From Valleys to Peaks: Unpacking Diversity in the Swiss Club Scene and Beyond,
A chat with Zion.
Continuing the full-circle theme we've explored with Dee Dee's Picks this past year, here's another person we've met through the Breakfast Club series. Zion performed on the same night as us last June, closing the evening with a mesmerizing set—meticulously curated and full of intent, weaving sounds together in a way that has stayed with us ever since.
Zion is a Swiss DJ and community builder known for blending sonic textures with themes of identity, visibility, and cultural influence. Through their work with 4311 Kollective & their residency at Half Moon with the show Mèsi Tapes, they create spaces for underrepresented artists while advocating for inclusivity & representation in the industry.
Catching up with Zion stemmed from a recent Instagram post that struck a chord with us. It was relevant not only to the Swiss scene but also to the Western world at large. In their post, Zion challenges the superficial treatment of racialized DJs in the club scene, addressing the tendency for clubs to pigeonhole these artists into narrow genres or book them merely for “diversity,” without genuinely evaluating their creative potential. They highlighted how these oversights reflect deep-seated inequities that marginalize racialized and queer artists. Zion's vision extends far beyond representation; they advocate for a fundamental change in how local artists are credited, supported, and protected.
For those who may not know you, could you give us a brief introduction to who you are?
My name is Zion Perrin, and I’m a multidisciplinary artist, DJ, photographer, and co-founder of the 4311 Kollective, a collective that uplifts marginalized cultures, particularly within the Ballroom Scene. I was born in Haiti to a Swiss mother and Haitian father, growing up there until 2005, when I moved to Switzerland due to the political instability in my home country. Music has always been a refuge for me, rooted in both spirituality and the rich oral traditions of Haiti, where it serves as a vital medium for transmitting history and culture, especially in a society where literacy is not always a given. This inextricable link between music and political expression continues to shape my work as an artist.
My journey into music began in queer spaces such as the ballroom scene and environments that center racialized individuals. Through DJing, I explore the fusion of sounds from the Afro-Caribbean diaspora with local influences, creating performances that blend diasporic music and the local context in Switzerland. I strive to elevate the voices of marginalized communities through all my creative practices, constantly seeking to create inclusive spaces where art, reflection, and diversity coexist.
You speak about the "illusion of diversity" in the club scene. Can you unpack what diversity truly means to you, and how clubs might be missing the point?
Diversity, to me, goes beyond token gestures. It’s about creating safe, inclusive spaces where everyone feels valued and represented. Unfortunately, many clubs treat diversity as a performative act. They book racialized artists to appear inclusive, but the infrastructure and people behind these bookings remain unchanged. In this way, artists are often tokenized and subjected to the same precarious conditions that characterize our industry. Clubs often fail to consider the safety, working conditions, and well-being of racialized DJs, leading to environments that feel extractive rather than truly supportive.
You mention that racialised DJs are often pigeonholed into genres like Afrobeat or baile funk. How does this affect the representation and recognition of your broader artistic range?
When racialized DJs are pigeonholed into certain genres like Afrobeat or baile funk, it’s as if we’re expected to play music that fits a pre-existing stereotype. This limits the full expression of our artistic range and reinforces the notion that certain genres are "ours" to play, rather than recognizing the vast, eclectic influences we bring to the table. This expectation can be frustrating because it assumes that our music is only valuable when it aligns with pre-conceived ideas of what "Black" or "racialized" music should be.
Moreover, it sets us up to conform to an image that is "palatable" to a predominantly white audience. There’s an implicit hierarchy in the music scene that places certain genres, like techno or house, on a pedestal while relegating diasporic music to the margins. In doing so, clubs ignore the diverse musical influences that racialized DJs draw from. This reduces our creativity to a one-dimensional narrative, erasing the complexity of our sounds and the richness of our artistic contributions.
How does the Swiss cultural landscape influence the music you create/play, and what unique contributions do you feel local racialised artists bring to the global music conversation?
For me, music is both a reflection of past histories and present life experiences. In Switzerland, the mix of diasporic artists constantly shapes new sounds.
An excellent example of this is the work of Pekodjinn, a Tunisian artist who has made a significant impact by blending his heritage with the trap influences he grew up with. His music seamlessly integrates traditional instruments like darbukas with futuristic sounds, creating something entirely unique. This is a great illustration of how diasporic sounds, when interacting with local influences, can create a genre-defying fusion.
For me personally, I grew up surrounded by Caribbean sounds such as shatta, bouyon, and dancehall. Nowadays, I enjoy blending these influences with genres like drum and bass and breakbeats, as the syncopated rhythms in these styles echo those found in dancehall. In my DJ sets, I like to propose mashups that combine the sounds I grew up with and the ones I've discovered here in Switzerland. This way, I can bring together different parts of my musical identity, creating a unique experience that speaks to both my heritage and the new sonic landscapes I’ve encountered.
You mention the legacy of techno and house as Black music. How do you see the broader history of Black electronic music, and where do you feel the conversation about it needs to go today?
The legacy of techno and house as Black music is undeniably important, but the conversation needs to expand beyond the United States and Europe to include the broader history of Black electronic music across the diaspora. I recently read an insightful article by Jean-Hugues Kabuiku and Mathys Rennela that discusses the diasporic innovation of dance music, and it made me reflect on the global scope of electronic music genres that often go overlooked. For reference, here’s the link to the article if you’d like to read up on it.
For instance, Zouk, a genre from the French Caribbean, is a form of electronic music that emerged with the use of synthesizers and drum machines in the 80s, around the same time as house and techno were gaining traction in the U.S. Zouk, created by the Guadeloupean band Kassav', blended traditional Caribbean rhythms with electronic production to create something revolutionary in its own right. Yet, genres like Zouk are often excluded from the conversation about the Black origins of electronic music because the narrative is so heavily centered on the U.S. or European scenes. I believe we need to decenter the focus from just the U.S. or Europe and recognize the valid, innovative contributions to electronic music from other regions as well. Our music doesn’t need validation only when it surfaces in places like the U.S. or Europe.
What do you think clubs and event organisers should focus on when booking racialised and queer artists, beyond just fulfilling diversity quotas?
When booking racialized and queer artists, clubs and event organizers must move beyond tokenism and superficial diversity quotas. There's a long history of fascination with Black and queer cultures, particularly in the entertainment industry, where Black and queer cultures are consumed by white audiences without addressing the systemic oppressions these communities face. Clubs often profit from marginalized identities, but this performative representation does nothing to improve the material conditions of those artists.
The key issue is that Black and queer cultures developed in safe spaces where people could express themselves freely, and these spaces cannot simply be extracted and commodified for white audiences. Non-marginalized organizers often miss the significance of these cultures and the safety they provide.
The solution is to diversify the people behind event organizations. It’s essential that queer and racialized individuals lead these efforts to ensure authenticity and safety for both artists and audiences. A great example is Kauri in Geneva, a space run by queer and racialized organizers, offering a revolutionary model for inclusive, community-centered events.
You’ve spoken about the importance of visibility — using photos, biographies, and social media tags for local artists. Why do you think visibility is such a crucial form of validation in today’s music industry?
Promotion plays a crucial role in showcasing what an artist has to offer. By sharing sets, videos, and detailed biographies, clubs can help audiences engage with an artist's work before attending an event. This transparency allows the public to make informed choices about whether they resonate with the artist’s style. However, many clubs seem hesitant to promote local DJs in this way, perhaps fearing that the audience may decide in advance that they aren't interested. Instead, clubs often use vague, marketable terms to attract broader crowds, focusing on what is more appealing from a marketing perspective.
This is also tied to the broader issue of artistic hierarchy. It often becomes a form of capitalism, where an artist’s value is reduced to metrics like the number of social media followers. In this context, visibility becomes essential for local artists to find work and gain recognition.
I do understand that clubs face different pressures, particularly when it comes to staying financially viable. In Switzerland, while the government funds many aspects of culture, marginalized cultures, including club culture, still receive minimal support compared to areas like classical music or brass bands. This is why it’s so important to recognize our art as part of Swiss culture : it deserves institutional backing.
If clubs had less financial pressure, perhaps they could focus more on niche or specific programming, fostering a space for musical discovery. But with the growing demand for instant gratification, it’s a vicious cycle. While I don't claim to have all the solutions, I believe that these reflections are valuable as we consider how to rethink and improve the Swiss club scene.
Safety is a critical concern for many queer and racialised artists, especially when performing late at night. How do you believe clubs can better prioritise the safety of the artists they book?
From my personal experience as a trans artist, I've gone through various phases of how others perceive me : first as a woman, then visibly queer/trans, and now as a man. I've often found myself walking home alone after gigs, navigating the dangers of being followed by men, or facing aggression from people who were uncomfortable not being able to categorize me as male or female. In many ways, I feel like I've lived "a thousand lives," and while I feel relatively safer now with a masculine passing, these experiences highlight the real dangers faced in nightlife.
For clubs that aim to book more women or queer artists, it’s crucial that safety efforts go beyond just having a policy or code of conduct posted at the entrance. There needs to be a genuine commitment to the artist’s safety, from the moment they leave for the venue to the time they make it home. This means clubs should consider providing transportation for artists late at night, ensuring proper security, and thinking critically about the risks these performers face once they step outside the club's walls. Safety measures shouldn't be an afterthought, they must be integral to how events are organized and managed.
You’ve highlighted that DJing is often not treated as a legitimate art form, especially for racialised artists. How would you describe the artistic value of DJing, and what do you think the world often misses about its creative depth?
The distinction between art and craft helps explain why DJing is often undervalued. Artists are seen as expressing emotions and ideas, using their medium to challenge, inspire, or provoke thought. The value of art lies in its ability to transcend technique, offering something more profound.
I strongly believe DJing fits into this definition of art, whereas it is often perceived as a craft, where the DJ is seen as an artisan manipulating music created by others. This view reduces the DJ's role to simply handling pre-existing tracks. However, the reality is far more nuanced. The act of selecting music and curating a sonic journey is an art in itself. DJs don’t just play songs, they create a narrative and take the audience on a unique experience.
In your view, how can Switzerland’s music and cultural scene better support intersectional identities — racialised, queer, and local artists? What role do you see your work and the 4311kollective playing in this?
In my view, a key step for Switzerland’s music and cultural scene to better support intersectional identities is to recognize these communities as an integral part of Swiss culture. Too often, we are seen as people to whom space is occasionally "given" on terms set by the white majority, rather than being acknowledged as full participants in the cultural fabric. It’s time to restructure the decision-makers responsible for cultural funding and event organization to reflect the diversity of the artists they claim to support.
With “4311 Kollective”, we are working to contribute to the local Ballroom Scene. Our goal is to elevate the artists from this community as professionals, challenging the elitist standards that often exclude artists from underground and marginalized communities. We aim to create spaces designed by us and for us, promoting the work of queer and racialized artists, and ensuring that our community has the visibility, respect, and opportunities it deserves.
How do you think racialised and queer artists (and allies) can collectively assert their rights to better working conditions and greater respect within the music industry?
It’s challenging for artists to build a collective movement in an industry that often views us as artisans rather than artists, treating us as easily replaceable. The notion that someone else can step in and do the same job, or that another person with better technical skills is automatically "better," is a mindset I strongly disagree with. This perception devalues our unique artistic contributions and creates a difficult environment for collective action.
In the short term, I believe we need to use social media to our advantage. It can be a powerful tool for connecting with one another and sharing our experiences transparently, especially around booking conditions. By being more open about what we are offered, whether it's pay, accommodations, or other resources, we can better understand our collective worth and start to demand better treatment. I remember a conversation with fellow DJs at an event where we realized we were being paid very differently, with some receiving hotel accommodations and others not. By talking openly, we discovered disparities that we might have otherwise ignored.
Collective discussion and transparency can empower us to assert our rights and demand equitable treatment, rather than thinking that what one person receives might diminish what another can get. Sharing information is key to breaking the cycle of individual competition and starting to work together for fairer conditions across the board.
With your residency at MÈSI TAPES for Half Moon, how do you use your platform to amplify underrepresented voices, and what kind of narratives do you hope to create or challenge through your work?
MÈSI TAPES, with its name playing on the Haitian Creole word "Mèsi" (meaning "thank you") and the English term "messy," is a platform designed to celebrate and highlight the eclectic, diverse sounds of DJs from the diaspora. The wordplay reflects our intention to thank and value these unique artistic contributions, while also embracing the complexity and richness of their sonic influences.
My goal is to create an archive that captures the diverse soundscapes of diaspora artists. I aim to reflect the blend of heritage and contemporary influences that shape their music in any given moment. I hope to challenge the mainstream narratives that often pigeonhole diaspora artists into specific genres, and instead, show the vast and evolving nature of their contributions to the global music scene.
Ultimately, I want MÈSI TAPES to be a space where the richness of these diasporic identities is recognized, valued, and preserved. It’s about archiving not just sounds, but histories and legacies, allowing these voices to thrive on their own terms.
Lastly, how do you see the future of Switzerland's music scene evolving, particularly for racialised and queer artists? What gives you hope, and what remains to be done?
I sometimes feel a sense of powerlessness when thinking about the future of Switzerland’s music scene for racialized and queer artists, but a concept from Yann Le Bossé on “the development of the power to act” offers a helpful perspective. Le Bossé’s approach emphasizes the interaction between social structures and individuals, showing that while structures can impose limitations, individuals can still reclaim their power. His approach rejects the idea of structural fatalism. There’s a way of negotiating and evolving within specific circumstances where structural and individual forces interact. Rather than focusing on limitations, the goal is to restore the individual’s movement and potential to act.
For Switzerland’s music scene, this idea gives me hope. While existing structures can feel rigid, we can negotiate within them, and even reshape them. Collectives are already creating spaces centered on community and inclusion. This work shows that change is possible, but much remains to be done. We must continue to challenge and modify these structures to ensure that the music industry truly supports artists, not just symbolically, but in ways that give them real power and opportunities to thrive.
Stay up to date and get in touch with Zion.