Wazir Patar: Punjabi Hip-Hop’s Renaissance Man Lifts The Lid On His Artistry
Punjabi hip-hop has experienced an explosion in popularity in the last decade, with pioneers like the late Sidhu Moose Wala, Karan Aujla, and Badshah bringing it firmly into the mainstream. The style, swagger, and rooted narratives of Punjabi hip-hop captured the imagination of a generation across the 2010s, and we’re now seeing a new generation of artists who are reinterpreting the very definition of the genre, breathing new life into it using sounds that draw directly from a more fluid, almost ‘genreless’ musical landscape we gradually seem to be moving towards.
The downside of any kind of genre-specific popularity is that as soon as it explodes, it becomes that much more difficult to stand out. In a world dominated by digital streaming and algorithms, people are oversaturated with options. Copycats and derivatives of a particular sound are dime-a-dozen. How do artists break through and cut through the chaos, the noise of a machine that at times almost seems to punish any form of ingenuity?
Wazir Patar appears to have an answer. With a sound that draws on both his Punjabi heritage and an almost throwback 90s approach to his production and soundscapes, the homegrown producer and rapper has defied the tired labels and stereotypes that casual listeners often use to pigeonhole Punjabi MCs. His music flits effortlessly between styles, going from rousing anthems of defiance to heartfelt ballads of love and tenderness. He’s a rapper who wears his emotions on his sleeve, and he never shies away from speaking his truth.
By doing so, he’s tapping into the same creative well that his Western hip-hop counterparts did almost three decades ago in the 90s. He’s channelling the spiritual and cultural essence of his people and community into his music, using boom-bap beats, 808 synths and R&B samples to bring them to the center of the global music consciousness. Wazir defies limitations of language, geography, and even lived experience. Whether you’re a Delhi boy cruising through the streets, a Brooklyn baller getting hyped for the big game or a Parisian baddie who's feeling herself on the gram, you'll find common ground through Wazir’s hip-hop poetry.
Wazir sat down with Homegrown recently to peel back the curtain on the tapestry of his artistry, talking about everything from his creative process to his unique artistic origin story to the importance of rooted authenticity
Take us back to the beginning and tell us about what specifically influenced your unique approach as a musician. How did you first get into music? Do you remember what the first beat you ever made was? How do you approach the art of production today in contrast to when you started? Is there a specific songwriting process you follow, or do you just sit down, improvise and see what comes to you?
I started out behind the camera, shooting videos with my brother in Punjab, but I always felt the pull toward music. That transition into production happened organically — I spent about a year completely immersed in learning sound engineering on my own. My approach has always been rooted in blending traditional Punjabi elements with classic hip-hop textures like boom-bap drums or scratchy turntables. I grew up listening to legends like Dr. Dre and Bohemia, and that influence still lives in my process. The first beat I made probably wasn't perfect, but it was raw, and it taught me that emotion matters more than polish.
Today, my process is still deeply intuitive. I’ll sit at the harmonium or keyboard and build layer by layer — never rushing it. It’s about building soundscapes, not just beats. I don’t follow a formula. I chase a feeling.
Your music carries a tremendous weight and personifies the collective legacy, and resilience of your family, your people and your community as a whole. Could you speak to the role your identity and heritage play in your art? How has your culture and background shaped your evolution as a creative?
Being Sikh and Punjabi isn’t something I perform — it’s in every note, every lyric. My heritage gives me clarity and responsibility. I never wanted to just make music for entertainment; I want to represent where I come from with dignity. Everything I create — whether it's about resistance, love, or everyday struggle — is influenced by that sense of identity. I’ve always seen music as a tool for cultural storytelling, especially for Gen Z, who might not always be rooted in that history.
Across your body of work, you can hear traces of Punjabi folk; instrumentally, lyrically and even in terms of some of the melodies. How do you, both as a songwriter and as an individual, blend two distinct worlds of hip-hop and traditional Sikh heritage? Both cultures have common threads of strength, brotherhood, and collective emancipation against tyranny, but what is it about hip-hop and Punjabi cultures that allow them to blend together so seamlessly for you?
There’s actually a deeper thread that runs through both — rebellion, pride, brotherhood, and storytelling. I don't see them as two separate worlds. When I sample a tumbi or compose a melody inspired by old folk tunes, it sits comfortably next to a boom-bap beat or a modern synth line. Sikh heritage is rhythmic — it’s lyrical, spiritual, and percussive. Hip-hop gave me a language to express that globally. So when I blend them, it feels less like fusion and more like evolution.
Sikh artists often get pigeonholed, particularly within Indian hip-hop. They’re just expected to sound a certain way. Do you ever find yourself trying to defy those stereotypes? Is that something you care about, or are you just focused on making music that’s authentic to you? What are some of the biggest obstacles you’ve had to overcome as an artist trying to break through, particularly during the early stages of your career?
I’ve never cared to fit a mould. If someone expects me to sound a certain way just because I wear a turban or come from Punjab, I take that as a challenge. I don’t make music to meet expectations — I make music to express truth. In the beginning, that was tough. People didn’t know where to place me. But over time, being authentic has become my greatest strength. If I had followed the trend, I wouldn’t have created something timeless.
A lot of your music talks about struggle, resilience, and overcoming adversity. There’s a raw power and a fighting spirit in so many of your compositions that channels Sikh pride, excellence, and tenacity. There’s also a softer side to you — where you talk about love, compassion, and softness. How do you reconcile these two distinct sides of yourself? Is it a conscious effort, or do you feel like strength and softness are two sides of the same coin? Is it harder to right a blood-pumping hip-hop banger or a love song?
To me, strength and softness aren’t opposites — they coexist. My community’s history is one of resilience, but also deep compassion and spiritual depth. I try to embody both in my music. You’ll hear tracks that are hard-hitting and aggressive, but then I’ll drop something tender, something about love or loss. It’s not calculated. It’s just real. Honestly, writing a love song can be harder because it exposes a different layer of vulnerability. But both are necessary.
What does the word ‘homegrown’ mean to you?
‘Homegrown’ means rooted. It means being proud of where you come from and carrying that essence with you, no matter how far you go. Whether I’m rebuilding a vintage car or producing a track, I’m doing it with that soil of Punjab still under my nails. Being homegrown is about authenticity — it’s the difference between creating trends and following them. Everything I do is for the people who believed in me from day one, and for the next generation that’s watching.
Wazir's '4 Shots EP' comes out June 29.
You can follow him here.
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