In the space of 18 months, producer, singer and DJ Fred Gibson’s artist moniker has morphed from a propulsive statement of forward momentum to a sigh of resignation at his sheer ubiquity (Fred? Again?!). You can’t move for the south Londoner’s influence, be it producing pop’s A-class (Ed Sheeran, Pink, Aitch, etc), dominating festivals (both Glastonbury and Coachella, the latter alongside Skrillex and Four Tet), or inflaming the ire of the gatekeepers of electronic music who balk at his aristocratic lineage (earls and barons feature heavily in his family tree) and the twee catharsis of his trio of diaristic Actual Life albums. A recent article exploring his dominance of streaming, radio, TV idents and niche memes compared him to Coldplay; both make deeply uncool, broad-strokes emotional music to unite and soothe.
Not that the people crammed into north London hotbox Alexandra Palace seem to care what anyone thinks. Tonight is the first of four sold-out shows, with demand for tickets so high Gibson could easily have upgraded to Wembley Stadium. Before he even appears on stage, groups of twentysomething lads with close fades and Carhartt cross-body bumbags strip their tops off, while women climb on shoulders within a few seconds of opener Kyle (I Found You). But it’s a surprisingly muted start, the song’s tactile beats, wheezing riff and looped lyrical aphorisms slowly spreading across a crowd clearly up for something to sink their teeth into.
