There’s a rare kind of artist who can turn vulnerability into strength, and Neko is exactly that. Through introspective songwriting and quietly cinematic soundscapes, this Amsterdam-based songwriter crafts music that feels both deeply personal and universally resonant. Their latest single ‘Ludo’ is a tender reflection on sibling-hood, memory and choosing connection over comparison. Blending minimalism with emotional depth, the track reveals the thoughtful complexity at the heart of this artist’s creative vision. With influences ranging from Bon Iver through to Big Thief, Neko’s work exists in that delicate space between silence and sound, where emotion is grounded in visual, as well as sonic, storytelling. For On The Record, we talk to Neko about the story behind ‘Ludo’, the role of dance and memory in their creative process and what to expect from their upcoming debut album.
Welcome to Unrecorded! For those who aren’t already familiar with Neko, can you introduce yourself?
Hi, I’m Robin. I’m a songwriter based in Amsterdam, and I make music under the name Neko. Through Neko, I try to write from a deeply honest place, often turning inward and translating the heavier, darker parts of myself into sound. It’s a way for me to make sense of what weighs on me, to give it shape, soften it and hopefully create space for others to face their own shadows with a little more gentleness.
Sonically, I like to move between minimalistic and more explosive sounds. It really depends on what the song needs. But regardless of the scale, the heart of it is always the songwriting. Every song feels like a heartbeat to me. Fragile but full of power. I’m drawn to that contrast, and I love how silence can almost scream after chaos, like it demands to be felt. That space, the quiet after the storm, is often where the emotion settles in.
You recently released the single ‘Ludo’, why was it important for you to write it on your sister’s birthday?
I wrote this song on my sister’s birthday because I wanted it to be a gift. Something given freely, not as a response to anything, but simply as a reflection of our bond. It’s a song about being siblings and all the beautiful, complicated layers that come with that kind of relationship.
I wanted her to know how much I admire her, how proud I am of who she is, and that I’m here. Not above or below, just beside her, as her brother. It was a gesture of love, a kind of peace offering, but more than that, it was a way to say: you matter to me, and I’m grateful we share this path, however winding it’s been.
The lyric “I just wanna let you know I don’t mind losing to you” is such a tender reversal of the typical sibling rivalry trope. What does that line mean to you?
It’s not that we were ever in conflict or had a difficult relationship. We’ve always cared deeply for each other. But like many siblings, there was this quiet undercurrent of comparison and unspoken rivalry. We both grew up immersed in music, and eventually, we each made it our profession. In a world like pop music, where success can feel so visible and competitive, it’s easy for those emotions to sneak in.
Over time, I started to realize how much energy that dynamic was taking up. Energy that could’ve been spent simply appreciating what we have. I got tired of that invisible tug-of-war. I’d much rather step back and choose love over comparison. I’d rather “lose” to her, if that’s what it takes, and make space for the connection and beauty that lives behind all of that noise. Because what we share as siblings is far more meaningful than any sense of competition could ever be.
How did you navigate turning childhood memories into something so emotionally rich and musically nuanced?
Since we know each other so well, it was natural to find ourselves going back to where it all started. To memories from when we were kids. I think a lot of it began with me winning most of the games we played, mostly because I was three years older. But the symbolic one would be Ludo.
In Dutch, the name of the game loosely means don’t get frustrated, which was kind of ironic, because frustration definitely showed up. The board would sometimes go flying, pieces scattered everywhere. But in a funny way, that game became a symbol of our dynamic growing up: a mix of closeness, rivalry, and emotion, always returning home. That memory became the foundation of the song.
Talk us through the production process to create something beautifully restrained, yet playful and melancholic?
I wanted to bring that feeling to life. The tension, the fun, the unpredictability. The drums have a kind of playfulness to them, and sometimes almost like the sound of rolling dice. The time signatures shift as if you’re moving through the game, a 6, then a 2, then a 3. The bass and guitar move like two game pieces circling each other. Similar steps, but never quite the same.
The melody is where the emotion really sits in this one. I wanted it to feel a bit melancholic, so I kept it slow, with long vowels that give the words space to land. The lyrics are quite straightforward, and honestly, the song almost wrote itself.
It’s funny. Sometimes it feels like songwriting is all problemsolving and shaping ideas, but then there are moments like this, where it just flows. Like the song was already there, and I just had to let it come through. Those are usually the songs I end up feeling closest to.
There’s a small story behind it too. At the time, I was still studying guitar at the conservatory, and I had a lesson scheduled. It was during COVID, so everything was online. My teacher was Vedran Mirčetić, the guitarist from De Staat, a big Dutch band (check them out!). When I told him I was in the middle of writing this song and asked if I could skip the lesson to keep going, he said, “Only if you include my birthday wishes in the song.”
So Easter egg alert. If you listen closely, somewhere in there you’ll hear: “Vedran says happy birthday.”
The choreography in the music video adds a powerful physical layer to the narrative. How did the collaboration with Amber Veltman shape your vision for the piece?
I’ve always had this dream of using modern dance in a music video, even though I’m not a dancer myself. Sob and I did gymnastics when we were kids, so we’re not complete beginners, and we figured why not give it a try?
We worked with Amber Veltman, who’s an incredible dancer, choreographer, and director. I trusted her completely to help shape the story through movement. We only had three days to put the choreography together, so we really pushed ourselves. It was intense, but also deeply rewarding.
In the end, I’m really proud of what we created. It felt raw and real, and even though we were outside our comfort zones, that made it feel even more honest.
There are traces of sonic influences like Sufjan Stevens and Bon Iver, are there any other artists or bands’ that you take inspiration from?
I’ve always been drawn to the emotional lyricism of Big Thief. Adrianne Lenker has this poetic way of turning everyday moments into something almost mythical.
A big influence on my own sound is LUWTEN, another Dutch artist. Her music feels intensely soft, or maybe softly intense. It’s hard to describe, but if you listen, you’ll know what I mean.
I also really connect with the melancholy and cinematic quality of Patrick Watson. There’s something so adventurous in his music, like it’s always exploring new emotional territory.
And of course, there’s the drama and depth of Radiohead. I’ve spent more rainy days than I can count staring into the abyss with Thom Yorke singing his heart out ion the background. That’s definitely in there too.
Do you also find inspiration outside of music? Books, films, art etc.?
I’ve always been drawn to cinema. It’s one of those rare mediums where so many forms of expression. Sound, image, movement, silence. They come together to create something complete. The way a soundtrack can elevate a moment, or how a single look in a performance can break your heart. It stirs something deep. It touches all the senses. A lot of the time when I’m writing, I imagine the song like a scene in a film. I try to see it, feel it, hear what the score would sound like. It helps me shape the emotion of it. Like I’m composing not just music, but a moment.
‘Ludo’ gives us a glimpse into the upcoming debut album. What can listeners expect in terms of themes, sonic textures, or emotional terrain?
Like I mentioned before, my debut album is a journey into the shadows of my own life. The parts that are hard to name, let alone speak out loud. So instead, I sang them. It’s a deeply personal record, shaped by everything I’ve explored musically over the years. I’ve moved through many different styles, and somehow they all found a place here, though you could probably sum it up as melancholic indie.
I played all the instruments myself, except for the drums (still working on that dream), which were played by Niels de Jonge and Maurits Nijhuis. I also handled a good part of the production. But I didn’t do it alone. Maurits, a dear friend and someone I deeply admire musically, was an essential part of the process. We worked closely together in his studio, Studio Karakterbak, shaping the sound and building the songs piece by piece. It really feels like something we created together, and I think we’ve made something we can both be proud of.
By the time you’ve finished listening to the record, I think you’ll have a pretty good sense of who I am. Not just as a musician, but as a person. I’m truly looking forward to hearing how it resonates with you.
What’s next on the horizon for Neko?
First, my focus is on releasing the album and putting together a proper release show. Something memorable, with all the moving parts and occasional chaos that come with planning something like that. But after that… Well, let’s just say there’s already something stirring beneath the surface. A next chapter is taking shape Maybe even a few songs already waiting in the wings. It’s going to be something entirely different. Unexpected. A little wild. So stay close.
You can also listen to ‘Ludo’ in our Outsiders Club playlist.
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