When 17-year-0ld Danny Donelly got a bank loan to open a record shop and sell dancefloor-filling electronic music, he little knew how he would help revolutionise his town and dance music at large

In the early 1990s, the suburban town of Romford was known for three things. It was the home of the world’s best snooker player, Steve Davis. It was where people placed bets at Romford dog track, over a dinner of chicken in a basket. And for those in the know, it was where the UK’s best underground dance music was bought and sold.

That pedigree was immortalised by Romford’s most famous musical act, Underworld, with frontman Karl Hyde shouting the words “mega mega mega, going back to Romford” at the climax of 1995’s Born Slippy. Those words now form the title of a new exhibition in the town, Mega Mega: Romford’s Suburban Sound Revolution, which charts how this unglamorous but party-spirited backwater became an upstart rival to great dance music cities such as Manchester or Detroit.

A new documentary follows the Chicagoan from child trumpet prodigy to Gabriel-singing icon and DIY maverick. ‘Not everybody wants to see musical genius’, he says

At We Out Here festival in Dorset in August, thousands of people could be heard singing a trumpet melody as if it was a giant brass-band karaoke session. On stage was Peven Everett, performing a rendition of Gabriel, one of the most celebrated anthems in dance-music history. Co-created with producer Roy Davis Jr, the best-known version, which blew up in UK clubs in the mid-90s, is a spiritual garage-house track about the “archangel of love” that can bring both punters and DJs to tears.

But Everett is much more than one song. Damon Albarn of Gorillaz tells me that “Peven has a once-in-a-generation voice … he’s a great inspiration to us all.” We Out Here founder, Gilles Peterson says that the Chicagoan is, alongside Detroit’s Moodymann and Amp Fiddler, “the closest thing dance music has to a Prince-type figure”. A prolific multi-instrumentalist and one-man cottage industry, Everett’s catalogue spans more than 500 tracks, across house, neo-soul, hip-hop, samba and more.

(Incienso)
Brian Leeds, AKA Huerco S, keeps raising the temperature on his once-chilly ambient on an ambitious record full of delightful detail and ASMR-inducing sound design

The sun barely seemed to rise in the earlier work of US electronic producer Brian Leeds. As Huerco S he put out the audio equivalent of 5pm November gloaming: lo-fi, low-lumen ambient and house music, flickering as if through a thicket of pine. But the light sharpened on his 2022 album Plonk, and for his project Loidis – on 2024 album One Day and this year’s stunning remix of James K’s Peel – the temperature seemed to rise along with the tempos. It wasn’t quite Balearic summer, but certainly Baltic spring or Adriatic autumn.

His new album is his grandest statement across either project: 111 minutes of music across six sides of vinyl, a scale he goes a long way towards justifying. In tracks reminiscent of the microhouse sound of early 00s acts such as Luomo, the synth chords have Leeds’ trademark degraded shimmer, paired with ticklish snares and delightful ASMR-inducing sound design, stereo effects panning from right to left with quicksilver physicality. It’s hugely pleasurable to let your mind zoom in and out of these arrangements, marvelling at the microscopic detail then appreciating the overarching sense of groove, further enhanced by big melodic motifs: the playful echoing notes in TT Stunt, or the Afrobeat bassline of Running Rich. A couple of tracks in the second half lack the adventure elsewhere, but at least 90 of the minutes here are riveting, psychedelic even on nothing stronger than a cup of tea.

(TraTraTrax)
Two decades of work from producers JLZ, VHOOR, Mu540 and DJ RaMeMes strips the Brazilian genre to its essential parts until it chimes with grime and drill

Originating in 1980s Brazil, baile funk began as a bass-heavy blend of syncopated folk rhythms and hip-hop-influenced sampling, and has since developed into regional styles ranging from the hyperpop freneticism of D.Silvestre to DJ K’s eerie and cacophonous bruxaria and the house-sampling sound of MC Lan. Coming together by sharing baile funk edits on SoundCloud, producers JLZ, VHOOR, Mu540 and DJ RaMeMes began releasing their own version in 2017 as Weird Baile. Now compiling two decades of their lo-fi productions as Collected Rips 2004-2024, Weird Baile establish their sound as a curious blend of Brazilian and British dancefloors.

Sparse, harsh and artfully arranged, the Weird Baile signature strips baile funk down to its essentials: vocals, bass and rhythm. Opener Aquecimento Do Ih Caraca embodies this ethos with its industrial sub-bass, chopped-up shouted vocals and percussive beatboxing, producing two minutes of menacing intensity. The mood matches perfectly with the similarly abrasive energy of grime instrumentals, and on Grime Do Weird Baile the group mix the instantly recognisable vocalisations on Skepta and JME’s 2006 Rhythm & Gash Freestyle beat with clattering electronic percussion and Portuguese lyrics. This connection to the UK bass continuum continues with the skittering drill bass of PPRT and the cavernous, dubstep-influenced sounds of CaFaGesTeh, as well as in the ambient opening of Pique da Oakley, which calls back to dubstep producer Mala’s 2007 track Changes.

Adored by Madonna and Charli xcx and buoyed by finding true love, the Londoner is branching out into rock and breaking the mainstream. She explains how her working class upbringing made her so fearless

Leaving the important stuff to chance isn’t Shygirl’s style. First aid kit, wind-up radio, batteries: earlier this morning, the singer filled her online shopping basket in preparation for impending disaster. She had read a news article advising households to put together an emergency kit. “I’m that kind of person,” she says, grinning. She woke her boyfriend, who was asleep in bed next to her. “I was like: babe, we’re sorted! I’ve got the water purifying tablets, everything!”

It’s a sticky September afternoon in east London, and the singer, whose real name is Blane Muise, introduces herself as “Shy” and slides into the booth opposite me at an Italian trattoria. She first burst on to the club scene with the naughty, pulsating Want More in 2016, and in the decade since, the singer, rapper and DJ has applied the same rigour to her career as she has to her emergency prepping, going from cult underground artist to rising pop star, opening arenas for Beyoncé and Charli xcx, winning a Mobo award in 2024, and appearing in Madonna’s recent Confessions II – The Film, in which she shared a toilet stall with Arca and Richard E Grant.

(RCA)
Massive in her home nation but less so outside, Angèle is aided by Justice, Soulwax and Caroline Polachek in ​a bold bid for broader appeal – but her resultant album ​can be generic as well as daring

As has often been pointed out, we live in an era where the traditional Anglo-American stranglehold over pop has been broken. Partly because streaming has presented listeners with a far broader choice of music than would once have been imaginable, and partly as a result of social media accounts doing the promotional departments’ job for them, the charts are now as likely to include music made in Seoul or Lagos as London or LA. Spurs’ 62,000-capacity stadium has recently hosted not just Jay-Z, Gorillaz and System of a Down, but India’s Arijit Singh, South Korea’s BTS, BigBang and Stray Kids, and Puerto Rico’s Bad Bunny, who addressed the crowd almost exclusively in Spanish.

Clearly, British audiences’ disinclination to be welded to English-speaking artists is a cheering thing. Equally clearly, there seem to be limits: the same interest hasn’t been afforded Francophone pop. The biggest French-speaking stars in recent memory have either dealt in dance music or acquiesced to recording in English. Belgian rapper Stromae has attracted media interest and co-signs from Kanye West and Lorde without ever progressing beyond cult status in the UK.

From Northern soul and 90s bangers to disco classics and indie anthems, readers share the floorfillers that never fail to start the party

My now-husband and I attended a wedding. The reception was boring. No one was dancing and people were wondering if it was too early to leave. We sat at our table thinking what song would get everyone up on to the dancefloor. We chose I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’. When I asked the DJ to play it he laughed and said: “That’s appropriate.” We danced by ourselves and people started joining us. The party kicked off and we all had a great time. Years later, we played the song at our own wedding. It makes me happy. Rachael, 46, Warrington

‘The day Saff came into the studio with red hair, I said, “We’re gonna be massive!” It was the missing link’

We always had a vision of mixing acid house with indie rock, and we managed to rent a space and build our own studio in London’s Shoreditch area, long before it got trendy. I had a little vocal booth called Hattie Jacques, in honour of the Carry On films but also because it’s Cockney rhyming slang [for shakes]. We spent all our money rewiring it, and that’s where we wrote, recorded and produced Ready to Go – 100 mixes later!

A selection of winners and notable finalists in the awards celebrating the art of music photography, which saw 24,500 images submitted from 42 countries

The artist has written for Beyoncé and been nominated for two Grammys, yet individual success has eluded him. Now he’s back with a new album that puts queer joy in the spotlight – and, he says, he’s finally ready to enjoy himself

In a south-east London warehouse, Uzoechi Osisioma Emenike, more commonly known as MNEK, is sitting on a bench in a makeshift locker room surrounded by semi-naked men. One particularly muscular individual suggestively adjusts a jockstrap, while another, taller and toned, removes his vest before eyeing MNEK with a loaded gaze. It’s a lot of sexual tension for a Tuesday morning. But such is the life of a pop star on the set of a music video.

“It is very gay, you’re not wrong there,” MNEK says, while getting his makeup done for the shoot. The video being filmed is for the fittingly titled Muscle Marys.., the third single from the 31-year-old south Londoner’s second album, Bulldozer!! In one corner of the warehouse, behind a large vanity curtain, a group of dancers are being hosed down while filming a shower scene. The water, a runner has assured me, is warm.

Dom Dolla’s enormous show in Melbourne’s Marvel Stadium set a new record for a solo EDM artist in Australia, and proves how the genre is dominating

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter,” it says on the wall – no, my mistake, that is just the sign for the Johnnie Walker bar at Marvel Stadium. I have a theory that what everyone is drinking at a show can tell you a lot about the mood of a crowd, and based on the stacks of Hard Solo and Walker cans strewn on the streets outside Dom Dolla’s biggest ever show, 60,000 people are in for an intense, sticky night.

And a significant one. That 60,000 people have turned out to see a DJ play in a stadium, the biggest electronic dance music (EDM) concert by a solo artist ever staged in Australia’s history, tells us something about the way music is changing – both in Australia and outside it.

Like many south Asians in the UK, he kept creativity separate from a corporate career. But after co-signs from dance music’s A-list, he’s releasing a defiant – and daringly titled – debut album

When Ahad Elley was 12, his family moved from Karachi to the UK. Quickly, he discovered his Pakistani identity was the basis of a slur. “Growing up in Pakistan, I never knew that was a bad word, because why would it be? The word ‘pak’ means clean, it has no negative connotations.” Elley’s childhood response was to disconnect from his heritage, and what followed was “potentially shrinking or hiding parts of myself to fit into society”. It’s likely a familiar story for many diasporic south Asians who, at some point, have felt the call to assimilate.

Twenty years later, Elley is better known as Ahadadream, an integral architect of the current British south Asian music scene, as well as a DJ, producer, label head, A&R and promoter shining a light on dance music from around the world. His tracks are favourites in sets by A-list dance artists such as Fred Again, Caribou, Peggy Gou and Four Tet, and with the release of his debut album, P★KI (pronounced “pee-star-kay-eye”) Elley’s star is set to rise further.

The Brit award winner on being scammed by a model agency, coming to terms with sexual assault, and wrestling with impostor syndrome

Born in Bromsgrove, Worcestershire, in 1994 and raised in Bewdley, Becky Hill is a singer and songwriter. She began making music at 14, performing in a band called Shaking Trees, before reaching the semifinals on the first series of The Voice UK. She has since had two top 10 albums and collaborated with David Guetta, Chase and Status, Joel Corry and Rudimental, and won the Brit award for best dance act in 2022 and 2023. Her latest album, Rebecca, is out on 13 November.

This was taken for a kids’ modelling agency, which we later discovered was a scam. Every stage of the process – getting pictures taken, sending them to the agency, getting them back – cost us more money. We’d wire over £100 and get nothing in return. Our family wasn’t rich, so Mum didn’t tell Dad what we were up to – he probably doesn’t even know about it to this day. As for my modelling ambitions, I never pursued it further. I was cute until the age of seven, then started to go on the turn.

With tear gas, grenades and a new law, French authorities are targeting unlicensed music gatherings. Those in the rave scene explore the parallels with the UK in the 90s

When Spiral Tribe fled England in 1992, they left behind an indelible mark on rave history. The itinerant sound system collective are best known for their involvement with Castlemorton Common festival, an unlicensed free party drawing more than 30,000 people and lasting nearly a week. After a drawn-out and notoriously expensive trial for public order offences, Spiral Tribe were acquitted of all charges. They decided to drive their repurposed military caravans out of the UK and never look back.

Their documented history often stops there. But little known is the fact that they then kicked off “the biggest illegal underground movement that Europe had ever seen”, says Spiral Tribe associate Sebastian Vaughan, AKA electronic musician 69db.

What track gets your feet moving the moment you hear it – and on to the dancefloor? I Feel Love by Donna Summer? Or We Found Love by Rihanna? We’d love to hear what yours is

There are some songs which are guaranteed dancefloor fillers whether it’s at a wedding, a club or a music festival.

We would love to hear from people about the song that always gets them on the dancefloor. Are you throwing shapes to Beyoncé’s Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It) or ABBA’s Dancing Queen? Why is your go-to song for dancing your favourite?

Being recognised by the Brits, Grammys and Drake made the singer one of British music’s most famous names – and also left her exhausted. Now, after decompressing in her home town she returns with a record made for raving

It is a sticky, sweltering July afternoon, and I have accidentally found myself at a wake with Jorja Smith. I’m told that the pub where we have met, in the leafiest part of leafy south-west London, is usually a safe bet for an inconspicuous table. But today, sweaty black suits carrying pints drift between tables, and long queues snake round the bar.

Dressed in a simple tank top, bare-faced with her hair scraped back, Smith is waiting for me when I arrive. “I’ve been waiting for my drink for ages,” she says. “But I feel bad saying anything because, you know …”

Catholics and Protestants find E-fuelled common ground at a hallowed Portrush club in Ciarán McMenamin’s adaptation of his own 2018 novel

Derry Girls meets Human Traffic in this spirited, larky and at times poignant period piece about raving and drug dealing scamps in Northern Ireland in the 1990s. It doesn’t go quite so far as to suggest that the social revolution that MDMA engendered in youth culture and spread to the rest of the UK in that decade played a causal role in the Northern Irish peace process – the way some people suggest ecstasy put a stop to football hooliganism, for example. But it does note the coincidence of the timing.

The centrepiece of the film is a club night and beachside afterparty at which Carl Cox DJs and “Catholics and Protestants come together and dance, all juiced up on vitamin E” – on the same day in August 1994 that the IRA announces an end to hostilities. At the afterparty, our heroes from the Catholic side of Enniskillen – “Skintown” to the locals – get loved-up and giggly with a British squaddie, and all their troubles, ie the Troubles, seem to melt away. “I love Brits,” one says with a spliff in his mouth. “I love the IRA. I love the RUC … If you love them, you defuse them, they have no reason to fight you.”

The late producer’s gift for bringing in elements from dance music’s cutting edge drew all manner of music royalty – and he often made them sound better than ever before

• William Orbit, pop producer for Madonna, All Saints and more, dies aged 69

William Orbit’s first band were a curious business. Torch Song had one foot in the pop mainstream – their biggest success came about when one of their tracks was featured on the soundtrack of the Tom Hanks-starring sex comedy Bachelor Party – and one in the left field: they recorded at London’s anarchist hub Centro Iberico, famed for staging gigs by Crass and Throbbing Gristle; they covered the Velvet Underground’s Venus in Furs. Mothdoom Ecstasy is very much of its time – stuttering samples, booming drums – but in its hazy synth textures and ethereal female vocals, you can definitely hear intimations of Orbit’s future approach.

​She faced racist bullying as a child – then pigeonholing as an artist. Now following up a hit debut album championed by the A-list, the Croydon singer-songwriter says she finally understands who she really is

In October 2017, Rachel Chinouriri had her first panic attack. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. She’d just landed her first major gig as a professional musician, supporting Celeste at the London members’ club Laylow. Out of nowhere, she began to spiral. “I don’t know what happened,” she says. “I just started having a mental breakdown.” Her manager told her to go home, try again next time. But that only made things worse. “I started feeling like I was wasting everyone’s time,” she says. “I started feeling ashamed.” It would be better, she decided, to go on stage and sing, “half crying”.

Tears were already a familiar response to Chinouriri’s performance anxiety: the first time she sang in front of her classmates at the Brit school – the performing arts institution that trained Adele, Amy Winehouse and more – she burst into sobs afterwards. A rather inconvenient habit for an aspiring pop star, but at least she front-loaded the humiliation at the start of her career. “That was a big milestone for me,” she says of the Celeste show. “The fact that I could stand up there completely embarrassed, with people looking at me like, ‘Don’t really know what’s up with this girl’, but I still got through it and everything was fine.” The experience taught her that the catastrophic scenarios in her head rarely come to pass. “I’d given myself this pressure of, ‘This is the music industry. If they think I’m rubbish, I’m never gonna perform again.’” Chinouriri rolls her eyes at herself.

The trip-hop star doesn’t believe in getting jiggy to songs and would choose Cyndi Lauper at karaoke. But which classic reminds him of his mum?

The first song I fell in love with
I was going out with this Jamaican girl when we were about 15, and would listen to Night Nurse by Gregory Isaacs all the time. We had a daughter together when we were 17 – she’s 35 now and works as a social worker in Bristol – so that song has always stayed with me.

The song that makes me cry
Astral Weeks by Van Morrison, because it reminds me of my mum and growing up in Bristol. He sings about his mum dressing him and showing him pictures, and my mum was exactly like that. In every childhood photo I’m in a shirt and tie and looking proper.