British–Sri Lankan artiste Saphron unleashes dark R&B anthem Bone Collector

Bone Collector was born out of a mix of frustration and clarity. It came from those moments when you realise people are misunderstanding you, judging you, or quietly collecting pieces of your story, waiting for you to slip up. Instead of letting that energy break me, I chose to flip it. The Bone Collector became a symbol of reclaiming my power—of owning my flaws, my story, my humanity before anyone else could use them against me. It’s about transforming what was once a source of pain into strength, moving from hurt to empowerment.

Yes! Bone Collector was written after a few experiences with racism and prejudice that really stayed with me. In the West especially, as South Asians, we’re often held to a different standard. What might be seen as a “small mistake” for someone else can be blown out of proportion when it’s us. I was angry, but I didn’t want to carry that anger in a destructive way. It’s hard when people hold things against you and never give you the chance to resolve them—often because of their own insecurities. We’re human; we’re going to make mistakes. But we’ll never grow or learn how to resolve conflict if we don’t take accountability—and that goes both ways. So, what do you do when you can’t find closure because the other person shuts down or chooses to play the victim? Well… you write a song about it, of course! I wanted to create something both empowering and reflective. Writing the song helped me process it all and turn it into something I could dance through instead of drown in.

I actually co-directed this project, so I spent weeks developing a detailed storyboard and visual concept for the video. I wrote a scene-by-scene breakdown and then handed it over to Azim, so that on the shoot days I could be in full artiste mode without having to direct everyone else. We collaborated really well and talked a lot about duality—how contrast isn’t just visual, but emotional too. We wanted to capture the collision between East and West, not as conflict but as coexistence. That idea came through in the lighting, tone, and framing: warm colours against cold shadows, glamour against grit. We drew inspiration from horror aesthetics, classic noir, and Eastern symbolism to create something layered yet accessible. Azim brought in some extra ideas to heighten the spooky atmosphere and improvised a lot of additional shots with the extras on the day. We also filmed plenty of b-roll to make sure we had lots to work within the edit. It really was such a collaborative effort.

It used to really confuse me—I felt like I was constantly trying to prove that I belonged somewhere. But over time, I realised that the “in-between” space is actually my superpower. I can move between worlds and blend influences in ways that feel natural to me. That’s what gives my music its edge—it isn’t bound by one culture or sound. My confidence came when I stopped seeking validation and started creating from authenticity instead of approval.

It’s freeing. For a long time, representation meant being the “South Asian artist,” which is important—but it’s not the whole picture. I want to be seen as an artist first, who happens to be South Asian. Music that transcends boxes feels honest; it speaks to emotion before it speaks to identity. My goal is to create songs that anyone can feel, while still carrying the rhythm, emotion, and complexity of my roots.

It’s changing slowly, but meaningfully. There’s more visibility now, and more nuance. Artistes like M.I.A., Joy Crookes, Rina Sawayama, and Priya Ragu have helped open up that space, but there’s still a long way to go. The exciting thing is that we’re no longer waiting to be “included” — we’re building our own ecosystems. You can even see that in Ed Sheeran’s recent work and collaborations. The sound of British pop is evolving, and the South Asian diaspora is a huge part of that future.

Definitely. There’s still an unspoken expectation to “perform” your culture in a way that feels palatable or easily recognisable. But I’m not interested in being anyone’s token of diversity. My culture lives in my art, whether I’m explicitly referencing it or not. For me, true representation is about freedom—the freedom to create from every part of myself, not just the parts people expect.

Rowena is amazing—she truly shines in this video, and she just happens to be a dear friend of mine! Honestly, it was such a beautiful experience. Everyone showed up with so much heart. Rowena, Hannah (Ms White), Dr Audrey (Ms Blue), Andre (Mr Scarlet), Emily (Art Director), Justyna (Makeup Artist), and so many others brought this incredible mix of professionalism, warmth, and genuine excitement. We had people from all walks of life—dancers, actors, creatives, parents, first-timers—and everyone made each other feel valued. That’s what I’m proudest of. We didn’t just make a music video; we built a space of wellbeing, inclusion, and community.

I especially loved working with Emily and Justyna. As you can see in the video, the visuals, set design, and makeup were incredible. We had a really tight budget, so I ended up making most of the costumes myself. I created mood boards for Justyna to work from—and she absolutely delivered on the looks!

Identity Crisis is about learning to integrate all the parts of ourselves that were told they don’t belong together. It’s raw—sometimes messy, sometimes fun—but always honest. Each song represents a different “version” of me: the girl who wanted to belong, the woman who reclaimed her voice, the heartbroken and lost one, the artiste who learned to love contradiction. The throughline is about processing trauma, peeling back those layers of pain to uncover your most authentic self. It’s a journey of self-acceptance—not in a neat, polished way, but in a real, lived one. Each song on the album intentionally explores a different genre to reflect that process of identity crisis not just lyrically, but sonically. So you don’t just hear it—you feel it.

It taught me that I don’t have to choose. I can be British and Sri Lankan, East and West, gentle and strong, emotional and powerful—all at once. I can merge genres, cultures, and emotions without apology. Creating this record helped me stop editing myself to make others comfortable. It gave me the freedom to exist fully—in sound, in story, and in self. My hope is that it inspires others to do the same.