“The Music, The Energy, The Influence Of The Blitz Kids, All Of It”: Josh Caffé Unpacks “The Velvet Hour”

The artist reveals the inspiration behind his new EP – made in collaboration with the likes of The 1975’s George Daniel.

“Music has always been the way I’ve made sense of who I am,” says Josh Caffé – DJ, singer-songwriter, producer and activist. The liminal hours between 4 am and 9 am, what Caffé calls the “velvet hours”, are the inspiration behind his latest five-track EP. It’s a term that, for Caffé, represents the intimacy, desire and connection unique to that amorphous after-hours window. 

As a fabric resident DJ, founder of queer club night Love Child London, and a collaborator of international dance music icons, including Honey Dijon – the night time is a world Caffé knows well. Growing up in South London, where music was intrinsic to community, the sounds and aesthetics around him became intertwined with his identity. “I was old enough to be around when jungle first came through, and that was such a massive moment for Black South London,” he explains. 

“The Velvet Hour” is a continuation of his connection with the sounds of the club scene he’s since been immersed in. His debut project on the progressive dance label dh2, lead track “Limousine” is described by Caffé as a “sexy late-night club record” that explores excess and hedonism. The track pairs warped house production with Caffé’s unmistakable vocal delivery, destined to get you in the mood for the velvet hour’s potential, under the guise of decadence: “The limousine becomes this moving confessional. It's where all the noise finally dies down, and [the narrator’s] left alone with his own thoughts,” Caffé tells Man About Town. 

Elsewhere, drawing together house, acid, electroclash and pop influences, the EP proves an expression of fearless sexuality and genre-fluidity, influenced by his long-time inspirations. From Nan Goldin’s honest and intimate photography to Prince, who “completely blurred the lines between masculinity and femininity, between pop, funk and rock,” Caffé says. 

As the project meets audiences,  Man About Town speaks to Caffé about the euphoria of queer nightlife, building self-confidence and, naturally, dancing till 9 am. 

Hi Josh! Growing up between South London and Kampala, your work is shaped by themes of identity and belonging. Has music always been the medium through which you feel you can best express yourself? 

Yeah, I think music has always been the way I've made sense of who I am. When I look back at the different points where my taste changed, it was usually because I was looking for somewhere to belong. I was always trying to find my tribe.

Growing up in South London, music was completely tied to community. It wasn't just what you listened to; it was part of your identity. It really shaped the crews you rolled with and gave you this real sense of belonging.

Then my family moved back to Kampala, and I think I lost that feeling for a while. The music scene there just wasn't connected to community in the way I'd experienced growing up. I felt quite lost, if I'm honest. I held onto the music I'd grown up with in London because it still made me feel connected to a version of myself, even though I didn't really feel like I fit in.

Coming back to London changed everything again. I came out, found my queer community, and electroclash was everywhere. I absolutely loved it. I was fascinated by that whole world. The music, the energy, the influence of the Blitz Kids, all of it. Going to Nag Nag Nag every week became a bit of a ritual, and it was the first time I really felt free to explore who I was without holding anything back.

Fashion was a big part of that too. It always went hand in hand with the music. The way you dressed was another way of saying, "This is who I am, this is my community." I've always loved that connection between music, fashion and identity, and I think that's something that's naturally found its way into my own work.

Your music has always moved between house, acid, electroclash and pop. Do you distinguish between these genres when creating, and how do you balance them?

I've never really thought about music in terms of genres. I think that's more for other people to figure out. For me, it's always been about emotion and energy first.

The music I make is really just a reflection of everything I've loved over the years. I think because I've always moved between different scenes and different parts of my identity, it makes sense that my music does the same. I like things that blur the lines rather than fit neatly into one box.

You describe “The Velvet Hour” as being inspired by the liminal hours of the nighttime. What is it about 4-9 am that embodies this spirit?

By then, all the pretence has disappeared. People have stopped thinking about how they look or who's watching them; they're just completely present.

There are so many things feeding into that. The music, the heat, the people around you, the lack of sleep, the drugs for some people... everything starts to blur together. There’s this shift where people become a bit more primal, more playful and more emotionally open. It's almost like everyone's operating on instinct rather than logic.

From the DJ booth, it's one of the most fascinating things to witness. You're not just playing records anymore; you're watching this collective energy unfold in real time. Those moments are magical because they're impossible to fake.

That's really where “The Velvet Hour” came from. It isn't literally about a time on the clock; it's about a state of mind. That period where the dance floor becomes this liminal space, somewhere between night and morning, fantasy and reality, where people give themselves permission to be freer versions of themselves. It's about freedom, experimentation and connection. 

“Limousine” tells a story of infidelity, but it's also about excess and emotional avoidance. The limousine is a symbol of luxury in the song, but also isolation. Was that dual meaning there from the beginning?

Yeah, definitely. I’m always drawn to contradictions, and the limousine felt like the perfect one. It’s the kind of life people aspire to, but at the same time it's this sealed-off space. You're isolated, looking out at the world through tinted windows.

That felt like the perfect setting for the story because the character is constantly chasing the next distraction. He’s out all night, making bad decisions, convincing himself he’s living this exciting life, but really he’s avoiding dealing with what’s right in front of him. 

I think that’s something a lot of people can relate to. We all find ways of distracting ourselves when we’re uncomfortable. Sometimes it’s relationships, work, even the party. We tell ourselves we are having the time of our lives when really we’re just postponing a conversation with ourselves.

I love writing songs that work on two levels. If you just want to hear a sexy late-night club record, then “Limousine” absolutely does that. But if you listen a bit more closely, it’s really about selfishness, emotional avoidance and what happens when the excitement wears off, and you’re left with the consequences of your choices. Besides, no one ever writes songs about taking the night bus home. A limousine just sounds a lot sexier.

Prince, Grace Jones and Nan Goldin all influence your work, but in very different ways. What connects those references in your process? 

I think what connects them is that none of them was afraid to create their own world. They weren’t interested in fitting into what people expected of them; they just had this really strong sense of who they were and expressed that.

Prince has always inspired me. He made individuality feel powerful. Grace Jones did the same in a different way. She was fearless. Everything from the music to the fashion to the performance felt like one complete artistic statement.

Then with Nan Goldin, it’s something much quieter but just as powerful. Her work is so honest and intimate. She documents people and moments without trying to make them perfect, and there’s so much beauty in that vulnerability.

For me, music, visuals, fashion and storytelling have never been separate things; they all feed into each other. Those artists showed me that your art can become its own universe if you’re brave enough to trust your own point of view.

George Daniel, from The 1975, contributed to the EP's arrangements. What did he bring to the project that surprised you? 

What really surprised me was how much he could achieve by adding really subtle elements. They weren’t huge changes, but they’d completely shift how moments landed. 

Quinn Whalley, the EP’s co-producer and I both come from club culture, so when we’re making records, we’re always thinking about the dance floor first. We love things that feel raw, hypnotic and instinctive, and there’s a certain roughness that naturally comes with that because we’re chasing energy more than perfection.

George brought a different perspective. He’d suggest these small arrangement ideas that gave the tracks more space, made the vocals hit a little harder or created more contrast, without taking away any of that rawness. 

What I really respected was that he understood both worlds. He never tried to smooth off its edges; he recognised the grit. It was a great reminder that restraint can be just as powerful as adding something new.

Is there a moment on “The Velvet Hour” that feels especially vulnerable to you, even if listeners might not immediately notice it? 

I think “Gold” is probably the most vulnerable track on the EP, even though it might not sound like it at first. I actually wrote it as a way of reminding myself of my own worth. It was almost like writing myself a pep talk because, if I'm honest, that's not something I’ve ever found particularly easy to say out loud. That confidence hasn't come overnight. It took a lot of life, a lot of mistakes and a lot of dancing until 9 am.

So I guess “Gold” is me owning that. And that feels surprisingly vulnerable because there’s nowhere to hide behind irony or attitude. It’s just me believing in myself, which, weirdly, can be scarier than writing about heartbreak.

Hopefully, people hear it and take whatever they need from it. And if nothing else, it’s much cheaper than therapy.

Queer nightlife has changed so much over the past decade. What excites you most about where it's heading, and what do you worry about losing? 

Queer nightlife feels more visible than ever. There’s a real confidence and creativity in this new generation, and I love seeing people blur the lines between music, fashion, performance and activism. It feels like people aren’t asking for permission anymore. They’re just creating the spaces they want to exist.

At the same time, I think it’s important that we don’t lose sight of why these spaces existed in the first place. Queer clubs weren't created because they were fashionable. They were created because people genuinely needed somewhere to feel safe, to find each other and to be themselves. That sense of community is something we have to keep protecting.

I also think we have to protect the culture itself. Dance music has always borrowed from queer communities and Black communities. It’s easy for people to enjoy the aesthetics without understanding the history that created them. We must keep celebrating the people who built these scenes while making sure the door stays open for the next generation to take them somewhere completely new. Every generation should leave its own mark. We just have to make sure we're still looking after each other while we do it.

To combat digital fatigue, a portion of Gen Z is turning to nightlife, prioritising raw experience over digital validation. Which aspects of clubbing do you think people should pay more attention to?

I think what people are really craving is genuine connection. We spend so much of our lives looking at screens, curating versions of ourselves or worrying about how things are going to be perceived. A great club strips all of that away.

When you’re on a dance floor for six or seven hours, your phone almost becomes irrelevant. No one’s really interested in who’s got the best outfit or the perfect Instagram story anymore. You’re sharing a moment with a room full of strangers, and that’s something you just can’t recreate online.

For me, that’s what clubbing has always been about. It’s not escapism. It’s connection. You leave with sore feet, ringing ears and maybe a questionable decision or two, but you also leave feeling a little more human than when you walked in. And I think that's something we all need a bit more of.

If you had to pick – which song on the project would soundtrack pre-drinks, the club and the afters, respectively? 

“Limousine” for pre-drinks, “Velvet Skin”, “Basic Instinct” for the club, “Gold” for the afters and “Never Again” for the morning after.

What’s the main message you hope people understand after listening to the EP?  

I don’t know if I want people to come away with a “message” exactly. It’s not homework. It's an EP lol. More than anything, I hope it gives people permission to let go a bit. To dance, to feel sexy, to feel vulnerable, to be a bit ridiculous, to surprise themselves. I think we spend so much of our lives trying to fit into neat little boxes, and the dance floor has always been one of the few places where those boxes don’t really matter.

If people listen to it and feel a bit bolder, a bit freer or a bit more connected to themselves, then I’ve done my job. And if they end up dancing until 9 am because of it... Well, I can’t officially take responsibility for that. Just remember to drink some water. I'm old enough to know that part matters now.