He first reached out to me through social media, and after spending an evening exploring his work, it was obvious this wasn’t simply someone making music videos. Every project felt intentional. Every visual carried purpose. As someone who spends so much time speaking to musicians, it felt only right to shine a light on one of the creatives helping bring their stories to life. Music videos are often treated as an afterthought, but the right visual can completely transform how a song is experienced. People like Azim remind us why they deserve to be celebrated in their own right.

Born and raised in The Mounts, Northampton, Azim describes himself as a British-Bangladeshi film director with one clear ambition – “to be among the greats, represent my community, and use my work to help others.”

His childhood was a collision of cultures. Gangsta rap poured through one speaker, Bollywood soundtracks through another, while afternoons disappeared into wrestling games with rock music blasting in the background. Saturdays weren’t spent in film school or surrounded by industry connections. Instead, they were spent experimenting with an old laptop webcam, making YouTube videos simply because creating felt natural.

“I wasn’t surrounded by creatives,” he tells me. “A lot of people didn’t believe it was a realistic career.”

That never seemed to matter.

While others saw filmmaking as an impossible dream, Azim simply kept making things.

His early teenage years were far from easy. Feeling misunderstood at school, facing bullying and often feeling like he didn’t quite belong, filmmaking became both an escape and a place where he could exist without explanation.

“I’d speed walk home from school, eat, then make videos from 4pm until 11pm every day,” he says. “I felt more understood by strangers online than by people around me.”

Reading that, it’s hard not to see how those experiences continue to shape the work he creates today. Storytelling wasn’t just a hobby. It became a way of processing the world around him.

Music naturally became part of that journey.

Having grown up playing with different creative outlets, Azim found something uniquely freeing in combining film with independent music. Unlike commercial projects that often arrive with rigid expectations, working alongside artists allowed him to push ideas into far more experimental territory.

“I can express my own visual perspective while the artist shares their musical vision.”

That relationship starts long before a camera is switched on. Rather than arriving with a fixed concept, he begins with conversation.

“I always ask what a song means to them, why they made it and what their mental state was,” he explains. “People love to be listened to.”

It’s a simple approach, but one that feels increasingly rare. For Azim, building trust isn’t about directing someone – it’s about understanding them first.

That understanding is perhaps why his work refuses to settle for the obvious.

He believes the strongest music videos are the ones that challenge expectations rather than repeat them. Instead of leaning into familiar visual clichés, he’s more interested in creating something people haven’t seen before.

“I once made a hip-hop video inspired by 1930s German Expressionism,” he laughs. “Experimentation moves the culture forward.”

That willingness to experiment has already led to significant recognition, including his recent selection for the BFI NETWORK Immersive Storytelling Lab 2026 – an achievement he describes as feeling like “a stamp of approval.”

For many, recognition from an organisation like the BFI would simply be another career milestone. For Azim, it represents something much bigger.

“I’ve never forsaken my identity for success,” he says. “I want to show people you can thrive without money or ‘nepo’ connections.”

That message runs through almost everything he talks about.

Film, he believes, often feels like a “pay-to-win” industry, creating barriers for working-class creatives who simply don’t have the same access as others. But he also believes something far more valuable can’t be bought.

“You can’t buy hunger or life experience.”

Growing up in Northampton, navigating different cultures and often feeling like he belonged to neither entirely, shaped not only his identity but the stories he now wants to tell.

“I felt too Eastern for the West and too Western for the East.”

Rather than trying to fit neatly into either world, he embraced both, developing a voice that’s unapologetically his own.

Even away from filmmaking, that perspective continues to evolve.

He’s become far more conscious of protecting his own wellbeing after years of sacrificing sleep and pushing himself relentlessly. These days, quiet walks, spending time with friends and stepping away from work have become just as valuable as time behind a camera.

“They’re not creative activities,” he says, “but those life experiences feed into my work.”

His connection to grassroots music has taught him lessons beyond filmmaking too.

Working alongside independent musicians showed him the importance of visibility and building your own identity alongside your craft. While artists often become the face of their own projects, directors can easily disappear into the background.

“They taught me to build my own star power.”

Technology has helped level the playing field too. Looking back, he laughs at starting with little more than an iPhone 6s because it was all he could afford. Today, he believes accessibility has never been greater.

“If you have a smartphone, you already have a better start than I did.”

Perhaps the most powerful moment in his journey, though, came through a project that almost never happened.

His short film Pieces of an Adolescent explored the trauma of his own life between 2013 and 2019. Made by a two-person team for less than £100, it arrived during a period where he’d begun questioning everything.

“I thought this path was a fluke,” he admits. Instead, the project became something far more profound. “It saved my life.”

It’s difficult to read those words without understanding why storytelling means so much to him. Film isn’t simply what Azim does. It’s how he’s made sense of his own experiences, and now hopes to help others make sense of theirs.

Looking ahead, there’s plenty on the horizon. A country music video shot on 16mm film is releasing this summer, alongside a surreal Hubba Bubba commercial blending the worlds of Guy Ritchie and Quentin Tarantino. Conversations with major production companies are gathering pace, and after recently being named one of shots.net‘s top unsigned directing talents, the future feels full of possibility.

Yet success, for Azim, isn’t measured purely by bigger productions or bigger budgets.

“I want to help my friends find work and make a positive contribution to society.”

That sentence perhaps sums him up better than anything else.

The music industry often shines its brightest spotlight on the people standing in front of the camera, but conversations like this are a reminder that there are equally passionate creatives standing behind it. The people shaping how songs are remembered, giving artists another language to tell their stories through and quietly pushing culture forward frame by frame.

For young creatives wondering whether they need expensive equipment or the right connections before they begin, Azim’s advice is refreshingly uncomplicated.

“If you have a smartphone, you’ve already got more than I started with. Just start.”

Sometimes that’s all a great story has ever needed.

Check Azim’s work: https://azimmiah.com/

Follow here: https://www.instagram.com/azimmiah_/

The post Azim Miah: Framing Stories That Refuse to Be Ignored first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

I first came across her through a post on Instagram. Frustrated by the familiar claim that promoters “couldn’t find” enough female DJs, she spent a single evening compiling a list of more than 300 women behind the decks. It was simple, direct and impossible to ignore. The post travelled far beyond her own audience, not because it shouted the loudest, but because it quietly dismantled one of the scene’s favourite excuses.

Naturally, I wanted to know more about the person behind it.

The more I looked into Alice – better known as Zaba – the more I realised that post wasn’t an isolated moment. Whether she’s DJing, running events, advocating for grassroots venues through Croakheads or championing other artists, everything she does is rooted in the same belief: music is at its best when more people are invited in. After chatting over email, it became clear that advocacy isn’t something she’s added to her career – it’s simply woven into who she is.

Music found Zaba long before DJing did. Growing up in a military family meant constantly moving from place to place, but one thing remained reassuringly consistent – there was always music. Long car journeys were spent glued to an MP3 player, Saturday mornings meant trips to HMV, and choosing CDs purely because the artwork caught her eye became a ritual that introduced her to genres she may never have discovered otherwise.

At home, music surrounded her. Her dad played guitar in a band and filled the car with classic rock, punk and metal, while trips to concerts and festivals became part of family life. Her mum, nan and cousin all nurtured that same creative spirit in different ways, making music feel less like a hobby and more like something woven into everyday life.

“It was kind of inevitable that music would become an enormous part of my life,” she says.

By the age of eight she was playing clarinet in orchestras, jazz bands and marching bands, taking singing lessons and learning guitar. Looking back, those early experiences unknowingly laid the foundations for DJing. Rhythm, timing and musical instinct were already second nature by the time she stepped behind a pair of decks.

“I have an instinctive pull towards music that I really can’t explain,” she tells me. “I found myself organising playlists by vibes, atmosphere and label sound. DJing was just the natural next step.”

That curiosity still defines the way she approaches music today. While many artists become known for one specific lane, Zaba has never understood the pressure to stay inside one box.

“I like too many genres,” she laughs. “Isn’t it better to explore a wider range and push yourself to discover new music?”

If she had to describe her sets, she’d call them “warm, fun, nostalgic energy, with a creative and personal twist” – a reflection of someone who values emotional connection over sticking rigidly to expectations.

Like many people working in grassroots music, though, the biggest lessons haven’t come from learning how to DJ. They’ve come from learning how to navigate people.

Looking back, she describes herself as a naive promoter who naturally assumed everyone shared the same intentions she did. Over time she realised that wasn’t always the case.

“I’ve learned you don’t need to explain yourself to everyone,” she says. “Trust your instincts, pay attention to how people make you feel and step back from spaces where your support isn’t met with the same warmth in return.”

That honesty feels refreshing. So much of the music industry celebrates relentless giving, but Zaba speaks just as openly about the importance of protecting your own wellbeing.

“I’ve realised that championing others is great, but not at the cost of abandoning my own needs, values or wellbeing.”

That balance runs through everything she does.

The post introducing hundreds of female DJs wasn’t about creating division. It was about removing barriers. Having repeatedly heard promoters claim they simply couldn’t find women to book, she decided to prove otherwise.

“I wanted to show that this just isn’t true,” she explains. “Finding 300 female DJs in one evening made that pretty clear.”

It’s a conversation that naturally expands into representation, accessibility and creating spaces where more people genuinely feel welcome. For Zaba, inclusivity isn’t achieved through one diverse lineup – it’s built through listening, questioning and constantly asking who still isn’t in the room.

That same mindset is what fuels Croakheads, where she works as Head of Operations. The collective exists to champion independent venues, promoters, artists and local communities while raising awareness around the UK’s ongoing grassroots venue crisis.

“We’re losing more than buildings,” she says. “We’re losing entire ecosystems.”

It’s a perspective that resonates deeply with Fleckies. Grassroots venues aren’t simply somewhere to perform – they’re where artists find confidence, audiences discover something unexpected and lifelong friendships begin. Speaking to venue owners has only reinforced how fragile those foundations have become, but she’s equally inspired by the resilience of the people still fighting to keep them alive.

“I’ve seen so much resilience,” she says. “People are still showing up and still building something incredible together.”

Ask her what a healthy music community looks like and the answer feels beautifully simple.

“A place where people genuinely look out for each other. Where everyone feels seen and valued. Where people stand up for spaces and for each other.”

Looking ahead, Zaba shows no signs of slowing down. Croakheads is expanding its resident and ambassador teams, with more fundraising planned for Music Venue Trust alongside a new newsletter and the possibility of launching a podcast celebrating people making a difference across grassroots music. Alongside that, she’s continuing to DJ while quietly working on her own productions.

“I don’t want to sound like everyone else,” she says. “I don’t want to rush my art.”

That patience feels symbolic of everything she’s spoken about. Whether she’s creating music, supporting artists or challenging the industry, very little is driven by speed. It’s driven by purpose.

If there’s one thing I took away from this conversation, it’s that Zaba isn’t trying to become the loudest voice in dance music. She’s trying to make sure more voices get heard. In a culture that can sometimes reward ego over empathy, that’s quietly radical.

Her final piece of advice feels fitting.

“If you’re going to be outspoken, be prepared to face criticism. Don’t give up. Use your voice. Be brave.”

The industry needs more people willing to do exactly that.

Listen and follow Zaba:

Click here for all things Zaba

Click here for all things Croakheads

The post Zaba: Building the Scene She Wants to Dance In first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

Speaking to BEKIMACHINE, it’s clear she’s the latter.

We first crossed paths at Music Barn Festival earlier this year, where she brought her signature blend of melodic and driving techno to the Fleckies Stable Stage. I’d heard great things before we met, but what struck me most wasn’t just the set – it was how genuinely warm and down-to-earth she was behind the scenes. After chatting over email, that first impression only became stronger. Behind the bold name and high-energy music is someone who’s spent years quietly refining her craft, embracing change and following wherever creativity takes her.

Music has never really been something she discovered. It was simply always there.

Growing up, she threw herself into it from an early age, learning the flute before attending performing arts school and later studying Music Technology throughout school, sixth form and university. Alongside that came bands, performances and countless opportunities to experiment. She fronted a local rock band as a teenager before joining ska-punk outfit Just Say Nay as a flautist and backing vocalist, experiences that gave her confidence on stage long before electronic music entered the picture.

Looking back, those years built the foundations for everything that followed.

She was equally inspired by the music she immersed herself in. Paramore, VersaEmerge, Kesha and Kate Nash formed part of the soundtrack to her younger years before artists like Grimes, HANA, Purity Ring and Lights completely captured her imagination.

“I’ve always been massively into female-fronted bands and artists,” she explains. “They’ve really shaped my music over the years.”

Although many people now know her as a DJ, production actually came first.

BEKIMACHINE began life as a synth-pop project, performing original songs live using Ableton, vocals, flute and live effects. More than simply releasing tracks, she created an entire concept around the project – a cyborg alter ego complete with commissioned artwork, connected visuals and story-led releases.

“I’ve always had a creative brain,” she says. “Writing songs collaboratively in bands was so fun, but I wanted to try the process solo.”

Like many artists, lockdown became an unexpected turning point. While streaming on Twitch from her bedroom, she taught herself to DJ and gradually found herself pulled towards a different corner of electronic music. Melodic house evolved into driving techno, which eventually opened the door to hard techno and trance.

Rather than feeling like a dramatic reinvention, it sounds more like a natural progression.

“As I’ve grown as an artist, my music has become more of a reflection of who I am now.”

That willingness to evolve feels central to BEKIMACHINE’s creative identity. She isn’t interested in staying inside one lane simply because it’s familiar. Instead, she follows whatever genuinely excites her, building sets that she describes as “melodic, fun, energising and vibey.”

“You’ll always have a good time,” she laughs. That same mindset extends beyond the DJ booth.

Alongside producing and performing, she founded Cloud9, a techno event created to bring more electronic music to the West Midlands. Running an independent event is rarely glamorous. There’s endless organising, constant promotion and no guarantee people will walk through the door.

“The biggest challenge is getting a good turnout,” she admits. “There’s so much involved and often no financial gain.”

But almost immediately, she follows that with what matters far more.

“The reward is creating that space in the local scene.”

That sentence says a lot.

Throughout our conversation, she continually returns to community rather than personal success. Whether she’s talking about grassroots venues, local promoters or the friendships she’s built through music, there’s an obvious appreciation for the people who make scenes possible.

She’s also a proud resident for Altered Events, describing founder Paris Camille as both an incredible DJ and now a close friend. It’s another reminder that behind every successful grassroots brand are people choosing to champion one another rather than compete.

That sense of community feels especially important at a time when independent venues continue to disappear across the UK.

“It’s so sad to see,” she says. “There’s nothing like having a dance surrounded by friends and enjoying amazing music. That’s why grassroots events are so important – they keep the scene alive.”

When the conversation turns to being a woman working across DJing, production and event management, her answer is refreshingly honest.

Rather than focusing on external barriers, she talks about the pressure she places on herself.

“I feel like I’m not doing enough,” she says. “I’ve been trying to learn to give myself grace.”

Balancing music alongside a full-time job means accepting that there are only so many hours in the day. It’s a feeling many creatives will recognise. The desire to keep pushing can easily outweigh the need to pause and acknowledge how far you’ve already come.

And there have been plenty of moments worth celebrating.

Playing TwitchCon Amsterdam, winning Modul8’s DJ competition and closing for Helen Frey, hearing her music played on BBC Radio 1 Dance – they’re all milestones that remind her the hard work is paying off.

“It’s easy to forget to sit back and be proud of yourself.”

Right now, she’s building on that momentum.

Her latest release, Perspective Is Everything, created alongside Transistor Rhythms, has just arrived complete with a music video, while an EP is already taking shape for release later this year or early 2027. There are collaborations quietly developing in the background too, alongside hopes of bringing Cloud9 back after a short hiatus.

Nothing feels rushed. Everything feels intentional.

Looking ahead, it doesn’t sound like BEKIMACHINE is chasing trends or overnight success. She’s simply continuing to build something that feels authentic to her, one release, one set and one opportunity at a time.

Her advice to anyone wanting to follow a similar path captures that perfectly.

“Don’t give yourself excuses not to start. Just start.”

It’s simple, but perhaps that’s the point.

Conversations like this continuously make me think about just how many artists like BEKIMACHINE exist across the country – quietly putting in the hours, learning new skills, creating opportunities for others and keeping grassroots electronic music alive without expecting recognition in return.

Those are exactly the kinds of people Fleckies was built to celebrate.

And if her work so far is anything to go by, it feels like BEKIMACHINE is only just getting started.

Listen and follow BEKIMACHINE:

Stream BEKIMACHINE and explore more on Spotify

Click here for socials, tickets and everything else

The post BEKIMACHINE: Building Her Own Frequency first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

That was my biggest takeaway after speaking with RIJ.

We first connected after he reached out to me on Instagram, suggesting a chat because he felt we were on similar journeys. By the end of our conversation, I understood exactly what he meant. Yes, he’s a DJ. Yes, he’s played Ibiza, produced music and built an event brand. But underneath all of that is someone deeply interested in people – what connects them, what inspires them and how music can become the thread running through it all.

Music found him early.

Growing up, it wasn’t production software or club culture that first sparked something – it was community radio. At just twelve years old he landed a regular slot on a local summer station after his science teacher, Mrs Burgess, put his name forward. It quickly became much more than reading links between songs.

“I learned confidence, speaking into a microphone, working a mixing desk and sharing music. It gave me the bug straight away.”

By fourteen he was presenting a weekly Chart Show, bringing friends into the studio, taking requests and opening the lines to listeners. Looking back now, it’s funny how naturally those early experiences mirror what he’s building today. Even then, he wasn’t just interested in playing music – he wanted to create spaces where people felt involved.

Music was everywhere at home too. CDs were prized birthday presents, speakers had to have enough bass, and like many of us growing up in the early internet era, he spent hours tinkering with music-making tools online long before he knew what production really was.

Then university arrived, and with it, dance music.

Walking into Birmingham’s legendary Rainbow venue for the first time became one of those moments that quietly changes everything. “I just remember thinking, this is something completely different.”

Not long afterwards, a friend handed him a pair of ageing DJ controllers that barely worked. They weren’t glamorous – “I’m being generous calling them decks,” he laughs – but they were enough to light another spark. House parties followed, then a proper set of Pioneer decks for his twenty-first birthday after his aunt and uncle offered to fund half, provided he invested the other half himself.

It wasn’t about owning equipment. It was about committing to the craft.

Like many DJs, RIJ taught himself through trial, error and persistence. He learned by playing wherever he could, first for friends, then at parties, then gradually in larger venues. Looking back, he admits he spent too long waiting for opportunities to arrive instead of creating them.

“The minute I stopped waiting for someone else to build it for me and took ownership, things started to shift.”

That shift eventually led him to Ibiza – almost by accident.

What followed wasn’t simply a collection of gigs on one of dance music’s most iconic islands, but an education in adaptability. Equipment failed. USBs crashed. Decks overheated in thirty-five-degree bars. Every set became another lesson in staying calm under pressure.

More importantly, Ibiza reminded him that relationships matter just as much as talent.

“You never know who’s in the crowd or who’s sat next to you in the green room. Just be a decent person. That goes further than any hustle.”

His sound naturally evolved alongside those experiences. House sits at its core, but disco, garage and soulful vocals all weave through his sets, shaped by childhood memories, family influences and countless hours behind the decks. He describes house music’s four-to-the-floor rhythm as something almost primal, while disco brings “warmth, nostalgia and emotion”. Garage adds groove and attitude.

“The warmth and melody probably come from my family,” he says. “The bass and the naughtiness? That’s all me.”

But perhaps the most interesting part of RIJ’s story isn’t the DJ career at all. It’s Naughty Parrot.

What began as an events concept has grown into something much bigger – an event series, podcast, creative platform and community built around one simple idea: Be Bold. Dance Free.

The philosophy behind it feels refreshingly honest. RIJ believes people shouldn’t have to choose between looking after themselves and enjoying nightlife. His phrase “Party with Balance” sums it up perfectly.

“Naughty Parrot was born from wanting to create spaces where people can show up unapologetically as themselves.”

That idea runs through everything the brand does. Events are designed to feel intimate rather than intimidating. Podcasts dive into wellbeing alongside music. Emerging artists are given opportunities to share their stories, while established guests help shine a light on the next generation.

Listening to him talk about it, you quickly realise Naughty Parrot isn’t really about him.

It’s about everyone else.

“How else are they going to get a voice?” he asks when talking about supporting emerging DJs. “If I’ve got a platform, however big or small, I want to use it.”

It’s a mindset that feels increasingly rare. Rather than viewing the scene as something to compete within, he sees it as something to contribute to. He speaks openly about paying artists fairly wherever possible, recognising the hours that disappear behind the scenes long before anyone steps into a DJ booth.

That same generosity carries into the wider community he’s building.

“Community isn’t just part of Naughty Parrot,” he says. “The brand doesn’t exist without it.”

In a world that often feels increasingly divided, he believes dancefloors can still offer something powerful – places where people arrive without pretence, connect through music and leave feeling a little lighter than when they walked in.

That vision continues to grow.

Following a sold-out London event, Naughty Parrot heads to Manchester on 4^th July before expanding into Bristol and beyond, while RIJ continues balancing DJ bookings across the UK and Europe with growing the platform itself. Longer term, he’s already thinking about taking the concept overseas.

It’s ambitious, but it doesn’t feel rushed.

His advice to others reflects exactly the same mindset. “Pick your battles. You can build more than one thing, just not always at the same time.” It’s practical advice, but also quietly reassuring. Progress doesn’t always happen in a straight line, and creativity doesn’t need to move at everyone else’s pace.

By the end of our conversation, I found myself thinking back to why Fleckies exists in the first place. It’s easy to look at someone’s Instagram and think you know their story. Usually, you don’t.

Behind the Ibiza sunsets, sold-out events and polished content is someone who still believes music is fundamentally about people. About conversations. About giving others a platform. About creating spaces where everyone feels welcome.

If Naughty Parrot continues growing with those values intact, I have a feeling this is only the beginning.

Listen and follow RIJ:

@RIJMusic_

For socials, tickets and everything else, head to:

TICKETS for July 4th!

All things Naughty Parrot

The post RIJ: Building Something Bigger Than the Dancefloor first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

It’ll be happening on your local high street.

From 26th-28th June, more than 400 grassroots music venues will come together for Everywhere At Once, a nationwide celebration of live music led by Music Venue Trust and powered by The National Lottery. More than 2,000 artists – from household names to the next generation of emerging talent – will perform in intimate venues across the country, turning what would normally be Glastonbury weekend into something that feels a little closer to home.

And while the lineup is packed with names including Fatboy Slim, Becky Hill, Tinie Tempah, Rizzle Kicks, The Lathums, Lucy Spraggan, D Double E, P Money, Toddla T, Jodie Harsh, Brooke Combe and many more, the real headline isn’t who’s playing.

It’s where they’re playing.

At Fleckies, we’ve always believed the heartbeat of UK music isn’t found solely in arenas or headline festival slots. It’s found in independent venues, local promoters and communities willing to take a chance on new artists. The rooms where bands play to 50 people before they play to 5,000. The clubs where DJs learn to read a dancefloor. The spaces that quietly shape the future of British music every single week.

That’s exactly what Everywhere At Once is celebrating.

Delivered by Music Venue Trust alongside Save Our Scene and the Association of Independent Promoters, the initiative shines a light on the venues, promoters and local music communities that keep the grassroots ecosystem alive all year round. It’s all made possible through the support of The National Lottery, whose players have helped raise more than £1 billion for music projects across the UK. That investment has supported everything from grassroots venues and festivals to community music projects and artist development, making them one of the biggest backers of live music in the country.

The timing couldn’t be more important.

Despite the UK’s live music industry enjoying record revenues, the grassroots sector continues to face enormous challenges. More than half of grassroots music venues made no profit during 2025, while 30 venues closed their doors permanently. Meanwhile, 175 towns and cities across the UK no longer receive regular touring shows by professional artists.

That’s why initiatives like this matter.

They’re not simply about putting on another weekend of gigs. They’re about reminding people that incredible live music already exists on their doorstep, while encouraging audiences to support the venues, promoters and artists that make local scenes possible.

The weekend also gives gig-goers the chance to support organisations making a real difference across the music community, with optional donations at the point of purchase going to War Child, Nordoff and Robbins, Help Musicians and Teenage Cancer Trust. It’s another reminder that grassroots music is built on communities looking after one another, both on and off the stage.

Fatboy Slim, one of the artists taking part, summed it up perfectly. “Grassroots venues are where it all started for me and where music scenes really begin,” he said. “Without grassroots venues, independent promoters and local crowds taking a chance on something new, none of this exists.”

That sentiment feels especially relevant right now.

We’ve already seen Independent Venue Week bring communities together earlier this year, and initiatives like Everywhere At Once continue that momentum by proving what can happen when the grassroots scene pulls in the same direction.

Whether you head out to see a household name in a tiny room or discover your next favourite local artist by accident, that’s the beauty of weekends like this.

For Fleckies, that’s what grassroots music has always been about.

Supporting the venues that give artists their first shot. Backing the promoters willing to take risks. Turning up for local scenes before they’re fashionable.

Because the future headliners have to start somewhere.

And that somewhere is usually your local venue.

Tickets and full listings:
www.everywherefest.com

Follow:
@musicvenuetrust

@saveoursceneuk

@aip.uk
#everywhereatonce

The post Everywhere At Once Puts Grassroots Venues Centre Stage first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

Originally from Suffolk and now based in Northamptonshire, Beth’s story begins in the kind of village setting that seems almost designed for storytelling. She describes growing up in the countryside as “really special”, surrounded by community and support in a tiny village where everyone knew one another. That sense of closeness seems to run through her music now too – songs built around emotion, memory and connection rather than spectacle.

Performance found her early. At just five years old, she was begging to join the local amateur dramatics group, already drawn towards music and storytelling before fully understanding why. Around the same time, her parents bought her a small electric keyboard, which quickly became a fixture in her world. “Apparently I spent most of my time badly singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” she laughs. From there, music quietly became the thread connecting everything else together.

It’s clear how much that early encouragement mattered. Singing lessons, piano lessons, local theatre productions – all of it helped shape not only her confidence as a performer, but the emotional openness that sits at the centre of her songwriting now. Over time, writing songs stopped being a hobby and became something far more personal.

That shift really happened when she moved away for university. After growing up in a sheltered village environment, suddenly navigating city life, relationships, friendships and lockdown within such a short period of time felt overwhelming. Like many people in their late teens and early twenties, she found herself trying to work out who she was while everything around her kept changing.

Music became the place where all of that could go.

“It was my escape, but also a way of processing emotions and making sense of experiences I didn’t always know how to talk about,” she explains. There’s something deeply relatable in that. The idea that songwriting can sometimes say the things we struggle to voice in everyday life.

Beth speaks openly about being drawn to artists who tell difficult truths through music – songs that sit honestly inside uncertainty, heartbreak or growing pains rather than trying to tidy them away. That influence feels present throughout her own writing too. There’s emotion there, but it never feels overworked. Just genuine.

Both piano and guitar play huge roles in shaping that process, though in very different ways. Piano, her first instrument, naturally leads her towards more atmospheric and emotional songwriting. Guitar, on the other hand, feels more instinctive and experimental. “I call myself a fake guitarist,” she jokes, explaining how she largely taught herself through YouTube tutorials, playing by ear and experimenting with alternate tunings.

That self-taught approach seems important to her sound. There’s a looseness and unpredictability to it that allows different moods to emerge naturally depending on the instrument she’s writing with. Sometimes guitar brings out something more upbeat and playful. Other times, it creates her most intimate songs. Either way, the storytelling always remains central.

She describes her sound as “honest, cinematic folk-pop with touches of Americana and country”, shaped by artists like Kacey Musgraves, Fleetwood Mac, George Ezra and Ed Sheeran. Growing up in Suffolk, Ed Sheeran’s rise understandably felt significant. “He was honestly one of the reasons I picked up a guitar in the first place,” she says.

But what connects all of those influences is their ability to tell stories without losing warmth. Music that feels personal without becoming inaccessible. That balance is something Beth seems to naturally understand.

Recently, that understanding has been tested and strengthened through life on the road. She’s just come off a UK tour supporting The Blackheart Orchestra – an experience she describes as both eye-opening and transformative. Touring gave her the chance to perform to new audiences night after night, helping her grow in confidence and develop her connection with people in the room.

At the same time, it also exposed the realities of being a grassroots musician in 2026.

“There’s a huge amount of sacrifice, hard work and financial pressure involved,” she says honestly. Two months spent living out of a suitcase and driving across the country isn’t exactly glamorous, but the way she speaks about it makes it feel worthwhile nonetheless. Particularly because of the people around her. The Blackheart Orchestra, she says, were “some of the kindest and most supportive people” she could have toured with.

That sense of support and community clearly matters to Beth, and it’s part of why playing grassroots festivals still feels so important to her. This year she’ll be appearing at Music Barn Festival on the Barn Stage – something she speaks about with genuine excitement. Festivals like Music Barn, she says, are essential spaces for emerging artists, particularly at a time when so many independent venues and grassroots events are struggling to survive.

“They give people the chance to discover new music in a really personal and authentic way,” she explains. There’s a mutual care in those spaces that larger events can sometimes lose. It’s about community as much as performance. Discovery as much as scale.

That same spirit seems to run through everything Beth is building now, particularly as she works towards releasing her debut album. The project feels deeply tied to where she currently finds herself creatively and personally – exploring themes of identity, change, relationships and uncertainty.

More than anything though, it reflects an artist trying to let herself evolve naturally rather than forcing herself into a box.

“Finding my identity as an artist is something I’ve honestly struggled with recently,” she admits. “Especially feeling pressure to fit into a certain genre or brand.” It’s something many young artists quietly carry now, particularly in an era where social media often creates the illusion that everyone else has already figured themselves out.

Beth’s perspective on that feels refreshing because it’s so grounded. She recently turned 23 and openly speaks about moments of panic, questioning why she doesn’t have everything mapped out yet. But instead of pretending certainty, she’s learning to trust that growth happens through experience. Through writing, performing, experimenting and simply living life.

That philosophy extends naturally into the advice she gives other young singer-songwriters too. Don’t pressure yourself to have everything figured out immediately. Stay curious. Keep creating. Don’t chase trends or somebody else’s version of success. Let your sound develop naturally over time.

There’s something reassuring about hearing that from an artist who is still very much in the middle of her own journey. Beth Eliza doesn’t present herself as someone who has all the answers. Instead, she feels like someone learning in real time – and writing beautiful songs through the process.

And honestly, that’s probably what makes the music connect so well in the first place.

Listen and follow Beth Eliza:
https://www.bethelizamusic.co.uk/

The post Beth Eliza: Finding Home in the Honest Moments first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

There’s something grounding about that kind of longevity. In a scene that constantly reinvents itself, it’s rare to find artists who have not only witnessed those shifts but adapted to them without losing their identity. Speaking to Soul Avengerz, it becomes clear that their approach has always been simple – stay true to what feels right, and let everything else fall into place.

Both coming up in North London, music was never something distant or abstract. It was part of everyday life. “Music was a huge part of both our upbringings,” they explain, recalling early days spent DJing in the late 80s, moving through soul and boogie before house music fully took hold. That period, just before the explosion of the scene, gave them something invaluable – time to learn, to experiment, and to understand what it really meant to move a crowd.

Those early experiences shaped more than just their sound. They built an instinct. Playing open-to-close sets, reading rooms without distraction, relying purely on the music and the people in front of them. It’s a skillset that feels almost lost in today’s faster-paced, digital-heavy landscape, but one that still sits at the core of what they do.

When house music first arrived in London, everything shifted. “It was exciting, special times,” they reflect. There was no blueprint, no clear path to follow. DJs weren’t chasing status or visibility, they were collectors, curators, people obsessed with finding the right record and sharing it. “You got booked through mixtapes and word of mouth,” they say, painting a picture of a scene built on trust and connection rather than algorithms or online presence.

Record shops became central to that world. Places where hours would disappear flicking through vinyl, where conversations turned into opportunities, and where community naturally formed. It’s a far cry from the instant access of today, but there’s a sense that those slower processes created something deeper. Relationships that lasted, sounds that evolved organically, and a culture that felt genuinely shared.

The Soul Avengerz project itself came together in that spirit. Not through a grand plan, but through alignment. Having crossed paths on line-ups and recognising a shared direction, the opportunity to step into the studio with James Reynolds became the starting point. “We loved it straight away,” they say, and from there, it grew naturally. The vision was never complicated – make quality house music that works on the dancefloor and reflects who they are.

Over the years, the landscape around them has changed dramatically. The shift from vinyl to CD, and then to USB, has transformed not only how DJs play but how they discover and share music. The scene itself has expanded globally, opening doors that simply didn’t exist in those early days. But despite all of that, they remain clear on what hasn’t changed.

“At its core, house music has always been about bringing people together.” It’s a sentiment that comes up again and again, and one that feels particularly relevant now. Beyond the technology, beyond the platforms and the pace, the essence of it all is still about connection. That moment on a dancefloor where everything else fades away, and you’re simply part of something bigger.

It’s perhaps this understanding that has allowed them to remain relevant without ever chasing it. “We’ve never really thought about staying relevant,” they admit. Instead, they’ve focused on doing what they’ve always done – playing and producing music that feels right to them. It’s a subtle but important distinction. Rather than adapting to trends, they’ve let their sound evolve naturally, trusting that authenticity will always resonate.

That approach hasn’t come without effort. Longevity in music requires resilience, even if it’s not always spoken about. The industry has shifted countless times over the years, and staying consistent through that requires a level of belief in your own direction. For Soul Avengerz, that belief seems to come from a genuine connection to the culture itself.

Community has always been central to that. Not in a performative sense, but in a lived one. “We’ve made lifelong friends on the dancefloor,” they say, even noting that it’s where they both met their wives. It’s a reminder that for many, this isn’t just a career path. It’s a way of life. A network of people and moments that extend far beyond the music itself.

That same energy continues into everything they do today. Whether it’s a club set, a production session or a larger event, the focus remains the same – create a space where people can connect, even if only for a few hours.

Right now, that focus is leading them to one of London’s most iconic venues. On Saturday 18th April, Soul Avengerz will take to the decks at Fabric as part of the Fool’s Paradise day party. It’s a lineup filled with names that have shaped the scene, making their inclusion feel both fitting and well-earned.

“Being part of that line-up is a real honour,” they say, recognising both the history of the venue and the calibre of artists involved. Fabric, with its renowned sound system and atmosphere, is a space that continues to hold weight, even for those who have played countless venues over the years. “It never loses its magic,” they add, and there’s a sense that moments like this still carry the same excitement as they always have.

As for what to expect from their set, the answer is refreshingly straightforward. “Uplifting house music, pure and simple. Good energy, good vibes.” It’s a description that feels almost understated, but perhaps that’s the point. After all this time, they don’t need to over-explain it. The music speaks for itself.

Looking ahead, there’s no grand reinvention planned. Instead, the focus remains on what has always worked. New music is in the pipeline, collaborations are ongoing, and ideas continue to develop. “There’s a lot more to come,” they say, keeping it open-ended in a way that feels true to their journey so far.

For younger DJs and producers coming through, their advice is equally grounded. Don’t follow trends. Make music you love. Be patient. Stay consistent. Build something that feels authentic. It’s not flashy advice, but it’s the kind that lasts. The kind that reflects lived experience rather than quick wins.

Spending time with their story, even from a distance, there’s a quiet respect that naturally builds. Not just for what they’ve achieved, but for how they’ve done it. Without shortcuts, without compromise, and without losing sight of why they started in the first place.

In a scene that often moves quickly, Soul Avengerz feel like a reminder to slow down. To trust your instincts. To focus on the music and the people around it. Because at the end of the day, that’s what has always mattered.

Listen and follow and get tickets
Follow Soul Avengerz:
https://www.instagram.com/paul_soul_avengerz/
https://www.instagram.com/waynesoulavengerz/

For Fool’s Gold socials and tickets head to:
https://bio.to/FoolsParadise

The post SOUL AVENGERZ: DECADES ON THE DANCEFLOOR first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

Karim’s relationship with music began long before he had any say in it. Growing up in Shepherd’s Bush, he was surrounded by traditional Middle Eastern sounds, shaped largely by his dad’s passion for music. Instruments like the oud, derbake and keyboard weren’t just objects in the house – they were part of daily life. “I started learning piano from the age of five,” he says, and from that point on, music never really left him. It wasn’t something he discovered later, it was always there, quietly embedding itself into who he was.

Some of his earliest personal connections to music came through small, almost nostalgic moments. An orange Sony CD player carried everywhere in the late 90s, a Notting Hill Carnival compilation on repeat, and one track in particular that stuck. “Don’t Turn Around by Aswad,” he recalls. It’s a simple memory, but one that says a lot about how music finds its way into us – not always through big moments, but through repetition, familiarity and feeling.

Interestingly, DJing didn’t come until much later. His first mix was put together in 2020, a 30-minute UK garage set for a breakfast radio show. It was pre-recorded, painstakingly re-done over and over on a small controller until it felt right. “I listened back years later and laughed,” he says. “I’ve come a long way.” There’s something reassuring in that honesty. The idea that even those who now feel established started in exactly the same place as everyone else – figuring it out, one step at a time.

For Karim, the fundamentals were always clear. Track selection and keeping everything in time. Everything else, he says, comes with experience. But what stands out more is how quickly his interest expanded beyond just DJing. Playing music was never going to be enough on its own.

“What is life really?” he asks at one point. “It’s a collection of experiences that make you feel something.” That idea sits at the core of everything he does. Music, for him, isn’t just about sound. It’s about how that sound exists in a space, how it’s delivered, and what people take away from it. That shift in thinking led him naturally into curation, into creating environments rather than just contributing to them.

His residency at Soho Radio has played a big part in shaping that perspective. It’s a space known for its authenticity, and one he speaks about with genuine appreciation. “Everyone there is a music purist,” he says. “And more importantly, kind people.” Being part of that environment has sharpened his instinct for what matters in the moment, allowing him to champion underground and alternative sounds with intention. It’s not just about playing music, it’s about elevating it.

That same mindset carries through into Meet in the MIDI, the project many now associate him with. Described as a music curatorial studio and community platform, it’s built around the idea of helping people explore themselves through music. But in practice, it feels far more personal than that.

One of its most distinctive formats is the sonic lecture – intimate listening sessions where an artist’s story is told through ten carefully selected tracks. These aren’t passive experiences. They’re moments where people are invited to sit, listen, and engage with music in a way that often gets lost in more traditional club settings. “We play the tracks and weave conversation around their life and catalogue,” he explains. “Then follow it with an all-vinyl set.”

It’s a simple concept, but incredibly effective. In a world that often prioritises speed and consumption, Meet in the MIDI asks people to slow down. To listen properly. To understand where the music comes from and what it represents.

Vinyl plays a big role in that experience, and for Karim, it’s about more than just sound quality. “It delivers a richness you can’t find anywhere else,” he says, but beyond that, it represents something deeper. A sense of permanence. A physical connection to music in an increasingly digital world. “The record isn’t just a format, it’s an experience.” It’s tactile, deliberate, and requires a level of attention that streaming simply doesn’t.

While the listening sessions form the core of the project, Karim has also expanded into more traditional club nights and events, each still grounded in the same principles. Whether it’s a curated DJ lineup or a concept like MIDI Eastern – blending Middle Eastern percussion with UK bass culture – the aim remains consistent. Create something meaningful. Something that allows people to explore, rather than just consume.

That balance between creativity and substance hasn’t come without its challenges. Building something that feels authentic, while also keeping it accessible, requires constant reflection. But Karim seems to approach it with a quiet confidence. There’s no rush to scale for the sake of it. No desire to follow trends. Just a steady focus on building something that feels real.

One of the more recent expressions of that has been Second Pressing, an exhibition that brought together vinyl history and contemporary art. The idea came from a moment of inspiration – standing in a gallery, listening to a saxophone performance, and suddenly connecting it to a completely different era of music. From that, a concept emerged. Artists reinterpreting album artwork from different decades, with visitors able to listen to the original records while experiencing the new pieces.

It’s a perfect example of how Karim’s mind works. Always linking ideas, always finding ways to deepen the experience. “People rediscovered the albums as both sonic artefacts and cultural time capsules,” he says. Again, it comes back to storytelling. To giving music the space it deserves.

Looking ahead, there’s a sense that Meet in the MIDI is only just getting started. With its first birthday approaching, plans are already in motion for festival appearances, live album launches and more opportunities for the community to come together. There’s talk of another exhibition too, and an openness to exploring new formats as they come. “Anything feels possible,” he says, and you believe him.

What stands out most, though, is the intention behind it all. There’s no sense of ego driving these projects. Instead, it’s rooted in a genuine care for the culture and the people within it. That comes through clearly in the advice he offers to others. Start small. Stay honest. Don’t wait for permission. “If it feels real, people will find it.”

Spending time with Karim’s story, felt like a reminder of why platforms like Fleckies exist in the first place. Even when you think you know someone – or think you understand what they do – there’s always more beneath the surface. More context. More intention.

And in Karim’s case, that depth is exactly what makes his work so important. Not because it’s loud or attention-grabbing, but because it’s thoughtful. Considered. Built to last.

Listen and follow Karim & Meet in the Midi:
https://www.instagram.com/karimbitar1/
https://www.instagram.com/meetinthemidi/

The post Karim Bitar: Curating Sound as Experience first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

MINA’s story begins in Oxford, where music was always present in the background, long before it became something she actively pursued. Her dad played a big role in that early exposure, filling the house with everything from David Bowie and New Order to Daft Punk. “He’d have music blasting on weekend mornings,” she says, and those moments clearly left their mark. Live music came early too. Glastonbury at 14, Burning Man at 19 – experiences that most people only encounter much later, if at all.

But like many artists, her relationship with music deepened outside of those early influences. As a teenager, she found herself drawn into rave culture, sneaking into drum and bass events and festivals underage, absorbing the energy of those spaces before she fully understood them. Dubstep, jungle, dancehall, reggae – her tastes were broad, instinctive and rooted in movement. By the time she reached university in Leeds, those influences had started to take shape in a more defined way. Nights at SubDub and Beaverworks became formative, not just for the music, but for the sense of community they created. She began DJing at house parties, cramped basements transformed into makeshift clubs, learning how to read a room and create something that people could feel.

The shift from listener to creator came later, but when it arrived, it landed with clarity. A relationship with a grime producer introduced her to Logic Pro X, and what could have been an intimidating learning curve instead felt natural. “I found it surprisingly easy,” she says. “When something comes naturally to you, it makes you want to do more.” That moment opened the door to something bigger – not just a new skill, but the realisation that music could be more than just a passion. It could be a path.

From there, her approach to production developed quickly, shaped by curiosity and collaboration rather than rigid structure. MINA isn’t interested in staying within one lane. Her sound is built through what she describes as “cross-pollination” – blending different genres, cultures and ideas into something that feels distinct. Early influences came from UK funky, left-field bass and dancehall, but over time her references have shifted. Now, her work draws on soca, dennery segment and Nigerian street beat, pushing towards something faster, harder and more intense.

There’s a clear thread running through it all – a fascination with tension and release, with building moments that feel both euphoric and unpredictable. It’s something she’s been exploring more deeply through live performance, as well as through her collaborations. Time spent in Ghana working alongside artists like Gafacci and Bryte has been particularly influential, shaping both her sound and her perspective. “If I’m inspired by someone, I’ll reach out and ask to work with them,” she says. That openness has become a defining part of her practice.

But what sets MINA apart is that her work doesn’t stop at the music itself. Alongside producing and performing, she has consistently invested time and energy into building projects that support the wider creative community. It’s not something that came as an afterthought – it’s always been part of her approach. “I’ve been running parties for over ten years,” she explains, “and doing things behind the scenes to support artists.” There’s a clear sense of responsibility in how she moves through the industry. Access to knowledge, networks and opportunities isn’t something to hold onto, it’s something to share.

That ethos is perhaps most visible in Club Soft, her alcohol-free party concept. Born from a shift in her own relationship with nightlife, the idea challenges some of the assumptions that have long defined club culture. Late nights, heavy drinking, the pressure to keep bar sales high – these are all things that can exclude people, whether intentionally or not.

Club Soft flips that on its head. It creates space for a different kind of experience – one that happens earlier, removes the focus on alcohol and invites a wider range of people onto the dancefloor. “It’s about asking who these spaces exclude,” she says. And more importantly, what happens when you change that.

The response has been powerful. “It’s the most meaningful feedback I’ve ever had for an event,” she explains. There’s something deeply moving about creating a space where people feel comfortable, included and connected. It’s a reminder that nightlife doesn’t have to look one specific way to be valid.

That same drive to make the industry more accessible runs through Funding with Mina, a platform designed to help creatives navigate the often confusing world of grant funding. For many artists, funding feels out of reach – too complicated, too opaque, too competitive. Mina saw that gap and decided to do something about it.

“It’s a skillset I’d developed over time,” she says, after finding success with her own applications and helping friends do the same. What started informally has grown into something much bigger, offering workshops, mentoring and guidance that demystifies the process. Her advice is refreshingly honest. Rejection is part of it. It’s rarely personal. And the more you apply, the easier it becomes to understand how to communicate your ideas.

Across everything she does, there’s a clear through line – a belief that the industry can be more equitable if people actively choose to make it that way. “If we think about what we can offer as much as what we can take,” she says, “it becomes a more enjoyable place to work.” It’s a simple idea, but one that feels increasingly important.

Right now, MINA is balancing multiple projects, each pushing her in new directions. She’s developing a live electronic set based on a recent collaboration with Ugandan artist Maganda Shakul, with plans to perform both solo and together in the future. At the same time, Club Soft continues to grow, with more events planned and expansion into a new city on the horizon, alongside a large summer day party in London.

It’s a lot to hold, but there’s a sense that everything feeds into the same bigger picture. Music, community, access, collaboration – none of it exists in isolation.

If there’s one piece of advice she returns to, it’s the importance of showing up. Not just online, but in real life. “If you want to be part of something, go to it,” she says. Introduce yourself. Be present. In a world increasingly shaped by digital connections, there’s still something irreplaceable about being in the room.

Spending time with MINA’s story, even from a distance, leaves you with a sense of possibility. Not in a vague or idealistic way, but in something much more grounded. The idea that things can change if people are willing to build differently. That creativity doesn’t have to come at the cost of community. That there is space for more of us, if we choose to make it.

And that feels like something worth holding onto.

Listen and follow MINA: https://linktr.ee/minamusicuk

And check out Funding with Mina here.

Photos by: Alex Lambert, Cicely Grace, Lorcan Berg

The post MINA: Building Spaces Where Everyone Can Thrive first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

At their core, Luna Rosa – made up of Rory McDade, Cam Latta, Aidan Furey and Jack Connolly – are a band built on feeling. “Our sound is built around atmosphere, groove and intensity,” they explain. “It’s cinematic in places, but always grounded in raw energy.” And that word – energy – comes up again and again. Not in a throwaway way, but as something that defines them. Everything they create is designed to be experienced in a room, not just listened to.

Like most stories rooted in grassroots music, theirs doesn’t begin with anything extraordinary on the surface. Growing up, life was fairly normal for all four of them. Music was always there, but not necessarily as something they immediately saw as a path. It was gradual. Something that crept in and stayed.

“It starts as something you’re into,” they say, “then gradually becomes something you can’t really ignore.”

That shift seemed to happen during their teenage years, when music moved from background noise into something more consuming. Joining bands, experimenting with sound, figuring out what they were drawn to. But it wasn’t until they started recording that things became more serious. There’s something about capturing a piece of music permanently that changes your relationship with it. It asks more of you. More thought, more intention, more care.

The formation of Luna Rosa itself feels refreshingly simple. No big moment, no grand plan. Just a chain of connections that came together at the right time. Rory had heard that Aidan was looking to join a band and decided to check out his SoundCloud. “I think it had a Power Rangers remix on it,” he laughs. “After hearing that I was sold.”

From there, things moved quickly. Rory knocked on Aidan’s door, old-school style, and they started jamming that same day. Aidan then brought in Jack and Cam – friends from school and previous bands – and just like that, the foundations were set. It’s the kind of origin story that feels very true to the scene they come from. No industry machine, no strategic matchmaking. Just people finding each other through music.

What makes Luna Rosa work is their chemistry, but more specifically how that chemistry is built from difference. Each member brings their own influences – not just musically, but from art, literature and film. “Somewhere in the middle we meet,” they explain. It creates a kind of melting pot where ideas collide and settle into something cohesive.

There’s also a real awareness of space within their sound. Jack and Cam form a rhythm section that knows when to push and when to hold back. “They know when to be furious and when to give space,” Rory says. Aidan brings a more atmospheric edge, shaping emotive sounds that elevate each track. And Rory, in his own words, keeps things moving – even if that just means getting everyone to the right place at the right time.

Their sound is often described as atmospheric indie, but that only really scratches the surface. There’s a clear love of melody that echoes bands like The Stone Roses and Oasis, layered with the dynamic intensity of Editors and Foals. Then there’s something heavier underneath it all, a rawness that nods to bands like Led Zeppelin. But what stands out most is how they build tension. Songs don’t just exist – they unfold. Drawing you in slowly before opening up into something bigger.

Importantly, their influences extend beyond music. “Our environment and social status have always played a big part,” they say. That grounding in real life, in where they’re from and what they’ve experienced, gives their sound a weight that feels honest.

After a quieter period on the release front, the band are stepping into a new chapter with a renewed sense of clarity. Not drastically different, but more refined. “The upcoming songs feel more well rounded and accomplished,” they explain. It’s less about reinventing themselves and more about growing into what they’ve always been building.

Their new single, The Luge, captures that evolution perfectly. The track began with a simple idea – chords inspired by a City & Colour gig – before taking on a life of its own. “I get bored of covers,” Rory admits, “so I started turning it into something new.” From there, it became something more chaotic. A mix of heavy emotion and restless energy, shaped by a day spent inside watching fight films and feeling slightly off balance.

Live, the track seems to take on another dimension entirely. They describe playing it in a packed, sweaty venue in Manchester, the room “swaying and vibrating with all the carnage going on.” It’s a song designed to let go to. To get lost in.

That connection between band and audience sits at the centre of everything they do, and it’s something that’s been shaped heavily by where they’re from. Corby might not be the biggest scene, but what it lacks in size it more than makes up for in community.

“The sense of community and how much everyone helps one another is immense,” they say.

It’s something I’ve seen time and time again. When a scene genuinely supports itself, it creates space for artists to grow without the noise of ego getting in the way. Luna Rosa recognise that. They built their early audience in those rooms, playing local gigs and connecting with people who believed in them from the start. That foundation has allowed them to step into bigger spaces while still staying rooted.

Their upcoming single launch at The Steel Bar in Corby feels like a full-circle moment because of that. A hometown show, surrounded by familiar faces and local talent. “It’s where it all started,” they say. “These people are the reason we’ve been able to grow.”

The line-up reflects that same ethos. Bands they’ve watched develop, artists who have always been part of the wider scene. It’s not just about celebrating a release. It’s about celebrating the people who made it possible.

Looking ahead, 2026 is shaping up to be a big year. More singles are already lined up, alongside live sessions they’re eager to share. There are bigger shows on the horizon too, with support slots and festival appearances waiting to be announced. It’s the kind of momentum that feels earned rather than rushed.

But despite everything building around them, their outlook remains simple. Keep going. Keep creating. Keep trusting what they’re doing.

That message carries through into their advice for other bands coming up through the same scene. “Believe in what you’re doing,” they say. “Wear your heart on your sleeve and go for it.” There’s no sense of overcomplication. Just a quiet confidence that if you stay true to it, the right people will find you.

Spending time with their story, it’s hard not to feel that same belief. Bands like Luna Rosa are proof of what can happen when talent meets community. When people support each other properly, something bigger starts to form. Not just a band, but a scene that holds itself together.

And if this next chapter is anything to go by, they’re only just getting started.

Listen and follow Luna Rosa:
Stream and explore more on Spotify:

For socials, tickets and everything else, click here

Tickets for the Single Release Party on 28th March

The post Luna Rosa: Where Atmosphere Meets Energy first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.