When WAV announced KWN as one of their headliners for next year, her South African fans could not have been more excited. KWN herself shares that exact sentiment.
“Even sitting here saying it out loud—to realise that music I made in my room has travelled that far, across oceans, away from my hometown… It’s mind-blowing to me. I’m just deeply grateful, man. South African listeners have been in my messages, in my comments, begging me to come over for so long. To finally be able to make that happen, to give them that live connection—I’m buzzing for it, for real,” she says, smiling with a warm cup in hand as we begin the interview.
As KWN appears on screen, she is doing what anyone navigating back-to-back press junkets would do: waiting for the kettle to boil, fixing a cup of tea, and catching her breath.
In this candid conversation, KWN unpacks perfectionism, her kitchen-percussion roots, and why the art must always outshine the accolades.
Stripping away the noise: The story behind "Lord, I’ve Tried"
GQ: In an interview with Crack Magazine earlier this year, you opened up about "Lord, I’ve Tried", which carries a heavy, unmistakable gospel weight. What headspace were you in when that came to life?
KWN: (Pauses, voice dropping lower) I was in a really dark place when I made that record. Just going through life, feeling heavy, like nothing I touched was working out. It felt like a standstill. I remember walking into the studio with my producer, Rael.
He had put together this beat that had a completely different energy—it had full drums on it, more movement. It wasn’t joyful, exactly, but it didn’t hold the grief I was carrying. I listened to it and said, “Strip the drums away. Completely. Let me see what lives underneath.”
We pulled the percussion out, pitched the track down into a lower, darker key, and suddenly the room changed. The words just began pouring out of me without force.
That gospel texture is naturally woven into who I am. I love gospel music down to my core. The power of a choir gives me chills; I sang in a gospel choir back in college, so that spirit has always lived inside my musical DNA.
KWN’s early musical journey
Her journey into music started out in an unconventional way—not in a formal classroom with a music tutor, but at the kitchen counter. Years later, KWN would find herself in traditional music classes sharpening that natural rhythm and building the foundation of the artist we hear today.
GQ: Did you always know you were destined to be an artist at the front of the stage, or did the journey start behind the boards as a producer?
KWN: It started with noise in the house, honestly. My mum still tells stories about how I’d walk in from primary school, raid the kitchen cupboards, drag out all the metal pots and pans, grab wooden spoons, and just beat them until they sounded like rhythms.
She saw that spark early and bought me my first real drum kit when I was around 10. Drums were my first real language.
In school, I threw myself into music classes, and when I was about 13 or 14, my parents scraped together the money to buy me a computer. That’s where production began—learning software, laying down drums, crafting soundscapes.
Eventually, I started humming melodies and scribbling lines over my own tracks. I’ve been living and breathing this since I was nine years old.
Overcoming industry setbacks and finding independence
After years of relentless dedication, her undeniable breakthrough arrived in 2024. Her rise since then has been nothing short of spectacular.
GQ: When did that childhood hustle pivot into a moment where you realised: I can actually pay my bills and build a sustainable career off this?
KWN: 2024. (Laughs softly) Without question, 2024. Back in 2020, during the height of lockdown, I signed a record deal. At the time, I had that naive reaction—“Whoa, this is it, I’ve made it.” But the industry has a way of teaching you reality very fast; that deal wasn’t the finish line at all. 2024 was the true turning point where the wheels started turning under their own momentum.
I know I still have a massive mountain to climb, but the peace of being able to do this full-time, travel across the world, and look after my family? That’s everything to me.
GQ: Even through the doubts and the quiet years, did you always envision this level of success?
KWN: In the least arrogant way possible: yes, I always believed it would crack open. Because in my mind, "no" was simply never an option. Whether the doors opened right away, in a decade, or in twenty years, I had made peace with the grind.
I was going to keep working, keep building, keep knocking until a door gave way. When you possess that kind of pure, stubborn passion, the universe has to meet you halfway.
Vulnerability, discography, and new music
As our conversation moves deeper into her discography, her 11-track project naturally takes centre stage. It is a project defined by vulnerability, leaning into the radical self-honesty she recently discussed with Apple Music’s Dotty.
GQ: Your latest body of work landed at 11 tracks. Was that tracklist carefully mapped out from day one?
KWN: It was actually supposed to be much leaner! But I create at such a high volume that leaving songs behind breaks my heart. My manager and I have these endless, passionate debates over track selections because I refuse to sweep records under the rug.
At this point in my career, I want listeners to hear the full spectrum of what I can do. I don’t want to drop a brief five-track EP, disappear into silence for twelve months, and return with another five tracks. I want to flood the world with work. Making music has never felt like a job or an obligation; it’s my favourite place to be.
GQ: Do you feel you’ve written your definitive best song yet?
KWN: I don’t think an artist ever truly makes their "best" song. You can make the best record for who you are in that exact hour, but art is about evolution. If you’re sharpening your craft every day, tomorrow’s record should outshine yesterday’s.
There are tracks in my catalogue that I cherish, but my immediate instinct after finishing them is always: How do I top that? How do I push the boundary further next time?
KWN’s advice to young creators
GQ: Back in August, you performed a live radio session for Apple Music. How does that raw, live-to-air environment compare to working inside your own studio?
KWN: It tests me, because I am an absolute perfectionist. In the studio, I lock the door. I track my own vocals, I run the board, I engineer the session myself.
If I have to do 50 vocal takes to catch the exact breath and tone I want on a single bar, I will sit there and do 50 takes without blinking.
In a live setting, there is no safety net.
Just like standing on stage in front of thousands—if you hit a sour note or trip over a syllable, you can’t tap the engineer on the shoulder and ask to rewind the tape. It forces you to embrace your flaws. It’s vulnerable, it’s exposed, but that’s what makes it human.
GQ: Looking back at the girl drumming on kitchenware and making beats on an old PC, what advice would you give your 15-year-old self?
KWN: Stop waiting for some magical, perfect moment. Just put your head down and build. And above all else: never let the business kill the joy. When things weren’t moving early on, I let the frustration cloud my love for the process.
I lost sight of why I picked up the drumsticks in the first place. Today, I make music solely because my soul needs it. The cheques, the travel, the magazine covers—those are blessings, but they’re extras. The only thing that truly keeps your fire burning is loving the sound of your own art. Protect the fun.
Originally published on GQ South Africa.
