting or challenging. As someone who was deeply involved in the process, your perception of the work changes. At times, it matures, develops, and grows. Other times, you might find yourself in an ongoing struggle with the piece.
We have love and compassion for our past selves. Listening to these songs and walking with them through the countless streets of Berlin over the past two years is, in a way, like embracing your past selves, revisiting memories, and watching yourselves grow. It goes beyond any categorical adjectives. It is truly a new experience.
And finally, is the LP a generational relic? Do you think it will live on with younger artists?
HAFTW: Younger generations are discovering that too. You can see that with younger artists. Maybe the medium changed so much, so the decision to listen to an LP is less conscious. It is of course more ritual to put on a vinyl and sit there to listen than to press a button for digital consumption. But this doesn’t break the idea of a concept in general.
Kanye Ost aka Karel Ott aka KO is born in East-Berlin (German Democratic Republic) in 1986. Rapper for Ostberlin Androgyn and singer and songwriter for Bistro Palme.
Looking at your musical journey, we see a striking transformation—from a “guitar guy” performing at reading circles to a rising rap star. What sparked this radical shift? Can you take us through the key moments that shaped your evolution as an artist?
As a small child, I loved singing, especially the “Biene Maja” title melody by Karel Gott in front of my family. I probably received too much positive feedback from my parents and my Schlager-music-loving grandmother for that – so even as a small child, I started to dream about being a singer. When I was 12, I bought my first guitar and started writing my first songs. Since I was 16, I have played in different rock bands, usually writing lyrics, singing, and playing guitar.
In 2010, my friends Sarah Bosetti, Daniel Hoth, Karsten Lampe, and I started the reading stage “Couchpoetos,” where my friends performed their newest poetry-slam texts, and I regularly performed my newest songs as the “guitar guy” once or twice a month.
In 2016, Daniel and I were chilling and smoking a lot, and we came up with the idea of performing two rap songs as “Ostberlin Androgyn” on our Couchpoetos stage. At first, it was just an easy-going idea for fun, but the audience’s reaction showed us clearly that the idea of an Ostberlin Androgyn rap crew was special and unique and that we could perform different parts of our artistic identities in a more radical way than before. The audience celebrated us and taught us to take ourselves seriously as Ostberlin Androgyn.
So, we decided to make it a real project and started recording our first EP. We released the EP in 2017, and by 2018, we already had a gig at Fusion Festival, everything happened very quickly back then.
Credit: Sebastian Hermann
You’ve described rap as a liberating force, a genre where you truly felt the flow and freedom. What was it about rap that resonated with you so deeply? How did things take off so quickly once you embraced it? And how did Ostberlin Androgyn come together as a project? Can you share the story behind the group’s vision and your role as Kanye Ost?
I’ve been listening to rap since I was 16, even though my main musical interests at the time were punk and rock. The German rap I listened to was pretty raw and intense—Westberlin Maskulin with Kool Savas and Taktloss, Aggro Berlin with Sido, B-Tight, Bushido and Fler, as well as MOR, Prinz Porno, and later KIZ. I was mainly into underground rap from West Berlin. I liked its roughness and direct messaging. The lyrical quality of late ‘90s West Berlin battle rap was much sharper and more intelligent than the more popular fun or conscious hip-hop coming out of Hamburg and Stuttgart at the time.
The only problem was the content. I didn’t feel comfortable sharing this music with my Antifa friends because of the often violent, sexist, and homophobic lyrics in West Berlin underground rap. Even though these artists aimed to provoke and used harsh street language as part of the battle aesthetic, sometimes ironically, it still reinforced problematic ideas. But despite that, I preferred this style of rap because of its street credibility, Berlin-style harshness, and underground appeal compared to other, more boring German rap.
We came up with the name Ostberlin Androgyn as a direct play on Westberlin Maskulin. Both Daniel and I grew up in Berlin-Hohenschönhausen, a Plattenbau neighborhood from the GDR era, so “Ostberlin” was an important part of our identity. Since we were both men, we couldn’t just flip “Maskulin” into “Feminin,” so we chose “Androgyn” instead, representing a softer and more fluid idea of masculinity.
Once we had Ostberlin Androgyn as our crew name, we started looking for fitting rapper alter egos. My name, Kanye Ost, came to me almost instantly—I liked Kanye West’s unique production and rap style, and the name followed the same reversal principle as our crew’s name (…and let’s not talk about today’s Kanye West, hehe). Daniel’s alter ego, Gregor Easy, was actually the result of a Freudian slip—a family member meant to mention DIE LINKE politician Gregor Gysi but accidentally left out a “G,” and Gregor Easy was born!
Even before writing our first rap lyrics, we had already chosen our crew name and alter egos. Content-wise, we focused on a post-historical perspective on our GDR identities. Gregor Easy’s father was a member of the GDR’s military, the Nationale Volksarmee (NVA), and drank himself to death after the fall of the Berlin Wall and West Germany’s takeover of the former GDR. My parents saw themselves as socialist pioneers when they moved to East Berlin. I was born in 1986 and grew up with a father who worked for the GDR secret service, the Ministerium für Staatssicherheit (Stasi), and a mother who studied Marxism-Leninism and Russian to become a teacher.
Many people from the former GDR had major difficulties finding orientation in a capitalist world they had to adapt to since 1990. These issues, along with some ironic and nostalgic views on our own history, are central points of our lyrics.
Another important aspect of our content is that we always wanted to be direct and “hard” without being toxic men – so we don’t use sexist or homophobic language and prefer to diss jerks, rich kids, and other annoying people instead of, for example, women or gay people.
Gregor Easy’s funny way of dissing assholes and my honest lyrics about my history of drug use gave us some street credibility, so that people could take us seriously as an underground rap crew.
When we released our first EP on vinyl in 2017, we produced a music video for our track “Takeover 2017,” and we asked our friend, the producer Spoke, to make it. During the shooting, we felt a strong connection and good vibes. Spoke was already producing beats back then, and afterward, Spoke joined our crew as a member and producer from 2018 to 2021.
Spoke organized a gig for us at Freilauf Festival in 2017, and there we met our future booker, Donna from eq:booking agency, who fell in love with our music and organized many gigs for us.
In the following years, we released some tapes and vinyl records (the last one, “Im Osten nichts Neues,” was released on Audiolith, a record label from Hamburg), and we went on tour, playing lots of gigs. Then the Corona pandemic came and devastated underground music and club culture in Germany (including us). These days, we are working on a new album again and hope to release it by the end of 2025.
Your other project, Bistro Palme, explores a completely different genre. What draws you to exist in two musical worlds? Do you feel a different creative energy in each, or do they feed into each other in unexpected ways?
As a listener, I have always been open to all styles of music, and as an artist, I have usually been involved in two or three different projects at the same time. So, for me, there isn’t really a division between separate musical worlds, there is just one big musical space where you can express different emotions through different styles.
As a person, you don’t wake up every day feeling the same way or listening to the same song over and over. People experience a range of emotions, go through different phases in life. Some days, you might feel like listening to death metal; other days, you might be in the mood for hyperpop. That doesn’t change who you are. As an artist, it’s the same for me: I have different emotions, and I can express myself through different musical styles, all as one and the same artist.
To be honest, this approach feels completely natural to me, so I don’t really struggle with the idea of being both a rapper in an underground crew and a singer in a playful rock big band at the same time.
When I started rapping at the age of 30, I was shocked by how free I felt on stage; without a guitar and without that typical “sad white guy with a guitar” image. At first, I really wanted to focus on Ostberlin Androgyn and was happy that I didn’t have to play the guitar. But composing songs on the guitar never really stopped for me, and Bistro Palme became the project where I could channel those songs. I started it with friends at almost the same time as Ostberlin Androgyn. However, since Bistro Palme consists of eight musicians (playing double bass, cello, violin, guitar, saxophone, flutes, drums, and keyboards), the production and release process takes much longer and requires more energy. As a result, Bistro Palme has had less output compared to Ostberlin Androgyn, but it has always existed. Just a little more “hidden” in the background. These days, my focus has shifted back towards Bistro Palme. We released our first album, Es geht vorab!, on vinyl in November 2024, and we’re playing live quite frequently.
In Ostberlin Androgyn, I am “Kanye Ost,” and in Bistro Palme, I am “Karel Ott”, so in both projects, I am still “KO.” There is a strong connection between these two personas, but of course, they are different on stage. Kanye Ost is a little more wild, chaotic, humorous, and self-destructive, while Karel Ott is a little more mature, reflective, and philosophical.
So, in the end, it’s not about different creative energies. It‘s all one and the same creative force that I put into both projects. The difference is more about the “mode” I am in at a given time or the particular focus I choose.
Another element that connects Ostberlin Androgyn and Bistro Palme is the use of radically honest lyrics. In pop music, there is often a tendency to sugarcoat life and the world we live in—there’s a lot of romanticizing and feel-good content. I like the idea of filling that kind of music with real-life struggles and true stories. For example, making a sweet, melodic song about depression and how even a crying face can have beauty, or writing a rap track about people who died at the Berlin Wall. Breaking taboos, addressing both personal and societal trauma, and talking about struggles that most people experience but rarely discuss, that’s what interests me as an artist… and as someone with some good therapy experience! 😀
Credit: Sebastian Hermann
East Berlin’s influence is unmistakable in your work—it’s woven into your artistic identity. How did growing up in East Berlin shape your music, your lyrics, and your creative vision?
First of all, there was always a huge gap between my personal childhood memories (as well as the mostly positive way my parents talk and think about socialism and life in the GDR) on the one hand, and what we had to read in school during my later (capitalist) childhood about the GDR and Stasi on the other hand. The GDR was presented as a totalitarian system similar to National Socialism. In movies and media, people who worked at the Ministerium für Staatssicherheit were usually portrayed as cold and inherently bad figures. Some members of my family worked for the Stasi, and I knew from my own experience that they were not the monsters that capitalist victory narratives described them as.
At the same time, from school, media, and contemporary witnesses, I learned that the overly positive view my family had of the GDR was also not super close to reality. I felt that the truth must be somewhere in between, and I have been searching for it my whole life. That search for truth has definitely shaped my artistic views – I have always felt that writing songs brings me closer to it than studying ever could.
I feel like my generation has a unique perspective on upheaval and the clash of different systems. We were born in East Berlin, spent our early childhood in the socialist German Democratic Republic, and then experienced “Die Wende” in 1990, which brought capitalism crashing into our society and radically changed everyone’s life. People lost their jobs and parts of their identities; many took their own lives because they could no longer understand the world around them. The generation before mine was fully shaped by a socialist mindset in a socialist world. The generation after mine grew up entirely in a capitalist world. But my generation experienced both, and we learned that a system can collapse, yet life still goes on. That knowledge—of resilience and survival—probably plays a central role in my art. For us, catastrophe and breakdown were normal, which may explain my tendency to explore uneasy topics.
After reunification, companies and individuals from West Germany easily took advantage of East Germans economically. Most people from the GDR had no real understanding of how the harsh “free” market worked—getting some Deutsche Marks always seemed like a good deal. Today, nearly all houses, businesses, and industrial structures in the former GDR are owned by Western companies or private individuals. Even in 2025, people in East Germany still earn around 15% less for the same work compared to those in the West. Being East German is still often associated with a sense of injustice and being positioned as the loser. Having less power and money than others, yet still trying to make my voice heard and reclaim space, is probably a major motivation for my art as well.
When I started school in 1993 in Berlin-Hohenschönhausen, my friends and I collected Coca-Cola cans with special Bundesliga logos and proudly displayed that capitalist trash on top of our bedroom wardrobes. In the GDR, we didn’t have much material wealth, so even Coca-Cola cans seemed valuable to us. Many things were scarce in the GDR, so if you had to repair your car, you had to improvise. That spirit of improvisation—of trial and error until you hopefully find a solution—is exactly how I make music. This is probably also why I produce different styles of music—there is no single way to find answers or solutions, so I try different approaches at the same time.
Migrant rappers, especially Turkish-German artists, have played a crucial role in shaping German rap as we know it today. Do you think German rap has always been intercultural, or was there a time when Turkish-German artists were on the fringes of the scene? Do you see a divide between the mainstream German rap scene and Turkish-German rap, or have those boundaries blurred over time?
As I mentioned before, when I first started listening to German rap, I was mainly drawn to battle rap from West Berlin, which was dominated by migrant rappers, including German-Turkish artist Kool Savas. Ironically, in my view, it was actually white German artists who were on the fringes of the scene and had to carve out their own place within the German battle rap bubble. In my eyes, German rap was primarily created and shaped by migrant artists.
The first German rap track I ever listened to was Fremd im eigenen Land (“Foreign in My Own Country”) by the Heidelberg-based crew Advanced Chemistry, released in 1992. In the song, Torch and Toni-L rap about their migrant backgrounds, highlighting how simply holding a German passport didn’t make them feel German, as they still faced discrimination for being migrants in Germany.
From a historical perspective, I believe German rap has always been driven by artists with migrant backgrounds. Over the years, the genre has evolved and diversified significantly to the point where today, anyone can become a rapper. In terms of success, having a migrant background no longer plays as decisive a role as it once did.
Many of the most successful German rap artists in recent years come from migrant backgrounds. Haftbefehl is Kurdish, Shirin David has Lithuanian and Iranian roots, Eko Fresh is of Turkish descent, Capital Bra is Ukrainian, and Bushido is German-Tunisian—the list goes on.
Hip-hop is probably the only music scene in Germany that authentically represents migrant perspectives and experiences, both in quality and quantity, in a way that truly reflects the realities of German society.
The summer of Her Absence Fill the World was an interesting one.
The band; which were featured in the previous issues of DolmusXpress, went on its first three live shows throughout the course of last summer.
First one was in a music festival called Art Carnivale in Steendam, Netherlands.
Second one was in a club called Christa Kupfer, located on Maybachufer, Berlin.
And the last one was at a streetfest called Kiezfest, on Mainzer Straße; in Neukölln.
These are three very different settings to play your first three gigs in, so it became impossible not to wonder how it felt for the band.
We met up over Discord, and they answered four simple questions.
This was the first one.
Which one was the most challenging?
Sascha: I think Kiezfest, for me. I felt a bit strange about the audience, because it was a moving audience. If you’re feeling a bit nervous maybe, the moving audience will be more challenging in my opinion because you will not get a direct feedback regarding whether they like it or not. They kind of just ignore when they pass through.
Kubi: I was thinking the first one was really challenging, but then listening to what Sascha was saying and then I realized that yeah actually the last one was challenging in a different way because people are moving. It’s hard to focus, it’s really hard to build an atmosphere playing on the street.
Kubi then adds,
Kubi: For me they were all actually challenging in different directions. But it’s good to be challenged, right?
Sascha: I think also the feeling you got afterwards, when you look at it retrospectively; it’s the balance of anxieties or challenges you had before compared to the reward you feel afterwards and for that I think the last one was the most challenging, because the reward wasn’t balancing enough.
Which very gratefully brings us to the second question. Which one was the most fulfilling?
Sascha: The first will always be super special and beautiful, and it felt very fulfilling. The one in the club too, they were fulfilling in different ways. I can’t really pick between those two.
Kubi: It’s really hard to rank them. The first one was super magical. It was our first concert, first of all. Also we were weirdly headlining. In our first concert. So it was extra pressure and it was a bit ridiculous but it was amazing. We prepared for months for that concert.
But I would say Christa Kupfer was really special for me too because Christa Kupfer is home to me and we were presenting our project to our friends. Our family I would say. Because of that it was like a launch for us.
The conversation then drifts into how the experience of a live performance is split in two ways: The preparation and the act. That brings us to our third question.
Which one was the most exciting?
Sascha: I think they were differently exciting. In the festival there was a more surprising and nice interaction with the people, but the club was exciting as well. It’s nice to see how music works in different surroundings and moods and where it can bring you emotionally in different settings. For example the Kiezfest was also exciting in this way, maybe exciting doesn’t have to mean positive all the time. It was exciting to see what’s happening there, which songs are working where and where they bring you emotionally.
Kubi: I would agree with that. We had three different concerts in three different settings. We already have more gigs scheduled and what we have in the future will either be this or that. I mean I can’t imagine a different setting than a festival, or a club or a street festival.
So we arrive at the final question.
Which one would they like to do again now that they know what they know?
Sascha: I think I would do the first two again. Not to make it better but it was super nice. I think I would feel a bit more relaxed so I can enjoy it a bit more. The last one was good practice as a performing artist, to play in front of an audience which is not giving you direct attention. I think even if it’s just one person, even if you feel maybe disappointed about it or disappointed about their reaction; I think it’s a good practice to play in front of them because this is your job in this moment. I think it’s good, even though it feels maybe weird.
Kubi: Seriously, I’ll be really honest: I wouldn’t go back to any of them. They were amazing but they were once-in-a-lifetime things. But I have a wish. If I really had a magical power to go back I would go to our first concert as an audience member. I would love to experience that. I think at the end of the day it was an interaction and it doesn’t matter which end you are at -either the audience or the band. In the concert there were moments where we felt unified and I enjoyed it but I would enjoy it also from the audience perspective.
It is a rebel. It is a crisis. It is a sad resistance.
KUBI
Can you describe the main components of your aesthetics you have been constructing through your music? What kind of artistic, cultural, and social inputs have fed your music so far and constructed “Her Absence Fiil the World”?
Kubi: For me, “Her Absence Fill the World” is an intuitive outpouring gathering whole our past experiences, attempts, failures and orientations. It is a project merging our diverse transnational roots, aesthetics and ideologies.
It is a rebel. It is a crisis. It is a sad resistance.
Sascha: There’s nothing I would add since this is so beautifully said. Maybe that I like the idea that it is somehow shaped by all my past selves. I can discover so many memories of myself in the music which comes out – sometimes I’m surprised. Also because I don’t always want them to be part. I don’t know if this is about shame. It’s really intimate and makes me sometimes feel vulnerable when passed identities of mine come to light – and since we make music together it’s sometimes really hard to discuss them and for them to be seen. But I feel it is important to accept also parts of ourselves we don’t like. I do not mean to like them and to feel positive about them. But to build the strength not to hide them because they’re part of the mosaic we call identity.
Photo Credit: Emrah Özdemir
How is your journey going so far? What have you found on the way?
Sascha: In my opinion our journey is going like the best journeys are – a journey to Ithaka. I found a lot of joy, a lot of pain. Some pride and insecurities and I don’t know where exactly this will lead to. For me it feels like growing constantly and of course that is not always a good feeling. But somehow we try to release our emotions to music and for that the result is always precious for me.
It seems you benefit and use inputs from many genres. How do you prefer to address your music in terms of genres?
Sascha: I would address our music generally as post-punk. It’s not that easy, I feel we’re still shaping our style – or maybe it is just shaped by itself depending of what comes out of us. But I can identify mostly with that. I guess the real categorization to a genre can just be made after we produced everything we’ll ever produce.
Photo Credit: Emrah Özdemir
Why now?
If Not Now – Tracy Chapman
If not now, then when?
If not today,
Then, why make your promises?
A love declared for days to come,
Is as good as none.
You can wait ’til morning comes.
You can wait for the new day.
You can wait and lose this heart.
You can wait and soon be sorry.
If not now, then when?
If not today,
Then, why make your promises?
A love declared for days to come,
Is as good as none.
Now love’s the only thing that’s free.
We must take it where it’s found.
Pretty soon it may be costly.
‘Cause if not now, then when?
If not…
What do you expect to find in the future?
We are constantly playing with ideas. There are some couple of tunes that we feel like sharing yet we don’t know if we go with singles or shares as a whole in a label.
From the depths of the heart, with brutal honesty, comes the sound of this volatile band. Inspired by the sublime flight of the bird, the music of “Solo Pájaros” brings to the stage the powerful joy of living. Their lyrics describe the sadness that often haunts the human walk with the desire to turn it into poetry capable of raising wings in every curious listener. If we were to let his music be carried away by the wind, it would have no certain whereabouts, but would travel without a flight plan, trying to reach all the places in the world. It would treat the small as something big. The darkness of the moon as the brightness of the sun. And the inevitable death as a flash of life.
Initially three of the band members (Trini, Alex and Jan) started playing at the beginning of 2014. Singing in constant movement in the trains of Berlin, Madrid and Barcelona. Two years later two new important musicians (Antonella and Uaio) joined the band. From there the constellation that nowadays conforms the band would be aligned. Two women and three men. Five musicians. Three strings. Two percussions. And five voices.
They give their musical support in various solidarity events. They toured festivals in Hungary and Germany. In the middle of 2016 Trini and Alex leave the band and two new members join; Sebastián Yaniez first playing electric guitar and charango. A year later Sebastián Rosales joins on drums, where the band changes the sound of the cajon for that of a drum kit. They record and mix their songs between the walls of their rooms. They film their own video clips. They write their own songs. They are not afraid to feel the fall in order to find the flight.
After releasing our EP “Part-Time Punk” on Detriti Records, we feel more motivated than ever to play our music, make new tunes, and vibe with you people. So, we would like to have a tiny session with you to celebrate our EP.
While hoping to play for you in smokey, trashy bars and clubs, this time we invite you to a tiny online session in our Gazino in Wassertorstrasse, Berlin.
We would love to pass our warmest thanks to Kor for mastering our sound. Big thanks also go to Dolmus Magazine and NCOUNTERS for supporting us in this event. Without any of them, this event would not be possible.
With a track by /KU8I/, accompanied by dance choreography by Sascha Kimel, and audio-reactive videography by Baris Pekcagliyan, the piece stresses existential myths alongside a dark-rhythmic groove.
