We’re rewinding to last November. Tucked in an industrial cul-de-sac in South London, Florence Sinclair quietly steps onto the floor. Outside, a varied crowd mills about—from a handful of industry folk, who caught wind of the underground buzz, to kids darting between units as another gig rumbles just a meter away, and those who’ve followed Sinclair since their early Bandcamp releases in 2021. Hand-rolled cigarettes smoulder and flatten under platform boots as the music begins to drift out.
We’re at Venue MOT, a cornerstone of London’s DIY scene. Sinclair, cast in shadows, a fitting backdrop for the avant-garde maverick, begins. They're unassuming but hypnotizing, casting spells, emotionally charged.
Since that night, Sinclair’s been busy: a string of shows across the US, several UK performances, a slew of new singles—including an otherworldly remix of Sega Bodega’s “Set Me Free, I’m an Animal”—and the building of a tight-knit team.
Online, Sinclair gives little away. Their Instagram has just six posts, dedicated solely to their work (and birds—a balanced display). With an elusive online presence, each post feels like a glimpse into their world, scattered pieces of a larger puzzle. Each piece is another song: an insight into the rich inner world, contemplations, frustrations, provocations, and poetry of Sinclair.
There are no binaries or boundaries here. Sinclair dives deep into their identity and experiences, challenging the status quo and encouraging listeners to confront their own assumptions. Cultural references root their work firmly in the UK, with samples spanning from The Smiths to Giggs, even nodding to Skins. In 2021, they released Gentle Decay, an ambient debut, followed soon after by It’s a Big Man Ting, a raw compilation that tells the story of a young Black British boy’s journey from life on the roadside to inner growth and self-acceptance. A “homage,” as described on Sinclair’s Bandcamp, “ingrained with UK influences.”
Two years later, Sinclair released Departures, Wonders & Tears, a sprawling 21-track album. The hazy soundscape weaves influences from trip hop, grime, experimental electronic, and post-rock, all underpinned by a restless energy. In “White Horse,” set against an eerie string arrangement, they intone, “There’s no place like home on the trainline,” while in “Half Life,” stripped down and raw, Sinclair admits, “At night I can’t fucking sleep / Been around the world from A-Z,” and questions, “Is this life really meant for me? The sweetest symphony.”
There’s little online about Sinclair. In a rare interview with Document Journal, they talk about their upbringing and the feelings of displacement that run through their music. Growing up constantly on the move—from various corners of the UK to a brief stint in Canada—Sinclair found solace in creating music. At 12, they began crafting their own material, later recording albums in the garage they lived in. Making sense of their experiences, the world around them, and reconnecting with their own feelings are themes running through the music; it’s like stepping into Sinclair’s world.
Halfway through “Snowfall,” Sinclair undercuts into the night; “I came a long way from stealing bikes on the corner / I came a long way still need to get my life in order / I came a long way from not speaking my mind / Now I manifest things that I speak in perfect time.” Speaking their mind, and unapologetically so, it’s this raw honesty and curiousness that makes them one of the most compelling artists rising from the UK underground scene.—Rani Boyer