I always say Zurich is a city of contradictions. We are precision-engineered efficiency wrapped in the myth of neutrality; a place where bankers sip espresso under Bauhaus buildings in fun places like La Stanza while underground collectives spin wax into existential questioning.
Many of us—myself included—like to think of ourselves as effortlessly cosmopolitan. We glide between cities, quote post-colonial theory over mezcal sours, and build lives wrapped in the warm embrace of our low-interest monetary safety—globally fluent, socially agile, culturally literate. But for all our passport stamps and progressive rhetoric, we often behave like a well-mannered village terrified of interruption.
And I say that not in judgment, but from the inside out. I’m a full-ass African woman—raised by a Ghanaian matriarch who taught me to speak my loud truth before I could even spell my name. My ancestors laid down my roots in clarity, rhythm, and refusal. And yet, here I am, still unlearning; while learning how not to flinch when truth enters a room unannounced and uncompromising. We have mastered the art of quoting bell hooks in conversation—but forget how to breathe when someone lives out loud what she actually meant. Yes, I do still catch myself tucking parts of me in—toning it down, smoothing it out, striving to be legible in my birth city, that often rewards subtlety over soul.
I call it adapting, but sometimes it feels more like self-erasure in slow motion.
And yet, in rooms like Kasheme, I remember: We don’t have to shrink. We don’t have to soften. The city pauses its need for polish, and suddenly there’s room to exhale.
It’s where we come not to impress, but to be. Where sound doesn’t decorate the night—it dismantles it.
More so, on a great Kasheme night, something breaks through. Something raw, unfiltered, and necessary. On this particular night, that something took the form of Joy Guidry at Kasheme.
Kasheme isn’t a venue so much as a sonic womb, a breathing room for the city’s seekers, nomads, and dreamers—those of us craving rupture from our routine of restraint.
Those of us, playing by Zurich’s rules—neutrally engaged, politely efficient, thriving in curated spaces—but in rooms like this, I remember I don’t have to.
We don't have to.
Kasheme is a space where Zurich’s polished perfection momentarily pauses, exhaling its need for control—and in that pause, something real begins. And on the night Joy Guidry took over the room, that 'something real' became unavoidable. Her presence cracked the surface of our city’s pretty restraint, and for those of us in the room, it reminded us how vital it is to have spaces where truth doesn’t need to be translated, shaved down, or made more cute and comfortable. At Kasheme, you don’t attend music—you lean into it. The feeling, the emotions. No stage. Just presence.
Joy needed no velvet rope. Just breath, bass, and belief.
The night was curated by Noise Reduction, the quietly radical project of Sebastian Brunner—a Colombian Swiss sonic diplomat gently rearranging Zurich’s listening habits. More than curation, it’s frequency encounter engineering (yes, I love making up words).
And this encounter? It came at a moment when the right to be—as Joy is—is under fire.
Just two months ago, the United States federal government issued an executive order to "restore biological truth"—a document that reads less like policy and more like a manifesto against fluidity. Against people like Joy. Against everything her music whispers, holds, and roars into being.
“I remember being super fucked up at this bar and going to the bathroom and looking in the mirror,” Joy told us, her voice low and unwavering. “And I was like, that’s who I’ve always wanted to be. Like, she’s here.”
That line hung in the air longer than most songs.
In a world increasingly obsessed with borders—between countries, between categories—Joy collapses them. Black and queer. Trans and Southern. Bassoon and spiritual jazz.
Her very existence is a refusal.
And Zurich, of all places, needed to hear it!
Because while we wear our neutrality like a badge of enlightenment, it often masks a discomfort with messiness, with stories that don’t end in clean resolutions. But Joy didn't tidy herself up for Swiss palatability.
She showed up, breathed deep into her bassoon, and reminded us that becoming is a bloody, beautiful thing.
Her set wasn’t a performance—it was a ceremony. A meditation. An unflinching look at the cost of authenticity.
She spoke of coming out in stages. First as queer. Then as non-binary. Then, in her own time, as a woman. “And when I started hormones, I cried every day,” she said. “Because I could feel my body getting closer to me.”
Closer to truth, even as the world insists on defining it away.
What does it mean to host a trans woman playing spiritual jazz in a year when her government is trying to erase her?
What does it mean that Zurich, our pristine city of silence and certainty, became a sanctuary for a sound that’s as complex and messy as identity itself?
It means that listening—really listening—is a political act. That showing up to hear Joy was not neutral.
It was necessary.
Noise Reduction understood that. So did the room. There were no filters that night. No Instagrammed perfection. Just resonance.
Flesh, reed, story, breath.
“I’m thinking about moving to Lisbon...or Switzerland,” Joy mused aloud. “Pulling a Baldwin. Or a Tina Turner.” Some of us laughed, almost nervously. But we knew she wasn’t joking.
Because survival is not a metaphor when states are writing your disappearance into law.
The crowd didn’t erupt in applause when she ended. We sat, stunned- feeling, oh so much! Then clapped like we were trying to keep her tethered to us a little longer. Because Joy didn’t just give us music—she gave us parts of her, she gave us parts of history, she provided more clarity. Clarity which I personally needed.
And maybe that’s the point. In a world that’s trying to legislate identity out of existence, Joy Guidry isn’t asking for your permission to exist.
She’s already here. Breathing. Becoming. Blowing open every binary.
And on a quiet night in Zurich, we let the noise in.
Thank you Joy. Thank you Seb. Thank you Kasheme <3
— Joy Guidry performed at Kasheme in Zurich on March 17, 2025, as part of Noise Reduction, a platform curated by Sebastian Brunner that brings transformative artists into spaces designed for deep listening. Her album, Amen, is available on all major platforms. Angels (listen here), is my favorite song.
Upcoming Noise Reduction Encounters
Catch more uncompromising sounds, curated for deep listening by joining their newsletter and upcoming events:
OKVSHO +experience — April 6, 2025 | Kaufleuten Zürich
Valentina Magaletti, Violeta García & Hora Lunga — April 13, 2025 | Kunstraum Walcheturm
Sirens of Lesbos — May 10, 2025 | Zentralwäscherei
Moor Mother & Lonnie Holley — May 13, 2025 | Photobastei Zürich
Sullivan Fortner (Piano Solo) — May 14, 2025 | Das Institut Zürich
Schnellertollermeier — May 17 & 18, 2025 | Photobastei Zürich
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