Marseille was restless that evening. A storm had rolled in over the Mediterranean; the kind of late-winter weather that barrels through the heart of the city in gusts of wind and sideways rain, sending flyers skittering down Le Panier’s narrow alleys and rattling its shutters. A few kilometres away, at Dock des Suds, Babel Music XP was making final preparations for the second night of showcases. The tempest outside only amplified the energy within, where global rhythms met local defiance in a city perpetually on the cusp of reinvention. In the green room, Yugen Blakrok had just returned from her soundcheck: calm, focused, and completely in her element. It was, sadly, one of the venue’s final nights. Just days later, Dock des Suds, a cornerstone of Marseille’s cultural life since the late 1990s, would close its doors for good. Yugen was determined to make it count.
Born in Queenstown, Eastern Cape, and later based in Johannesburg, Yugen Blakrok has forged a distinctive space in global hip-hop through introspective lyricism and a distinctive, piercing sound. Her journey began with the 2013 release of her debut album Return of the Astro-Goth, which drew critical praise and multiple South African Hip-Hop Award nominations. But it was her collaboration with Vince Staples on “Opps” for the Black Panther soundtrack in 2018 that brought her global attention.
Now living in Marseille, a city shaped by movement, migration and cultural friction, Yugen has found a place that feels aligned. Despite wider recognition, she stays rooted in the underground, bypassing commercial formulas in favour of complexity, spirit, and truth. Her work, grounded in the political and metaphysical dimensions of hip-hop, speaks to identity, resistance and inner life. As she once put it: “I’m not an advertising promotional machine… I’m an independent artist, pushing a certain lifestyle that may not be conducive to what is being pushed on TV.”
Just a few hours before her set, we sat down with Yugen to talk about identity, solitude, and the music that brings everything together. She opened the door to her world, sharing insights into her musical journey, her thoughts on belonging and displacement, and her deepening connection to both South Africa and Marseille.
Our conversation began with The Illusion of Being, her forthcoming album out 21 May via french label I.O.T Records. It’s her third full-length release, but the first crafted entirely beyond the borders of South Africa. “That alone made it different,” she says, pausing. “It forced me to ask who I am when the culture and language I grew up in are no longer around me.”
Much of it was written in the mountains of Catalonia, where Yugen and long-time collaborator Kanif The Jhatmaster composed the album in near-complete solitude. “It was just the two of us on the mountain,” she recalls. “No performances, no checking in with anyone. I had to really trust myself.”
That leap of faith led her into more introspective territory, meditating on identity, the inner critic, and what it means to unlearn self-surveillance. “The world teaches us to be hard on ourselves, to set impossible standards. But I’ve been learning how to be in dialogue with myself, not at war with myself.”
She still draws on the constellation of ideas that have long shaped her sound: psychology, science fiction, Eastern philosophy, martial arts. “There’s still fire,” she says, “but also forgiveness. This album is about freeing myself from my own thoughts.”
Language plays a big role in that process. She moves between English, isiXhosa, French and Catalan, not just lyrically but in everyday life. “Through learning new languages, I’m finding new ways of thinking. It helps me make connections. And that’s really my mission, always to find the connection.”
That approach makes sense in Marseille, a port city shaped by centuries of migration, colonial histories and Mediterranean hybridity. From the pan-African grocers of Noailles to the Arabic calligraphy in Belsunce, from hip-hop in La Castellane to Kurdish street protests near the Vieux-Port, the city’s soundscape and social fabric are dense with tension and creativity.
“Marseille struck me straight away. The colours, the graffiti, the smell of the city,” Yugen says. “It was the first time I really enjoyed being outside since leaving South Africa. And it was the first place where I felt the world, like the whole world is here.”
She’s observant, often studying her surroundings from the margins. “I watch people from the balcony, how they walk to work, how they move. I smell the air. Marseille smells beautiful. These are the things I take in.”
The city is also a mirror. “At home, I’m in the majority — a Black woman in a Black-majority country. Here, I had to rediscover myself. It’s been humbling.”
Her creative rhythms have adapted too. In South Africa, songs would be tested live, refined by crowd response. “Now, I had no audience. I wasn’t checking in with people. I always say I create for myself, but this time I had to actually live that.”
And that’s part of what makes The Illusion of Being so personal. It’s a record shaped not by external expectations, but by solitude and intuition. “Am I good enough? What does good enough even mean? That’s what I was asking myself.”
The musical influences around her have also expanded. Living between France and Catalonia has exposed her to North African and Middle Eastern music, as well as regional Mediterranean styles. “Africa is huge,” she says. “Even as a South African, going to Tunisia or Morocco isn’t easy. But here, I can hear that music every day.”
She pauses, then adds: “I really wish it was easier to travel like this within Africa. We have so much to learn from each other.”
She speaks about Marseille and Europe not just as artistic centres but as social meeting points, where art and exile, resistance and celebration, often blur. “Not everyone is here to have fun. People don’t leave their language and culture easily. That’s something many don’t realise.”
Still, she considers herself lucky. “I left because I wanted to see. And I’m grateful. I want to understand how other people live, what we can share.”
She’d just arrived that morning, after rehearsing the night before, but already she’d scoped out the line-up. “I want to see Bia Ferreira,” she says, eyes lighting up. “And then tomorrow, I’ll watch as many as I can. It’s a musically, culturally, spiritually rich festival. This is what I live for.”
It’s been nearly six years since she left South Africa, and the distance has redefined her relationship with home. “My relationship with South Africa has changed. I’m less angry now,” she says. “But sometimes that can feel like not caring anymore. That’s not it, though. I’ve learned to question my own prejudices against myself.”
Her anger, she explains, came from years of working within a rigid and often hostile music infrastructure — an industry too small, too competitive, and too reluctant to take creative risks. “It’s hard when you feel like it’s not going to happen for you,” she reflects. “I was frustrated, and the gender politics didn’t help. You get caught up in it. I got angry. A lot of us did.”
She remembers meeting fellow South African artists in Europe, artists with thriving audiences abroad who struggled to get booked back home. “Promoters didn’t want to take chances. And it’s still like that,” she adds. “But I don’t take it personally anymore. I get it — it’s insecurity, it’s fear. People won’t even admit when they don’t know something.”
And that lack of openness used to get to her. “Everyone wants to be an expert without doing the work,” she says, shaking her head. “That really used to piss me off.”
Coming to France, she found a different structure — one with support, platforms, and funding. The same work that was undervalued back home became viable here. “I’m doing the same thing I did in South Africa,” she says, “but I can actually live from it now.”
Still, bringing her music abroad presented new challenges. The language barrier in France is real, and not everyone speaks English. But Yugen soon learned that words aren’t everything. “I’ve realised the vibe, the energy, can be enough. You don’t need to understand every lyric. It’s about sound and frequency. If you feel it in your chest, that’s understanding.”
Live performance, for her, is essential. “It’s about connection,” she says. “When you leave one of my shows, I want you to feel lighter. Maybe everything isn’t OK, but you feel like you can handle it. That’s what I want to give.”
At Babel, she was preparing to debut songs from The Illusion of Being for the very first time. “This is the start of the tour,” she says with a calm smile. “And it means a lot to do it in Marseille, to give back to the city for the confidence it’s given me. It feels like home.”
Two tracks from the new album, in particular, carry that feeling forward. “‘Grand Rising’ starts in a low place — feeling homesick, feeling alone in a room full of people. But it climbs. It’s about growth,” she explains. “And ‘Hold Ground’ is about being yourself no matter what systems try to standardise you. It’s about real individuality, real acceptance.”
The Marseille showcase would be the first time audiences heard these songs live. “In the studio, I’m recording with the hope that someone will love it. On stage, the love is right there,” she says. “That’s my favourite thing, translating the vibe from the record to the room.”
And what does she hope people take away?
“Peace of mind. Peace of spirit,” she says without hesitation. “It changes how you deal with life. If I can speak to something you’re struggling with — not even give you answers, just show you you’re not alone — then I’ve done my job. Sometimes, that’s all we need.”
With the album due on 21 May, the months ahead will be filled with shows, travel and connection, the slow unfolding of an album built in stillness, released into the noise of the world. But on that stormy night in Marseille, it was clear: Yugen wasn’t chasing anything. She was already grounded.
Follow Yugen Blakrok on Instagram, Facebook, and Bandcamp where you can also stream or purchase her new album The Illusion of Being
Photo ©: Oscar Lanau