Meet the sound engineer who came to Ireland as a boy and turned into an award-winning hit-maker

Simba Bianchi tells Kate Demolder about growing up in direct provision, working with Coolio and his 10x platinum record

In an unassuming, closed-door studio just shy of Walkinstown Village, 33-year-old sound engineer Simba Bianchi quietly exists. The door opens to Jungle Beam Studios — named for the Lion King-adjacent vibe he has adhered to, with ‘Beam’ addressing the spotlight he wants to shine on others. And the first thing anyone can see is the homage Bianchi has created to foster musical talent in Ireland.

Pictures of artists, interns, producers, friends fill the wall, and memorabilia from past sessions fill his desk. He lifts a piece of ripped cardboard from behind his chair to show me a verse of lyrics Coolio wrote during a visit to Jungle Beam in 2022.

“He booked an eight-hour session to work with Dublin rappers Versatile and we were just talking for the first four or five. Then I got to see how his mind worked in the studio. His name really says it, he was the coolest guy.”

Bianchi, born Tunde Esho, was brought up in Nigeria, before moving with his family to Ireland at the age of 11. His journey came by way of direct provision, a system which moved his family from Dublin to Scariff, Athlone to Tullamore and eventually Dundalk during his teenage years.

Bianchi’s father is a pastor, and throughout his adolescence, music was always a big part of his and his family’s home.

He explains: “From, like, six years old, I would regularly go into a big church and see people play instruments and ask them how they’re doing that, and if I could have a go.”

In 2003, he got his hands on 50 Cent’s debut studio album Get Rich Or Die Tryin’.

“I got the CD from my friends and listened to it for a whole year,” he smiles.

“I just remember taking in all the production from Dr Dre. There was one specific snare sound they used that actually wasn’t a snare, it was something else. That fascinated me. Of course, back then, I didn’t have Logic Pro [the professional recording studio software] but I just had the interest. Then I started reading books and researching everything I could.

“That was when I was 11 years old, and I began thinking, okay, I really like this.”

In the next few years, he began to channel his work ethic into a universe of alter egos. In the early noughties, Bianchi, working under his birth name, travelled around as a gospel rap artist, releasing an EP, an album and a mixtape.

He produced and engineered all of his own work until he hit a wall, one where he felt his creativity would be better managed if he worked for others. He, too, hit an actual wall.

One night in 2014, when he was driving people home from the studio — travelling from Blanchardstown to Clondalkin to Navan to Dundalk — Bianchi fell asleep at the wheel and hit the median barrier of the M1, causing the airbag to inflate and wake him just in time for him to see his car flip across the opposite lane.

He was shot out onto the road through the windscreen, while his friend, travelling in the passenger seat, went through the rear window. Both, remarkably, were okay.

“I had been working for 24 or 48 hours at that stage,” he says. “My friends were helping me out even though I couldn’t pay them, I needed to make sure they were fed and dropped home.

“So I piled them all in the car, dropped each one, and then was on the way home via Dundalk and I closed my eyes for two seconds. Next thing I know, I was on the road.”

Bianchi’s phone was crushed in the accident, but they soon flagged someone down. They were transported to Drogheda Hospital where Bianchi’s forehead, which had split just between his eyes, was stitched back together. His friend walked away without serious injuries.

“I see him today jumping around and running and my breath still catches,” Bianchi says. “Because I knew it would have been devastating for him, but it would have killed me.”

His scar, still slightly visible today, acts as a reminder to slow down and focus. “That accident was 10 years ago last month,” he says.

‘I got to see how Coolio’s mind worked in the studio. His name says it, he was the coolest guy’

“The whole month didn’t sit right with me.” Bianchi is one of the thousands who arrived in Ireland under the banner of direct provision to seek asylum from a place that no longer felt like home. He and his family moved regularly — sometimes monthly or weekly — sharing bunkbeds with his brother and two sisters.

His father stayed in Nigeria for a time, so the family was separated. As a boy, he battled with these feelings, getting into fights and struggling in school.

“It sounds so ungrateful, and I am so grateful to be here,” he says. “But there were times when we didn’t have access to cook our own food. And we’re Nigerian, food is so important. So we had to get used to Irish food… I just remember potatoes and gravy. And I hate gravy,” he laughs. “My girlfriend says that my tastebuds are childish, but it’s because I spent so long eating what I didn’t like, that now I only choose what I want to eat.”

Bianchi has become a cult favourite in Ireland and the UK. In 2019, he was listed by District Magazine as one of the top 10 producers in Ireland. At the Black and Irish Awards last December, he picked up an award for his Outstanding Contribution to Music, and his studio has acted as ground zero for several of Ireland’s biggest hip-hop, R&B and drill hits in recent years, such as Selló’s Sellótape and Belters Only and Jazzy’s breakthrough record Make Me Feel Good, which has now gone 10x platinum and certified diamond in Ireland — a first for an Irish dance track.

The community Bianchi and his family were embraced by in Dundalk, the place he calls home today, is at least part of the reason for his success, he says.

“It’s where we were moved permanently, where I did my Leaving Certificate, where I went to college, and where I first gained real studio experience.

“Shout out Derek Turner for letting me shadow him in Tumbleweed Studios all those years ago.”

His work ethic, despite having no papers to legally work until later in life, was obvious throughout. In his younger years Bianchi would illegally download films from Limewire and BearShare and sell them in DVD form from his locker.

Though his future may have never seemed clearcut, it’s clear that wherever Bianchi landed, he was going to be okay.

“Just keep going,” he says, of his motto to always search for more. “You’ve done what you wanted to do. Now keep pushing for more.”

As for the future, he wants to continue to shine a light on others and give back some of the support and love he has been graced with since moving to Ireland. “I had a girl call me just yesterday asking if she could clean the studio for free,” he smiles.

“That’s a thing they do in the States. If you want to bank some studio time, you clean it for the first year and then they bring you in.

“I told her to come on down, she can sit with me anytime. But the fact that she even suggested that shows her work ethic, which is something you can’t buy.”