By Pieter Franken
When people ask how Founders Rock began, the honest answer is: we had a beautiful stage and it seemed a shame to waste it.
Our first edition took place in March 2024, inside an old shrine in Tokyo. The venue wasn't just designed for ceremony; it was built for music. The acoustics, the proportions, the sense of history all carried music in their bones. Standing there during our event planning, I thought: if we're only going to have people talk here, we're missing something.
That spark led to two ideas. First, we decided to open each day with live Japanese music: traditional pieces with a modern twist, to shift the mental space before sessions began. Japan is an incredibly musical country. Nearly everyone plays an instrument, even if they don't readily admit it. The morning performances worked beautifully, creating the atmosphere we hoped for.
But then a second thought arrived. We had this remarkable global community of technologists, financial leaders, and builders gathering in one place. All of them showed up wearing their professional identities: the roles we see every day in boardrooms and on panels. Yet behind those roles, nearly everyone shares something: they love music.
So I asked myself: what would happen if we invited our speakers to play together?
It was an experiment, and I genuinely wasn't sure what would emerge. But the idea felt right. Music doesn't care about job titles. It softens hierarchy. It reveals different sides of people. And if everyone in the room likes music (which, in my experience, everyone does) then creating it together might show us what a global community looks like in its most human form.
We already had "Founders Peak" as our signature speaking format: authentic, unscripted talks from founders. Going from Founders Peak to Founders Rock wasn't a huge leap. Both names came from the same place, and the spirit was similar: bring people together in ways that feel genuine rather than polished.
The mechanics are deliberately simple. When we onboard speakers for an event, we ask if they play an instrument and whether they'd like to volunteer for the band. A musical director reviews who's available, proposes a set list (usually about ten songs) and shares them in advance so people can practice.
During the event itself, we schedule two or three rehearsals to get everyone roughly aligned, and then we throw them on stage to see what happens. Often with fingers crossed.
Some challenges have become traditions of their own. Bass players are nearly impossible to find. Drummers appear in abundance. At our first edition, we had three drummers and zero bass players: not ideal when you need the bass to hold everything together.
We've occasionally brought in professional musicians to fill critical gaps, and they always find the experience amusing. As one told me: "I've never played in a band assembled from policymakers, founders, and engineers who only rehearse in short bursts." Yet every time, it comes together just enough to create something memorable.
Despite these logistical puzzles, the biggest surprise? It wasn't a complete disaster. In fact, people genuinely loved it. One speaker has now played at three different editions, and he starts preparing each year well in advance just to qualify for his spot on stage.
This year, two singers from previous editions came back specifically to perform together. What started with a handful of musicians has grown to fifteen people crowding the stage at our most recent edition: way too many, but it doesn't matter. The energy is what counts.
Founders Rock has travelled across continents, and each venue gives it new personality. After the shrine in Tokyo came a hawker centre in Singapore, which added lively, informal energy. In Africa, we played outdoors. Next year in Japan, we'll perform at one of the country's top jazz clubs: an elegant, somewhat overkill setting that raises the bar once again. The surroundings shape the atmosphere, but the spirit remains constant.
Along the way, the surprises have been plentiful. We've had an opera singer, a cellist, a female rapper from Hong Kong, and more volunteer guitarists than we anticipated. The professionals we occasionally bring in to anchor the sound tell us they've never experienced anything quite like it. For them, it's both hilarious and genuinely interesting: watching a group of executives and technologists try to navigate chord changes together with only brief rehearsal windows.
What strikes me most is how strongly it resonates. When you see a regulator, a startup founder, and an investor struggling through a tricky bridge together, you realise this is what collaboration actually looks like: imperfect, spontaneous, and fundamentally human.
Music breaks down the walls we build in professional settings. It creates space for connection that panel discussions simply can't replicate.
Looking ahead, there's still much to explore. I hope to bring in more diverse musical traditions: African percussion, gospel, a cappella performances, perhaps even original compositions if we can find the right talent. I'm quite sure tablas and sitars are out there in our community; we just need to coax them out of the closet. If we gather enough solid material, maybe we'll record an album. Who knows?
But whatever comes next, the heart of Founders Rock will remain unchanged. It should feel authentic, shaped by whoever takes part. It should be imperfect in the best possible way. And it should stay open to spontaneous joy: the kind that happens when bankers and technology people get enough beer in them and realize they can create something together.
I continue doing this because it brings people together. It reminds us that collaboration doesn't always need to be formal or rehearsed. Sometimes it can be loud, messy, and fun. And in those shared moments of well-orchestrated chaos, we build the trust and camaraderie that carry into the work that happens long after the music stops.
I hope to see you at the next edition, ready for another round of perfectly imperfect performance.