DIGITAL COVER | NOVEMBER 2024

Words: Laura ‘Hyperfrank’ Brosnan
Photography: Hyperfrank via Frank Archives
Art Design: Adam Gill

If you’re an avid fan of UK music or have found yourself rushing through the bustling streets of Brixton, King’s Cross or Shoreditch over the past 18 months, you’ll have likely caught a glimpse of DJ AG’s vibrant street party at some point. Equipped with his portable decks, mixer and speakers, live-streaming to his growing community on TikTok—which now stands at just over 420k followers, with thousands of regular live viewers tuning in—DJ AG spotlights emerging talent and creates fun moments filled with laughter and discovery, with locals and with passers-by. Fusing together elements of early-00s pirate radio, underground DIY culture and a busking-style setup—all while removing the barriers to entry for people to express themselves—his mission is clear and simple: to give a voice to the voiceless.

What initially began as an at-home hobby in 2022—showcasing his mixing online, a simple idea brought to him by his two children—a year later, AG took it to the streets of London, with viewership on his livestreams and post-live clips growing at an exponential rate, especially over the last few weeks. This was helped by a number of external factors: the BBC spotlighting his important work; DJ/writer/lecturer Elijah giving him the ultimate co-sign of being “the most important DJ in the UK”; and many other respected voices and platforms, like The Guardian, Link Up TV and DJ Semtex, supporting his content. Not forgetting Skepta and Jme’s Adenuga Bar-A-Thon—which, as you can imagine, went super-viral. This movement, however, is more than just hype.

DJ AG—real name Ashley Gordon—isn’t the first, and he surely won’t be the last person to take to the streets to play music live. But what stands out more than his eye for emerging talent, consistency and courage to stand out in the freezing cold, is his warm, generous spirit and heart for community. It flows through him—on and off the live stream. None of this happens in a vortex; while the internet has helped revolutionise music releasing and promotion, many artists are still finding it difficult to utilise social media, and they end up getting ignored or lost in the politics of platform gate-keeping and society’s obsession with younger talent.

While we’re all living through a cost of living crisis—from rent going up and widespread gentrification to grassroots venues shuttering and food prices skyrocketing—the way many of us connect and create community has been seriously impacted. But that’s where DJ AG comes in. His penchant for Black music and community-building hasn’t been seen in the UK music scene since the late, great Jamal Edwards took it upon himself to bring different worlds together in a bid to move culture forward, uniting us all and creating moments for opportunities, laughter, community and joy.

I first met Ashley in the late-2000s, when he was known by his MC moniker Untitled. Rated as a clasher in North London, most notably on the pivotal internet radio station AXE FM, he would regularly go viral on niche grime forums with footage from the station’s lo-fi webcam, bringing a jovial humour to what were usually quite intense environments. He would also show up at some of my club nights, back in my promoting days, to support and enjoy the grime-fuelled vibes. What AG’s story tells us is that no matter your age, background or journey, it’s never too late to dive into what brings you happiness and purpose—no matter how unorthodox it might seem—and that by staying consistent, learning from your own experiences while connecting with those around you, anything is possible.

For the past two months, I have travelled into London and spent many-a-cold day and night on the frontline capturing the growth of AG’s live show. Having personally witnessed his moments of compassion, connection, and sparks of energy in unnurtured talent, it quickly became clear that this was more than just a live stream—it was something we all desperately needed. In this candid interview, we discuss DJ AG’s origin story, and how he managed to use a number of knock-backs—creatively and professionally—to fuel what is now an unstoppable movement.

TRENCH: What’s going on, Ashley? [Laughs] I remember meeting you back in the day when you went by your MC name, Untitled. The local clashes you did on AXE FM were iconic—and hilarious!—and you also passed through some of the raves I held at EGG Nightclub. The good old days! So, let’s get your origin story out of the way: where are you actually from? Most people think you’re from South London, but you’re actually a proud North Londoner.

DJ AG: Yeah, I’m from Tottenham in North London. My first school was St Paul’s & All Hallows—I was in the same year as Jme; it was super sick—and I then went to Aylward School in Edmonton, and that was the same. I was in the same year as Big H and Bossman there. I was good in school and I didn’t get involved in any conflict; I never had a detention and I just focused on trying to be the best person possible. Growing up in a single-parent household—my mum, my brother, my sister and I—seeing my mum’s struggle and doing the best that she could really inspired and motivated me to want to do well in life. And that’s why there’s no detentions, no fighting, none of that kind of stuff. I stayed at Elmwood School, did my GCSEs, and then I went to 6th Form to do my A-Levels.

I love that you count your mother as a life inspiration—did she have anything to do with your love of music, too?

When I was 13, there was this shop called Index—it was like Argos—and my mum bought me this grey, dual CD player; I can still remember how it looked. Then I saw the mixer and was like, “That’s what I want for my birthday,” and do you know what? My mum actually got it for me. My mum would give me £5 a week pocket money, and with that, I could either get the bus or walk to school and save the money. I used to save the money, and buy CDs from HMV instead. I’ve still got the CDs I bought from way back then! I can’t remember the first CD I bought—it may have been a UK garage CD or Jungle Mania—but it was definitely UK music. My dad and my uncles were also into sounds, they’ve all got records, so what I’m doing now is kind of makes sense. And then I started doing a few house parties in South London, around 2011.

What came first, then: DJing or MCing?

I started DJing first, around the early 2000s, just at home in my bedroom. I remember being on the estate and pushing my window open, putting the speaker out and blasting my tunes. At that time, there was a lot of garage music playing. I wasn’t even mixing then; I was just dropping tunes in, living my best life and having fun. I was in 6th Form at the time and [the late British rapper] Black The Ripper also went to the same school as me, although he was younger than me. He was a known MC and when I was 16, I started MCing as well—we were in a group together called Infamous Killers. Why we picked the name Infamous Killers, I have no idea [laughs]. I don’t know what we were trying to do, but we were young and gassed or whatever. Not many people know this story… So yeah, we were doing that and then we tried to get onto pirate stations like Heat FM, but it wasn’t happening. Eventually, though, we got onto a pirate station in Manor House, and I then got onto Heat FM because I teamed up with Shoddy Crew and started doing stuff with them. But AXE FM ended up being my mainstay. Big up Pabs, man—absolute legend. I also released a few mixtapes; Misconceptions was probably my best one.

Why did you stop MCing?

One day, [graphic designer] Scribbler sat me down and was like, “Bro. I have to be honest: like, maybe you’re just not good enough.” He didn’t say it in those exact words, but we had a really open and honest conversation about why certain things weren’t happening for me, and I think I needed to hear that. With my MCing, I feel like the subject matter was good, but just how I was delivering it wasn’t going where it needed to go—in comparison to a Black The Ripper or whoever was around at the time.

Earlier, you mentioned your mum being a motivation for you to do well in life, so as you were finding your feet doing music as an independent—which, as we know, isn’t the most lucrative at the start—how did you manage to keep that motivation going?

On my 16th birthday, I started working in McDonald’s and that was my first ever job. My birthday is on July 4th, and that was my first ever shift. The inspiration was always to be independent and help my mum. I wanted the Avirex jackets, the PlayStation, my own place, but I was like, “My mum shouldn’t have to pay for this. I need to be able to do this on my own and try and help where I can.” So that was a big focal point. During that period, I was into football. Me and my friends used to kick ball outside, or go to my bredrin’s house and play Pro Evolution Soccer. Not like what’s going on now, where kids are loitering with not much to do, which then ends up with a lot of unfortunate issues happening. I think the best job for me was probably McDonald’s, and the reason I say that is because… Look: I was getting paid £3.75 an hour, but what I liked about the job is that it taught me resilience, like how to be resilient because it’s so fast-paced. You’re being shouted at because you’re having to work quickly, but that taught me how to not be the angry man reacting to being shouted at and to just be calm when it comes to certain situations. It helped teach me self-discipline.

After your A-Levels, you went to university—we actually both went to the same one, Middlesex University. How did you find your time there?

I feel like I could have done better. I should have done better. I maybe should have done the full experience and went somewhere further out rather than so local to where I grew up. I studied computer science, and I flunked it. Well, not flunked it—I just didn’t want to do it, so I got through the first year and I was like, “You know what? All these zeros and ones to make the lights go from red to green, this is dead!” I was bored of it, so I was like: “Alright. Cool. What am I good at? I want to help the children.” I had gone through a stint in secondary school where I was mentoring at Winchmore and I really enjoyed that, so I was like, “Let me do primary school teaching.” So that’s what I did. I did a year of primary school teaching and did the degree. I got through, like, eight months of that and I was also juggling two or three jobs at the same time. Towards the end, they were like, “Ashley, you’re going to have to retake this.”

That’s the reality, isn’t it? Going to uni, juggling this job and that job to stay afloat—your head’s not even in the game to do the degree.

That’s kind of where I was at. My heart was there, but my head was like, “I have to make this p! I still have to make money to survive and to pay for all these books and everything else.” I didn’t want my family to have that burden. I feel like I got stitched up [laughs], but I wasn’t going to dwell on it. I just kept it moving and went to work full-time. I had various jobs: I worked at Sainsbury’s, Outback Steakhouse, Sports Direct… And then I joined TFL. When I joined TFL, I was already doing my own music events. I used to do loads of overtime there to try and get my money up. But I would often sneak out without clocking out. I used to do some work, then I’d go and sell tickets for the events I was doing, then come back, do a bit more work and then I’d clock out. Anyway, I got caught for that. I was like, “Shit! What am I gonna do now?” At the time, I was getting ready to buy my own house—like, my very first house. I was like, “Fuck, man! This job is literally paying me great money. I’m from Tottenham; this is never going to happen again.” I resigned, rather than get sacked.

These times, I was with my ex-wife, and we were trying to get this property. It took me about a week and then I went to an FTSE 250 company. I started at the bottom, at like £19,000 a year, but it was a job at the end of the day. I started in a call centre and I was there for 12 years. I then went from their call centre, doing customer service, into sales, then back to customer service as a team leader before going back to sales as a team leader and going up to sales manager. And that’s with no sales experience. I became a top seller; you could say I had the gift of the gab [laughs]. Then Covid hit. I put in a big shift during Covid. I was getting involved in recruitment and things that I shouldn’t have been even doing, doing all the hours, and I was letting other things suffer. I wasn’t seeing my family enough—it was all mad. Then the sales director announced he was leaving. I was like, “Yeah, man, they’re going to give me a try. I know I’m raw and I’m not exactly the face that fits, but I’ve grafted. Give me this chance, man. This is big money! This could change the game again for me.” But they didn’t do that. He actually told them that I wasn’t ready to take over his position, and they brought someone else in. I was disgruntled for a little while, and during that period, my kids were like: “Dad, why don’t you try TikTok with your DJing and stuff?” I was like, “Nah, that’s for you kids. I don’t do TikTok stuff.” But they pushed me to try it out.

So that was the official start of the TikTok Lives?

Yep. I gave in! [Laughs] I was like, “Alright, cool. Let me give this a go.” And that’s when I started posting content. My initial content was fitness, which is so dumb. I remember being outside Tottenham Hotspur stadium—my son filmed me—and I did, like, 50 push-ups or something. I was like, “I want to go around each stadium and do this push-up thing.” I didn’t do it in the end, but then my son was like, “Why don’t you just do the music?” I made an R&B video and it had like four tunes mixed together and that did really well; it ended up doing a million views on TikTok. From there, I started live-streaming. I did my job side by side with TikTok for three months to see what would happen and if I could monetise. Thankfully, I could. When I started, TikTok in the UK was still in its infancy, so there weren’t as many DJs on the platform. I guess the beauty of where I’m coming from, that I think a lot of DJs miss, is how can I put this in a nice way? Some DJs are selfish. They just think about themselves, showing off their technical ability and not really involving anyone else. But when you’re live-streaming, people buy into you, so if you’re focused too much on the DJing aspect, you’re not going to win. I’d rather clang a mix and talk to my people, and let them know that they have my full attention. The technical stuff, you can save that for the raves.

In terms of the format, process and flow of content—live-streaming, then clipping specific parts of the video content to post out across TikTok, Instagram and YouTube—how are you using analytics to curate this schedule so it all works smoothly, as well as build up your live watchers and followers?

Follower numbers are different to live-streaming numbers. Generally on TikTok, 5-10% of people know about live-streaming, while the majority are there for the content that you post to your page. That’s why it’s important to post content as well as doing the livestreams. In 2022, when I started, I was indoors doing a combination of DJing and sitting down just talking to people, and being funny. I would turn myself into a seal with filters and make my voice squeaky. After a while, I wanted to do something different. I wanted to take it outside.

That’s a big difference from being inside your house to fully streaming out in public. How was your mindset just before stepping out?

I think we first went to Ally Pally (Alexandra Palace) and we had a table. It was a trolley but we were stationary. Then I saw SUAT on YouTube. This is where it changed for me. I was like, “What the fuck? This guy is carrying a deck, he’s got speakers, he’s playing music, and he’s causing havoc! This looks fun. I need to get outside more.” I connected with someone and they built me something very similar to what SUAT had. And I said, “Fuck it, man! We’re gonna go to Wood Green and try this thing out.” So my friend [and photographer] Chris Cargill went with me to walk around Wood Green. We went into the Cineworld in Wood Green, the Sainsbury’s in Wood Green—we were doing an absolute madness! I wasn’t worried; I wasn’t anxious. It was more the weight of what I was carrying because it wasn’t really built how it could have been built. It weighed about 25kg. I’m only 5ft7 [laughs]. That was quite painful, but what we were doing was fun so it made up for it. To go from being inside, where you’ve got maybe 200 people watching you, to now having around 2,500 people watching you, I was like, “Okay, this makes sense. I’ve clocked it now: I know what people want.”

So, in terms of picking where to go and setup your livestreams, how would you go about that?

There wasn’t really much thought into where we went. It was more about staying local but then venturing out into different areas. Shoreditch and Wood Green were close by, and then we did a few other areas just to see what would happen. One day I was in Wood Green and we were doing our normal walking up and down, and I said to Chris: “Bro, I’m tired, man. I need a break from carrying decks—it’s breaking me.” We went to the island in the middle of the road and we plonked the kit down. In my head, I was thinking, “The numbers on the live are gonna change now; it’s gonna go down.” But it didn’t. It even went higher. “Why is this going higher?” I asked myself, but it became clear pretty quickly that it was because I was in the middle of the road. Cars and buses are driving past—it’s total chaos! There’s a lot going on. They think the bus is going to hit me [laughs]. That’s what it was. So I was like, “Maybe I don’t need to walk with this stuff any more.” For a few months, I went to Wood Green, put the decks in the middle of the road, on the island, so it’s safe and I played my tunes.

What was one of your favourite moments of filming in Wood Green?

I remember General Levy drove past, saw me doing my thing and was like, “What the fuck was that?” and jumped out the car. It was crazy! He did his thing on the mic and everyone—from people passing by to those on the livestream—really loved what was happening.

Why did you stop going to Wood Green?

In early January, a few things happened. I streamed in Shoreditch outside a bar, then I had bare protection officers come to me, like: “Oh, you can’t do this here. We got complaints about the noise.” I’m like, “What do you mean by the noise? We’re in Shoreditch, one of the busiest, loudest places in London.” What I didn’t realise is that you needed a permit, so then I moved to near Boxpark—an area underneath a bridge. It’s not residential. It’s Boxpark. I’m like, “They’re not gonna mona about this, surely?” So, I was doing my thing there or whatever, then I had a viral video—1.8 million views—which shows me kind of pushing this brother a bit to regulate the settings. I was still going back to Shoreditch, like, once a week in the same spot, just catching a vibe and doing my thing. And for the most part, it was positive. 99% of it was positive. You have a couple of idiots, but that will happen sometimes. I had some protection officers come to me again, but this time they brought the police. I got arrested—during a livestream, with around 9,000 people in the room—because I wouldn’t give them my details. And then I got an ASBO, which doesn’t expire until January 2025. It is what it is, though. I’ve left my job to do this now, so I want to do the journey how I want to do it.

Getting arrested for playing music is ridiculous, by the way.

A few weeks later, I got a letter from Haringey Council. They made some mad allegations, saying that I was talking inappropriately to young girls. I’ve still got the letter somewhere. The letter is mad! So inappropriate. They said they recognise that I’ve got an ASBO from Shoreditch already and that I’m illegally street trading, taking donations. I’m not taking any money on the streets; I'm not asking anyone for anything. It was a really bad letter, man.

What happened after that?

We managed to overcome that and came to a solution. They didn’t want me to be in the middle of the road as they didn’t find it safe, so I thought, “You know what? I can kind of agree. Let’s compromise.” After that, I went to the side-road. It didn’t have the same impact, but it was what it was. During that period, still early 2024, I decided to go to Brighton. I really enjoyed my time streaming in there. Then went to Birmingham. I’ve gone to a few different places to see where else I could go, rather than Wood Green being my sole focus. TikTok took me to Barcelona and that’s where I met ArrDee. I got a moment with him, and then I went to Miami with TikTok. That was interesting... But, man, them feds are brutal! Don’t fuck with them. Obviously, you’re not meant to be DJing outside, but it is what it is. You’ve gotta risk it for a biscuit.

When did you first go to Brixton? It has become a very popular spot for you.

So, Buffy, she’s like my right hand. One day, she said, “Listen: you need to go Brixton, innit.” I was like, “Brixton’s too far! That trip is long.” Then she was like, “No! You need to go Brixton, and Clapham. South is where it’s at.” I’ve got family in South London—in Lewisham, Deptford etc—so I listened to her and took it to Brixton. It was maybe the third or the fourth time taking it to Brixton before I met Daddy Freddy. But Hyperfrank, I’ll be honest with you: I don’t know who most people are. I’m keeping it 100% real with you. And I think that’s probably a blessing for me, because then no one’s getting special treatment. There was a moment where [the American rapper] David Banner—who has a big account—filmed me while I was in Brixton and posted it. I didn’t know who he was. My head’s literally been under a rock, unless you’re…

—from the UK music scene?

Yeah, you could say that. If you’re a UK artist, I may have half a chance of knowing but anyone else, I’m not going to know who you are. That’s just the facts, man. The Daddy Freddy moment, though, that was epic. When I posted it—remember, I didn’t know who he was, but it did a madness! People were saying in the comments, “That's Daddy Freddy!” But I didn’t have a clue.

I remember seeing it on my feed, your video with him just casually spraying his classic bars. I don’t think I’ve rushed to do an Instagram post so fast in my life [laughs]. It made me so happy to see the new generation merge with the older generation. It’s also educating people of important figures, who may have not received the flowers they deserve.

I saw that TRENCH post digging deeper to show what he’s done in music, and then seeing it go fully viral, I was like: “You know what? Brixton is a vibe!” After that, every week I started going there. And around that same time I found a spot at Kings Cross and I wasn’t having any issues. Before Daddy Freddy, I wasn’t really doing the artist thing; it was more about playing music and interacting with the community. Those are my main things. But my guy Chris was like, “You should bring artists in, you know. Whether they’re big or small, let them come on your show as well.” I was like, “Bro, do you not know what I’m dealing with? Like, you’ve been out with me. I’m dealing with a lot of different things, whether it be weather, someone touching my shit, then I’m dealing with some mad people. There’s too much going on. I couldn’t possibly have artists come on with all that going on. Nah, fuck that.” But then Chris said: “Just trust me on this—you have to do it.” I’ll always give him credit for that. Before Daddy Freddy, we had a few different people come on and do little bits here and there, but I would say that first Daddy Freddy video was when things shifted. People started saying, “Oh, wow! This is what you’re doing now? I like it.” So we started to let more people come on and showcase their talent.

What have you learned from opening up your platform to more artists?

Remember, my head’s been under a rock and I’m just thinking about my own journey and what I’m trying to do. It’s very tunnel vision and it has to be that way because of the amount of hours that I need to do to make the journey work for the time being. But what I didn’t realise is that the industry is fucked! Like, even if you’re good, it’s slim pickings and there’s a slim chance that you’re gonna get somewhere. Yes, you can use TikTok, you can use all these things to go viral and there’s potential opportunities for you, but how many artists are there in the UK? It’s got to be a crazy number, right? How many people are gonna get through the door? 1 percent—if that. I respect all of the other platforms and I get that they have to monetise. I understand you have to charge artists because you need to survive. For me, thankfully, I get donations from my online community so I don’t need to charge anyone. Just come on, catch a vibe, and see what happens.

What is your mission with the platform you’re building? What do you feel like your purpose is with all of this?

It’s about creating a voice for the voiceless. I encourage people to come down and give it a go. I think it’s important to have that space, and because of the lack of opportunity—especially with other platforms where you have to pay, or you have to already be very good to get noticed—sometimes you might need to just come on and hone your skills, you know?

Exactly! Get out there and get feedback.

Or you might watch it back and notice things you may want to improve on. You’ll know, anyway. You’ll see it in the live chat—the chat will tell you what they think. They won’t hold back! There are some really vicious people out there, but I think it’s important to have a space where people feel comfortable that they can just give it a go. And you never know: one viral video could change your course for good. There have been plenty of examples of change—I underestimated the importance of it.

There was one moment that happened during a livestream in Brixton, where a woman asked you to perform. She was clearly suffering with a drug problem and was homeless. I know many people would have told her to go away, on some “she’s not good for the brand” tip, but when the moment came for you to share your platform, you didn’t hesitate.

Yes, man! Let her sing!

To see that moment in real time was just special to me. Everyone’s got issues but, sadly, many haven’t had the real and consistent support that they need to overcome. In that little moment you created, she dedicated a song to someone who had passed and told us that she was trying to change her life around. That’s when I realised this was way more than just a live-streaming show on the street.

It’s got to be an inclusive space, right? When you get a knock-back, when people say no, when people could help but choose not to help, you could be knocking someone at their lowest. For me to sacrifice a few minutes of my time to try and make someone feel happy, I feel like it’s the right thing to do. Look: you never know what’s going to happen in terms of socials—they like chaos, they like watching car crash TV, and I understand there’s a place for that. But there’s a place for showing compassion. And, for me, when you’re seeing your people–whether they’re white, Black, or whatever their colour—you can clearly see their energy is not where it needs to be. They want that opportunity to speak or to dance; whatever their situation is, it just feels wrong to me to not allow them to come on and do just that. The worst that they could do is break my shit, and the reality is: we can replace it. For me, those moments are sometimes even more important than known artists coming on and doing their thing. I have to be honest.

I really respect you for that, especially as I know you’re not just saying it—you’re doing it, daily. It’s not just lip service. What are your thoughts on TikTok supposedly “ruining” the music industry?

TikTok is a free platform for people to go on and express themselves. If I had to play devil’s advocate, I would argue that if TikTok wasn’t around, what would everyone be doing? And look at the cost of living crisis—everything’s getting more expensive. You’ve got all the events, all these shows, bars, clubs, pubs shutting down. So at a grassroots level, there are less places for people to perform and showcase their talent. For buskers, you’ve got to pay a buskers’ licence—which I really disagree with. I think it’s so wrong. The open mic events are closing down because they’re not making money. TikTok is a free place, and if you look at the hundreds of thousands of musicians, or even millions, only a few of them are going to break through and actually go viral. But for me, TikTok changed my life. I think it’s a great place. We’ve been able to manoeuvre people into positions where it’s then their choice if they want to continue to grow. I would actually argue that it’s a fantastic place for the music industry, and long may it continue.

In one of your videos from earlier in the year, you spoke about your dad calling you to say how you’ve become an inspiration to people, and how much you’re impacting people’s daily lives. How did that feel?

It was mad to hear my dad say that for the first time. You know, we need to make money to survive and money doesn’t always bring happiness, but impact, showing young people what’s possible and giving people opportunities means everything to me. There’s so many things that are broken and there’s so many things that we can do; being outside has opened my eyes more to the reality of people’s situations. My focus is to continue making an impact, while giving people the best streaming show possible.

How do you see things growing?

The main thing for me right now is to continue doing what we’re doing and to try and bring it to different areas. I think that’s going to be important, to take it abroad. That has to happen. I want to take it abroad because I play different types of music and I want to spread that joy and see what impact we can make overseas. I also want to get out of the donation cycle so I can focus more on the creativity side of things and really try to push the boundaries. We’ve not quite reached that point yet, but I’m hoping that as the message gets out there, there will be some brand sponsors and people who are like, “We need to get involved with this! We believe in what he’s trying to do.” Wingstop have been really good; they’re happy to be in the background and just support the message of what I’m trying to do. I know a lot of brands and businesses are gonna want the numbers, and I understand that my numbers are strong. I guess we’ll just have to see how it pans out.

What does the future of the format and community you’re building look like?

Giving back is really important to me. I want to take the setup to different places, and even into care homes, schools, hospices, homeless shelters, and bring the joy of music and good vibes to everyone. I really want to spread more awareness and encourage more people to empower the next generation. A few months ago, our community helped us donate iPads to a local school in Peterborough who needed resources. I want to do that 100 times over.