This sound grew out of everything we lived through
You’re looking at a blurred photograph, its subject unclear at first glance. But something speaks to you — and the more you look, the more you realise you’re staring at raw, unfiltered reality.
That’s exactly how I’ve felt listening to artists like Joshua Idehen, Mermaid Chunky, Naima Bock and Dylan Cartlidge — key figures in a new wave of British music. Framing this blurred photograph is essential to understanding the sentiment that shaped post-internet genres like lo-fi and bedroom pop. It would be naïve to think these haven’t influenced the emerging scene, yet something about this moment feels different.
If post-internet genres leaned on unpolished aesthetics to draw listeners in, this new sound goes further. It’s not just about a vibe — it’s our personal narrative laid bare.
When we asked Joshua what’s essential in his storytelling within this genre, he said “the joy of what I’m saying”, wanting to celebrate grief and tears “on the dance floor”. Back in 2020–21, the pandemic was in full swing, Trump’s presidency was coming to an end in the US, and the Conservative Party was tightening its grip on UK politics. In the midst of this, Joshua was moving to Sweden, becoming a father, and emerging from a period of depression. It was a time of personal and collective upheaval — a transition both internal and global. These experiences formed the backdrop not only for his music but also for many others who were processing personal struggles.
And yet, what comes through in these narratives is a surprising sense of joy — not the blinding kind of a perfect summer day, but the quiet glimmer of light between rain clouds. When I asked Joshua to define it, his response struck a chord: “I wanted to make some of the happiness I wanted to see.” Perhaps we’re seeing a shared fatigue with sadness — especially in a world that constantly reinforces despair over hope.
Music is also cheaper to produce now, making it more accessible than ever. This shift has bred an openness towards imperfection and even a fondness for what might once have been called “weird”.
It’s why so many musicians today aren’t afraid to expose their struggles — mental health battles, identity crises, the weight of an uncertain future. But instead of simply venting, they turn pain into poetry, layering spoken word over electronic textures, blending folk storytelling with hip-hop rhythms. They portray reality as it is — no filters, no posturing, just capturing that flicker of hope hidden in the chaos.
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