Keep Holy Rave
Free.

I built a crowdfunding platform once. €6 million through it. I was a millionaire at twenty-seven. Then it all burned — in the Netherlands, in the papers, in public. I left.

I lived in a campervan for almost six years. Busked on streets in Tenerife. One night, on my knees inside the van, I asked Jesus to make me happy like I was as a child — before the money, the status, the noise.

He did.

I was baptized on a beach in Tenerife not long after.

Last summer I sold the van. I thought I was meant to settle here. I was wrong — things are growing faster than I can stay still for, and I'm being sent further than the island.

Now I make music. 145 BPM tribal psytrance. 130 BPM organic-nomadic house. Oud and handpan over tribal drums. Hebrew lyrics over the drop. The Psalms at a rave. Tracks called Jericho and Living Water and Halleluyah.

I play preferably for free. Because the people who might need this most are usually the ones who can't afford a ticket.

Something happens in those rooms. People who came to escape end up screaming IN THE NAME OF JESUS at 140 BPM and don't know why. Nobody knows the truth, until we die — but I believe. And the rooms feel like I'm not the only one who figured out something was happening.

I want to bring this everywhere. A new camper. A rig. A tank of diesel. Wherever I'm called — a beach in Tenerife, a street in Amsterdam, a rooftop across the sea.

If Holy Rave has ever moved something in you — or in someone you love — this is how you keep the door open for the next person walking in.

Here am I. Send me.