In a tunnel on the underground surrounded by confused onlookers and annoyed Londoners quickening their pace, Tobi Adebajo, Adedamola Bajomo and Kyoko Takenaka are calmly disruptive as they perform “Wastewomxn”, the self-titled single from their debut album of the same name. It’s a song that is full of playful instructions to “breathe out” and “take some time out to play in a world where existence is resistance.” The band are all about radical self-care, the demise of capitalism and the return to one’s roots, a collection of themes that pulsate throughout their album.

The band of queer “unbinary aliens” —each member uses they/them pronouns— comprising of Adebajo, an anti-disciplinary artist, natural hair specialist, film director, doula and parent— Takenaka, a butoh dancer and filmmaker as well as Bajomo, a multidisciplinary artist, barber and drag king at The Cocoa Butter Club met in London at the Idea Store in Whitechapel before eventually coming together to form Wastewomxn. Existing at a diasporic intersection, the band work trans-continentally to create a cool blend of Afro-Asian punk, R&B and hip-hop. With lyrics infused and inspired by Yoruba and Japanese oral storytelling traditions, the trio’s sound is as refreshing as it is otherworldly.

In an industry that, despite progressive cultural shifts, continues to centre cishet voices while remaining exploitative, Wastewomxn’s deliberate navigation outside of its grips ensures that their work retains a sort of organic component that appeals to the people in the margins in need of music that feels as transformative as the times.

Bandmembers Adedamola Bajomo and Tobi Adebajo sat down with AMAKA to talk about their debut album, what the word “womxn” means to them, surviving a global pandemic, continued racism and queerphobia,  and how they’ve held space for each other and themselves. 

Why did you pick Wastewomxn as a name for your band?

 We recognise that queerness is not static, that gender is ultimately just another violent social construct that was created to control/subjugate... We decide what power these words hold for us. 

Given the discourse around how the word “womxn” and the contexts in which it can be considered problematic, how do you as non-binary queer folk navigate this? What does the term womxn mean to you?

As Black, Queer ass humans who were assigned ‘womanhood’ at birth and for whom the word ‘woman’ was historically never meant, we think that ‘woman’ is ours to do whatever the hell we want to with to be frank. At the end of the day, it’s a self-identifier; we’re calling ourselves that and that's because we have all had very warped experiences of ‘womanhood’ which we personally think Wastewomxn holds space for. We recognise that queerness is not static, that gender is ultimately just another violent social construct that was created to control/subjugate. As people who have socialised experiences of both being ‘woman’, '’other’, etc., we decide what power these words hold for us.

Your debut album really pivots sonically. What musical influences do you pull from to create this really unique sound?

Your debut album dropped in February of 2020 and by March the world closed down because of the COVID-19 pandemic. How has the band dealt with the massive changes that have come with the pandemic? Has it affected the way you all work given that you all worked transcontinentally anyway? 

Like a lot of the world, we just slowed right down, took our own advice and took a massive breath. We wouldn’t say it affected our work much, you know. Like you said, that was pretty much the only way we made music anyway— except when Kyoko would come to London for a few months, but that was always very irregular. 

Your debut single “Wastewomxn” was featured on Hulu’s High Fidelity and Kyoko got to be on the show as well, how did that come about?

Kyoko actually hooked that up! They had already gotten the part and made the cheeky suggestion about using our song for the scene if the production hadn’t decided on something yet— and they said yes!

I know the band had to organise and crowd-source funding in order to get your album out. Besides this, what have been some of the biggest challenges for the band?

Being in any kind of collaborative situation can be challenging. We are three unique human beings with a variety of lived experiences between us— from being born in Lagos, London and New York— to working and living on different continents. It means that between the distance, the time difference and our physical and mental health, among other things, communication can get laborious but, it is always a labour of love.

How has the album been received so far?

Honestly, it's unbelievable just how much people love the album. Folks are so touched by our words and sentiments. We get so much love from fans all over the world; our top listeners are in Russia apparently!

When you’re already living in the diaspora, away from the land of your ancestors, you can feel so far from who you are and so far from the things that make that identity feel concrete. 

Your music throughout the album is in Yoruba, Japanese and English. While English acts as a bridge for the non-Yoruba and non-Japanese speakers, how has utilising your native languages in such an encompassing manner shaped the way you understand how crucial language is in reclaiming the self and as a revolutionary tool?

When you’re already living in the diaspora, away from the land of your ancestors, you can feel so far from who you are and so far from the things that make that identity feel concrete. You suddenly have to be brave as well as curious; unafraid to experiment with your sounds because ultimately, communicating with your people and being grounded in who you are and where and who you have come from is simply more important than whatever insecurities bubble up. Doing this through language is like holding that bravery inside your mouth; tasting it, savouring it and relishing the bitter as well as the sweet. It’s nourishment and medicine and it lingers long after. It's a bonus that that process simultaneously connects us with the African and Asian diaspora. 

It’s been an especially difficult year for marginalised people. How do you hold space for each other as bandmates given the anti-Black and sinophobic sentiments that have intensified during the pandemic?

It really has been a wild year, even just in terms of the level of engagement with the concepts of Anti-Blackness and Sinophobia. We’ve really just been doing our best to check in on each other to be honest because none of this is necessarily new to any of us. But I don’t think we could speak on it as a band without Kyoko being present. I will say though that we have all been partially socialised in oppressive societies that have anti-Black and anti-Asian sentiments woven into the very fabric of their being so it's a continuous process of unlearning and calling each other whenever these things creep in. 

 The way technology has evolved within music has actually done far more for people who live outside the gender binary than the music industry ever has.

Going forward, what will the band be working on? Are you interested in collaborating with anyone? 

We just want to get in the same room again! To be physically together and doing what we know how to do best— experimenting and making music! We were really looking forward to spending the summer of 2020 rehearsing and preparing for shows and touring, so that’s really the priority also, readying our stage performance and tour plans as a band. In terms of collaborations, we are always down to collaborate with other queer BIPOC artists. 

We live in a time where discussions around dismantling the gender binary are finally happening globally. Do you think this has made navigating the music industry easier for you as a band comprised of individuals that truly live outside of the binary? 

No, these conversations have not made it easier for us as non-binary musicians to navigate the industry. We’re not really in the industry per se, and that's quite intentional. We’re very wary of being one of the things that the mainstream gets their hands on— because they love a box. The mainstream loves to package artists up conveniently for the market. The way technology has evolved within music has actually done far more for people who live outside the gender binary than the music industry ever has.

A lot of the themes around self-care, disruption, environmentalism, returning to one’s roots, feminism and occupying space reoccur on the album, why do you think as a band you keep returning to these concepts?

The world is imploding. In a lot of places we’re being socialised in the exact opposite direction of our album’s messages— individualistic, wasteful, thoughtless ways of being. I think we keep returning to these concepts because we’re swimming against the tide, the work is continuous and we will likely not see the long term benefits in our lifetime but we have to keep working at it. We have to keep loving and caring for each other and the world around us if we have any hope of making the world even just a little better for those coming after us— like for our honorary Wastewomxn; Gabi (Tobi and Adae’s seven-year-old child). We return to these themes in gratitude to those who have come before us.