Spitting rhymes instead of messing about

At the far end of Dienerstrasse, where Zurich starts to feel a bit more cramped, there is a broom cupboard. Not a metaphorical space, but a real one: a few square metres, two old office chairs, a Mac, active speakers, a controller and a microphone. Nothing more. And yet, music is created here that’s well worth listening to.

The recording studio at the Kreis 4 youth centre was set up in 2009 because young people wanted to record their songs. Today, it’s run by Pascal Hitz, 40, who has been part of the team for eight years. Anyone who wants to can get in touch. Two hours per session, free of charge. Those who come usually bring something with them: a beat, an idea, a story.

“The young people have a plan,” says Hitz. “And talent.” The range is astonishing. Dialect gangsta rap alongside Thai pop, Afghan folk music alongside English R&B with an 80s vibe. One young person plays the Afghan stringed instrument dambura and the Indian flute bansuri, whilst others rap about fleeing their home countries, everyday life or simply about themselves. On one occasion, they even created a rap advert for a Zurich dentist: “Need a dentist? Then come to Osmani./Because compared to him, the others don’t stand a chance.”

What is recorded here is rarely rough. The vocals are spot on, as is the phrasing. And if the first takes are still a bit shaky, Hitz helps out with input and compression: “Nothing’s been bad so far, anyway,” says Hitz.

He sees himself as a sound engineer, but also as a conversation partner. He lets the young people have a go first. “They should sing or rap whatever’s weighing on their minds.” Afterwards, they reflect. On content, on language, on impact. He has the lyrics sent to him in advance and translates them using AI.

Censorship? A difficult topic. “I definitely don’t want to take their language away from them,” he says. “But if something goes too far, then we talk about it quite openly. Then I ask: Do you really think that? Why?” Sometimes he stops a recording. Much more often, conversations arise. It is these conversations that make the difference.

Many take their cue from German street rap. “This way of life is closer to their hearts.” The posters on the wall – Biggie, Nas, Jay-Z – belong to a different era. The music of today sounds different, more direct, often harder. And yet something is happening here that goes beyond music.

Hitz even wrote his bachelor’s thesis on this place and the things that happen here. It is called ‘Music as a Bridge between Worlds’. The conclusion: it promotes integration, reflection and community. Empirical evidence in just under four square metres. Today, Pascal Hitz reaps the thanks now and then in interviews with former studio guests. And quite simply in the fact that they have made something of themselves.

Some of the former users are now rap stars across Switzerland. MC Hero, for example. Or Sic4rio. “Kopfnickersound”, his biggest hit, was created here. He has now broken the million-stream mark on Spotify. But the real value lies elsewhere.

“They were able to use the recording studio to avoid messing about,” says Hitz. In this small room, it’s not just recording that takes place, but translation: of experiences, tensions, identities. Music becomes a space where young people explore who they are – and how they want to sound.

Perhaps that is the real point of this place: that, of all places, a broom cupboard is where something is created that is bigger than itself.