Oklou’s Echo: Between Memory and Melody

The Columbia Theater in Berlin felt less like a venue and more like a quiet gathering of the city’s scene, except the only name that mattered was the one on stage. Oklou entered the room in a wash of ambient haze, the sound of ICT from her latest album, Choke Enough is marking her entrance. The first notes— almost like a distant horn—weren’t brass at all, but a synth pad, stretched and softened into something tactile, something human.

Between songs, Marylou Mayniel, her real name, folded herself into the stage’s dim light, sharing fragments of Berlin memories, of encounters turned into songs; digital textures turned into something warmer. A song unfolds like a thought just before it slips away—layered with vocal processing, textured synths, and the weight of something unspoken. In the post-internet era, where connection feels both fleeting and eternal, her music lingers somewhere in between.

SLEEK: After attending the show in Berlin, the stage projections felt reminiscent of folklore dance. How do you see the intersection of tradition and post-internet elements in your work?

Oklou: I think I see it as a result of how impactful these two elements have been in my life. Growing up, I have been witnessing music and culture in its traditional form whether it was in classical music or folkloric music through my parents. And obviously when I got older, I have spent a lot of time on the internet which made my interest grow in new sounds and experimental approaches. But I think there’s a lot of common ground within these two worlds – in the world of traditional music and dance. I have a lot of memories of live bands being very experimental and offering new visions of how traditional music can evolve and be inspired by contemporary practices. In post internet culture or within any artistic movement, I can see a lot of similarities with traditional cultures (obviously without the essential aspect of generational impact yet) that would resides in the very natural search for togetherness by gathering, dancing, sharing references and wanting to be part of something that is meaningful for the community.

S: Genres, cultures, and time itself seem to dissolve into one another in our era of digitalization. How does this shape your approach to blending different sounds and styles?

O: To be fair, I think a lot of music heavily influenced by post-internet culture will always be nourished by non-internet things. The internet has mostly been a vessel for re-digesting and reinterpreting elements from the past—you can see it in super internet-core movements like vaporwave around 2012, which was literally just slowed-down samples of smooth jazz and easy listening. It feels natural to me that genres and cultures blend into each other to some extent in any era of music, so it’s not something I consciously engage with. My main approach is simply: How can I make this idea sound really good?—based on my own criteria and feelings. But ultimately, it always comes down to finding the best way to convey emotion.

S: It’s hard to classify music into one genre nowadays. Some have described your sound as hyperpop—do you relate to that label, or do you see your music existing outside of genre boundaries?

O: I feel like it’s not really my place to label it, so I have to admit I don’t think about it much. I get why labels exist and why the term hyperpop came about, but the only thing that really stands out to me about it is how broad—maybe too broad—it feels. Like, putting my music and 100 gecs under the same label doesn’t really make sense to me. That is, unless we’re talking about intensity—maybe that’s where a lot of artists under the term hyperpop find common ground. It’s less about a specific sound and more about pushing an emotion to its extreme or making bold, radical choices in terms of sound and the balance between minimalism and maximalism.

S: Given that the post-internet era is marked by constant connection and interaction, how does this hyper-connected environment influence your sense of individuality in the creative process?

O: You’re right, but I think it’s pretty easy to be and feel like a loner even when you’re chronically online—it’s just like IRL. Finding lonely spaces, whether intentional or not, can be just as much of a struggle or reality both online and offline. For me, individuality is something you find and accept within yourself, regardless of how you interact with the outside world.

S: Do you see your sound as a reaction to, or perhaps an evolution of, the digital revolution we’re living through? Does our age feel like one of disconnection, or do you find something more hopeful in this digital landscape?

O: Not necessarily, but it’s definitely been shaped by many cultural elements of the digital era—the imagery, the codes, the speed of things, all of which influence form and length. Again, I think the feeling of connection or disconnection is something personal to each individual.

The one thing that really stands out to me about the digital revolution is the sheer amount of information and the speed at which everything moves. I question that a lot because, to me, there’s something overwhelming about it—something that bothers me a little. But that’s just my perspective. Lately, I feel like the internet has kind of lost me—it’s just too much, haha. Also, my eyes are starting to suffer from screens, and honestly, they’re really starting to annoy me.

S: What does your music-making process look like? You’ve mentioned before that you prefer working with familiar producers or friends—how does that shape your sound?

O: The nice thing about working with people I know is that they know me too. In a lot of ways, it makes things more efficient—I feel safe enough to say what I want, and our exchanges feel natural. Plus, my friends understand what I mean when I talk about inspiration, art, or energy—there’s a reason we’re friends in the first place.

Of course, magic can happen in all kinds of circumstances, but for me, it’s happened most often within friendships, so I don’t see a reason to change that. Working with friends means working as close as possible to my own self, reaching a deeper level of honesty—but with the added strengths of other minds and skills.