An Interview With Elina Kemanidi From SMOKE THE FUZZ PROMOTIONS (2025 Edition)

It's hard to believe that it's been over nine years since I last featured today's guest back in June 2016. I interviewed Elina Kemanidi, co-founder, owner and general manager of Smoke The Fuzz. Smoke The Fuzz is one of the most important promoters within the Greek Doom, Sludge and Stoner Metal community. 

Elina works tirelessly to put on some of the most heaviest and bad-ass concerts, gigs and festivals within Greece where Smoke The Fuzz is predominantly used as the main promoter for legendary and well known artists within the Heavy Underground Scene.

I wanted to catch up with Elina again to see what has happened since June 2016 and how things are going with Smoke The Fuzz and Elina's everlasting love affair with Doom Metal Legends YOB.

The interview is quite long but Elina provides brilliant and emotionally charged answers here which makes this unmissable reading.

Hi Elina. Good to hear from you. It’s been a while since we last talked. Nine years in June 2016. How are things with you today.

Hey, Steve, it really has been a long time — June 2016 sounds like another life now. I’m well, all things considered, and still here doing what I love. Thank you for reaching out again, always an honor and a pleasure.

I know we covered this question in our last interview. Can you give a brief background in how you become involved promoting gigs and starting up Smoke The Fuzz Promotions.

It all began out of pure passion and necessity. Our first show, back in May 2013, was a crazy drunk decision. A band a friend of mine and I loved as fans and really wanted to see live, simple as that. That first gig happened — it wasn’t perfect, but it was powerful. And something in me clicked.

From there, Smoke The Fuzz grew organically. I never started it with a business plan or commercial goal. It was a personal need to serve the music I love and give something meaningful to the scene that shaped me.

I just felt that was exactly where I was meant to be, what I was meant to do.

It’s great to see you’re still involved in putting on amazing gigs in Greece. Have things changed drastically for you promoting gigs since 2016.

Thank you so much for the kind words, it means a lot. Yes, I’m still doing what I love most and that alone is a blessing.

The world has changed — and so have I.

Promoting gigs today feels heavier in many ways. Costs are higher, audiences are more cautious, and the general uncertainty we all live with affects everything — from ticket sales to how artists tour.

At the same time, people crave connection more than ever. When a show truly connects, it’s electrifying. The stakes are higher, but so is the emotional reward.

So many things have changed, but I feel the core stays the same. We’ve grown, in more ways than one. I’ve had the immense honor of hosting legendary bands, ones not in my wildest dreams could I ever imagine I would. Our audience has grown even bigger, stronger and more dedicated.

I, too, have changed, as far as the way I handle things is concerned.

Personally, I’ve shifted from operating purely through instinct and emotion to approaching things with more focus, structure, and emotional maturity. Back in 2016, I was still running on passion alone — now, that passion is filtered through experience, clear boundaries, and a much deeper understanding of the reality behind the scenes.

I’ve learned to say no, to take breaks when needed, and to insist on respect — from artists, collaborators, and myself. My love and passion for this stay the same, but the harsh side of this line of work has taught me to set boundaries, both to others and to my own self. Make no mistake, the business side of things is an arena, especially for a woman. It’s a constant everyday fight to earn your place and the respect you deserve. Far from a walk in the park, but still worth it.

I still carry the same fire, but I’ve learned to protect it — to be more intentional, more balanced, and less emotionally exposed. Smoke The Fuzz is still my life, but I approach it now with more clarity, stronger boundaries, and a deep respect for what it demands of me.

 

Has the Greek Underground Scene and promoting concerts changed drastically over the last decade or so.

The scene has matured a lot. There’s more professionalism and ambition from the bands and venues. International recognition for some Greek bands has helped raise the profile of the local scene.

At the same time, the underground spirit remains alive — raw, authentic, and deeply rooted in community. The passion never faded, but the scene has grown into something more structured and sustainable, which is encouraging.

Promoting concerts has become more complex, but also more rewarding in its own way.

The Covid pandemic gave us a hard taste of the nightmare living without live music would be. And this left all of us with a constant thirst for new material to create and listen to, more and more live shows to host and attend.

You were perhaps affected by COVID quite badly during the pandemic. When we last spoke you stated “Smoke The Fuzz is your life and not your job”. How did you cope during those dark times with promoting gigs being at a complete standstill?

The pandemic was a dark, difficult time. Globally, this line of work was one of the most (if not THE most) affected.

Smoke the Fuzz was and still is my life, so, to me, it felt like running out of air. It was like pressing “pause” on my whole existence, not knowing when – if at all – I’d be able to hit “play” again. Catastrophic, both financially-wise and psychologically-wise. When live events stopped, a huge part of my identity paused too. It was heartbreaking to watch the scene go silent. I faced moments of deep doubt and fear about the future.

But that crisis also forced me to reflect on why I do this — it’s not just a job, it’s a calling. Music and community kept me going, even if only through memories and virtual connections. I learned to be patient, to protect my energy, and to prepare for when the live music would return.

I tried to go through one day at a time, literally. Tried to focus on making a plan for when things would start to go back to normal, on staying safe, healthy and sane. Listening to my favorite music, reading, talking to beloved people, friends and family. Holding on to the good things, keeping them close, as an armor, being reminded of their importance and appreciating it more than ever. Those are the things that make you whole when you feel broken, even when you feel it’s hard to breathe.

Did you ever think life would get back to normal during the pandemic? Did you have a normal job / profession to keep your mind off things.

I sure as hell hoped and wished with every fibre of my being. Deep down I think I knew that, even when restrictions would be lifted, things would take a lot of time to actually go back to normal, if ever. That was a notion I was finding almost impossible to handle, so I took it one step at a time.

At times, it felt impossible. The uncertainty was overwhelming. But deep down, I believed live music would come back — because it’s essential to people’s souls.

I’m a lawyer, if you can call it a “normal profession” (ha ha ha). It sure isn’t one to keep your mind off things, quite the contrary. And it sure isn’t one to occasionally practice. During the pandemic, I used it to help people that needed it though. So I’d say that was a win. But I never stopped dreaming of the return of gigs. That hope was my anchor.

When did you start putting gigs back within Greece after the Pandemic. Was this a gradual process for you by putting on a small number of concerts just to gage bands, venues and audiences' reaction to start going to gigs again.

Right as soon as restrictions were lifted, we started with ones we had to postpone due to the pandemic. And immediately continued booking new ones.

I was certain people would be thirsty for shows after 2 whole years without them because I sure as hell was, as a fan above all. And that was indeed the case.

Meeting up in venues again after so long was intense and cathartic. Something so missed and familiar, but now experienced on a whole new perspective at the same time.

Each step forward felt like a victory. It was emotional, and at times nerve-wracking, but necessary.

 

What were the first gigs you promoted after the pandemic. And did you feel a sense of relief that life was slowly returning back to normal.

Russian Circles and Deafheaven, which had been postponed.

Relief would be an understatement. I literally felt alive again.

The energy was electric, and seeing people come back together safely was deeply moving.

Yes, there was a real sense of relief — a mixture of joy, gratitude, and renewed purpose. It felt like a rebirth, not just for me, but for the entire community.

I remember listening to the first notes of the RC show, our very first one after the pandemic. So many overwhelming feelings. Burst into tears.

Moving away from those dark times, what have been the favourite gigs and concerts you have put on ever since you started Smoke The Fuzz.

It’s almost impossible to choose… because each concert I’ve put on is etched in my soul in a different way — like chapters of a deeply personal book, each with its own colour, weight, and emotional texture. I often say that Smoke The Fuzz isn’t just a promotions company — it’s my heart laid bare on a stage, night after night. And each show is a living, breathing extension of that heart.

Some shows felt like thunder — powerful, wild, euphoric, where the energy between the stage and the crowd created a kind of storm I still carry in my chest. Others were quiet revolutions — subtle, slow-burning, emotionally raw moments where I saw eyes close and tears fall, and I knew we were sharing something sacred that words could never fully express.

I’ve loved the chaos, the sweat, the deafening volume. I’ve also loved the silence between songs, the reverent stillness before a single note was played, when the air was thick with anticipation and something unspoken passed between us all.

Some gigs healed me. Others broke me open in ways I didn’t expect. There were nights I felt like I was watching my own dreams unfold right in front of me — and I had to pinch myself to believe they were real. There were also nights that tested my limits, physically and emotionally — but even in those, I found meaning. Purpose. Truth.

Each concert has its own story. A lesson. A memory. A feeling I still carry.

There were shows where the crowd sang louder than the band, and I stood frozen, overwhelmed by the beauty of it. There were others where fewer people showed up, but the intimacy made it unforgettable — like we were all in on a secret the rest of the world would never understand. And in both extremes, I felt alive. I felt home.

So no, I don’t have favourites. I can’t. Because they’re all my children — born of different moments, moods, and phases of my life. Some came in joy, others in pain. Some lifted me. Others grounded me. But all of them are mine. And I am theirs.

I think what I love most is that each show is a universe — and for a few hours, we all step inside it together. We feel something real. And then it’s gone. Like a beautiful dream that lingers just long enough to change you, if only a little.

That’s what every Smoke The Fuzz concert has been for me. A dream made real. A fleeting miracle. A piece of my soul shared with the world.

What have been your personal highlights and setbacks during your time promoting the music you love.

It’s difficult to speak of highlights and setbacks as if they are separate entities. In truth, they have always been intertwined — sometimes indistinguishable until much later, when reflection casts its gentle light on the wreckage and the wonder. Promoting, for me, has never been a profession. It has been an act of devotion. A deep, almost obsessive calling. I gave it everything I had — not just my time or effort, but my soul, my identity, my peace.

The highlights? They weren’t always loud. Yes, there were moments of transcendence — shows where the energy in the room was so electric, so pure, that I felt completely dissolved into it. Nights when the music touched something sacred and the air felt heavy with collective emotion. Watching hundreds of strangers cry, scream, breathe in unison, because a band was brave enough to show their truth — and I helped make that moment possible. That is a kind of sacredness no words can do justice.

But there were other kinds of highlights too — smaller, quieter ones. A heartfelt thank you from a musician after a long and exhausting day. A message from an audience member telling me a show saved them from something dark. The first time I saw someone close their eyes in stillness during a set — and I knew, without speaking, they were feeling what I felt. These are the treasures I carry with me. They are not measurable in numbers or press coverage. They are moments of spiritual alignment — where everything, just for a while, made sense.

And then, the setbacks. The ones that changed me forever.

I’ve been broken by this path more times than I can count. Betrayed by people I trusted, hurt by those I believed were walking beside me. I’ve learned the difference between partnership and exploitation. Between passion and opportunism. There were moments when I felt stripped bare — not just professionally, but personally. Because when you put your heart on the altar, it hurts differently when people walk away without care.

There were nights when the exhaustion turned physical — when I cried alone after a show, not from failure, but from the unbearable weight of carrying everything on my own. When people saw the surface — the success, the magic — but never the pain, the debt, the loneliness behind it. And there were times when I was so disillusioned that I considered walking away completely — not because I stopped loving it, but because I didn’t know if I could survive loving it so much.

The pandemic intensified all of that. It took away the only space where I felt truly alive. For a while, I felt invisible — like my very essence had been erased. But in that silence, I learned. I learned how to grieve what was lost. I learned how to stop giving parts of myself to those who did not value them. I learned how to protect my fire — not by hiding it, but by choosing carefully where I let it burn.

Through all of it, I’ve emerged changed — not harder, but clearer. I no longer confuse passion with self-sacrifice. I still give everything I have, but I now give with boundaries, with intention, with the deep knowledge that my love for this world — the underground, the heavy, the sacred — is not a weakness. It is my strength.

So the highlights and the setbacks are not separate lines in a résumé. They are the poetry of a life lived fully, fiercely, and without compromise. And I carry them all with reverence. Because they made me who I am — and they remind me, always, that what we do here matters. Deeply.

Have you ever thought seriously about quitting? Truthfully, I’ve been so close multiple times but the lure of the underground scene always brings me back.

Yes. More times than I care to admit — and not just fleeting thoughts whispered in moments of frustration, but deep, soul-shaking contemplation. There were nights when I sat alone in the silence after a show, long after everyone had left, staring at the empty venue, asking myself if I could truly keep going. If I had anything left to give.

It wasn’t the work that made me question it — not the long hours, the stress, the financial uncertainty. I accepted those things long ago as part of the pact I made with myself when I chose to follow this path. What brought me to the edge were the heartbreaks behind the scenes: the betrayals from people I trusted, the absence of gratitude after giving my all, the subtle — and sometimes brutal — erasure of everything I poured my soul into by those who saw only what they could take from it.

There’s a particular kind of ache that comes when something you love with all your being starts to hurt you. And it’s not a clean kind of pain. It’s confusing, complex. It makes you doubt yourself, your instincts, your worth. I’ve had to mourn relationships, illusions, and ideals that I held too close for too long. I’ve stood at the crossroads of giving up everything — not because I stopped loving it, but because I didn’t know how to love it anymore without breaking.

But then, in those moments of darkness, something always pulled me back — not out of obligation, but out of something deeper. A flicker of a memory: a band tuning up under soft red lights, the vibration of a slow riff that fills your chest, the look on someone’s face when they hear a song they thought no one else in the world understood. That… that is church for me. That is where I feel most alive, most seen, most connected — not just to others, but to something greater.

The underground scene is unlike anything else. It’s not just music. It’s a language for the misfits, the dreamers, the wounded. It’s where pain becomes art and isolation becomes communion. It’s raw, imperfect, beautifully human — and every time I try to walk away, it whispers me back like an old friend who knows me too well to let me go.

So yes, I’ve stood on the edge of quitting. I’ve looked over that cliff and wondered who I would be without this. But I never jump. Because something in me still believes — stubbornly, irrationally, fervently — that what we create in these spaces matters. That the underground isn’t just a place. It’s a home. And no matter how far I drift, something in its pulse always finds a way to call me back.

What is the Doom/Sludge/Stoner Metal scene currently like in Greece. There’s been an explosion of amazing bands emerging from Greece starting to make a name for themselves on the global stage more and more. Bands such as NIGHTSTALKER, 1000MODS, Planet Of Zeus, Naxatras and Saint Nicotine to name but a few.

It’s vibrant, passionate and strong. There are Greek bands that have opened doors internationally and inspired a new generation, pushing creative boundaries and gaining recognition both locally and abroad.

There’s a surge of creativity and ambition, and the scene feels more connected globally while still rooted locally. There’s a strong sense of community and a continuing drive to innovate and share music that moves people.

What is the current state of the Greek Local Live Scene. Has the number of venues increased or decreased over the last decade or so.

The live scene has faced challenges — some venues closed, others have emerged. Economic pressures make sustainability tough, but passion keeps venues and promoters going.

It’s a delicate balance between growth and survival. Thankfully, there’s still a strong desire from fans and artists alike to keep live music alive.

Did you ever think when you started Smoke The Fuzz back in 2013 that you would still be around today.

No. Honestly… no.

When I started Smoke The Fuzz back in 2013, it was never with a master plan or a carefully calculated future in mind. It was born entirely out of passion — pure, reckless, burning passion. It was the instinctive response of a soul that had fallen madly in love with something larger than herself: the sound, the energy, the community, the ritual of live music that speaks directly to the bones. I didn’t know what I was building. I just knew I had to do it. It was like a storm inside me that refused to quiet down unless I gave it form.

And back then, I wasn’t thinking about how long I would last. I wasn’t imagining ten years down the road. I was thinking about the next show, the next band, the next heartbeat. That’s how it all began — one moment of truth at a time. And if I’m honest, I probably wouldn’t have believed it if someone told me I’d still be here now, 12 years later, weathered and transformed, still walking this sacred — and often brutal — path.

Because so much happened in between. There were moments that felt infinite and moments that nearly broke me. There were times I stood in the back of a packed venue with tears in my eyes, unable to believe that something so beautiful was unfolding in front of me… and there were other times I lay awake at night wondering how I’d find the strength — emotionally, financially, spiritually — to keep going.

I’ve lost pieces of myself along the way. I’ve been wounded by people I trusted. I’ve had to learn how to protect my light, how to fight for space, for respect, for visibility — not just as a promoter, but as a woman in a scene that doesn’t always make room for softness or vulnerability. I’ve had to grow. To toughen. To let go of naïveté, but never of wonder.

And yet — here I am. Still here. And it humbles me beyond words.

I never imagined Smoke The Fuzz would grow into what it is today — not in scale, but in meaning. It became my mirror, my battle ground, my church, my home. Through it, I met people who changed my life. I lost others who never should have had a place in it. I gave more than I ever thought I could — and somehow, I was also given something back: strength. Vision. A deeper understanding of who I am when everything else falls away.

So no — I didn’t think I’d still be here. But I am. Not because it was easy. Not because it was planned. But because something inside me refused to stop believing. In the music. In the people. In the sacredness of shared sound. And in the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, what I’m doing still matters to someone out there the way it still matters — fiercely — to me.

Looking back, if you could change anything, what would it be.

Looking back… I often ask myself that question, especially during the quiet hours when the lights are down, the venues are empty, and I’m left alone with the echo of everything I’ve lived.

If I could change anything, I think it would be how much of myself I gave away without boundaries in the early years. I led with love — fiercely, unapologetically — and while that created beautiful, unforgettable moments, it also left me exposed in ways I wasn’t prepared for. I gave trust too easily. I opened my heart too widely. I believed that passion alone was enough to protect something sacred — but I learned, painfully, that not everyone values what you build with your soul. Some take. Some forget. Some pretend they never saw you.

I wish I had learned earlier that boundaries are not walls — they are acts of self-respect. That saying “no” doesn’t mean you love less. That not everyone who walks beside you is walking with you. There were people I held close who didn’t deserve that closeness. I tolerated disrespect in the name of peace. I allowed my emotional intensity to cloud my discernment. If I could go back, I would tell my younger self to guard the fire, not by dimming it — never that — but by choosing carefully who gets to stand near its warmth.

I also would have given myself more grace. I was so hard on myself, always pushing, always carrying the weight alone, always feeling like I had to prove something. There were moments of beauty that I didn’t allow myself to enjoy fully because I was already worrying about the next step, the next risk, the next battle. If I could change anything, I would have taken more time to breathe in the magic as it was happening — to let it wash over me without fear of what came next.

But the truth is, every misstep taught me something vital. Every heartbreak shaped the woman and the promoter I am today. The betrayals gave me discernment. The disappointments gave me resilience. The losses taught me gratitude. And the naiveté — oh, that innocent, burning belief in everyone’s goodness — while it hurt me, it also gifted me with a kind of purity I’m still proud of, even if it had to be tempered over time.

So yes, I would change some things. But I would never undo the path. Because in the end, everything — the beauty, the wounds, the lessons, the love — led me here. And here, with all its scars and triumphs, is still a place of meaning. Of purpose. Of music. Of truth.

And maybe, just maybe… I had to go through all of it so I could finally learn how to love this work without losing myself in it.

If you could give any words of wisdom to your younger self or someone wanting to start a promotions company, what would it be.

I don’t know about «wisdom», but from the heart for sure:

Be stubborn but kind, both to yourself and others. Do it because you need to, because you truly love the music, not for fame or money.

Surround yourself with people who share your values, and learn to protect your energy and boundaries early on.

Respect yourself, and insist on respect in return.

We touched upon your love affair with YOB. Has that love affair still lasted and evolved into something greater. Are you still in regular touch with the guys.

Not only has it lasted but it has grown deeper. YOB changed my perspective on music and life.

Of course I’m still in touch with the band, waiting on their new album release and respective EU tour to have them back for the 4th time!

The impact of both their work and them as human beings is lasting and deeply personal to me.

Their music continues to inspire me every day and remains a touchstone for me — a reminder of why I do what I do.

My love affair with YOB is like a quiet flame that has burned steadily through the years — subtle, unwavering, and deeply intimate. Their music is not just sound; It’s a vast, enveloping landscape where emotions flow like rivers through the soul. From the very first note, it felt as if I was stepping into a sacred space, a place where pain and beauty intertwine, where silence holds as much meaning as thunderous riffs.

This connection has grown and changed, much like a living, breathing organism. It mirrors my own journey — sometimes calm and reflective, sometimes wild and tempestuous. YOB’s music invites me to surrender to the ebb and flow of life, to embrace the shadows without fear, and to find a profound strength in vulnerability.

The bond remains intact and unbroken, woven through countless moments when their melodies carried me through darkness and lifted me toward light. Their sound is a compass that guides me back to myself, a quiet reminder that even in solitude, we are never truly alone.

This love affair is timeless — a sacred dialogue between my heart and their art, ever-evolving, always present, like the slow turning of the earth beneath a sky full of stars.

This deep, almost spiritual connection with YOB’s music has been a cornerstone in shaping my path as a promoter. Their unwavering authenticity and emotional honesty challenged me to reconsider what it truly means to bring live music to people. It’s never been just about filling venues or selling tickets for me. Instead, inspired by the way their music demands presence and emotional openness, I learned to approach each event as a sacred gathering — a space where vulnerability is honored, where the raw power of music can heal and connect souls.

YOB’s slow, powerful riffs and expansive atmospheres taught me patience and the value of subtlety, lessons I carry into the way I curate shows and work with artists and audiences alike. They showed me that the energy behind a concert is more than noise — it’s an exchange, a shared experience that can transform lives if handled with respect and intention.

Throughout the inevitable challenges of this path — moments of exhaustion, setbacks, or betrayal — their music reminded me why I endure. It’s about more than just business; It’s a calling to nurture a community and a culture where the underground thrives not because it’s easy, but because it’s essential.

In many ways, YOB’s presence in my life has been a steady beacon, encouraging me to remain authentic, patient, and passionate in an often chaotic and unpredictable world.

YOB performing at Smoke The Fuzz Fest 2016

What other bands are impressing you the most currently today. Any great bands that folks should look out for.

These days, what truly impresses me isn’t just the sound or the style — it’s the authenticity, the fearless creativity, and the deep connection the bands have with their music and their audience. The underground scene continues to surprise me with its endless capacity for reinvention and raw honesty. It’s a living, breathing ecosystem of artists who pour their souls into every riff, every lyric, every beat, and who do it not for fame or fortune, but because they are compelled by something far greater: the need to express, to connect, to transcend.

What excites me most is seeing new voices emerge — artists who blend tradition with innovation, who honor the roots of the music while daring to push boundaries in unexpected directions. There’s a restless energy and a hunger for exploration that feels vital and alive. It reminds me why I fell in love with this scene in the first place — the sense that anything is possible, that music is an endless conversation that evolves with every new participant.

I’m also moved by the sense of community I see blossoming around these bands — fans who support with fierce loyalty, venues that nurture daring projects, promoters and creators who believe in the power of live music as a force for connection and healing. It’s a beautiful cycle of creation and celebration that keeps the spirit alive, even through challenges and uncertainty.

So rather than naming names, I encourage people to listen with open hearts and curious minds. Seek out the sounds that stir something deep inside you. Support the artists who speak to your soul, even if their voices are just beginning to be heard. The beauty of the underground is that it’s always evolving, always surprising, always welcoming new dreamers to the fold.

For me, the most impressive bands are those who remind us that music is a living, breathing language of emotion and truth — and that no matter where you come from, no matter what storms you’ve weathered, there is always a song waiting to be sung.

Elina, Thanks for doing this interview. All the best with your future endeavours. It’s great that you're still around promoting great bands. Keep up the amazing work.

Thank you so much for this interview and kind words — it means a lot to know the scene and the work still matter. It’s heartening to know that despite challenges, the scene and the passion for live music continue to thrive. I’ll keep doing this as long as I can, because live music is more than entertainment, it’s a lifeline for many of us. Here’s to whatever comes next!

Words by Steve Howe and Elina Kemanidi

Thanks to Elina for the amazing interview. Check out the great pages of Smoke The Fuzz Promotions below.

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