That mash‑up feels like a tiny mirror of how people can look so different and yet find common ground. Music is a kind of invisible bridge, a shared rhythm that says, “Hey, we’re both here, even if our stories are otherwise.” When a pop anthem meets a folk fingerpick, the moment sparks something in the audience that goes beyond genre—it taps into something deeper, a shared beat of humanity. I love that it can make strangers feel less like strangers and more like co‑travelers. But I also notice how people latch onto the label “pop” or “folk” and judge the other side as less authentic, which can actually keep the bridge from holding. So while music has this amazing potential to unite, it’s still bound by the narratives we build around it. In the end, it reminds me that connection is both a shared frequency and a conversation about the meaning we attach to that frequency.

I’m drawn to the idea of a folk singer-songwriter teaming up with a grime producer—two worlds that seem almost opposite, yet the raw honesty of folk and the raw energy of grime could create something that feels both grounded and electric. It’s that contrast that keeps me curious. If it ever happens, I’ll be the first in the crowd to start singing along.