He is far from the much maligned posh-wave of the 2010s – such as Mumford and Sons and Noah and the Whale – yet is keen to tackle his privilege head-on rather than shirk behind a costume. But then Pyke is an extraordinary personality: like his musicianship – simultaneously catchy and slack – he possesses both the brilliant confidence and unconstructed thought process of someone still figuring things out. His debut EP, Just Cosmo, was named after Just William, Richmal Crompton’s famous chronicle of a middle-class boy. Class and social status is something that occupies much of his mind, particularly the way in which his peers appropriate working-class culture in order to follow the zeitgeist. Still living with his mum and dad in the house he was born in – his mum was a feminist punk who taught Pyke the guitar – he recognises that gentrification of his neighbourhood is damaging, but as a freelance musician who dresses like a hipster, he often feels as if he is part of the problem. The video for Pyke’s breakthrough track Chronic Sunshine is also a joyful celebration of his Peckham community: he greets market stall owners and smokes fags with a group of friends who look as if they have stumbled out of a Specials gig in Thatcher-era Britain. Although his songs don’t address politics head on, he is socially conscious, and anxious about his generation’s future: he paid £50 to hear Jeremy Corbyn talk last year, and is worried about Brexit and what it will mean for his Polish friends who live in London. This, it turns out, is one of many examples of Pyke’s judicious relationship with the cold, capitalist world he now orbits. It’s the sort of opportunity that would excite most people his age, but left him nonplussed he had never even heard Ocean’s music before, and only did it for the £75 fee. Eagle-eyed Frank Ocean fans may have noticed Pyke in the video for Nikes, too he was one of a handful of extras styled like 90s Calvin Klein models, drifting through the R&B star’s surreal dreamscape. Off the back of one EP, he managed to sell out a headline tour and was tipped in 2017’s Dazed 100 list, the cutting-edge publication’s annual chart that highlights the world’s most exciting young cultural figures. His unique look and sound – a fusion of jazz, 2-tone, Tyler the Creator and, inexplicably, the Kooks – has attracted attention from both the music and fashion industries. It is still early days for Pyke, who studied at the Brit school (but hated its “drama queen” students) and is part of a south London contingent of ultra-accomplished creatives including Raye and King Krule. It’s a lot like graffiti: you want to get as many tags as you can all around the city until you own the cityĬlick here to watch the video for Chronic Sunshine. Such honesty is something of an anomaly in an age of PR-constrained campaigns and social media strategies. Still, there is no denying that a ham-and-cheese panini kicks his cognition into gear, and soon the south London songwriter, skater, model and graffiti artist is sharing his thoughts on a range of topics, spanning the pharmaceutical industry (“I’ve never had a jab in my life my mum doesn’t even fuck with the NHS”), his past altercations with the law (“Eight big white guys with tattoos coming into my house, just for a kid who’s doing art? The British Transport Police are the worst, innit”), and a tenuous affiliate who demanded a cut of his royalties (“I got done over”). When he arrives for this interview, dressed in bright orange skater slacks and a baggy Adidas T-shirt, he explains that he needs breakfast before we begin – a slightly strange request given that it is 2.30pm. If Pyke sounds like a refreshingly different kind of artist, then that’s because he is. “Then again,” he decides, “ from the perspective of this Peckham guy who wants to take up all opportunities.
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