YAW OWUSU: BUILDING CULTURE, CRAFTING LEGACY AND BACKING THE NORTH

Yaw Owusu has quietly become one of the most influential figures in Liverpool’s creative and music landscape. From launching LIMF and the LIMF Academy to advising brands like MTV and Google, his work has always been about connection — between people, places, and potential. But his path wasn’t preordained. It was carved out from necessity, instinct, and an unwavering belief in community.

His entry into the creative world began in the early 2000s, fresh out of university and fuelled by a shared mission with his cousin, KOF, to support artists who weren’t being seen or heard. They started putting out mixtapes, running grassroots showcases, and building makeshift recording spaces — not because it was easy or glamorous, but because it felt urgent. “We just wanted to fill a gap,” Yaw says. “There was nothing that represented us or what we were trying to do.”

That sense of urgency turned into something bigger when Yaw applied for a loan from the Prince’s Trust. The goal was to formalise their work into a viable business. During his pitch to the panel, things started to unravel. “I remember standing in front of four people — three of them were judges — and halfway through, I felt like I was losing them. They just weren’t connecting with what I was saying.”

So he pivoted. “I told them, ‘This isn’t a music label. It’s an organisation that wants to be at the forefront of ‘urban’ music and culture’ (sounds dated now, but that was the industry term at the time). I talked about releasing music, putting on events, starting clothing lines, doing radio, running educational programmes.”

And then he made it personal. “I asked them, ‘What are your kids into? What music do they play? What do they watch? How do they talk?’ That’s when they started to lean in.”

It worked. Yaw secured the funding — and perhaps more importantly, a realisation: “That moment taught me that the vision had value. But it also showed me that I had a skill — I could articulate something from the culture in a way that people outside of it could understand. That’s been a thread through everything I’ve done since.”

Today, Yaw calls himself a creative consultant and creative director — but his work defies easy labels. He’s spent years building city-wide initiatives, national talent development programmes, and advising some of the biggest names in global music and media. What unites it all is a long-standing commitment to infrastructure — especially in under-resourced regions like Liverpool.

“Infrastructure means building something that lasts — something that helps people grow, sustain their work, and evolve. In cities like Liverpool, that’s critical. If the pathways don’t exist, the talent leaves. I nearly did. I had a serious offer to move to London around 2010 — good money, big opportunity. But if I’d gone, there may have been no LIMF. No LIMF Academy.”

He’s seen the cost of that kind of exodus. “When dynamic people and leaders leave, it’s not just them that goes — it’s the ecology around them and the chance to build something substantial that goes. You lose what could’ve existed.”

That’s why Yaw’s work has focused so heavily on retention and infrastructure. From LIMF Academy to Power Up, he’s championed the voices and communities that don’t always get a seat at the table. “I’ve been that person — the one outside the room. So everything I create is designed to open a door, build a bridge.”

He’s quick to downplay the impact. “I’m not in it for the industry recognition. The real win is when someone tells me they feel seen and can sustain and develop what they do — or when I see them connect with others and build, and it sparks something new. That’s how you know it’s working.”

One of his more recent projects involved supporting Interval Records, a label rooted in Newcastle and driven by Northern talent. Through his work on the board at Generator, his connections in Liverpool and Power Up, Yaw helped connect key people and secure support for a Black music incubator in Liverpool.

“I’m not the one making the music, but I’ve been able to link people up and initiatives that wouldn’t normally connect. That’s something I’m proud of. If it helps talent stay in the North and build something here — that’s a win.”

His analogy for the current state of play is telling. “It’s like we’ve got gold underground, but we haven’t learned how to mine it, craft it, or sell it. Right now, others are coming in, taking that gold, and benefitting elsewhere. Imagine if we could do the full vertical here — that would change everything.”

This year, Yaw was awarded the Liverpool Citizens of Honour — a rare recognition, especially for someone still so active. He accepts it humbly. “It means a lot — especially sending a message to my kids, my community. But I don’t know yet what it actually means in practice. Is it a thank-you for what I’ve done? Or an invitation to do more? I hope it’s the latter. Because I’ve got decades more to give.”

His outlook remains one of restless ambition. “I haven’t done my best work yet. I’m still searching, still learning. And now, I’m thinking more and more about ownership. What would it look like to build something that’s mine — something that pulls together everything I’ve done, but answers to no one’s brief but mine?”

He won’t say exactly what’s next — but the excitement is there. “I’ve got something brewing. It scares me a little, which is a good sign. That’s how I felt when I was starting out. That nervous energy.”

Whatever form it takes, one thing’s for sure: Yaw’s not done. Not even close. “It’s still game on,” he says. “Always has been.”