In a music economy increasingly shaped by experiences rather than recordings, the most valuable move an artist can make is no longer just releasing great work or landing prestigious bookings. It’s owning the room itself. In Cape Town, DJ and cultural operator Tashinga’s Winehouse offers a clear case study in what happens when an artist stops being a line item on someone else’s poster and starts building an asset that speaks directly to who they are.
Winehouse didn’t begin as a party. It began as a feeling. A DJ mix series recorded in an apartment, a glass of wine on the table, Afro House flowing without pressure or performance anxiety. Over time, that atmosphere crystallised into a live property: intimate events pairing Afro House grooves with complimentary wine tastings, carefully chosen spaces, and a calm, stylish energy that encourages conversation as much as dancing. Each edition is recorded live, feeding into an ongoing YouTube series and a dedicated digital ecosystem that extends far beyond the room.
For Tashinga, that ownership was the point. After years of running and collaborating on multiple event properties, he reached a moment where he needed something that didn’t dilute his identity. “I think Winehouse was important for me to start because it was an event that speaks directly to the brand ‘Tashinga’, and we wanted to show people what ‘Tashinga’ is about as opposed to just showing the talent,” he explains. Wine, travel, taste, and a singular focus on house music weren’t accessories to the concept; they were the concept. Previous platforms had their own personalities and trajectories. Winehouse was the first thing designed to be inseparable from him.
That clarity also made Winehouse a rebranding tool. Tashinga had quietly fallen out of love with being boxed into amapiano and hip-hop, wanting instead to commit fully to Afro House and Afro Tech. Winehouse became the vehicle through which that pivot could be felt rather than announced. The name, the sonic palette, the venues, and the pace all communicated a different relationship to music and nightlife. Interestingly, the resistance wasn’t external. “Luckily enough, I actually haven’t faced any resistance,” he says. “The only thing is just personally putting myself back in a mindset that I need to treat myself like a DJ that just started DJing yesterday, because I’m entering a whole new market, a whole different space, and I need to be willing to understand that people still need to be able to see the proof of concept.”
That proof has travelled quickly. What makes Winehouse particularly instructive is how intentionally it’s being designed as an exportable culture rather than a Cape Town novelty. With dates already opening up across Southern and East Africa in 2026, the framework is clear. “What must remain constant with Winehouse is that when someone comes to the event, they experience the essence of house music, paired with the essence of wine,” Tashinga says. The details may shift depending on geography, but the emotional contract stays intact. It’s the same logic that has allowed other African-born event properties — like Akio‘s Strictly Soul, which has taken its Cape Town-rooted community through cities like Nairobi, Accra, Gaborone, Windhoek and even Geneva; Shimza’s KUNYE platform, which has travelled as a South African Afro House/Afro Tech showcase beyond its home base; or SOKE, a Cape Town–born property with deep roots in celebrating African culture through cuisine, music and fashion that’s rapidly spreading across the continent with regular events outside South Africa — to move city to city without losing their soul.
A major reason Winehouse can travel is that it lives online as much as it does offline. Every live set feeds a growing archive that documents not just the music, but the mood. “I think being able to have something recorded and something that lives online is really great for a brand,” Tashinga notes. A sold-out room disappears when the lights come on; a filmed set compounds in value. It becomes reference material for promoters, an onboarding point for new fans, and a long-term asset that shows evolution over time. In an algorithm-driven landscape, the camera does work that the dancefloor alone can’t.
The economics, however, are less romantic. Owning an event property doesn’t magically make things profitable. Tashinga has been frank about the reality that a “full” event can still lose money. The difference is strategic intent. “I believe having your own event properties is valuable for a DJ’s career growth,” he says. “By curating and owning events, a DJ builds brand equity over time.” Losses in the short term can translate into leverage later: stronger touring routes, repeat bookings, higher fees, and deeper trust with audiences who feel part of something that isn’t transactional.
Winehouse hasn’t been built in a vacuum. While its philosophy differs from other touring properties, Tashinga acknowledges the importance of learning from those who’ve done it before. “Akio’s mentorship on multiple phone calls has helped me understand the idea of a touring event,” he says, even as he insists that Winehouse’s essence comes from a different place. That distinction matters. Borrowing infrastructure is not the same as copying identity.
For artists watching Winehouse grow, the lesson isn’t “start a party.” It’s start with self-knowledge. “The one thing that people should consider before starting their own event property is, how do I make it uniquely me?” Tashinga says. Winehouse works because wine culture and house music are not branding exercises for him; they’re lived interests. That authenticity is what turns a flyer into a movement.
In a city where venues are precarious and seasons dictate survival, Winehouse shows the quiet power of ownership. Not louder. Not bigger. Just truer. And in an era where artists are increasingly expected to be entrepreneurs, that may be the most sustainable form of success available: building a room the world wants to step into, then taking that room with you wherever you go.
