Junge Eko’s upbringing with the organ shaped the distinctive tone of her voice. Having come a long way from home, the instrument maintains her connection to something familiar and well-known. Junge Eko challenges the organ’s heavy legacy through experimental songwriting and contemporary sound design. Her graceful electro-acoustic compositions create space for improvisation, encompassing a wide range of dynamics and emotional highs, ultimately finding peace. Known for her involvement in various band projects and collaborations, her first solo longplayer, WWTAWWTAL: Selwi, was critically acclaimed and introduced her to an international audience.
How have you been? What have you been up to?
Landing, having returned from a few months in Berlin. I was involved in recharging collaborations and concerts, and focused on recording and immersing myself in text for a project with Eglė Šalkauskyte. I’ve been sending her a voice memo every month for her Jelly Sunday radio show.
Your background is in classical music, with studies in voice, performance and composition. How do you recollect this background and musical journey?
Looking back, I see recurring elements that I now value.
I feel fortunate to have met amazing musicians during my studies, and to have eventually found the freedom to express something without the need to fit in or face many restrictions.
For a long time, I didn’t have access to the music I liked, which made me naive in a good way.
Despite many changes in my environment and circumstances, I’ve managed to retain that essence.
The organ is important for your work. What is your relationship with this instrument?
I began playing the organ at the age of nine in the church where I grew up, performing at weddings and funerals. However, after leaving the church and moving away, I lost access to the instrument until I started receiving specific invitations from festivals.
It felt like a strange yet familiar homecoming.
It opens me up and closes me off at the same time.
The organ has shaped the tone of my voice, resonating and echoing in the cathedral—
steady, yet hollow within. Maybe it’s why I love hearing rooms in records.
It also gave me a natural approach to making music, without overjudging it.
Your album Selwi, which was part of the series “What We Talk About, When We Talk About Love”, was dedicated to your mum who passed away. Being personal—also in art—opens us up to vulnerabilities, and makes us face our fears, hopes, and loves. What does this release mean to you, and how personal is making art and music for you?
Though there have been moments when I wished it weren’t so personal, now I embrace the connection with big emotions. It’s my way of engaging with the body and expressing what lies within. I want a physical experience while playing.
The deadline for that series was set, and that was what I was going through at that time.
It was simply the most honest I could be; there was nothing else that could emerge.
I create music spontaneously, drawing from my surroundings and crafting an empty space filled with raw, honest feelings. This process demands vulnerability.
In this vulnerability I think like a collector, trying to bring threads together which ultimately become conceptual.
How does your creative process look? Are the ideas behind the creative process important, or is the creation itself more important?
Both ways are valid and very individual.
For me, the narrative behind a creation is paramount. It’s a reflection of one’s entire being, transmitting something crucial in that specific moment, which is quite serious.
Personal setbacks, societal well-being, and political decisions will inevitably reflect in it, prompting you to rethink the meaning of what you do and why.
Your decisions, gestures, words, errors and gifts are all part of that.
You are from Switzerland, whose music scene we do not know much about. Many imagine the country to be relatively easy for artists to survive in. Is that the case? What initiatives and projects are worth checking out?
It’s more privileged in terms of funding compared to other countries. While it’s still challenging to make a living as a musician—working hard for less than the minimum wage—it is feasible to realise projects and sustain oneself. There are many inspiring artists, venues, and events with progressive booking and curating. For example, Year-to-Date is a collective that has a programme in Zurich’s Gessnerallee during the whole of March, and Dampzentrale in Bern hosts festivals like Full of Lava, Aether, and Expop.
You recently established a booking agency, Tattoo, with Dominika Jarotta from the Full of Lava festival. Can you talk about this project?
It’s a creative outlet we’ve been contemplating for some time, ever since Dominika started handling my bookings. She is a great curator with an artistic vision, and she definitely brings that to Tattoo, organising and managing artists, but also going beyond that.
We aim to create more community and provide a place for all sorts of ideas across various media and art forms—all intertwined with the curatorial process.
Photo: Simon Habegger