From Bach to Beats: Black Fondu’s Unique Sound and Vision

​​There’s a YouTube video of Lady Gaga performing Summerboy at Lollapalooza in 2007. User Ann Jungblut uploaded it on June 16, 2010—two years after Lady Gaga released her debut album, The Fame, and four months after she won her first two Grammys for that album.

Ann captioned the video: “My friend and I stumbled upon this bizarre person in 2007 at Lollapalooza and stayed because you just couldn’t look away! Who knew how big she would get? If nothing else, for as drunk as I was, this was the one act I vividly remember from that day.”

Even in her intoxicated state, Ann was captivated by Lady Gaga’s performance, even if she didn’t fully understand it. Gaga’s star power, her it factor, and her sheer determination to always be herself shine through in that grainy video. The audience may not have known what they were witnessing, but she didn’t care—she performed as if she were already headlining stadiums.

That same undeniable spark is evident in the dozens of videos posted online of Black Fondu performing in London. With unwavering self-confidence, he raps,  jumps around the stage, and contorts his body—shirtless, his sagging jeans revealing his briefs—moving with raw, electrifying energy. His first name is Reggie and his music, a fusion of electronica, hip-hop, and abstract grime, is loud and chaotic, with vocals that are hard to decipher—but it cuts through, penetrating the crowds with an unshakable force. Despite being still relatively unknown, his audience is more familiar with him than Lady Gaga’s at that 2007 Lollapalooza show. He’s supported Shame and Fat Dog, as well as Detroit glitch-rap masters, HiTech, and New Orleans punk band Special Interest. Most know him. Most know what they are witnessing and they are enjoying it.  

Born in Accra, Ghana, and raised in London, Reggie recently performed two sets at SXSW, one of which was streamed on SXSW’s official YouTube page. His ability to seamlessly blend genres stems from his classical piano training, with Bach remaining one of his favorite composers to this day.

Reggie’s distinctive vision extends beyond his music and its performance on stage. He directs his own music videos, handling the animation himself—including stop-motion—to create a unique aesthetic. So far, only two of his music videos—one for “SB 13” and another for “Another Domestic”—are available on YouTube, with both songs available everywhere you can stream music.

Then there’s the holy grail: his SoundCloud. Rather than keeping all his work on traditional streaming platforms, Reggie routinely uploads and deletes tracks, leaving only a select few on official accounts. But for those curious (and determined) enough to dig, his SoundCloud holds an extensive catalog of songs, waiting to be discovered.

We hopped on a video call with Black Fondu in February to talk about how the pandemic impacted his career, his approach to performance and music production, and why he’s in no rush to be signed to a label. 

Where did the name Black Fondu come from?

I was doing music under my given name for a year, maybe.  I went through a depression. I didn’t want to do music anymore. A couple of months later—I felt like I had a re-emergence of a passion. I don’t know where it came from. And then suddenly, I was back at it, but I wasn’t making what I used to. It was more emotional, visceral. I cared more about the sounds—like, sound design, all of that—and I needed a [new] name. I wrote 100 names down, and the last one I came up with was Black Fondu. 

How old were you when you immigrated from Ghana to London?

Around, like, four, five—I came to the UK.

Have you been back since? 

We don’t go back regularly because of how much it is. I’ve been back twice since.

Your father is very musical. You grew up hearing him play classical artists like Bach on the piano. How much of that was and still is an influence on you?

Oh, heavy, heavy, heavy, heavy. I play piano as well. As much as I am contemporary and more abstract, crazy stuff, I have a foundation in traditional/classical. My dad would quiz us—me and my siblings—on all these composers. We got a good ground knowledge of music that way.

For a lot of children, parents enroll them in sports or music classes, hoping it works out—with little input from the child. With you taking piano lessons, was that your choice, or was it more so your parents doing?

The first time I had lessons, I think I was like six or seven. It was because my dad heard me bashing away at the keyboard in my older brother’s room. I’d just be hitting it, crying, and getting really emotional—but I wasn’t playing any notes. And so my dad just thought, instinctively; let me get him some lessons. And he didn’t tell me. It fucked with me a little bit because I didn’t want to do it. I just wanted to bash that keyboard. And so I stopped playing. When I was 11, a friend of mine was doing one of those recitals in assembly. It made me cry, like, crazy.  I was feeling a lot. I was thinking, How did he do that? And I went up to him—I was asking, ‘What is it? What is this?’ It made me want to play for myself. This is the crazy part, my dad came to me the same day I was gonna go to him and ask for lessons. He came to me with an ad in the newspaper saying, Teacher blah blah, nearby.’  I said, ‘Yes!’

When you were taking your lessons, did music feel like a viable path for a career? Or were you just having fun and learning something new?

At the beginning, I just wanted to feel like I could direct my energy into something. Become really good at something, you know? I used to do football, and I was really doing it because my brother did it. And when he stopped playing, I kind of lost a little bit of passion. I wanted to have something of myself, and music just fit that so well. Around 15, 16, my practice hours went up by—I don’t know how much—it was, like, six, seven hours I’d be playing a day. I had this thing in my head. I was like, I’m gonna become a concert pianist. I’m gonna become a concert pianist!  And then lockdown happened. And when lockdown happened, I just redirected. I was coming to terms with a lot of things during that time. We all were, I guess. I wanted to direct inside more, you know? I don’t want to be playing other people’s music for the rest of my life. It didn’t sound like something I wanted to do. And I had a lot to say, you know? A lot needed to be realized.

Covid Lockdown was a mad time. A lot of people were miserable and having the worst time. Other people like you were able to find a new creative path. Your output during the pandemic was wild. You were producing like 10-20 songs a day sometimes. Are you able to look back and feel the magnitude of what you did during that time?

Oh yeah.  When I talk about myself, I think I'll talk about my siblings collectively too, because we all share this work ethic. It doesn't matter what we're doing. If we direct the energy to something we love, I think the hard work doesn't even feel difficult, you know? When I was making all those beats, I was always thinking, "In two years, Reggie. In two years, the music's going to be actually insane. So just keep going, keep going."  I had that kind of motivation. I benefited a lot from that free time, especially being so young.

You’re 22 now, right? Or, 21?

 I turn 22 next November the sixth.

You're so young, and it's amazing to see your growth as an artist and your limitless potential. There are so many videos of you performing on YouTube, and unlike many emerging rappers who yell over their vocals during live performances, you rap over just the instrumental with so much energy and presence—never relying on backing tracks or lead vocals to do all the work. How do you perform at such a high level, with that much energy and confidence?

Its walls. I was talking about this the other day. I feel like, my mom, for example, doesn't have many walls. I mean, she has walls to protect herself, but as in, to express herself and to be herself, she doesn't have walls. She's very much herself all the time, to anyone and everyone. The way I feel the music in my room… I thought that’s the way I feel it here, so I'm gonna feel it on stage. You know? I'm not gonna try to be something I'm not. I’m gonna do the easiest thing—just be me, you know?

In 2023, you were booked to open for something like 15 different shows at The Windmill. That’s wild. But, also a testament to your being ready and your work ethic. You’re tapped in. For those who aren't aware of The Windmill, could you talk about the importance of that venue and how you became a regular performer there?

My older brother was telling me, he was like, ‘The Windmill is the venue where you make it.’ The Windmill, essentially, was the venue that you go to experience hard shit and perform. And then you'll get through that way.  I heard of bands like Squid, [and] Shame, and I'd been watching loads of those videos. I made a little plan in my head. I was like, I do art. I know I'm gonna do fine art at uni. I gotta get to where it's at while also doing what I'm doing, to maximize the luck. I thought of maximizing my luck by getting to South London. By doing that, I naturally started to go to gigs and started to be part of the scene as an audience member. Tim, the booker, he put me on just because we developed kind of a little relationship. And he was like, ‘Okay, let's give him a shot.’ And he fucked with the gig. Because of my setup—a laptop and two mics—he was just there like, ‘Okay, you know if someone drops out or there's a space or a slot…’ I’ll be an easy go-to, I can fill that space and put on a show. I feel like The Windmill is notorious. You go there and you just know…it's very London…it feels very heavy. Being part of that as an electronic—mainly—producer and stuff, I found it overwhelming at times with the sound. But that's why I made my sound bigger, as a reaction to my environment.

Last year, The Fader published a profile on you. You didn’t share a lot and they wrote about that. There’s generally not a lot of information about you, even when going through your Instagram. You’re a musician and you make music and you want to continue making music. These days, people want more music but they also want more of you, the artist. This is kind of a two-parter question: How important is keeping something for yourself? Is it an intentional marketing thing to not share so much and be mysterious? Or are you just like, ‘Y’all get the music. I don’t want to talk too much or say too much’ ? 

I feel like I am protecting things, I guess. I'm trying to keep the focus on the music. Because I'm a believer [that] the art should speak for itself. That’s the point.  But I guess you're right. In this society, there's more pressure—image and aesthetic and all of that. But I guess it's all gonna naturally fall into place, you know? I'm not thinking too hard about that. I'm just thinking: What do I like? What don't I like? What do I want to give? What don't I want to give? 

Even with your music, you only have two songs on Bandcamp/Spotify/Apple Music. You tend to put stuff up and then delete it. You have so much more music on SoundCloud. This is also interesting, because most artists who want to be big, are shoving things at you. You can find it on every single platform. With you, it's not the case. You have to dig and search for it. It’s a bit of a game for your fans. In the music video for “Another Domestic” a title card flashes on the screen at the beginning with text that says, ‘Gatekeep what you found.’ Can you talk about the exclusivity of your music and this strategy? 

 I've made a lot of music that no one's heard and I’ve made music that I know I'm planning to release. So I'm kind of ahead of myself in that way. I can kind of build my lore, you know? I think it's so fun playing with that— where I'm gonna put it, who's gonna see this? I don’t want to put pressure on myself, to put pressure on other people. I want to make it more like, Yeah, I can relax a little bit and not be so heavy on the releases on Spotify, or this on this, or this on this. If I can just build a fanbase and take its time… it's nice.  It can be organic that way. I'm not in a rush. 

Going through your SoundCloud, there's a playlist called “The Introduction to Sexual Intercourse.” Is that a project or is that just a playlist of loosies?

This Christmas, smoke started leaving my laptop and it died on me. And I lost—well, I didn’t lose it because I retrieved it—but during that time, I had anxiety for, like, a month that I had lost all my music that I’d ever made for the past two years. That anxiety was crazy. It drove me to listen to all my music that I had made that I’d uploaded for myself privately on SoundCloud. And I was thinking, you know what would be nice as a Christmas present, or, like, some kind of New Year's gift? What if we release a project? I call it a project because I did think about it. I guess it's a curated project. I put together loads of songs I made when I was between 18 and 19 or something. I thought of it as building context. 

To go back to “Another Domestic,” in the song you say ‘Family ain’t shit if you ain't on the map.’ The duality of saying that and then having your sister singing on that same track. When you talk about yourself, you’re always mentioning your siblings. You and your sister took piano lessons together until recently. Can you talk about that specific line and what it’s been like to make music with your sister? 

Can I start with the sister part?

It's your time. You can do whatever you want to do.

I made “Another Domestic” September 2023, at my mom's.  I swear to you, I drank like half a bottle of Baileys. I don't know why.  I was having the time of my life. I was just making this beat, I was like, ‘Oh, this beat is kind of hard.” And then I decided to just freestyle. And I freestyled the whole song. I don't know how.  There's a video, but I'm a bit too embarrassed. I recorded a few voice memos later when I went to uni; I was in accommodation, and I was singing. I forgot all about this and I had made the song as it was. The bit at the end where there's singing didn't exist. There was an extra verse in there, and all of these other things. The song you hear now is not what it was.  I found this voice memo way after I had made the first draft of the song, and I was like, No way I sang that, no way I sang that melody on that shit. And it fucked me up a little bit. I was like, Reg, you could have lost this if you didn't look back. You could have never found this. And then I got my sister, I texted her, I said, ‘Yo, can you sing this thing for me? Really quick.’  My sister loves singing on my stuff. She loves to be part of musical projects my brother and I do. She was really happy to do it. She sent the voice memo back and then I put our vocals together.

When you released the video, you wrote on Instagram, ‘My baby is out, alive and well. Survived the insomnia and depression manic episodes, evolution from okay, insanity to pure insanity.’ It’s no surprise that our most talented artists struggle with mental health issues. You were making this video and the process came with all of this mental anguish and stress, how were you able to power through?

Oh my God. That summer was crazy. 

What summer was that? 2023?

No, no, this was the 2024 when I was making the video. Animating that video…

Stop-motion is no joke and is so tedious. And that video is a stop-motion masterpiece. Salute.

Bless you, bless you. The lack of sleep, the dreams… I felt like I was dying. I thought I had died. At one point I had a dream where I did die, but the dream carried on. And then it was the craziest dream I had in my life. And then I woke up because my brother opened the door, and I was like, ‘Thank you for waking me up. I didn't know if I was gonna wake up from that dream.’  Let's just say that summer. I don't know how I got through it, but when I finished that video, I was like, Okay, what the fuck.  Even the scanning of each frame was so goddamn, what the fuck? It was crazy. I think the thing that saved me is kind of the same thing that saved me when, well, I didn't need saving back then, but that kind of motivation of; Look to the future, don't worry about right now. Once this video is done, once it's out, think about that. 

You directed that video yourself. You're doing a lot of things yourself, because, obviously necessity, it's easier and it's cheaper to do it yourself. If you had the money, if you had the means, do you think that you would still be doing everything yourself, or would you get someone else to do it and kind of just be the kind of artist that isn't always executing every single thing?

For the video for “Another Domestic,” I wrote down frame by frame, minute by minute, what was going to happen. I had planned the whole thing. To save my life, I guess I could have had a team to help me. But, yeah, I think because the music is me, the vision of the song, only I have that, you know? Because I made it. So I feel like I would rather direct… but I like doing it, you know?  I really enjoy it.  I feel like I enjoy film, actually, a lot, a lot more than I used to enjoy music. I used to be such a film fanatic and shit. So, I’m very hyper-involved.

What are some of your favorite films? 

Good question!  Since I was talking about Gaspar Noe yesterday…I feel like every one of his films has been so insane, The one which had the most insane impact on me was “Irreversible.” The first film I watched was “Enter The Void,” and I was high as fuck, and my brother put that shit on. He said, ‘Watch this.’ And he wasn't even watching it. He was just on his bed, just looking at shit. I sat there in front of the computer with my jaw on the floor, and I was like, ‘What?’ Within the first 10 seconds.  I don't want to spoil, give any spoilers, but shit happens. I thought I was the one that died because, you know, the POV shots and stuff. 

I had a very similar experience watching Love while high as fuck. Gaspar is so good at creating immersive films that stay in your mind. What other films do you like outside of Gaspar’s

“Fallen Angels,” Wong Kar-wai. I did a whole project on that in year 13, hyperrealism in film. I was writing all about that shit. 

Are you on Letterboxd?

Yes.

What’s your name on there?

Hubertdollarsyn. I watched “Rosemary’s Baby” the other day. “The Hills Have Eyes,” crazy film. The “Hills Have Eyes” is actually one of the most terrifying. “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” “The Night of the Hunter” was also pretty cool. I watch a lot of films. 

On your Instagram, there’s a linktree with more information on you and it lists the genre of your music as ‘abstract grime.’ What’s the difference between grime and abstract grime?

I think I'm talking about grime in the context of now. Our decade, the 10s and the 20s. I found grime used to be extremely abstract, the foundation of grime. But, it became this hyper commercial type shit; pop stuff, and it lost the beats.  I guess it became more trap and stuff. I really love those beats. I feel like I coined ‘abstract grime’ because of ‘abstract hip hop.’ I was like, I'm British, so Imma say abstract. I guess most people that hear someone rap who's black or whatever, they'll think it's grime. I found that a lot at some shows. I'd be put in a box quite easily. I might as well own the box and put something in front of the box. You know?

That makes sense. With your music, a lot of the time the lyrics are inaudible. But the instrumental is so strong, colorful, and in your face. Can you talk about that mixing decision?

Specifically with “SB 13,” I wanted myself to be fighting with the instrumental. I don’t view the instrumental as separate. I don’t view it like vocal on top of instrumental. I think it’s more like their world together. At times I want my voice to be audible, but at times I want to be unheard.  At times I want the instrumental to take over and really feel the sa… how can I word this? The vocal on its own sounds like the instrumental, and the instrumental can carry the emotion of the vocal as well, and support the intention of the lyrics and all of that.

That makes sense, especially within the context of you loving the beats that originated grime and trying to get back to that in your music. To go back to your Instagram…on one of your protests you wrote, ‘I only make beats when I’m horny. That’s me.’ Is that the recipe for making a great beat? Is that the catalyst?

Yeah. I don't know what it is, but hypersexuality…I don't know. Just hyper in general. I feel like I got a lot of energy. I don't know what it is. When I make a beat, I feel very at ease again, like at peace in the world, in my head.  I've tried it before where I don't make music for two weeks, and I feel myself slowly become…it feels like I've smoked a lot of cigarettes. It's that same feeling as when I don't make a beat for two weeks. I think it's because my brain is too active. I need the balance. Everyone needs the balance. My balance is the beats.

There are probably worse things you could be doing with your time. If that’s what you’re going to do with your time? Go off! Two more questions.  You're unsigned now. You're independent, correct?

Yeah.

For a lot of artists, being signed is the dream. But there's a growing group of artists who are like, ‘Nah, I want to do this myself. I want to keep all this myself. I don't want to sign with a label. I don't want to be a slave.’ What about you? 

I think all I want to do right now is make my album–that I've been working on–insane. Just make it what it needs to be. And I think the rest will naturally come later. I have a team and they give me advice on things, and I trust in that. So I'll just keep moving with [that[ motion of things. I don't want to rush anything. I don't want to jump into anything.

Speaking of albums, what can people expect from it? Will it be on Spotify? Or are you gonna drop it on SoundCloud and keep it pushing?

I want it to be everywhere. This one has been really special to me—the energy, the emotion in it. If I had to make one album and then that would be it? I would happily have this one on my discography, as like an art piece. I feel like the detail—from the album cover to the order of the tracks, to the transitions, to all of it—I've spent a lot of time working on the detail. It means the world to me.

When is that coming out? Are we getting that before summer? Is it coming this year?

It has to come this year. 

Why does it have to come this year?

Oh, because I'm making too much music. 

Though that's a good problem to have!

I mix it as well. So that's what makes it difficult—in me being able to sit on something for a while—because as I get better, I might feel, Oh no, I want to go back. So I don't like going back. I want to just keep a momentum, and that's what we're trying to do this year.

You love being creative and making things. It fuels you. But there is something that happens when the things that fuel you because your full-time job. It can change your relationship to that thing. You’re making so much music. Is there a world where you can make your music and not give it all to the world? Can you keep something for yourself on a hard drive for you and the homies, if possible? 

The first version of this album, only a handful of people ever heard that.  I made two, they were almost of the same world. I made one first and then made the other as a somewhat reaction, but also a development. I showed my brother the first one I had ever made, and that is special to me. And that's for me. I still have that on Bandcamp. It’s privated tho!

Of course.

I still have the original thing. I’m happy in that. I can give now. I can decide, oh yeah, I can do this, do this, do this.  I've experienced it for me, and that's fine. That’s all that matters.

Last question forreal this time. You're going to get bigger, you're going up, it's not going down. You’re tracking upwards. How do you define success?

I just want the family to be good, my friends to be good, me to be good, my team to be good. I just want us to keep doing what we're doing.  I've been thinking about it. And my friends who also make music, think about it. We're all thinking about it together. We were like, ‘Yo, if this shit, this shit, ends up doing it, then are we gonna still be ourselves? Are we still gonna be able to hold ourselves, you know?’ We just know we have to just keep our support network. We just got to keep our circle real close. I think that's the main thing. I feel successful when I make a song and I like it.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.