By mid-2025, Afrojack realized something fundamental had shifted. For years after the pandemic, the producer born Nick van de Wall had been operating in maintenance mode — protecting the Afrojack brand, keeping fans satisfied, growing his Wall Recordings label, touring relentlessly, and delivering the polished edits expected on global stages. The business was solid. The machine was running smoothly. And that clarity sparked a new desire.
Instead of chasing streams or commercial appeal, Afrojack decided to return to the purest reason he started making music in the first place: the dance floor. He wanted to create tracks without overthinking their market value, and to play sets driven by instinct rather than expectation.
That mindset led him somewhere unexpected — smaller rooms, underground sounds, and crowds who didn’t know his face. Through his club-focused alias Kapuchon, Afrojack began showing up in spaces where the music mattered more than the name behind it. One of those moments came last summer at Hï Ibiza, when he appeared during a Miss Monique set under the Kapuchon moniker.
The reaction surprised him. People weren’t responding because “Afrojack” was playing — many weren’t even sure it was him. They reacted because the music worked.
“They were looking at me like, ‘Is that Afrojack?’” he recalls. “But it didn’t matter. It was just a guy playing music. When a record hits and you see faces light up, that’s my feeling of accomplishment. That’s what makes me happy.”
That satisfaction has carried real momentum. In March, Afrojack launches the seven-date Kapuchon Presents Afrojack Tour, bringing his club-first vision to intimate venues across North America, including Sound in Los Angeles, Refuge in Brooklyn, and StereoBar in Montreal. For an artist synonymous with massive mainstage moments, the move may seem surprising — but Afrojack says it reflects where dance music is today.
Genres, he believes, no longer come with rigid borders.
“It’s fun to see that we don’t have to be split by genres anymore,” he says. “Everyone can do everything.”
Beyond Genres and Elitism
Afrojack doesn’t deny that dance music has long been divided by unspoken hierarchies. Fans often define themselves by what they don’t like, using genre loyalty as a form of social distinction. Techno crowds dismiss EDM. Experimental listeners dismiss techno. Everyone is busy proving they’re more “advanced” than someone else.
What’s changed, he argues, isn’t the audience — it’s the artists.
Today’s DJs and producers are far less interested in purity tests. A good song is a good song, regardless of who made it or how accessible it sounds. Afrojack points to artists like Charlotte de Witte as examples of that openness: musicians who judge records on feel, not reputation.
“Listening to a song differently because of who made it is strange,” he says. “I’m happy more people are realizing that.”
Veterans of the scene also play a role. With figures like Carl Cox, Richie Hawtin, Tiësto, and Armin van Buuren still actively shaping dance culture, younger artists are less inclined to argue rigid definitions. When pioneers speak, their longevity carries authority — and perspective.
Social Media, Success, and the Attention Economy
While the scene has become more musically flexible, Afrojack is blunt about another reality: modern success is deeply tied to visibility. Social media has collapsed the distance between artists and fans, creating more understanding — but also more pressure.
Afrojack loves making music and DJing. What he dislikes is turning creativity into constant content.
“There’s this idea now that musicians have to build a brand,” he says. “I hate going online like, ‘Here’s my new song, do this dance so the streams go up.’”
He doesn’t begrudge others their success, even when it comes from viral moments or aesthetic appeal rather than musical depth. But the competition can feel absurd. Artists today aren’t just up against other producers — they’re competing with influencers, algorithms, AI-generated clips, and whatever else captures attention that day.
“It’s not just about music anymore,” he says. “It’s about attention.”
Afrojack is fortunate. His career was established before social media dominance, giving him long-standing relationships with promoters and a degree of insulation. For new artists, he believes the climb is far steeper than it once was.
Where a single standout track used to open doors, today’s newcomers are expected to deliver volume, consistency, nonstop touring, and relentless self-promotion — often without financial reward at the start.
Authenticity Still Wins
Despite the noise, Afrojack doesn’t believe lasting success can be faked. Global artists filling 10,000- or 20,000-capacity venues, he argues, don’t get there through gimmicks alone. He points to acts like Keinemusik, Mau P, and John Summit as proof — artists whose overnight “breakthroughs” were actually built on years, sometimes decades, of work.
“They didn’t just appear,” he says. “They did the struggle.”
That’s the same message he shares with artists signed to his label and students at the Wall Pro Academy: consistency and honesty matter more than shortcuts. The difference now is scale. One song isn’t enough. Artists must release more, perform more, and show more of themselves than ever before.
The Grammys, Image, and Playing the Game
With the Grammys approaching, Afrojack reflects candidly on awards culture. While DJs and party-driven artists dominate global stages, they don’t always fit the Recording Academy’s idea of “artsy.”
“We represent DJ and party culture,” he says. “That’s not really what the Grammys are about.”
He’s won one himself, but he’s not interested in reshaping his identity to chase validation. Afrojack has long resisted the idea of “selling out,” including criticism he faced after collaborating with Pitbull years ago.
“If you say no to something just to protect your image,” he argues, “you’re selling out to your image.”
His philosophy now is simple: stop curating a persona and just be human. Tastes change. People evolve. Loving one style of music doesn’t mean rejecting everything else.
He admits he didn’t always think this way. Early in his career, he chose not to put his name on “Titanium,” worried about protecting his image. Looking back, it’s not a regret — but it’s not a choice he’d make again.
His favorite metaphor is deliberately ordinary.
“You might eat chicken today, steak tomorrow, vegetables the next day, and a cookie after that,” he says. “Just because you love one thing doesn’t mean you only are that thing.”
In that mindset sits the core of his current chapter — a career less about labels, less about approval, and more about freedom. It’s a perspective shaped by decades in the spotlight, underground rooms where no one knows his name, and a scene that’s still evolving.
And as Afrojack discusses his club alias Kapuchon, the Grammys, and why today’s DJs and producers aren’t purists, one message stands out clearly: authenticity may not be the easiest path anymore, but it’s still the one that lasts.
