Get Familiar: Kekoto
Northwest London’s own Kekoto, known musically as Keko, has steadily carved a lane at the crossroads of culture, experimentation, and self-made innovation. An artist, creative director, and self-described cultural innovator, he carries the dual identity of a grounded Londoner and a global-minded creator. From R&B and Gambian-Senegalese melodies in his childhood home to the late-night Channel U discoveries that shaped a generation, Keko’s sound is rooted in heritage yet driven by experimentation.
Balancing raw emotion with cinematic vision, his evolution from the introspective in the meantime to the defiant 2L2Q (Too Legit to Quit) reflects both personal growth and perseverance through hardship. Across projects like Crimson and K-onenine, Keko fuses alternative rap with melody, texture, and storytelling—crafting immersive worlds as much as records.
Through his creative umbrella Mismaf, he extends his artistry beyond music into visuals, fashion, and direction—building an ecosystem where every element speaks the same language of independence and innovation. Grounded in community and sharpened by honesty, Keko’s ethos is clear: live creatively, own your craft, and let the work speak louder than the hype.
For people discovering you through now—who is Kekoto/Keko, and when do you use each?
Kekoto/Keko are both me. I’m an artist, creative director, and cultural innovator. “Keko” is the music-side nickname—more informal, more personal. If someone uses “Kekoto,” they probably just found me. In short: Kekoto/Keko is a cultural innovator—overall, a wavy youth.
You’re from Northwest London. How did NW shape your sound and stories?
It shaped everything—sound, style, even how I carry myself. What I do connects worldwide—Amsterdam, Germany, Paris—but I know who I speak for and where I’m rooted. Northwest London is deep in the music and in me.
Take us into your early musical moments. What was playing at home? First CDs? First discoveries?
Born in ’98, the house was R&B and native sounds—Senegalese/Gambian music, jelis and kora traditions. My first rap memory is Nas—“I Can” really stuck with me. Discovery-wise, Channel U was huge. I’d stay up late for grime and UK garage—seeing people who looked and sounded like me, shooting videos where I lived, on TV. Mind-blowing.
You also read a lot growing up—did that feed the ambition?
Always. On the tube I’d read the music sections in the newspapers as well as all the magazines—Clash, NME, especially the award show write-ups. Even before I made music I thought, “I want to be at one of these. I want to win one of these.” That fueled a goal to do something culturally innovative the next generation can point back to.
Press often mentions your smooth lyricism and melodic approach. Where does that come from?
I’m a rap artist—alternative rap—but melodies pulled me early. R&B at home plus Senegalese/Gambian patterns are ingrained. Later I got into odd edits—people called it “trap,” but a lot of it was more dubstep/techno-adjacent SoundCloud energy. I like that experimental edge.
When did you realize, “I can really do this”?
2018. I booked my first studio—one hour, turned up 30 minutes late, spent 20 minutes hunting a beat. The producer said, “Punch something in.” I recorded my first released song in ten minutes. Hearing it back, I knew I could do this. Getting truly serious came around 2023 with in the meantime—the listening party, the turnout—then doing it bigger for 2L2Q at Peckham Audio. Watching the footage like, “All these people were here for me.” Since then we’ve done multiple headliner-style listening parties. It keeps building.
Walk us through your creative process—what’s non-negotiable?
The beat. If I don’t feel it, I’m onto the next—no matter who sent it. I love ethereal sounds that give goosebumps—close your eyes and see a world. I prefer beats being built live in the session. I’ll start writing, lay something, then punch in—very in-the-moment and experimental. A lot of first-thought honesty.
Your music feels cinematic. If it were a film genre, what would it be?
A thinker you rewatch for new interpretations—David Lynch vibes (Mulholland Drive), Eyes Wide Shut, The Matrix. Visually bold like Belly, Fallen Angels, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas—colorful, stylish, still fun and gripping. Spike Lee’s stylization too.
You’ve mentioned DIY and struggle shaping innovation. How so?
Innovation comes from constraint. We weren’t born with silver spoons—so we live creatively because we have to. That resourcefulness is part of the culture and the art.
Early on, did you tell people you were making music?
No. I kept my head down and did the work. It leaked eventually—my private Insta linked to Facebook, aunties back home seeing it. But I moved quiet until the craft could speak.
Your first tape, in the meantime—what did it prove to you?
It captured a transition: where I was vs. where I knew I could go. I could complain about what I needed—or act. in the meantime asked, “While I’m heading to the version of me I see, what am I doing right now?” Sonically and visually, it’s a timestamp—busy artwork, real-life energy. It started as a “side mission” before a bigger album… then became the main mission. That happens a lot with me.
What did listeners miss that you heard instantly on that record?
People had notes on the mixes. I wanted a raw, authentic, slightly rugged sound—2L2Q doubled down on that: somehow polished yet rugged. We even lost stems on “2L2Q” with KBO and released the mix we had. It worked—good audio with texture. The point wasn’t clinical perfection; it was feeling.
Moving into the next era—what was the goal for the sound?
2L2Q is exactly what it says—Too Legit to Quit. 2024 was testing—trials nonstop. In hindsight it made me stronger, but living it wasn’t fun. The tape says: I didn’t come this far just to get this far. You hear it—I was writing on my worst days, speaking directly. It’s bigger than me.
So in the meantime was discovery. What’s the arc after that?
in the meantime was figuring it out. 2L2Q is: I’ve discovered it, and I’m here to say it. Crimson keeps that energy but is more curated—more world-building and artistic direction.
Your release rhythm feels like 2000s mixtape culture—dropping between albums to show resilience. Why keep that pace?
People grow up and move on, so from early you need to know who you’re speaking to. If they truly relate, time won’t break that bond. A lot of folks quit. Staying power matters, but only if you’ve got something real to say.
Tell us about K-onenine—concept and how it came together.
K-onenine is a collaboration between me, A19, and MV (producer). We locked in for a few months and suddenly had a tape. We sequenced it, got the cover right, tested it—Amsterdam trip, a pre-listening party where attendees got USBs with the tape—then the release party on drop day. The response made us double down. It could’ve stayed a side project while we worked on other things, but we said, “The world needs to hear this now.”
Who are your core collaborators?
Not exhaustive, but: producers nv, mannydubbs, Proton, A19, Kibo; creative team Melo (photographer/director), Detroit (artist), MS, Sam Swervo; Chinua (DJ); Retita (hair stylist); Cojo, Oscar—and family in Amsterdam too. So many people believe in this and make it happen. That’s another reason it’s “too legit to quit”—it’s bigger than me.
Hip-hop has that “pull each other up” ethic—iron sharpening iron. Is that your circle?
100%. My people won’t let me slack. If a song isn’t it, they’ll say it. That honesty keeps the bar high. I’m for bringing back a bit of gatekeeping—once someone proves themselves, cool, but standards matter. When bars drop, sub-genres get watered down.
Let’s talk visuals—cover art and videos. How do you approach them, and where does Mismaf fit?
I start with a rough concept that evolves. I don’t like text on covers—I want the image to tell the story and leave room for interpretation. Mismaf is my creative umbrella; clothing is one medium. I put all my creative work—music included—through Mismaf. Sometimes there’s joint venture distribution with labels, but it’s my house for ideas.
Ownership keeps coming up. Why is it important to you?
Ownership is key. Chasing hits for money kills passion. I keep it fresh—even if I have to switch process or environment. Whatever it takes.
Off socials—when you’re not making music or building Mismaf—what keeps you inspired?
Life. I’ll ditch the phone, end up in a bookstore, read something that sparks a whole Mismaf collection. My deepest, longest-lasting inspiration comes from living—not the phone.
As the beat of Amsterdam Dance Event 2025 builds, Patta and Keep Hush return for the third time — and you know what they say: three’s the magic number. This year, the partnership levels up, uniting three of the city’s most forward-thinking collectives — Sankofa Archives, Mosaiko, and Studio Strip — for a night that goes far beyond your standard ADE rave. This is community in motion: collectives linking up, sounds colliding, and energy multiplying into something bigger than the sum of its parts.
From live sets by NoizBoiz and Kekoto, to stacked B2Bs, selectors, and special guests, it’s an all-Amsterdam celebration of sound system culture, experimentation, and underground connection. Tickets are live now — don’t sleep. Join the movement and secure your spot at Patta x Keep Hush: where the community takes centre stage.