There are albums that sound good, and then there are albums that feel like a lived experience. Hazard, the striking new release from multidisciplinary artist Stephan Folkes, falls firmly into the latter category. Raw, genre-fluid, and deeply personal, the project is both a warning and a reckoning — a sonic navigation of chaos, resilience, and self-investment.
In this exclusive interview with Urbanista Magazine, Folkes opens up about the meaning behind the album’s title, the emotional weight of tracks like Can I Be There?, and the power of building something from the ground up. From near-death experiences and navigating special needs to unfiltered vulnerability and creative risk-taking, Hazard is more than music — it’s the sound of someone reclaiming their voice on their own terms.
Here, Stephan Folkes shares the story behind the record, his philosophy on collaboration, and why he’s not waiting for permission to be heard.
‘Hazard’ is such a powerful title — when did you know that word encapsulated the spirit of this album?
I knew Hazard had to be the title when I fully grasped the message I was trying to put into the world — one rooted in self-investment and empowerment. The word “hazard” reflects both external danger and internal awareness. To me, it represents the need to protect yourself, to navigate life thoughtfully, and to read between the lines. I often tell people: live life like it’s martial arts — protect yourself at all times. I’m not here to preach, but I do like to share that mindset. This album reflects that philosophy. It’s about learning how to carry yourself through chaos, about building inner strength, and understanding that growth often comes from facing the unpredictable. That’s the spirit of Hazard.
Your sound fearlessly spans genres. How do you decide what sonic direction a song should take? Or does the emotion lead?
I create based on instinct. I don’t overthink the direction — because overanalysing can impede creativity and hold back expression. If I get too pedantic, I risk never releasing anything at all. Recording music can be thrilling, frustrating, and revealing all at once — it’s a journey of self-discovery every time. With Hazard, the emotion often led the way, but so did the moment. Sometimes it’s about what the song needs, not what fits a genre. And while the album is deeply personal, I didn’t build it alone. I had a solid team supporting me, including Nick Michaels — who runs his own production company — and his long-time collaborator Phil Curran. It was a genuine team effort. Nobody truly makes it alone — not even the greats. This album is the product of instinct, dedication, and years of growth.
There’s a lot of vulnerability in your lyrics — especially in tracks like Can I Be There? and Incomplete. Were there moments that felt too personal to share?
Absolutely. There were moments that felt incredibly personal — because I’m truly putting myself out there. In today’s oversaturated industry, attention spans are short. Music alone often isn’t enough to carry an artist. People connect with more than just sound — they’re drawn to your message, your story, your presence, and your image. That’s why I felt it was important to lead by example and reveal parts of myself, even the uncomfortable ones. Can I Be There? was originally titled Will You Be There?, but through the writing process, it became less about whether someone else would show up for me and more about whether I could show up for myself. It’s about choosing to walk away from toxic or hazardous situations — and learning to feel secure in solitude. As someone with special needs who’s spent most of my education in specialist units, often feeling isolated or like an outsider, the song also reflects my personal experience of learning to be okay on my own. I won’t label my neurodivergence publicly just yet, but it’s something that deeply informs my perspective. As for Incomplete, it tells the story of someone who refuses to take accountability — someone who constantly looks outward for answers or always places blame on others. It’s not autobiographical in the same way, but it still speaks to a broader truth we all face: the importance of taking responsibility and accountability for our own growth.
You self-funded the album with no label backing. What drove you to invest so heavily in your own vision?
There are several reasons. Ever since I was about 11 years old — after performing in a school play — I knew I wanted to be on stage. I didn’t know what kind of artist I’d become, but I knew it had to involve performance. That feeling never left me. And the truth is, I’m not getting any younger. It’s either now or never. If I don’t pursue this dream of getting my name out there, I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. This is the biggest thing I’ve ever wanted — wholeheartedly. And truthfully, most people don’t have the courage to take this kind of risk. But I do. My cousin, Deyaz, is also a UK artist. Though we’re no longer in contact, seeing someone from my own bloodline carve their own path in music definitely influenced my perspective. His journey made me reflect on mine — but while he found success early on, I’ve taken a different route. Mine is grassroots: self-funded, self-managed, and built from the ground up. I want to prove that there’s more than one way to break through in this industry. My investment in Hazard wasn’t just financial — it was a statement of belief in myself, my vision, and the message I stand for.
From near-death experiences to navigating special needs — your story is layered. How did those challenges shape the emotional tone of Hazard?
Those experiences had a massive impact on me — and I live with them every single day. Some days are good, others are harder, but they’ve shaped how I see the world and how I express myself creatively. When it comes to art, I lead with instinct. I don’t overthink — I create from the heart. Everyone has their own way of expressing themselves, and for me, this is how I process and communicate what I’ve been through. I don’t let anyone influence how I convey my art, because it has to come from an honest place. So yes, those challenges shaped the emotional tone of Hazard in a big way. The album is, at its core, a reflection of my journey — either directly from my lived experiences or from the emotional residue they left behind. Without those moments — the pain, the solitude, the growth — the album wouldn’t be what it is today.
You describe yourself as The Visionist, King of Fantasy, and Dream Pop King. Can you unpack what those titles mean to you as an artist?
These titles are part of my brand — and every artist needs something memorable that sets them apart. Just like others have their own monikers or personas, I created mine to reflect my identity and artistic purpose. The Visionist speaks to my ability to see beyond the surface — to imagine new sonic landscapes and bring them to life. King of Fantasy captures the immersive, surreal quality of my sound and storytelling. And Dream Pop King ties it all together with a genre-blending edge rooted in emotion, atmosphere, and mood. I don’t follow trends — I build worlds. These titles are more than just slogans; they represent how I approach music: with intention, imagination, and the drive to create something that lasts.
Your vocal mentors and collaborators span a wide spectrum. How did their influence shape this album — or help you break the rules?
Collaboration is essential — but not with just anyone. You have to work with the right people — those who have qualities you respect, skills you want to develop, and energy that aligns with your vision. Early on, a backing vocalist from UB40 (whose name, unfortunately, I can’t recall) helped shape my voice when I was a teenager. Later, Claude Alexander played a major role in refining my musical understanding, particularly in music theory. In more recent years, working with Nick Michaels and Phill Curran has been vital for my growth in production. Each of them brought something I either admired or needed to grow in — and their guidance helped shape Hazard into a cohesive, sonically sound project. That said, not every collaboration has been positive. I’ve worked with producers like Tony Fagan, who runs a bedroom label called Ruff Diamond Records — a guy who relied mostly on loops and lacked real production skills. There was also someone named Shak, who turned out to be a time waster. And there were others too. Experiences like that taught me how crucial it is to choose collaborators wisely — because the wrong people can slow you down or dilute your vision. When it comes to music, there are a few rules you shouldn’t break — like key, pitch, timing, and rhythm. Even an untrained ear can tell when those fundamentals are off. But beyond that? Creativity has no boundaries. These mentors gave me the tools to understand the structure — so I could bend or break everything else with intention. That’s how Hazard was built — grounded in musical integrity, but unafraid to push limits.
The final track, Hazard, feels like both a warning and an awakening. Was that always meant to be the last statement of the album?
Yes — and it was part of a wider structure I carefully considered. I didn’t want the album to feel too same-y in terms of tempo or energy. For me, if the first song is fast, the second one can also be fast — but the third absolutely shouldn’t be. That shift creates contrast and keeps the listener engaged. The same applies in reverse: if the first two songs are slower, then it makes sense for the third one to pick up the pace. It’s all about variation and keeping people on their toes — letting them feel something different from track to track. I didn’t want the album to sound 100% the same throughout. And placing Hazard as the final track made perfect sense — not just in tone, but in message. It sums up everything the album stands for: reading between the lines, recognising danger, avoiding it, and ultimately learning how to empower and invest in yourself. While some songs deviate from that central theme — like Undress Me or Somebody Out There? — the title track brings it all home. It’s the final statement for a reason: it concludes the journey with clarity, purpose, and a message that lingers.
Was there a particular song that didn’t make the album?
Yes — there’s one in particular: It’s None Of Your Business (Bonus Track – Hazard Era). I released it as a standalone single on the same day as the Hazard album, but it didn’t make the official track list. One of the reasons is that I wanted to keep the album at 10 tracks. With the length and emotional density of the songs, that felt like the right balance. The title says a lot on its own, and the track itself is quite experimental. I’m not a rapper, but on this one I play with elements of rap, singing, and a vocal technique called rasp — which is often used in rock to convey urgency or danger. It won’t be for everyone, and that’s okay. It deviates from the emotional core of the album, offering a different kind of energy and edge. That’s why it works better as a bonus track rather than part of the main body of work. However, one track that did make the Hazard album is Is This Paradise?, which was also released as a single on the same day. So both songs are out now — give them a listen and see which one speaks to you.
If someone listens to Hazard from start to finish, what do you hope they feel by the time the final note fades?
That’s a great question. More than anything, I hope the listener takes something meaningful from the album. Whether it’s a moment of self-investment, a spark of empowerment, or simply a sense of connection — I want it to offer more than just entertainment. Hazard isn’t just a collection of songs — it’s a journey. I want people to experience that journey in their own way and hopefully feel inspired to reflect on their own path. It’s stupid to chase perfection — it’s much better to seek connection, because nothing in life is truly perfect. Not every piece of music is for everyone, and that’s completely okay. But for those who resonate with this album — this one’s for you.
