MANIFESTO

Crystallmess

Christelle Oyiri is a Paris-born dj, producer, and artist, whose work across mediums deals with post-colonialism and the joy of the dancefloor.

Crystallmess, or Christelle Oyiri, is an artist, writer, musician, DJ, producer, but more importantly and interestingly than the divisions between these various disciplines within which she works, is the unified way in which she approaches them. Warping the familiar into the strange, uncovering the latent politics underneath their skin, the joy that bubbles up through everything, bridging the gaps in between the theory and form. So she has DJ’d with Frank Ocean during his Coachella performance, played around the world from Berghain to Primavera, released records on PAN, and staged exhibitions from Glasgow to her native Paris. Most superficially she could be described as exploring ideas related to post-colonialism through those varied mediums, the realities of being a Black person in France, in the art world, but also the nuances that make up that identity, and exploding out the reductive simplicities of labelling.

“Being a DJ is a very utilitarian art form. I do not think that you can be a good DJ if you don't make people dance.”

Cyrus Goberville

How would you describe yourself as an artist?

Crystal Mess

I think the term multi-disciplinary artist doesn't really mean anything. I'm trying to explore this same thing over and over again in different mediums, as many mediums as I can.

What is that thing?

Alienation.

Alienation of whom?

In general, but also relating to my experience as a Black French person.

I first heard about you a couple of years ago now via a mix you made, which was technically and artistically great but also political in its exploration of the underground. Do you feel this political tension when you are DJing?

When I DJ, I mostly blackout. I barely look at people. I'm not super expressive. I'm trying to get really introspective but still relate to the crowd. And I feel like, instead of really thinking about DJing consciously, I'm trying to be frigid with my DJing—obviously trying to make people dance, because being a DJ is a very utilitarian art form. I do not think that you can be a good DJ if you don't make people dance. And I think that if you don't intend to make people dance, you should just leave the stage. Do not waste people’s time. Making people dance is something really spiritual and esoteric; they choose to concede or give away some of their power, and to be vulnerable and embrace movement. I'm not trying to be the Chuck D of club music; I'm really not trying to preach anything.

I’m trying to show you how twisted I can make this banger, introduce you to a new way of seeing stuff that is familiar to you.

I remember you talking about Baudrillard as an influence before.

No, I was more so talking about a very specific book by him about terrorism. This is a very complicated topic for people in the Western world, I feel. You cannot really do art about it. The Spirit of Terrorism by Jean Baudrillard gave me a lot of tools to understand the world that I'm living in right now, as someone that was maybe 22, 23 during the 2015 attacks and that went to New York as a kid. For me, Jean Baudrillard kind of explains really well how something that was so niche and such a fantasy—which is like nihilism—became kind of the norm and almost a reality for a lot of people and the go-to tactic for people.

It's extremely interesting, because you know that, at the end of his life, he was interested in the question of the cell phone—I don't know if the first iPhone already existed or not, but he was already thinking about how much information a human can take in.

There’s a lot of prophecy in Simulacra and Simulation, too. Cell phones, too, are catalysts that make it harder to separate the real from the simulation.

I actually don't know a lot about your background and relationship to literature and philosophy. What did you listen to when you were younger?

I grew up in the suburbs of Paris, in the south of Paris, an area home to a very influential rap group called Mafia K-1 Fry. I think I want to start with them, because it was the first French rap CD that I got. It was a very hybrid music. They had very high-tempo filtered disco samples, but they also had very North African music and Caribbean influence. It was one of the highest-selling rap albums of all time in France.

But I was eight; I was minding my business. But what I can say is that I grew up, as a little kid, listening to a lot of rap because I had big brothers. I grew up listening to DJ Quik and stuff that a little kid had no business listening to. But I also had the luxury of just listening to what everybody was listening to, like the Spice Girls or whatever. And my parents, they were listening to mostly Haitian music, West African music, Zouk. My parents were going out at this club called Queen. It was a techno club at that time.

So your parents, they were like us, no?

I wouldn't say that they were like us, because they had regular jobs. My dad was a security guard at La Cité des sciences. My mom was a hairdresser. But every Friday or every Saturday, when they could, they would go to the club. When I was four, they took me to the Notting Hill Carnival—even though they couldn't speak English and still can't. They took me to Carnival, and it kind of changed my life forever.

I'm not going to talk about my life, but I had, at an early age, the same experience going to Carnival and seeing the people and being like, "What the fuck?”

Carnival is very transgenerational. You have little kids and grownups, and nobody is left out; everybody made their own fun. The music was constantly banging; everybody's running around. And I think that it kind of molded me. If I need to talk about what I was listening to as a teenager, I would say I was a MySpace queen, indie, new rave. It was the blog era, so everything was mixed with each other.

I remember this period of time extremely well. A moment of full musical possibility. Even if not everything was good. Maybe lots of stuff was actually bad, but—

Really bad.

But it was a true, open-minded way of consuming music at that time.

It was very open-minded. I would spend hours and hours downloading stuff. I was ready for whatever. I was not looking based on genre, basically. I was just on the internet all day. My mother would curse me out to stop using the computer!

You’re also working on visual art projects. Could you tell us about what’s coming up?

I’m working on my upcoming exhibition set to open next November, curated by Fredi Fishli and Niels Olsen at The Institute of the History and Theory of Architecture in Zurich. I will explore the idea of “poisonous paradise”—drawing inspiration from my trips to Guadeloupe, where my mom is from, and the hidden necropolitics in the “French” Caribbean, a place that has been advertised as a leisure destination for metropolitan people, yet has been steadily poisoned.

I’m currently exploring these themes while including analog techniques like old holographic stuff from the 80s and including them in more of a sculpture/installation artwork, trying to merge music, visual art and performance together in a way that feels homogenous and natural for me.

Any new music to be released soon? It’s been ages since your self-released EP Mere Noises!

I’m currently finishing a new EP—exploring vocal experimentations and a more narrative and collaborative approach to my work. I don’t wanna say too much before it drops, because music is about its immediate nature.