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

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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.

Andy’s story begins in what he describes as a “bog standard” Midlands upbringing. Nothing particularly dramatic, nothing especially unusual. Just the familiar rhythm of growing up in a town where music finds its way in through small, unexpected moments. For him, one of those moments came through family. When he was around ten or eleven, he would visit his cousin’s flat where her turntables and vinyl records filled the room. Hard house, trance, techno, and occasionally faster, harsher sounds like gabba spun through the speakers. “It opened my eyes a bit,” he says. “I hadn’t really seen anything like that before.”

Another moment came years later when he first heard The Prodigy’s Warriors Dance on the radio as a teenager. “I remember thinking what the fuck is this” he laughs. Something about it clicked immediately. From that point on, music stopped being background noise and started becoming something he actively chased.

DJing itself started in the most unpolished way possible. Andy and his friend Elliot decided to split the cost of some second-hand Pioneer decks they found online. When the equipment arrived, the excitement quickly turned into confusion. “We just stared at them for months,” he admits. “They didn’t come with instructions and we had no idea what we were doing.”

Eventually they connected the decks to a laptop and downloaded Traktor. At the time Andy was deep into drum and bass, so their early sessions were built around that sound. Beat matching was another story entirely. “I thought I knew what I was doing,” he says, “but I definitely didn’t.” It took a handful of YouTube tutorials before things started to fall into place.

Those early experiments slowly grew into something bigger. Practice sessions turned into informal parties, then into small events. For a long time it remained something playful rather than purposeful. But somewhere along the line, the idea of doing anything else started to feel strange. “I couldn’t imagine a future without music in it,” he says. “Being surrounded by music and DJing is everything.” He pauses for a second before laughing. “It sounds cringe, but it really does feel like the music chose me.”

Production entered the picture while Andy was at university. Like many producers starting out, his education came through late-night YouTube tutorials and a lot of trial and error. Over time he realised how many different routes there are into learning production – lessons, collaborations, and simply spending time around other people who know more than you do. Lockdown gave him the space to focus more seriously on developing those skills. Still, production remains something fluid. As his tastes evolve, older tracks often stop representing the sound he wants to play today. Yet one moment keeps pulling him back into the studio.

“When you play your own track in a set and people react well to it,” he says, “that’s a whole different kind of feeling.” It is nerve-wracking but rewarding – hearing something that once existed only on a laptop suddenly filling a dancefloor.

Around the same time Andy was developing his sound, another idea was forming alongside his friend Jake. They had both tasted what it was like to run their own events and began noticing more of their friends leaning towards house music, they decided to head in that direction too. Midnight Mass was born from that instinct.

In the early days a group of around eight people helped run the events. Over time that circle naturally narrowed until it became mainly Andy and Jake steering the brand forward. Midnight Mass slowly carved out its own space in the local Northamptonshire underground scene, known for energetic crowds and a sense of shared ownership between the DJs and the people on the floor. A few years ago things shifted again when Jake moved to Australia. Suddenly Andy found himself running the brand largely on his own. The first solo event he handled – at Basing House in Shoreditch – came with more than a few nerves. Running an event brand alone means managing everything from bookings to promotion to the logistics of the night itself. It is demanding work. But it also forced him to grow in ways he did not expect.

“I used to stress so much during events that I wouldn’t even enjoy them,” he says. Learning to handle everything himself has changed that. It has pushed him to be more present and more confident in his own decisions, even while recognising how valuable it is to have someone to bounce ideas off.

The journey has already taken Midnight Mass further than Andy originally imagined. Over Christmas he brought the brand to Australia while visiting Jake, running a busy event there under the Midnight Mass banner. Seeing the name travel that far provided a rare moment of perspective.

“When you’re in the middle of building something, it can feel like you’re not moving forward,” he says. “Australia gave me the moment to appreciate how far we’ve come and what we have actually created.”

Community remains the thread tying everything together. Andy believes the strength of any local scene comes down to people supporting each other – showing up to events, backing their friends and building spaces where music can thrive. That ethos carries through his advice for anyone starting out. “Just be sound,” he says simply. Be kind to people. Leave your ego at the door. Support the events happening around you.

Now another chapter is approaching. This April Andy will move to Manchester, drawn by the city’s long-standing reputation as one of the UK’s most vibrant music hubs. The move offers a new landscape of venues, collaborators and ideas. “It’s a whole new playground,” he says.

The plan is to keep building Midnight Mass while pushing further into production. His sound leans heavily on UK garage influences, but he is keen to experiment across genres rather than confine himself to one lane. The immediate goal is refreshingly straightforward. “Finish tracks,” he laughs. “And hopefully get them signed.”

Speaking to Andy for this feature reminded me exactly why Fleckies exists. Even when someone becomes a friend, even when you have shared a few chaotic nights and conversations along the way, there is always more to understand about how they arrived where they are. This interview was meant to happen years ago, but I am pretty sure it landed at the right time after all.

Manchester is about to gain someone with serious passion for the craft… and I cannot wait to see where his journey takes him next.

Listen and follow Andizz:
https://linktr.ee/andizz
https://linktr.ee/MidnightMassuk

The post Andizz: Finding Rhythm in the Underground first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

Running from 2pm through to midnight, the event will bring together ten bands and a DJ for a full day of live music, collaboration and community. While the day marks an important milestone for Veins with the release of their long-awaited first album, the band have deliberately turned the moment into something bigger – inviting a wide mix of artists to share the stage and making the day feel closer to a mini grassroots festival than a traditional headline show.

Alongside Veins, the lineup features After Self, Beings, Delve Boy, Creation Myths, Joanna, Family of Noise, The Vandervalls, Erwin and Decadence, representing a broad cross-section of local and regional talent. Some are bands Veins have previously shared stages with, while others are newer acts the band have discovered through local gigs and community events. That mix of familiar collaborators and fresh discoveries is exactly the point.

The idea for A New Forever Fest grew out of a simple realisation. If the band wanted to mark the album properly, it needed to be something memorable – but doing that alone would be a challenge. Bringing other artists into the picture made the idea not only possible, but more meaningful. As the band explain, “We originally decided to do an all-dayer including bands we’d played with or close friends, but the idea grew. There’s loads of good young bands in the area we’d seen play but never shared a stage with, so we thought we’d bring them in too.”

In many ways, the event reflects the journey the band themselves have been on. The album began life back in January 2020, before the pandemic brought everything to a halt. Like many bands, momentum stalled and the project was left unfinished for a while as life pulled members in different directions. But over the past year things have begun moving again. Veins have returned to writing, releasing new singles and planning more shows, with their debut album now acting as a line in the sand between that uncertain period and whatever comes next.

What makes A New Forever Fest particularly special is how DIY the entire operation is. The event is being presented under Pulling Teeth Promotions, but that isn’t a separate promoter stepping in – it’s simply the name the band use when organising their own shows. From recording the album themselves to designing artwork, making music videos and booking gigs, Veins have built a reputation as a self-contained creative unit. Even the festival itself is being organised entirely by the band.

That same DIY mindset runs through the event’s wider purpose. Bringing together bands from different genres, age groups and corners of the local scene isn’t just about filling a lineup. It’s about creating opportunities for discovery. Someone who turns up to see one act might leave with a handful of new favourite bands.

It’s also a chance to support venues like The Steel Bar, which many artists rely on but which operate in an increasingly difficult climate. As the band point out, independent venues across towns like Corby have faced years of challenges, with some well-loved spaces already disappearing. Events like this offer a reminder of how valuable these rooms are when they’re full of music, energy and people who care about the scene.

For the audience, the day promises something simple but powerful – a packed room, loud guitars, new bands to discover and a crowd that’s there for the music. The Veins headline set itself is still being shaped, but the band are keen to make it feel like a true finale to the day rather than just another slot on the lineup.

Ultimately, A New Forever Fest feels like the kind of event grassroots scenes thrive on. Independent bands pulling together, local venues opening their doors and a community turning up to support it. Often the best things in music start exactly like this.

Tickets and info: GET TICKETS HERE

Playlist: LISTEN TO THE LINEUP

Follow: ALL LINKS

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Olivia has been singing since she could “make noise”, with her first solo being Twinkle Twinkle at nursery at just four years old. Music wasn’t a later discovery – it was instinct. Family has always been central to her world. She’s a little sister, a big sister, and now a mother herself. “Life within my family circle was incredible growing up,” she tells me. “My mum and dad are literally my best friends. We’ve always been encouraged to do what we love.” That support system has clearly shaped her confidence and resilience.

School, however, was a different story. Olivia experienced severe bullying, which worsened when her TikTok started gaining traction. What should have felt exciting became another source of scrutiny. Eventually, her mum made the decision to homeschool her. Through a charity called Chums, Olivia found emotional support – and it was during this period that songwriting truly began. “That’s really where my song writing started from,” she says. Writing became therapy. A diary. A way to process pain when there weren’t many other safe outlets.

Before country music claimed her fully, Olivia describes herself as “always a pop kinda girl”. She adored One Direction and loved musical theatre, drawn to the acting within songs. She would try her voice at any genre. But country entered her life through someone deeply important – her nana. “We would listen to Dolly Parton and Shania Twain in her car and I just loved the storytelling,” she says. Country felt like home because it was tied to memory and family. That lineage matters. You can hear it in the way she writes now.

Her songwriting style is instinctive and honest. “I’m chaotic” she laughs. She writes wherever inspiration hits – in the bath, at the park, in the pub. If a line or feeling grabs her, she notes it down immediately. Recently she’s been co-writing with Joe Bygraves, whose calm approach has helped refine her process. “It almost feels like I’ve grown up in how I write,” she reflects. The raw honesty is still there, but it’s becoming more shaped, more intentional.

Influence-wise, Dolly and Shania are embedded in her storytelling DNA. More recently, she admires Ella Langley, and when it comes to performance, it’s Lady Gaga. “I adore her showmanship and how she commands the stage,” Olivia says. “I like to think I’m a little like her when I perform live.” That blend of country storytelling with bold stage presence gives her an edge – she isn’t trying to shrink herself to fit a box.

Every song she’s released so far has come from lived experience. “I use my song writing as a form of diary or therapy,” she explains. At 13, during the height of bullying, she wrote constantly. Many of those songs may never be released, but they carried her through. Even now, if something happens in her life, her instinct is to turn it into a song. One detail I love is that after writing, she immediately finds her parents to play it to them first. That grounding keeps her anchored in something real.

Being independent has taught her quickly that not everyone will understand or support what she’s doing. “I’ve realised I’ll never be everyone’s cup of tea and that’s ok,” she says. That acceptance feels mature beyond her years. She knows she has to stay true to herself, and that her people will find her. Balancing gigs, rehearsals and motherhood is no small task, and she’s open about the challenge. She credits her mum heavily for supporting her daughter while she works. “I just don’t want to stop doing what I’m doing, so I just carry on,” she says. That drive is clear.

The country community has welcomed her warmly, even if she doesn’t fit everyone’s idea of “true country”. She’s aware that people can reduce her to surface impressions – “a blonde young girl” as she puts it – but she’s writing directly into those assumptions, even naming a track Blonde Bimbo. What she’s asking for is simple – to be seen in full. “When people actually get to know me, my story, they take me more seriously,” she says. And she’s right. Context changes everything.

Right now, she’s standing on the brink of a huge milestone. Through BBC Introducing and BBC Radio 2, Olivia is performing at Country to Country Festival at The O2 this March. She invited BBC Introducing to her headline gig last September, hoping they’d see her growth. They did. After a Zoom call congratulating her on having her song chosen as one of their songs of 2025, she was asked what she’d love to do next. Her answer was immediate – C2C. “She said well Olivia we want you to play C2C for us this year,” she recalls. She cried. She had to keep it secret until the announcement. Bob Harris has since played her music, and she’ll meet him at the festival. For someone who’s been saying “I just need to work hard to get to C2C” for years, this moment feels earned.

“It means absolutely everything,” she says. Especially after the past year of balancing motherhood with relentless graft. There’s no illusion that it happened overnight.

She hasn’t forgotten her roots either. Before C2C, she’s hosting a warm-up headline show at The Castle in Luton so her local supporters can see her live without London prices. That decision speaks volumes. She’s also releasing a new single, Little Miss Nightmare, which will be the title track of her debut album currently in progress. There’s a collaboration coming with country singer Nick Edwards, festivals booked, and mentorship from Dave Wiggins helping her navigate the industry more strategically. 2026, she says, is looking good.

When I ask what advice she’d give to other young artists, her answer is grounded. Stay true to yourself. Work hard. Don’t copy someone else – carve your own lane. “Never give up because you’ll feel at times you want to,” she says. Then she adds something that stays with me. “If it wasn’t for my music I probably wouldn’t be here.” That’s the core of it. Music didn’t just give her ambition. It gave her survival.

Olivia Lynn is still at the beginning of her story, but she carries herself with a clarity that feels rare. She’s turned pain into power, support into strength, and ambition into action. And if this is what 20 looks like for her, I can’t wait to see what comes next.

Listen and follow Olivia Lynn: https://linktr.ee/olivialynnuk

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From 26 to 28 June 2026, hundreds of grassroots venues will take part in Everywhere At Once, a coordinated national weekend led by Music Venue Trust and supported by The National Lottery. Instead of one fenced-off site, the festival unfolds in towns and cities across the country, from Inverness to Penzance. Independent rooms, local promoters and high street venues will host their own shows under one shared banner, creating a collective moment built around the spaces that keep live music alive year-round.

It’s a simple but important shift in thinking. Rather than pulling people towards one major location, Everywhere At Once pushes energy back into local communities. The same rooms that have nurtured first gigs, midweek tours and breakthrough moments now become part of something national, without losing their identity. No campsite. No trek. Just your local venue doing what it does best.

Music Venue Trust has been vocal for years about the pressures facing grassroots spaces. Rising costs, fragile margins and the long recovery from the pandemic have left many venues balancing passion with survival. With The National Lottery backing this initiative, the focus isn’t just on programming a busy weekend. It’s about visibility and practical support. The festival is being delivered in partnership with organisations including Save Our Scene and the Association of Independent Promoters, helping ensure venues and promoters across the country are supported while strengthening the network that underpins live music in the UK.

The partnership also builds on previous collaborations that helped kickstart live music after lockdowns. Everywhere At Once feels like the next chapter – less emergency response, more collective statement. A reminder that live music doesn’t only happen in arenas or on festival main stages. It happens in 100-cap rooms above pubs, in community-run spaces, in converted warehouses and on high streets that rely on culture to stay vibrant.

What makes this initiative resonate is how it utilises the infrastructure that already exists. Grassroots venues and independent promoters are used to grafting behind the scenes. They know their audiences. They know their artists. By aligning those efforts over one weekend, the impact multiplies without compromising the intimacy that makes these spaces special.

Audiences will also have the option to support music and youth charities at point of purchase, including War Child, Nordoff and Robbins, Help Musicians UK and Teenage Cancer Trust. It’s another reminder that grassroots culture often carries a wider sense of responsibility and care.

Full line-ups and individual shows are still to be announced, but that’s almost secondary. The real story here is the collaboration itself. Hundreds of venues choosing to move together. Promoters thinking boldly about what their rooms can be. Communities being invited to show up for the places on their doorstep rather than waiting for something to come to them.

We’ve already seen the power of collective moments this year through Independent Venue Week in January, and in April initiatives like Seed Sounds Weekender will bring another nationwide push for live music into local spaces. Everywhere At Once sits alongside these efforts but in its own lane – landing in the middle of summer and turning what would have been a festival weekend into something rooted in high streets and hometown venues instead.

For Fleckies, this is exactly the kind of initiative worth spotlighting. It recognises that culture is local first. That scenes are built by the people who unlock the doors, run the bar, book the bands and turn up on a mid-week night. Everywhere At Once doesn’t try to replace the big summer festivals. It reframes the conversation. It asks what happens if we treat our grassroots venues as the main event.

For three days in June, the artists will play, the venues will host, and communities across the UK will gather in the rooms that matter most – closer to the music, closer to home.

Tickets and info: Details to be announced soon

Follow: @musicvenuetrust #everywhereatonce

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Maddox grew up in Northampton, but not in a way most people would expect. He spent his childhood in a Christian commune just outside town – an environment he describes as intense and sheltered, yet filled with music and community. “I grew up in a pretty unconventional environment,” he tells me. “It was intense, sheltered in some ways, but also full of music and community.” That combination of structure and isolation left its mark. Northampton itself, with its underdog grit and lack of gloss, shaped him too. “It’s not flashy. You have to build things yourself. I think that gave me hunger.” There’s something in that which feels distinctly Northampton – no one hands you the blueprint, you sketch it yourself.

Music was always present, but it wasn’t immediately a career plan. It became something more when he realised it was the only place his thoughts seemed to settle. “I remember writing songs as a teenager and thinking, this is the only time my head feels quiet.” That line stayed with me. For a lot of creatives, art begins as survival before it ever becomes ambition. After university, he was signed, and for a brief moment it all felt official. But it was being dropped not long after that became the real turning point. “Getting dropped was the moment it became a calling,” he says. “I had to decide whether I loved it enough to carry on without the shiny stuff. I did.” It’s easy to celebrate the signing. It’s harder to stay when the contract disappears.

Guitar came first for Maddox. He learned to play so he could write, and that rhythmic, percussive foundation still underpins his songs now. Even when he’s sat at a piano, he says he’s thinking like a guitarist. The instrument gives his music momentum, but it’s the songwriting that gives it meaning. He describes his sound as “anthemic, emotional pop rock with a bit of grit” – big choruses, honest lyrics, something people can shout back at him after hearing it once. Influences like Bruce Springsteen and Ryan Adams show up in the storytelling, while bands like Coldplay inspire the sense of scale. But more than anything, it’s life that shapes the sound. “Therapy, heartbreak, faith, losing faith, getting back up again – it all finds its way into the songs.” There’s no detachment there. It’s lived-in.

Being from Northampton has grounded him in ways he doesn’t take for granted. Places like The Roadmender were formative – seeing touring artists pass through town and realising it was possible. “There’s something about Northampton artists,” he says. “We graft. No one hands you anything.” Playing his hometown still hits differently. “There’s history in the room. Family. Old friends. Teachers.” That sense of roots feels important, especially in an industry that can pull you away from yourself if you’re not careful.

Songwriting, for Maddox, is rarely abstract. He admits he’s tried hiding behind clever metaphors, but the songs that resonate most are the ones that tell the truth. Internal Family Systems therapy has shaped his writing deeply, particularly on tracks like Talk to You. “A lot of my writing comes from conversations with my younger self,” he says. He’s constantly observing, half present and half narrating the moment. It’s vulnerable work, but that vulnerability is the point. The honesty is what connects.

Career highs have come in waves. Supporting artists like Will Young and Lucy Spraggan on tour stands out – walking onto stages where the audience doesn’t know you and winning them over song by song. “That feeling is addictive,” he says. But equally defining was releasing his album Waiting for the World to Turn independently and watching it find its audience. That moment proved he could build something on his own terms. In a world obsessed with quick wins, independence can be the bravest move.

The industry, of course, hasn’t been smooth. Being dropped by a major label knocked his confidence, and there were years of questioning everything. Add mental health struggles and self-worth into the mix and the path hasn’t been linear. What he’s learned is that resilience is rarely dramatic. “It’s just getting up again,” he says. “Sending the email. Writing the next song. Playing the next gig even if twenty people turn up.” There’s something powerful about that simplicity. It’s not glamorous, but it’s real.

Right now, Maddox is building towards his next chapter. He’s writing constantly, shaping a body of work that feels hopeful but not naive. “Bigger sonically, braver lyrically,” he says. Collaboration is playing a larger role too, as long as it feels authentic. Live, he wants to grow headline shows in 2026 and deepen the connection with audiences – maybe even take it further afield. But the ambition feels balanced. Not frantic.

Looking ahead, his focus is on longevity and meaning rather than metrics. Creatively, he wants to keep pushing, to avoid repeating himself and make records that feel timeless. Personally, it’s about staying mentally healthy and enjoying the process. “Success for me now is longevity and meaning, not just numbers.” That shift in perspective feels significant. So many creatives burn out chasing milestones that don’t fulfil them. Hearing someone articulate that balance so clearly feels refreshing.

When I ask what advice he’d give to young artists, his answer is grounded. “Be patient. Get better at your craft. Write loads of bad songs so you can write a few great ones. Don’t build your self-worth on streaming numbers. Build real relationships.” Then he adds something that feels deeply personal. “Your story is your superpower. The stuff you think disqualifies you is usually the thing that makes you different. Lean into it.” That line alone is worth holding onto.

Creative journeys are rarely straight lines. They twist, stall, detour and surprise you. What struck me most about this conversation wasn’t the milestones, but the willingness to keep returning to the love of it. Fame, wealth and numbers are loud distractions in this industry, but they don’t mean much if you’re not happy. Maddox Jones feels like someone who has done the inner work to understand that. And perhaps that’s why his music carries weight – because it’s not chasing validation. It’s chasing meaning.

Listen and follow Maddox Jones:

https://www.instagram.com/itsmaddoxjones/

https://maddoxjones.lnk.to/nomoreghosts

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Reece grew up in Nottingham in a loving single-parent household. His mum raised him and his younger brothers, and responsibility came early. School never quite worked – not because he was disruptive, but because he wasn’t engaged. He left without qualifications, and his year group was the last before the building itself was knocked down. “I wasn’t academic,” he says simply, “but I was always trying to build something.” Whether it was selling sweets, sketching out computer repair ideas or drafting business plans, he knew he wanted to create something big. He just didn’t know what that something was yet.

Music didn’t properly enter his world until loss forced it to. At 20, Reece and his friends lost someone close to suicide. It was the kind of moment that splits your life into before and after. “Our whole group only really got into creativity after that,” he tells me. “Music became an outlet for grief. It gave us direction when we didn’t have one.” He stepped into production, building the sound behind the group while his friends rapped. He dabbled himself, but it was behind the boards where he felt most at home. He even started teaching beat-making on TikTok and YouTube, sharing knowledge openly. Looking back, he realises the creativity was always there. “I just saw it as entrepreneurship before I saw it as art.”

As they grew older, something felt missing in Nottingham’s scene. The city is proud, working-class and full of character, but at the time Reece and his friends questioned whether it was enough. So they left. They booked one-way tickets to Thailand – two rappers and a producer chasing something bigger. They documented the journey and threw themselves into the work. But distance brings clarity. “Being away made me realise the talent in Nottingham was never the issue. There’s serious ability here. What’s been missing is structure, belief, and connection.” And he’s right, across the UK, we have talent in bucket loads. The issue is rarely ability – it’s whether people are given the right channels to hone it safely and sustainably.

Thailand was where the real shift happened. Reece went thinking he’d double down on production, but instead he rediscovered his core drive – building businesses with purpose and connecting people. “I want to make the world more creative,” he says, and there’s nothing fluffy about it. Creativity changed his life, but it came through pain. “Not everyone should have to go through something painful to discover their outlet. Being human is to be creative. Everyone can create.” When he and his friends began planning their return to Europe, he told them if they were serious, they needed a bigger mission. And if you’re building something meaningful, you start at home. Only Notts was born from that.

It’s easy to assume Only Notts is just another Instagram platform, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. “The Instagram is just the surface layer,” Reece explains. “It’s about building creative infrastructure in Nottingham. Bringing artists together physically. Giving talent real structure instead of just online exposure.” That word – structure – keeps returning. Exposure can create noise, but without systems and support, it fades quickly. Stories, on the other hand, stick. “Artists are more than songs,” he says. “They have backgrounds, struggles, journeys. If you want to build real culture, people need to understand the person behind the music.” It’s something I believe deeply too. Sharing stories creates empathy, and empathy builds community.

Reece knows what it feels like to build something that doesn’t align with who you are. At 18, he started a phone repair business because it seemed sensible. He ran it for five years before selling it, then worked in a phone shop that never felt like the right fit. “I know what it feels like to build something you’re not passionate about,” he says. “Now I know the role I’m meant to play.” Only Notts feels aligned. Bigger than him. Focused on impact rather than image. If he can help people unlock their creativity without trauma being the catalyst, that’s worth the graft.

The next chapter is physical. On 6th March, Only Notts steps into The Palais with an event that feels symbolic as much as it is celebratory. “Culture isn’t built purely online. It’s built in rooms,” Reece says. “Face-to-face, where people connect.” The night will feature more than 25 artists across rap, R&B and singing – different styles, different lanes, all under one roof. It isn’t just a lineup. It’s proof that the city can move together. That scattered talent can be unified. That competition can be replaced with collaboration.

Grassroots culture sits at the centre of everything he’s building. “If you don’t protect and invest in the early stages of a scene, you don’t have a future scene.” Nottingham doesn’t lack talent. It lacks unity and infrastructure. That’s where the work begins – local artists supporting each other instead of waiting for validation from outside the city. There’s something quietly radical about that in a world driven by algorithms and ego.

Looking ahead, Reece envisions a permanent creative space in Nottingham. Stronger infrastructure. Bigger collaborations. More structured pathways for artists. A sustainable hub supported by a registered CIC arm to properly help young people. Events are part of it, but they’re not the end goal. “This is just phase one,” he says.

When I ask what advice he’d give to someone wanting to build something similar in their own city, his answer is refreshingly honest. “Build outside the box. Build community before ego. Make sure you’re genuinely passionate, because if you’re not, someone will outwork you.” Then he asks the question everyone should ask themselves: “Are you ready for the work, or do you just like the idea of it?”… and that isn’t a question to deter anyone, just one that serves as a reminder that building something from the ground up is not an easy one, so true passion is something to definitely have in your armoury.

There’s nothing performative about Reece. No inflated promises. Just a clear belief that creativity should be accessible, supported and celebrated properly. Only Notts isn’t just spotlighting talent – it’s building the channels that talent deserves. And if more cities followed that blueprint, imagine what we could create together.

Follow & Support:

https://onlynotts.co.uk/

https://www.instagram.com/onlynotts

https://www.eventim-light.com/uk/a/693ad5165a5bd13cd323dd66/e/693af2cf5a5bd13cd323ddcc

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