Fred again.. and the Actual Life of Sound: Listening for Greatness

By Rafi Mercer

For the past two years, I’ve listened to Fred again.. more than almost anyone else. Not casually, not in passing, but with intent. I’ve studied his history, his collaborations, the relationships that form the backbone of his sound. I’ve listened for the patterns, the hesitations, the breakthroughs. And the more I’ve listened, the more I’ve come to believe that many of us are missing something. The greatness is not fully visible yet — but it’s there, forming, like a shape just beneath the surface of the water.

The Actual Life trilogy is the clearest example of this process. These albums aren’t just collections of tracks; they’re diaries, built from fragments of voice notes, conversations, field recordings. Snippets of WhatsApp messages and voicemails are pulled into songs, then layered with piano lines, electronic arcs, and beats that feel both fragile and urgent. It’s messy at times, unresolved, restless — and that’s exactly the point. Listening to Fred again.. is like watching someone think out loud through music. It doesn’t always make sense. But genius rarely does in its early stages.

His live performances carry the same energy. The now-iconic Boiler Room set in 2022, packed into a London club, felt less like a showcase and more like a communal outpouring — raw, euphoric, deeply human. The Tiny Desk performance stripped it down further, showing how songs that feel fractured on record can carry warmth and clarity when delivered face-to-face. He moves between these contexts with a fluidity that suggests instinct rather than calculation, a willingness to let the music shape itself according to the space.

It’s no coincidence that Brian Eno is not just a neighbour but a friend and mentor. You can hear the influence — the openness, the willingness to lean into uncertainty, the refusal to polish everything smooth. Eno has spoken about Fred’s diaristic way of working, of turning the scraps of daily life into songs that feel alive. Eno’s presence doesn’t overshadow; it frames. It offers Fred permission to trust the process, to let the music be conversation rather than product.

What I admire most is his uniqueness. In a world where electronic music can so easily fall into formulas, Fred again.. resists. He leans into imperfection. Vocals are distorted, rhythms stumble, samples cut in awkwardly. Yet somehow it holds together, because beneath it all is honesty. These aren’t tracks designed to impress. They are tracks designed to feel. And sometimes that means they feel confusing, fragmented, unresolved. But that’s life, isn’t it?

I think we’re at the stage where his sound is still developing, still in flux. Given time, the greatness will crystallise more clearly. The threads will weave tighter, the experiments will find their balance. But even now, in this unfinished state, there is something remarkable about watching an artist become themselves in real time. It’s like standing in a half-built building and already sensing the grandeur of what it will be when finished.

Listening to Fred again.. has taught me as much about listening as about him. To sit with music that doesn’t resolve neatly, to notice the small details — a voice lifted from a friend, a piano line that collapses into static, a rhythm that feels more heartbeat than beat. These are not just production tricks. They are invitations to listen differently, to hear music as process, as conversation, as something alive.

I know not everyone hears it this way. Some dismiss it as too raw, too sentimental, too fractured. But to me, that’s part of the genius. It takes a particular kind of mind to create like this — a mind willing to expose itself, to show the seams, to leave the questions unanswered. Perhaps his mind is special in a way most can’t yet see. I can. And I admire the bravery of it, the refusal to conform to what is expected.

Greatness is not always immediate. Sometimes it arrives in fragments, in hints, in glimpses of what might be. That’s where I think Fred again.. is right now. On the cusp. And as listeners, we’re privileged to watch it unfold.

Rafi Mercer writes about the spaces where music matters. For more stories from Tracks & Tales, subscribe here, or click here to read more.