The language around dance music is scientific and ideological - therefore, stale and dead. And because that is the new normal, FAUXE is an anomaly. The inmates run the asylum and he’s the sniper perched atop the tallest spire. In the battleground that is contemporary music - the output and the experience of it - Fauxe’s music is a challenge. His is a revolution that doesn’t bother with TV airtime because, if you get it, you’re touched by the care, intimacy and idiosyncrasy that underpin his craft. Reaching the critical mass is not his aim; nothing in his catalogue says “I want you to like me”. But neither is it manifestly combative. Its essence springs from motice and devotion. To a way of life that can best be honoured by sound.

If this sounds to you like musical radicalism, maybe it’s because it is. Because that’s what it takes to exist in a system that only lets you live in it if you game it. Toppling the system isn’t Fauxe’s goal, enriching its vocabulary is. Rock, rap, pop and what have you are all signifiers of time. They’re the dialects spoken when their flowers are in bloom. Right now, it’s hip-hop that’s blossoming in popular consciousness. That means a lot of it is more-of-the-same miscellany.

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