Six years of Future Intel

The sun is out, the water is still. We are sitting on a raft in Amsterdam when Zamba-Jan and Mounir start explaining how they found their first studio location. In 2019, they climbed to the ninth floor of an unremarkable building near the A12 and Hollands Spoor. "I had never seen The Hague like this before," Mounir says. "Normally you're rushing past buildings at street level. Now we were up there, looking out over the city at night. And I thought: Okay, sick. This is really cool."

They had come to the building looking for a music studio, when someone showed them the room on the top floor. Mounir's mind went straight to a party. "When we started with the idea of wanting to start a platform, you had Red Light Radio, Operator and Stranded FM," Zamba-Jan explains. "We wanted it to be interesting for the viewer. Multiple cameras, the DJ with the city behind them. Like BoilerRoom, but weekly. With the programming of an NTS. And that's what we got."

Their origin stories come out over the course of two hours, overlapping and adding to each other. Although they would only meet years later, their paths in The Hague’s scene were already running in parallel. Mounir stepped out just as Zamba-Jan stepped in. 

Mounir talks about his first illegal rave, the after of Awakenings: a card with a phone number, vague instructions, driving somewhere in the dark, walking 15 minutes until suddenly speakers, some trees and people appeared. "And then I thought: okay, this is it. This is what I want to do." Zamba-Jan didn't start DJing until 22. "In my mind, I'm really late," he says. "Knowing that my first Awakenings was at 19."

When Mounir stopped organising parties in The Hague in 2012, Zamba-Jan started in 2013,  without knowing Mounir. “Mounir literally stopped organising parties in 2012. And I started in 2013, filling his void. And we only found out about it in 2021," Zamba-Jan explains. By then, they'd been running Future Intel together for a year and a half.

They met through mutual friends in 2017,  people who had done parties with Mounir years earlier. Sjoerd, now Future Intel's graphic designer, was part of that circle. But the moment that sealed the partnership came at Crave Festival in 2019. 

At the Crave afterparty, Mounir pulled Zamba-Jan into the Barroom of PIP, where Djrum was playing. "There was only one small red light above his head. The room wasn't very full. And Mounir said: 'You have to stay here.' We both stood there for about 10 minutes. At some point we were looking at each other and we were both in tears. And he said: 'Yeah, you see, this is the shit.' And from that moment on, it was full on bass."

The foundation FAAM, short for Future Art and Music, launched on December 19th, 2019, as the organisational structure behind Future Intel. Three months later, COVID hit. For two years, the stream was the only thing left.

"We had people who broke down when they first heard music out loud on speakers," Zamba-Jan recalls. "After three or four months, being alone. They didn't know what to do with themselves at that moment. What am I without music? What am I without a club?" The studio became, as he puts it, "Somewhere to feel like an artist again."

Meanwhile, Future Intel was rising. "We were just rising. And the world was crumbling. It was really bizarre," Mounir says. "You start fresh. You don't have anything to lose.”

And music kept pulling them forward. Even now, music never really stops. Zamba-Jan describes coming home after a club night: "Even after hearing so much music, I need to listen to it again for myself. It just goes on." Mounir nods, he can't listen casually anymore. "If I turn on the music, I'm immediately distracted and I want to know what it is. I go way too deep into it."

Three years later, they were called "The Bass of The Hague." What started as a joke about their bass-heavy programming became a label others attached to them, even as their programming continued to go deeper and wider. "We're proud to have helped put bass back on the map in the Netherlands," Mounir says, "but the rabbit hole goes much deeper." They were becoming an identity. Even an artist from Rotterdam travelled to Asia and found that his friends there already knew the platform. "They said: 'Oh my god, did you play at Future Intel?' And then it was like: Okay. Fuck Boiler Room. If I play at Future Intel, I can peacefully die," Zamba-Jan recounts, smiling.

Despite offers to expand beyond The Hague, they've stayed. These days, they're also a bar, a permanent place in De Besturing where you can just walk in on Thursdays and Fridays. "We started the platform for The Hague. To show The Hague," Mounir says. When asked if they'd ever relocate, the answer is immediate: "No. We want to stay in The Hague, make something physical."

Throughout the conversation, they gradually become more self-aware about what they've built and show a reluctance to overstate it. "There are organizations that do art and music, but streaming it weekly for the public, we haven't seen anyone else do that," Zamba-Jan says, then catches himself."That awareness is there, but it's also exciting. We are doing it, so we keep going." When I ask if they ever feel proud, there's a pause. "I don't think I've ever thought about it," Zamba-Jan admits. "But in the end you are, of course."

Mounir frames it differently. From the beginning, they made a decision about what Future Intel would be: "If it’s no longer ours. It has to become an identity. For everyone. We are also only part of it." A small team has grown around them over the years, some there from the start, others coming and going. "We have a lot of appreciation for everyone who helps or has helped with Future Intel," Zamba-Jan says. Mounir adds: “And if we ever want to step out of it, then it should be possible to continue like this for eternity."

On January 1st, 2026, Future Intel hit 10K followers. They had been watching the count hover at 999 for weeks, dipping back to 998, 993. They were together in Laak when it finally happened. Mounir texted one word. Zamba-Jan knew exactly what it meant. "This is the right beginning of a new year. Let's go to the next one."

The future, they insist, is super bright.