Tucked away on New Cross Road in South London, Planet Wax is more than just an independent record shop. It doubles as a bar, a dubplate cutting house and even a broadcasting space where DJs, vinyl collectors, promoters and music enthusiasts from all over the UK come together. But what makes Planet Wax particularly interesting is that neither its growing reputation nor the space it has become today was ever really part of the plan.

Planet Wax’s story begins back in 2019, when Chris was working for a well-known independent record label. He was juggling an intense workload, from his work in A&R and design to podcast production and label management, and looking for a way to make some extra cash.

“After my appraisal I was told there would be no raises that year,” Chris recalls. Suddenly he had to think about how he could “rustle and hustle a few quid to compensate.”

His solution was to start cutting dubplates for DJs, artists and record labels during evenings after work and at weekends. Bringing on his friend Lewis, known as Sicknote, what began as a small side project quickly gathered momentum. Operating from Chris’s home studio, the pair soon found themselves looking for a larger, more permanent space to accommodate their growing business.

However, finding somewhere suitable proved much more difficult than expected and, to complicate matters further, Chris unexpectedly found himself facing redundancy.

But what could have been the end of the road for Chris and Lewis turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Armed with redundancy money and a new path forming, Chris found himself awake one night with a very spontaneous idea. “One night I couldn’t sleep and designed the ‘DSC WLRD’ logo”. He sent this logo over to Lewis with a fairly straightforward suggestion: “Shall we open a record shop?” And the rest is history.

For Chris, the ambition had quietly been developing for years. He’d always dreamed of working in a record shop, and the closure of London’s Black Market Records in Soho strengthened his desire to open one of his own. With support from a crowdfunding campaign and an investment from a loyal customer, the pair finally opened their doors. Unfortunately, their timing couldn’t have been worse, as the pair opened their doors just before the COVID-19 pandemic brought the country to a standstill. Following lockdowns, a name change and rising rents, the business faced an uncertain future. 

But when Chris discovered a vacant property at 318 New Cross Road, a new chapter began. “The bar has helped keep the shop afloat,” Chris explains, while the DJ culture grew from “a small crew of vinyl fanatics” playing once or twice a week into its own “mini eco-system.” None of this had been planned or deliberately organised; Chris believes “it must have been written in the stars.” And much like a planet, everything seemed to fall naturally into orbit around it.

That natural, grassroots development is still reflected in the atmosphere of the shop today. Chris hopes visitors recognise the love and passion that have gone into the space. Having both promoted events and DJed at Planet Wax myself, I can certainly attest to that. For Chris, building somewhere people could come together has always been important on a personal level. “The community aspect is something I’ve always been keen to grow,” he explains. “Being an only child I need to have people around me, so we can all share ideas and grow as a family.”

What began as a business venture has developed into something far more personal, with friendships and relationships that extend well beyond simply buying records. The team has mostly recruited from within its own circle and many of the people who supported Planet Wax in its earliest days still regularly return for a pint or to spin a few records. That community-led atmosphere is something Chris believes visitors pick up on and lean into almost immediately. “The feeling I strongly believe is just infectious and organic,” he tells us. “If you hang around or sit at the bar for 5 mins you will be chatting about vinyl, and all sorts of other mumbo jumbo. It’s just human and real, you know?”

And perhaps, that is the simplest way to describe the appeal of Planet Wax. You might initially visit for a particular record, event or DJ set, but you’ll find yourself staying considerably longer than planned just to enjoy the space as it is. 

Planet Wax’s reach also extends far beyond South London. Regular broadcasts and the Planet Wax YouTube channel have attracted listeners from around the world. Some of those visitors now make annual or twice-yearly trips to visit the shop and Chris in person. What started as Chris’s home studio has grown into a unique space where people travel internationally to experience it. 

Planet Wax also doesn’t restrict itself to one particular genre or corner of dance music, largely because the people behind the counter are themselves vinyl DJs and collectors whose musical interests span decades. As Chris explains, “We generally buy in stuff that we like, and sometimes stuff we know that is ‘relevant’ and we know will sell, which brings other people to us, so they can dig deeper into the underground!”

With access to many of the electronic music industry’s key distributors, the team spends time each week listening through new releases and forthcoming records, carefully selecting what deserves a place on the shelves. Rather than leaving discovery entirely to an algorithm, customers can explore music curated by people with years of experience immersed in the scene. Although digital technology has transformed DJing, vinyl remains an important part of keeping underground music innovative and exciting.

This relationship between physical music and digital consumption also came up when we asked Chris about the renewed enthusiasm for vinyl, particularly among younger listeners. “I think what it is, is a rebellion against the black mirror,” he suggests. “Like getting offline and spending your money on real things that we can keep.” For Chris, having millions of tracks instantly available through streaming services risks creating a disconnect between listeners and the music itself, making individual releases feel increasingly disposable. Buying a record offers something tangible to keep, revisit and appreciate. Chris believes this appreciation extends beyond vinyl to other physical formats, including CDs and cassettes. Describing music as something almost mystical, he suggests that having millions of songs available on our phones can create a disconnect between listeners and the art itself. 

Quite why younger audiences are increasingly attracted to vinyl remains something of a mystery to him, particularly given how expensive records have become. He jokingly speculates that perhaps younger generations are spending less money on “substances” than people did during the 1990s and 2000s, leaving a little more to invest in their collections. No comment!

This commitment to physical music also extends to dubplate culture, which played an essential role in the development of underground dance music by allowing DJs to play exclusive and unreleased tracks on radio and in clubs. For Chris, preserving that tradition is vital. “Without dubplate culture you will very soon be stuck,” he explains, arguing that without access to exclusive music, “everyone would be playing the same tunes and it would get very boring.”

He offers a rather brilliant analogy to illustrate his point: “Say you’re into swimming, you could remove the pools and use a high tech swimming simulator to experience, but you’d not be swimming.”

However, preserving these traditions doesn’t come without significant challenges. Despite Planet Wax’s popularity, operating an independent record shop in 2026 comes with significant financial pressures. “The biggest challenges for us at the moment would be firstly the rising cost of record manufacturing, record labels and artists selling exclusively direct to customers,” Chris explains. While direct-to-consumer sales can benefit artists and labels, they also make it difficult for independent retailers to compete. Chris points out that customers have become increasingly accustomed to shopping online, making it harder to encourage people through the doors when there isn’t an event taking place. Striking that balance between booking established events that attract larger audiences and providing opportunities for newer, emerging brands presents another challenge. But, Chris is very keen to give everyone a chance to shine.

With Planet Wax approaching seven years since its beginnings, Chris isn’t particularly interested in an ambitious expansion strategy. “I think I am so so happy just preserving and improving what we do right now,” he explains, adding that his priority is to “nurture the community as best we as a team can.” Rather than attempting to become something entirely different, Chris seems more interested in strengthening what Planet Wax already does. And that’s what we love about this venue.

There is, however, one area receiving renewed attention. The Planet Wax record label is being revitalised, providing a platform for artists within the community to release their music. As Chris enthusiastically puts it, “the mission is back on”! 

Planet Wax started with someone trying to make a little extra money cutting dubplates, a friend willing to join the adventure and the courage to pursue a dream. Looking back at the business’s original crowdfunding campaign, Chris remembers one particular line: “Let’s write some history.”

Now, nearly seven years later, it’s difficult to argue that Planet Wax hasn’t done exactly that. Through thousands of records, countless conversations, new musical discoveries and a space that continues to evolve, an unexpected business venture has become an established and cherished part of London’s underground music scene.

And while the future remains unpredictable for independent music spaces… Chris seems quite content on keeping those records turning!

You can find Planet Wax on their website here: https://planetwax.net

And on Instagram here: https://www.instagram.com/planet.wax

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For Stormy J, music has never fitted neatly into one category. Describing herself as eclectic and occasionally indecisive when it comes to her interests, she has always been drawn to different musical worlds. As she jokes: “How very Gemini of me!” But rather than choosing between these influences, she worked out a way to bring them all together. Stormy J brings a fresh take to the dancefloor, with jab-house now offering a fast-paced fusion of Grenadian jab jab traditions, Trinidadian soca, house, techno and underground rave culture. Typically sitting around 160 BPM, the sound challenges conventional expectations of house music while placing Caribbean culture and art firmly at its core.

Credit: Dexter Prinsloo

That relationship between different musical identities has deep roots in her family history. Her maternal grandfather, Cape James, came from Grenada – affectionately known as Jab Jab Nation. Her grandmother came from Trinidad and Tobago, the birthplace of soca music. On her father’s side, her family is Jamaican. With Caribbean music and carnival traditions forming such an important part of her upbringing, their influence on her artistic identity was almost inevitable. And her family’s involvement in carnival culture extends well beyond attending the celebrations. Both of her parents are official Notting Hill Carnival judges, while her grandfather co-founded Ebony Steelband alongside Winston ‘P’ Joseph in 1969. The band began rehearsing in her grandfather’s garden shed in Acton, at a time when Caribbean communities in Britain faced widespread racial discrimination and hostility.

Stormy J recalls how racist neighbours would throw banana skins over the fence during rehearsals. Despite this, her grandfather refused to abandon what they were building. Ebony went on to become one of the UK’s most successful steelbands, winning numerous National Panorama titles and receiving the Queen’s Award for Voluntary Service in 2005. Beyond its musical achievements, the band has also helped introduce younger generations to steelpan and Caribbean culture through workshops, education and community opportunities. For Stormy J, upholding and celebrating that legacy remains very relevant to her experiences and motivations as an artist. One of her recent jab-house videos attracted more than 71,000 views online, but alongside that attention came a flood of racist comments. This experience served as a difficult reminder that, even generations later, artists can still encounter hostility simply for celebrating their cultural identities and community successes. Her grandfather’s resilience has become an important influence on how Stormy J approaches her music, DJing and wider creative work. That same determination to stand proudly in her identity, without compromising or diminishing any part of herself, shines through in her own artistic expression. As she explains: “You can honour the traditions that came before you while finding new ways to carry them into the future.”

Stormy J and DJ Krust at Malcom X Centre 2025

There is another significant musical influence within this impressively creative family. Stormy J’s uncle was Drummie Zeb, the drummer and vocalist from British reggae band Aswad, whose willingness to experiment helped bring reggae to audiences around the world. What Stormy J particularly admires about her uncle is his ambition and fearlessness. Rather than treating musical genres as fixed boundaries, she has drawn inspiration from his willingness to explore unfamiliar sounds and to challenge commercial expectations. That influence is reflected in her own determination to push house music beyond its conventional structures.

Her wider musical tastes are equally diverse. Having grown up listening to hip-hop, soul, jazz and UK garage, she sees genres as interconnected rather than existing independently of one another. Interestingly, her journey into DJing this kind of music actually began through a slightly different route. Stormy J studied Multimedia Journalism at Bournemouth University, where radio formed a large part of her broadcast journalism training. In 2017, she aired her first show on Funky Essex 103.7 FM. Even then, she was already combining genres by playing grime and house music back-to-back. It wasn’t until 2019 that she taught herself properly how to DJ, inspired by the selectors around her at Westside Radio. Rather than simply playing one track after another, she began to recognise the creative possibilities of transforming and reinterpreting music through performance. Furthermore, she has always admired the rebellious and independent spirit of pirate radio. She cites Sue Carpenter, who established a pirate radio station in Los Angeles, as an important inspiration. Carpenter’s determination to continue broadcasting despite considerable obstacles left a lasting impression on her.

During the summer of 2024, after several years of experimenting with the idea of soca-house, Stormy J began to feel that she was approaching something distinct. Although she had already explored a variety of combinations of Caribbean rhythms with house music, the results hadn’t quite embodied exactly what she wanted to express. Determined to develop the jab-house sound further, she spent that summer dedicated to nothing but genre experimentation. Eventually, she arrived at a combination that felt right and coined the term jab-house. 

What emerged was not simply a faster variation of house music. Stormy J created a sound that could carry its own cultural identity and purpose. By bringing Grenadian jab jab traditions together with soca, house, techno and rave music, Stormy J had found a way to represent different aspects of her identity – without her feeling the need to compromise on any of them. As she explains: “I like to think of it as music that connects ancestry with the future.” That description feels particularly fitting given her family background. The choice of tempo is also interesting. At approximately 160 BPM, jab-house sits considerably faster than conventional house music. But Stormy J is keen to emphasise that speed alone doesn’t define this genre. For her, freedom is particularly important when exploring Grenadian jab jab, which she feels is frequently misunderstood and overlooked as part of Caribbean culture. 

Developing an unfamiliar genre inevitably involves finding an audience willing to embrace something new, Stormy J found early encouragement from Bristol’s underground music scene.

Jonesy, Atki2 and Dub Boy, from the Bristol club night Ruffnek Diskotek, were among the first to recognise what she was creating. Having discovered her work online, they invited her to perform her first ever jab-house DJ set in early 2025. At the time, Stormy J was still living in Essex, and she was genuinely surprised that a Bristol club night had discovered her music. The connection, however, made sense. Ruffnek Diskotek’s residents had spent years championing music influenced by Caribbean sounds and rave culture, so they immediately understood the direction she was exploring.

The experience proved unexpectedly significant. Having developed such a strong connection with Bristol’s musical community, Stormy J decided to move to the city just a few months later.

In a way, it’s a lovely reminder of how an opportunity within grassroots music can have consequences far beyond just a single performance. In this case, one booking really did change the direction of her life forever.

But Stormy J is only just getting started, and her ambitions extend beyond simply establishing jab-house as a recognisable sound. For decades, Caribbean music has influenced the development of dance music across the world – appearing through samples, rhythms and musical ideas. Stormy J wants to see those contributions recognised more explicitly, with Caribbean culture treated not merely as an influence but as a central part of electronic music’s identity and future. She hopes that jab-house can honour previous generations and encourage further future artists of all genres to challenge musical conventions, too.

This underlying vision that connects everything – from the nostalgic influence of her grandfather’s garden shed in Acton to the underground dancefloors where her own music is now finding an audience – is what makes Stormy J such a unique, wonderful artist. Her ambition to create, experiment and preserve cultural expression is genuinely inspiring, creating something new that doesn’t leave the past behind. 

And as she puts it: “Caribbean electronic music is the future.”

Discover more and follow Stormy J: https://linktr.ee/stormyj_music

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Long before Revelle27, Laurie was a relatively shy kid growing up in Northampton, surrounded by music. His dad had booked bands while at university in the seventies and took him to Jethro Tull concerts, where Laurie became fascinated by percussion. His mum was a rocker too, complete with leather jacket and Harley-Davidson.

When the family moved to Kettering at the age of ten, Laurie found friends who shared his obsession. Although he wasn’t allowed to study music at A-level, that didn’t stop the band practices, constant swapping of discoveries and hours spent playing drums.

“Growing up around people that were also excited about music inspired me to be a part of that on a bigger scale,” he remembers.

Initially drawn to nu-metal and heavier sounds, Laurie found himself equally fascinated by electronic music after discovering Aphex Twin. The contrast of harshness and beauty, darkness and playfulness, felt familiar, even if the way those sounds were created was completely mysterious.

“I was always drawn to energy,” he explains. “When I began making electronic music the only thing I really understood was rhythm. Everything else around that was like playing a game, trying things out and throwing things around until it made any kind of sense.”

That curiosity eventually led to Just Kiddin, the duo Laurie formed with his friend Lewis Thompson. Their early studio sessions were less about plotting a career and more about two mates spending time together making music.

“We just loved it. We were really good friends so ‘studio sessions’ were just how we hung out.”

After putting together around ten tracks, Lewis sent them to labels. Eight were signed, forming their first two EPs. Before long, the pair were playing shows across Europe and eventually America.

“It was pretty surreal,” Laurie admits.

Those years brought opportunities neither could have predicted, alongside a considerable education in the realities of the industry. Laurie describes it as a wild place to navigate, particularly when it comes to protecting yourself and understanding the business behind the music.

Creatively, though, he was still experimenting. Working within a duo had given him incredible experiences, but there were ideas and emotions he wanted to explore independently.

“Doing something solo as a producer really does open things up. That allowed me to express myself in a much more personal way that wouldn’t have been possible as a duo.”

Revelle27 first emerged in 2020, initially as a way to put his own name to collaborations. Originally releasing as Revelle, he added the 27 after a German singer with the same name kindly asked him to make an adjustment.

At the time, it was simply another creative outlet. Laurie couldn’t have known how important it would eventually become.

Life changed profoundly when he stepped away from music while caring for his mum, who later passed away. The experience altered not only his relationship with creativity, but his understanding of what music could offer.

“I’ve always been moved by the power of art,” he tells me. “And the more you’ve been through in life, the more susceptible I think you are to it. The more meaning you will find in it.”

He had already been working on music that would become REVELATIONS for around a year before losing his mum. Without consciously setting out to make a concept album, he had begun exploring his thoughts and emotions through the tracks.

“Without any real planning or intention, I was beginning to tell the story.”

What followed was an album that holds grief, love, vulnerability and hope together through electronic music. And perhaps one of the most moving parts of Laurie’s story is understanding why he chose dance music to express something so deeply personal.

“Dance music gave my mum joy, energy, a distraction from her pain,” he explains. “There’s something therapeutic about the repetitive groove and emotional journey.”

For Laurie, grief was never going to fit neatly into sombre melodies or a single emotional state.

“Grief isn’t a strictly sombre experience, it’s a clash of many intense feelings. I wanted to create something where I was able to express all my emotions, but also feel energised or elevated.”

It’s something I found myself thinking about while listening to REVELATIONS. Dance music has this extraordinary ability to hold completely different feelings at once. A track can make you want to move while simultaneously bringing something deeply emotional to the surface. Laurie’s music seems to understand that those feelings don’t have to contradict one another.

But perhaps the most unexpected part of creating REVELATIONS came after sharing it.

The album has now been out for a year, and the songs that began as a way for Laurie to process his own experiences have gradually taken on meaning for other people. Listeners have reached out with their own stories of grief, finding something familiar in music that was originally so personal.

“When you share anything you’ve been through with someone, if they’ve been through something similar it creates a really deep bond,” he says.

“I never thought I had any answers, but the fact that these songs created by pain and anguish now serve to help others navigate that is something pretty extraordinary.”

It was releasing Mother that first made Laurie recognise the wider potential of the project. What began as something he needed for himself was becoming something other people needed too.

“That’s really where my drive comes from now.”

That understanding sits at the centre of Dance Music Therapy, the label and wider concept Laurie is developing around emotionally resonant electronic music.

“The name helps to guide me in the right direction and keep me in tune with what I’m doing it for,” he explains. “It’s not about me, it’s more important than that.”

Alongside releasing music, he’s exploring how Dance Music Therapy might develop into an experience of its own.

For someone whose career has taken him around the world, Laurie also remains connected to the smaller community where it all began. He remembers Kettering as somewhere that made getting involved feel possible, whether through mutual friends, new nights or simply knowing somebody who knew the organiser.

“It didn’t feel like a big deal or a big risk to try new things or put on an event,” he says. “I think that’s a good mindset.”

Many of those early friendships remain, and there’s something rather lovely about that continuity. The kid discovering music with his mates in Kettering is still very much part of the producer making records today.

And speaking of records, there’s a particularly good reason to discover Revelle27 right now.

His new single Force of Love arrived yesterday, 21 October, through Dance Music Therapy, marking the latest step in a project that continues to grow beyond REVELATIONS.

Laurie isn’t looking to recreate the same album indefinitely. What making it taught him was the importance of being emotionally truthful, whatever direction the music takes next.

“It just feels more important when it’s true, when it’s real.”

And despite the many versions of his musical life, the feeling that keeps bringing him back hasn’t really changed.

“I still get the same buzz when I’m locked in the creative process as I did when I was sat behind the drums in my bedroom playing endlessly,” he says. “Creating music is an emotional process that I would be doing even if it was just for me.”

When I ask what he has learned about finding purpose again, particularly when life has pulled you away from something you love, his answer is wonderfully grounded. It starts with understanding what matters to you and accepting where your energy needs to go, rather than forcing everything to happen at once.

“The weeks where I’ve created something new that I’m excited about, the rest of life feels a bit lighter.”

I think that’s what has stayed with me most about Laurie’s story. Not simply that he found his way back to music after an incredibly difficult period, but that the very thing which helped him through it has become a way of reaching other people.

From a bedroom in Northamptonshire to dancefloors across the world, music has taken Laurie to places he could never have planned. But perhaps its most meaningful journey has been the one that brought him back to why he loved creating in the first place.

And now, through Revelle27, he’s making space for others to find something in it too.

Listen and follow Revelle27:

Click here to Stream Force of Love and explore more on Spotify

For socials and everything else, head to:
https://linktr.ee/Revelle27

The post Revelle27: All the Things We Dance Through first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

Not bad for a band that started at a jam night.

The four-piece, made up of Steph Ashcroft, Aiden Pryor, Elliot Clark and Ben Hart, have been crowned winners of the 2026 UK Blues Challenge, earning themselves a place at the International Blues Challenge in Memphis, Tennessee, in January 2027, followed by the European Blues Challenge in Portugal that April.

The competition, organised by the UK Blues Federation, saw The Whisky Flowers perform alongside Bison Hip, Will Wilde, Lightning Threads and Hollie Rogers at Marshall Studios on 26 September. It was the closest result in the competition’s history, with just three points separating the top four acts.

And this isn’t their first big moment of 2026. Earlier this year, the band also picked up Emerging Act of the Year at the UK Blues Awards, making this a pretty incredible year for four musicians who came together through their hometown scene.

“It felt like the air had been punched out of our lungs when they announced us as the winners. We honestly still can’t believe it,” the band said.

“To have shared the stage with such phenomenal artists was an honour in itself. We’re incredibly grateful to the UK Blues Federation and to everyone who has supported us on this crazy whirlwind of a journey so far.”

But while winning the opportunity is one thing, getting there is another.

The Whisky Flowers are entirely independent and self-funded, and taking four band members, their instruments and equipment across the Atlantic doesn’t come cheap. With flights, accommodation and travel to consider, the band estimates they’ll need around £10,000 for Memphis and a further £6,500 for Portugal.

They’ve now launched a Crowdfunder to help make both trips possible.

“We’ve prided ourselves on being independent and everything we’ve done so far has been completely self-funded,” explains guitarist and vocalist Aiden Pryor. “I’m personally really proud of that, but taking this opportunity is simply something we don’t have the funds for.”

It’s a familiar reality for independent artists. The opportunities might be getting bigger, but that doesn’t mean the budgets grow with them.

And that’s what makes this story so special. The Whisky Flowers haven’t come through a major industry machine. They’ve grown through local jam nights, grassroots venues, live performances and a community of people who’ve backed them from the beginning.

Now that same community has the chance to help take them even further.

The response has already been incredible, with the campaign raising more than £3,800 from over 90 supporters in its first 24 hours.

“Being part of The Whisky Flowers has changed my life,” says vocalist and guitarist Steph Ashcroft. “To be given an opportunity like this feels like an absolute dream and, with all the blood, sweat and tears we’ve poured into this band, we’ve got to shoot our shot.”

For Fleckies, this is exactly why grassroots music matters. The artists playing your local jam night today could be representing their country tomorrow. But those next steps aren’t always possible without the people who helped them get started.

The band’s first priority is Memphis, with a registration deadline of 20 November and a target of raising the initial £10,000 by mid-November.

From a jam night in Kettering to the home of the blues.

Now that’s a journey worth getting behind.

Support The Whisky Flowers:

https://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/p/whisky-flowers-blues-challenge-fundraiser

The post The Whisky Flowers Set for International Blues Stage first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

It’s an ecosystem.

For decades, this corner of Birmingham has been home to independent venues, clubs, promoters, DJs, bands, artists and businesses, with different genres, scenes and generations existing practically on top of each other.

Now, a significant part of it is under threat.

Current proposals for the £1.75 billion Midlands Rail Hub would expand Birmingham Moor Street Station and widen the Bordesley Viaduct through Digbeth. The wider project is designed to improve rail capacity and connectivity across the Midlands – something the campaign itself isn’t opposing – but the plans as they currently stand could demolish or displace more than 50 independent businesses.

Among the music spaces facing an uncertain future are XOYO Birmingham, Club Colette, The Night Owl, Mama Roux’s, Luna Springs, Suki10c and The Drop Inn.

These aren’t interchangeable rooms.

They’re places where new DJs and bands get their first opportunities, independent promoters build communities, different subcultures find homes and artists develop before moving onto bigger stages. Lose enough of those spaces at once and you don’t just lose a few buildings – you risk dismantling an entire grassroots ecosystem that has taken decades to grow.

Selecta Events at XOYO by Prime Focus Photography

As the newly formed Digbeth Music Venues Alliance puts it: “We are not against progress. We are against progress that treats culture as collateral damage.”

That’s why this Sunday, 11 October, they’re making some noise.

The Alliance has joined forces with Save Our Scene and KISS for the Save Digbeth Block Party, taking over Lower Trinity Street and surrounding venues from 2pm.

The Save Our Scene Fire Truck will become a street stage headed up by Silva Bumpa, alongside Fleur Shore, Tom Shorterz, Faraz and 22 Collective. Over at XOYO, Fat Tony, Low Steppa, Monki and Paul Morrell take over, while Club Colette hosts Illyus & Barrientos, Jess Bays, TCTS, Beth and Act On, before the party continues into the night.

It’s a proper party. But it’s also a very visible demonstration of exactly what is at risk.

Low Steppa, whose own story is closely tied to the area, said: “Those warehouse rooms and railway arches gave local DJs, promoters, and producers somewhere to start, and gave crowds somewhere to belong.”

That’s the bit that matters.

Grassroots culture can’t simply be demolished and recreated somewhere else. Scenes grow because of the people, venues, history and relationships around them. Digbeth has become one of the UK’s most recognisable music districts because all of those things have been allowed to grow together.

The first public consultation has now closed, but these plans are not a done deal. A further consultation is expected in summer 2027, with later stages to follow. Save Our Scene says more than 4,000 emails have already been sent to Birmingham Ladywood MP Shabana Mahmood, and the campaign is asking more people to add their voices now.

Save Our Scene founder George Fleming said: “Good development should protect the spaces that make a place what it is.”

We couldn’t agree more.

So, if Digbeth has ever given you a dancefloor, introduced you to an artist, given you somewhere to play, somewhere to promote, somewhere to work or simply one of those nights you’ll still be talking about years later, there are two very simple things you can do.

Write to the MP. Come out on Sunday.

Protect the places that make our scenes possible.

Save Digbeth Block Party
Sunday 11 October 2026
Lower Trinity Street, Digbeth, Birmingham
2pm onwards

Tickets: Get Save Digbeth Block Party tickets

Take action: Email Shabana Mahmood MP through Save Our Scene.

The post Save Digbeth: Culture Is Not Collateral first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

Gigi grew up in the northern panhandle of West Virginia, in an old coal and steel town she describes with a mixture of honesty and affection. There wasn’t much for teenagers to do and the underground music scene that did exist was largely punk, hardcore and heavily dominated by men. At home, though, music was constant. Her dad played The Beatles relentlessly, while mainstream rock and alternative radio filled in the gaps.

“I remember being in preschool, watching The Beatles movies and imagining myself on stages performing,” she says. Singing followed early too, with Gigi joining choir in fourth grade and staying until university. The desire to be in a band was already there – she just couldn’t really see anyone around her showing her how that might happen.

That changed when she moved four hours across West Virginia to Shepherdstown for university. Newly single, knowing almost nobody and properly on her own for the first time, she found a tiny town bursting with the kind of creative community she hadn’t experienced before.

“I liken it to a hippie Stars Hollow run by college kids and Peter Pan types,” she laughs.

There were open mics, gigs in bars and restaurants, shows inside an old train station, a church converted into an apartment and even fields beside the river. More importantly, women were at the forefront of it. Gigi found herself surrounded by people making art without waiting for somebody else to give them permission. Soon she was going to potlucks, hunting for records at flea markets and performing at open mics herself. She met her first songwriting partner and, before long, formed her first band.

It was proof that the world she had imagined as a kid actually existed.

But knowing you want to make music and feeling confident enough to fully occupy that space are different things. Gigi is open about how difficult those early band years could be.

“I was so riddled with anxiety, imposter syndrome, and often I let that hold me back,” she says. “I would get anxious just going to band practices.”

That followed her after moving to the UK too. Therapy, coaching and actively working on her mindset eventually helped loosen the grip of perfectionism and self-doubt. Gigi had always written lyrics and melodies, but often deferred to the men around her when it came to bigger creative decisions. It wasn’t until those previous projects ended that she finally had room to ask what music might sound like with nobody else setting the boundaries.

Gigi Gold grew from that space.

Her sound now sits somewhere around Indie Americana Rock, pulling from classic rock, folk, blues and modern alternative music without becoming overly concerned with staying inside any one of them. She still questions herself – “I think that comes with being an artist” – but has learned to recognise when something belongs within the world she’s creating.

“The feeling I follow to determine what feels ‘right’ is a mixture of excitement and peace,” she explains. “There’s a certain comfort that comes after the newness wears off.”

Songwriting is similarly instinctive. Gigi describes lyric writing as “a strange mix of mathematic formula and black magic”. Ideas tend to arrive uninvited while she’s driving, doing the dishes or trying to sleep, with words and melodies appearing together before the more deliberate work begins.

“How do you tell a whole story, express complex emotions, paint a picture and make it all rhyme in like 100 words, many of them repeating?” she says. “It’s this really fun, sometimes frustrating puzzle.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, home has become one of the more complicated ideas within that writing.

Gigi moved to the UK at 21 or 22 after meeting her now-husband while he was touring America with his former band. Their relationship survived long distance, visas and an international move, but the reality of leaving West Virginia was harder than the romantic version of that story might suggest. She graduated university and was on a plane around a week later.

“I didn’t really have time to close it out in my head,” she says. “I just jumped in, feet first.”

Suddenly she was living inside somebody else’s hometown, family, friendship group, career and music scene. Unable to work or drive initially, she also lost some of the independence she had worked hard to build in Shepherdstown.

“It was like I undid everything I had built by moving there and starting fresh on my own terms.”

Slowly, she rebuilt. Moving from Hertfordshire to Northamptonshire and beginning Gigi Gold became particularly important, giving her the opportunity to form a band, find new songwriting partners and create what she calls her “own little corner” of the local scene.

That feeling of belonging to two places without ever completely belonging to either sits beautifully inside You Belong.

“No matter where I’m talking about – the US or UK – it’s both ‘us and them’ at the same time,” she says. “Both places are home, but you’ve never fully unpacked your suitcase.”

The song began years before Gigi Gold existed, with Gigi climbing out of bed at 1am to record an idea into her phone. Its verses largely survived from that original voice note, eventually developing into a conversation between her and the people she left behind. There’s happiness in the life she has built here, but an acknowledgement of everything continuing without her back home.

That push and pull makes the importance Gigi places on community particularly understandable. Grassroots venues, to her, remove the distance between performer and audience.

“The small venues, the intimate festivals, they just feel like community. They feel real,” she says. “These little venues are where you build the fanbase and remember we’re all real people sharing the experience of live music.”

Representation matters within those rooms too. Gigi remembers growing up without seeing many women participating in her local scene and feeling that unless she was exceptionally talented or lucky, there simply wasn’t a route for her. Now she consciously prioritises women where she can – photographers, videographers, designers and producers – and hopes to eventually add the right female musician to the band.

“Wherever we can lift each other up, I will do what I can.”

It’s remarkable, then, how much has happened since Gigi Gold properly entered the world. There’s been the Souvenirs EP, a record deal, shows across the UK and Europe and even singing live with Rise Against. Yet when Gigi reflects on what has meant the most, she doesn’t immediately reach for the biggest names or stages.

“It’s usually the quiet shared moments with my bandmates that stand out the most,” she says. “Most importantly, it’s the satisfaction I feel that I’m creating something I love with people I love.”

That philosophy carries into how she defines success, and it might be my favourite part of her story.

Gigi knows talent and hard work don’t automatically guarantee a conventional music career. Luck and timing exist. So rather than handing her sense of achievement over to an industry she cannot control, she measures it through the things she can.

“My version of success is measured by whether I’m happy with the songs I’ve written and the amount of effort I put into my craft,” she says. “As long as I’m proud of my work and the effort I put in, I can rest easy at night.”

Right now, there is plenty to feel excited about. New member Zak is being thrown straight into band life, songwriting is taking priority and studio time is booked for December. Before then, new single Easy Come arrives on 14 October, alongside shows supporting Jared James Nichols at The Craufurd Arms in Milton Keynes on 30 September and Liam Cromby at The Barfly in London on 8 October, before a Northampton show on 20 November.

After years of session musicians helping bring the project to life, Gigi feels something shifting behind the scenes too. “We’re really starting a new chapter where we’re becoming more of a unit and a true band.”

Maybe that’s why her story feels less like a series of reinventions and more like a gradual process of getting closer to herself. West Virginia, Shepherdstown, moving countries, different bands, anxiety, starting again – none of those versions have been discarded. They have all found their way into the artist she is now.

“The time will pass no matter what you do with it,” Gigi says. “So why not start now?”

There’s something wonderfully freeing about that, particularly from someone who once struggled to believe there was space for her at all. Gigi Gold hasn’t found one perfect box to belong in. She’s built something far more interesting instead – a world that feels like hers, and a version of success she can call her own.

Listen and follow Gigi Gold:
https://gigigoldmusic.com/

For upcoming shows:
https://www.bandsintown.com/a/15535700-gigi-gold

The post Gigi Gold: Songs, Self-Belief and Starting Anyway first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

It was a quiet Sunday morning at home. I flicked on the TV, searched Kerrang! with the Sky remote and suddenly… There she was. A woman’s head submerged in a fish tank with tiny orange fish drifting around her. At only ten years old, I didn’t understand the meaning behind that song – and that was definitely for the best – but that image caught my attention. It was unique, unusual and strangely beautiful. That single shot changed my artistic instinct to pause, look closer, to wonder why a director chose that visual, that symbol, that moment. It was the beginning of a curiosity that would quietly shape the way I saw art for years to come. And still does now. I didn’t have the language for it then, but I’d started becoming fascinated by music that felt bigger than the song itself – where the visuals, storytelling and sound all seemed to belong to the same world. Years later, I’d realise that instinct was pulling me towards concept albums.

Me with my family at The O2 for Status Quo. Music has always been a big part of our lives and something we’ve shared together.

It wasn’t long before I found myself falling headfirst into Green Day’s American Idiot. It was the first rock album I remember experiencing as a complete world – one with characters, a storyline and political themes – rather than just a collection of nice songs. Or… so I thought! I began paying closer attention to the music my dad was playing in the car. Suddenly, I started to recognise the patterns between Queen’s songs. A Night at the Opera was more than the song “Bohemian Rhapsody”; it was an audio-visual, British-humour soundscape of a rendezvous at the theatre or the seaside. Iron Maiden relentlessly channelled political commentary through myth, battle scenes and epic tales of violent oppressors. “Run to the Hills” was written by Steve Harris with intent to draw attention towards the violence and brutality inflicted on Native Americans through colonialism. And then I discovered The Black Parade. My music taste had formed.

So, it was hardly a surprise when I approached my mum in HMV and handed her System of a Down’s Mezmerize. Grateful she didn’t check the title names in the track list, she bought the album for me. Mezmerize might not explicitly be a concept album, but it is part of a conceptual project alongside another album called Hypnotize. Eager to hear how they compared, I clicked download on Limewire – and I’m pretty sure in the process I infected my family computer with a tonne of pop-up ad viruses. I did go back to HMV to buy the second CD in the end, but not before I discovered their album Steal This Album!. I was thrown into a political world of media manipulation, satirical commentary and surrealism. The irony that I had illegally downloaded an album designed to criticise illegal downloads was certainly not lost on me.

Me with my mum and sister on our way to see Green Day at Hyde Park back in 2017.

That was when the era of my CD collection began. Friday night pocket money and HMV’s 3‑for‑£10 deal – pure heaven for an undiagnosed neurodivergent kid. I picked out my albums by gut instinct, drawn to artwork that made me feel something. Torches by Foster the People was one of those impulse buys. It ended up shaping everything: Bombay Bicycle Club indie‑pop brightness, Passion Pit‑style synths, MGMT colour and Two Door Cinema Club level lyricism. It was the first album that I had heard about youth anxiety that didn’t lean into the angst of punk rock and alternative rock I’d been consuming. I still return to it. I even used tracks from Torches in mixes last year, including a mix intro that ended up catching promoters’ attention and opening the door to guest mix opportunities.

So what makes an album a “concept” album?

A concept album is where every track is part of a larger idea, story or emotional world. Think of it as a self-contained universe with recurring motifs, narrative arcs and thematic links between the production quality or sounds. It’s basically your English teacher’s musical dream. Some concept albums tell quite obvious stories. Pink Floyd’s The Wall is an exploration of the walls people put up as a response to trauma and isolation. Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs is about the slow, painful changes of a suburban area from childhood. Kendrick Lamar’s good kid, m.A.A.d city is a memoir of life growing up in Compton, exploring faith, violence and race. Beyoncé and Taylor Swift have written conceptual albums like Lemonade and Midnights.

Some concept albums need a few listens to connect with the themes. The Beatles performed as a fake band with strange costumes for Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band as they explored the concept of identity. It was intentionally designed to be a psychedelic and humorous experience that they would only perform in that way for that specific album. And if you were a metalhead like me back in the day, you’ll definitely be familiar with the conceptually written songs “A Little Piece of Heaven” by Avenged Sevenfold and “Holy Wars… The Punishment Due” by Megadeth which both have multiple interpretations. All of these songs and albums have one thing in common: the audience being part of the artists’ fictional or narrated world.

Concept albums are having a dramatic resurgence – Lily Allen’s West End Girl being one of the most striking recent examples. Written and recorded in only ten days, the album narrates the collapse of her marriage. What makes this album more interesting is how Allen chose to perform it. She didn’t want to do it as a standard pop tour – but as a full theatrical production. On her 2026 tour, she appeared alone on stage, singing the album front‑to‑back with shifting sets and costume changes that turned each song into a new chapter or scene. The show invited her audience directly into the world of her breakup.  A divorce sparked by a reaction to accepting a theatre role, later documented through an album performed as a theatrical production in its own right – genuinely can’t get more meta than that!

Lily Allen, West End Girl – Credit: Henry Redcliffe

Drum and bass has plenty of concept albums and conceptually thinking artists. Sub Focus’s newest release Contact has been described as “a modern conceptual DnB album”¹. Goldie’s album Timeless is frequently referred to as a culturally significant concept album. Noisia created dark worlds in albums like Outer Edges that pushed musical boundaries. Camo & Krooked shaped storytelling experiences in neurofunk to new experiential levels. Wormhole by Ed Rush and Optical is widely considered the first neurofunk album, let alone its first conceptually written one. Travel the Galaxy was their next big conceptual project, which solidified their narrative and thematic style in music production. Alix Perez curated 1985 with the intent to shape bass experiences and sounds that feel cinematic and deeply exploratory.

Now we women are taking the stage. Nia Archives is gracing us with the beautiful narrative linked behind the songs of her newest release Emotional Junglist. Piri’s solo debut Girl in Stem was written, produced, mixed and mastered entirely by her. Throughout the album, she shares the story of her breakup with Tommy, exploring a variety of themes ranging from grief to independence to public dissection of their relationship. We’re seeing even more female artists exploring more conceptual music releases – from tongue-in-cheek vocalists like venbee and Brodie to the unique sounds of female artists like Catching Cairo, Shirley Temper and Sweetpea and gyrofield. More prominent artists like Koven and Kyrist are properly getting their flowers for the conceptual projects they’ve been releasing for years. Becky Hill has also been releasing music that explores a different musical style to her usual sound. It’s an exciting time for the genre.

And when I look back, it makes perfect sense why this moment and resurgence has resonated so deeply with me. I’ve always been drawn to worlds, not just songs. From the political universes of Green Day and System of a Down, to the storytelling of Foster the People, my instinct has always been to search for meaning, narrative and unique voices. Concept albums didn’t just shape my music taste – they shaped the way that I understand art. They shaped my DJing process and how I curate storytelling mixes. They shaped me.

It feels like the tide is turning back towards the kind of music I’ve always gravitated towards: albums designed with intent, stories with messages and weight, accompanied by visuals with purpose. Concept albums aren’t just making a comeback. They’re reminding us that music really can still be a journey. And for me – that whole journey started with a woman wearing a fish tank.

For more from Zaba, follow @DJZabaTheFrog

Footnotes:

¹: The Return of the Album: Long-Form Storytelling in Drum & Bass | Drum and Bass UK 

The post The Fish Tank That Made Me Fall in Love with Music first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

April grew up in a happy, music-filled household in Milton Keynes, a place she points out has more than 130 roundabouts despite her being “insanely car sick”. Her two older brothers helped shape an early taste that jumped between genres. Tom would blast techno in the shower before going to Oceana – which a young April assumed was a country he disappeared to every weekend – while Harrison introduced her to rock, taking her to bands like Cleopatrik and Milkteeth and inspiring her to learn drums and guitar.

Her dad had been a DJ and loved old-school UKG and Jungle, while her mum had grown up on pop-punk. Then there were Ministry of Sound CDs and, admittedly, Ed Sheeran’s + on repeat. Rather than pulling April towards one particular sound, that mixture taught her to find something she loved in all of them.

“I think being surrounded by four different styles of music made me appreciate and find a love of something in each of them,” she says.

Dance music eventually won out. April had wanted to learn to DJ for years, watching people behind the decks at events and festivals but continually putting off doing it herself. She admits procrastination is something she struggles with, and looking back, thinks there was probably some fear of failing underneath it too.

Then she watched Girls Don’t Sync’s MIXMAG set.

“When I tell you I had never felt so inspired,” she says. April was watching it at pre-drinks and, while everyone else was ready to leave, she kept stalling because she wanted to see more. “Seeing a group of four women behind the decks playing speed garage edits and tracks was actually insane to me.”

Within a week, she had bought DDJ-400s and started learning.

Joining USB, her university DJ society in Bournemouth, gave her a community to learn alongside and kept that momentum going. “Surrounding yourself with other DJs or people into dance music is the best thing you can do when learning to DJ,” she says. “There is just constant support and inspiration. People really do need people.”

April eventually found her home in Speed Garage and Hard House, gravitating towards euphoric sounds, vocals, melodies and the occasional instantly recognisable edit alongside more underground selections. “I want people to feel emotional on the dancefloor – in a good way – and feel the urge to dance.”

But being part of that university scene also made her notice who wasn’t getting the same opportunities.

Trying to establish herself locally, April kept seeing the same names appearing across line-ups. She understood why people built events around themselves and their friends, but from the outside, she couldn’t see a route in. She was also frustrated by the lack of women, queer and BIPOC artists being represented.

“I wanted to create something that generated opportunity for everyone, not just your mates,” she says.

Initially, that something was going to be an events collective called Highly Legal. April wanted guest mixes to help showcase the first event, but she didn’t have a radio studio or expensive filming set-up. What she did have was that bright red Corsa she had just bought with her student loan.

So she messaged her friend Charley – YESCHAZ – and asked if he fancied DJing in it.

When filming day arrived, April almost backed out. “My procrastination kicked in and, to be honest, I just wanted to cancel it,” she remembers. Charley effectively told her it was now or never, so she grabbed her laptop, decks and phone and they went for it.

The result was chaotic. Her phone repeatedly fell into the footwell. The decks and laptop slid around the car. Charley, at well over six foot, barely fitted alongside the equipment.

They had a brilliant time.

“At the end of it I just thought, this is what I want to do.”

Highly Legal disappeared, the Instagram handle became Carpool Spinnas and April started convincing more DJ friends to climb into her car.

She expected the first episodes to reach USB society and perhaps her mum and dad. Instead, messages started arriving almost immediately. DJs wanted to get involved, conversations were forming around the videos and within months she was filming with names including Scruz and Tommy Villiers.

There’s something refreshing about the fact that April doesn’t pretend those beginnings were polished. “Looking back now at the first ten episodes, the quality is so bad,” she laughs. “I had no experience in cameras, filming, editing or interviewing – the only thing I knew how to do was drive.”

That willingness to start before everything was perfect is probably part of why Carpool Spinnas works.

The format itself is deliberately low-pressure. A DJ might be blasting a favourite tune while April waits at traffic lights, then suddenly find themselves being asked whether they would rather hold their breath forever or never have to blink. Mixing mistakes are laughed off and blamed on heavy braking. Conversations are unscripted, and April admits she regularly becomes so engrossed that she misses green lights.

But behind the humour is something more considered.

“With Spinnas, it’s more about who you are as a DJ, how you got to where you are or your goals as an artist,” she explains.

That has created room for conversations about sobriety and the pressure around drugs and alcohol in nightlife, representation of marginalised communities and the challenges facing grassroots venues and independent promoters. The car might be an unconventional place to have them, but perhaps that informality is exactly why people open up.

“Amongst the humour and lightheartedness of Spinnas, there are those important and deep conversations,” April says. “I think that is so important to make the scene a better and safer place for artists, promoters and ravers.”

Running it independently comes with its own challenges. April doesn’t make money from the format, and with only enough capacity to film around four artists each month, demand has grown beyond what she can realistically accommodate. She tries to keep opportunities fair, particularly because the original reason for creating the platform still matters.

“It’s something I do out of a love of dance music and the scene,” she says. “I have made so many friends through it.”

Carpool Spinnas has since worked with Ministry of Sound and Atlantic Records, but April is refreshingly uninterested in measuring its future purely by increasingly famous passengers. An emerging underground DJ excites her just as much as an artist backed by a major label.

“I always want Spinnas to stay true to its roots of providing opportunity for underrepresented communities and artists who are just starting out.”

There are collaborations she wants to explore, merch she would love to make properly rather than rush, and Carpool Spinnas live events beginning to appear around the UK. But whatever shape it grows into, keeping that sense of openness seems non-negotiable.

It makes her final advice particularly fitting. This whole thing exists because April had an idea, nearly cancelled the first attempt and did it anyway.

“Take the leap and create it, even if it’s hard and scary,” she says. “The fear of what it could have been when you’re looking back will be far worse than the fear of starting something.”

Carpool Spinnas could easily have remained an idea for an event promo that never happened. Instead, April put some decks in a Corsa, balanced a phone somewhere vaguely useful and started. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t supposed to become this. Maybe that’s exactly the point.

“You have had that idea for a reason,” she says. “Bring it into the world… PLEASE!”

Follow April: https://www.instagram.com/rillamp3

For all CARPOOL SPINNAS links: https://linktr.ee/carpoolspinnas

The post April Baillie: Taking the Scene for a Spin first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

The Kettering-born house and tech house brand has officially hit £10,427.03 raised in just over two years, a pretty special milestone for something that started simply because founder and DJ Reece Speechley wanted to create more for the local scene.

Dance Till Dawn launched in 2022 and has since grown through events across Kettering and the surrounding area, with a big focus on local DJs, accessible parties and making use of the spaces already sitting on their doorstep.

Its first charity fundraising came in August 2024, when a Dance Till Dawn event was used to raise money for Cransley Hospice following the death of Reece’s close friend Elliott Ward, who had received support from the charity.

What started as a way of using an existing Dance Till Dawn party to give something back ended up becoming part of the wider brand ethos.

“I don’t think I ever imagined when we did that first charity event that a couple of years later Dance Till Dawn would have raised more than £10,000,” Reece says.

“The best thing is that it hasn’t come from one huge event or one big donation. It’s come from people turning up, having a dance, supporting local DJs and venues and putting a few quid towards something that matters.”

And it’s that combination that makes the milestone particularly Fleckies.

At a time when towns across the UK have lost so many of their traditional nightlife spaces, Dance Till Dawn has taken a slightly different approach. Instead of waiting for another club to appear, the team has worked with existing pubs and bars to create temporary homes for dance music.

The Beeswing, the former Aura, Vintage Vault and The Wayfarers have all hosted events, giving DJs somewhere to play and local audiences somewhere to dance without automatically having to head for a bigger city.

Chelsea Marshall joined Reece behind Dance Till Dawn later in 2024, with the pair continuing to build the brand around that idea of creating something mutually beneficial for the local scene.

“We’ve lost so many of the places where people used to go out locally, but we haven’t lost the DJs, the music or the people who want to experience it,” Chelsea explains.

“When an event works, the DJs get a platform, people get a great day or night out on their doorstep, the venue gets a new audience and a strong day behind the bar, and we can raise money for an important local cause at the same time. We want it to be an ecosystem where everybody gets something from it.”

Local businesses have got behind a number of the events too, particularly at The Beeswing, where sponsorship has helped Dance Till Dawn push those fundraising totals even further.

More than anything, though, £10,000 is a pretty brilliant demonstration of what can grow around grassroots music.

It’s DJs giving their time. Venues opening their doors. Local businesses getting involved. People turning up and choosing to support something happening in their own town.

The music comes first, but community has always been one of the most important things built around it.

Dance Till Dawn returns to The Beeswing in Kettering on Saturday 31 October, with music running from 12pm into the night. Entry is £3 on the door, with profits once again going to Cransley Hospice, before an afterparty later that evening.

Ten grand raised. Plenty of local DJs supported. Plenty of dancefloors filled.

Not bad for a few parties in Kettering.

Follow: @dancetilldawnuk

All Links: https://linktr.ee/dancetilldawnuk

The post Dance Till Dawn Passes £10k Raised Through Grassroots Music first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.

Because Luke Nevett and Nevmore are, apparently, very different people.

“Luke Nevett is a hermit,” he tells me. “He goes to his 9-5 job, goes home, watches movies and TV and rinse repeat.” Nevmore, on the other hand, was born in Kingsthorpe in 2017 when Luke was given the nickname by his university sports team. Where Luke describes Wellingborough as “hell on earth”, Nevmore sees Northampton as “a playground” – something to explore, exaggerate and turn into material.

That relationship between reality and character has become central to the way he creates.

Photos by @coldnotwet

Music was already everywhere before Nevmore existed. Growing up, Luke heard a real mix at home – boom bap, soul, R&B and alternative music, alongside the sounds he discovered for himself later. Hip-hop first properly connected through his siblings’ bedrooms, where artists like Nas, Jay-Z, MF DOOM and Kanye would play alongside Dizzee Rascal, Wiley and Kano.

“The bars and the production were something I always dug,” he says. Hearing UK artists in particular made the idea of making rap himself feel slightly closer.

He started writing properly in sixth form in 2015, initially as little more than a way to kill time. He would take instrumentals from songs he already loved and write his own versions over them, slowly learning how words could sit against rhythm. Before long, he was trying the bars out wherever he could – sixth-form common rooms, university buses and, occasionally, at pre-drinks.

“I will not lie, I did it at pres to try and impress the girls,” he laughs. “It obviously did not work at all.”

At that point, he imagined maybe releasing one song someday. He didn’t expect it to become anything bigger.

Then lockdown happened.

With nowhere to go, Luke gave himself a reason to keep writing, and the project that eventually became Mindsets began to take shape. What had once been a party trick slowly became something he wanted to treat more seriously.

But even now, he resists describing Nevmore as having one neat sound.

“I wouldn’t say I found my own sound really,” he says. His influences span rap, film, comedy and whatever happens to capture his attention at the time. Tyler, The Creator and the early OFWGKTA era have had a particular impact on the humour in his work, alongside Earl Sweatshirt and the more introspective side of hip-hop.

That combination explains a lot about Nevmore. The writing can be reflective, but it rarely takes itself too seriously for long. Drinking crops up frequently. So does failing spectacularly with women. There is an awareness that his life doesn’t resemble the exaggerated version of success sometimes presented in rap, and rather than pretending otherwise, he makes that part of the joke.

“Nevmore loves a drink,” he says. “He likes talking about how much he likes to drink and failing to talk to the ladies.”

Underneath the comedy, though, there’s a more private person who doesn’t always find vulnerability easy. When I ask how much of Luke makes its way into the music, Nevmore answers in character.

“Luke doesn’t like sharing personal stuff with anyone. His own parents don’t even know that he makes music through me.”

That tension between hiding and revealing feels important. Nevmore gives Luke somewhere to exaggerate parts of himself, say things differently and build a world around experiences he might otherwise keep quiet.

His 2022 mixtape Wellingborough Road took that world and rooted it directly in place. The title connects Wellingborough and Northampton through one of the town’s most recognisable stretches – Welly Road, known to generations for nights out and pub crawls.

“I was trying to give the listener a view of the street through my eyes,” he says, “and show how the street shaped me.”

Northampton has done far more than provide material. It’s also where Nevmore found the community that helped turn writing into something sustainable. He credits meeting Leo in 2020 as one of the biggest turning points in his journey.

“If I never met Leo, I don’t think I’d be doing this interview or anything musically right now.”

Through him came connections with Hxrmz, Riice, Napps, Har-Q and Leon at LAYITDOWN, placing Nevmore inside a wider local scene that he speaks about with genuine appreciation. “There’s a little something for everybody in NN,” he says. “Rap, alternative, folk, pop. It’s a very diverse scene.”

Those relationships have stretched beyond music too. His creative partnership with Azim began in perhaps the least dramatic way possible – “I just gave him a DM” – but has become integral to the visual identity around Nevmore.

“He is a bloody genius,” he says.

Azim, alongside PHOTOMAFIA, helped shape the visual world around the TOYA project in 2025. Nevmore is heavily involved in those ideas himself, pulling from his obsession with films to make videos that add another layer to the music. Good Morrow, for example, incorporates protests and a hostage situation into the visual narrative.

“The films add more to the story,” he explains. “They give the listener a clearer visual of who Nev really is.”

That world-building takes work. Like most independent artists, Nevmore is effectively operating as musician, marketer, creative director and content department all at once.

“It’s a pain in the bloody arse,” he says plainly. “But it has to be done.”

His strategy, strangely enough, sometimes involves disappearing. Nevmore vanishes for a while, Luke goes back into ordinary life, and whatever happens during that period eventually becomes new material. When he returns, the visuals shift, the marketing changes and another version of the character emerges.

There have already been plenty of moments that have made the effort feel worthwhile. Supporting artists including Dirty Dike, KiLLOWEN, Farma G and Verb T carried particular weight after growing up listening to that world, while collaborating with Black Josh through BLAH Records on CANTONA felt similarly surreal.

Nevmore & Leo shot by @shots.by.cas

But the moments that matter most are smaller.

“Seeing someone recite your bars back to you literally means the world,” he says.

There’s something very Fleckies about that. However impressive a support slot or collaboration might look on paper, sometimes one person knowing every word tells you more.

Right now, Nevmore is experimenting again. His latest track, 8 to a 10, leans into niche pop-culture references spanning Sinners, Wayne Rooney and Clipse, while the wider sound is becoming more mellow. He’s keeping future collaborations deliberately quiet, and even hints that Neville Moore might not be the last character to step out from the shadows.

Success, if he could design it entirely on his own terms, sounds suitably Nevmore.

A steady income. Academy shows. Eventually an O2 retirement gig surrounded by friends and family, finishing with SWIM SWIM while everyone sinks a pint. And, naturally, an annual pub crawl with the fans to see who can actually handle it.

For anyone starting out in Northampton, though, his advice becomes much more practical. Go to LAYITDOWN. Meet people. Learn from other artists. Put yourself in rooms where someone might give you the first chance.

That perhaps sums up Nevmore better than the character would ever admit. Beneath the jokes, pubs, film references and exaggerated alter egos is an artist whose career has been built through curiosity, community and actually showing up.

Luke might prefer staying home watching films.

Luckily, Nevmore keeps finding reasons to come back out.

Listen and follow Nevmore:

For socials, music and everything else, head to:
https://linktr.ee/nvemore

The post Nevmore: Life, Lyrics and a Whole Lot of Character first appeared on Fleckies - Discover the best local events in town.