Originality could be dead in pop music. The genre is so self-referential that it feels like an endless borrowing game, buying into nostalgia for bygone times outside of our own. Artists’ branding in the 2020s has featured copious archival fashion pulls and pop culture iconography, while dominant music trends have included the excessive sampling of throwback hits and iconic melodies. This is an unavoidable aspect of pop, and not necessarily a measure of creative lack. However, it can either give long-forgotten tracks a necessary boost of life, or appear as a cheap way to chase the ever-elusive ‘hit’. 

Yet, as the decade is proving, generic boundaries are once again breaking down, with dance and electronic sounds becoming the pop standard, and people longing for artists at their most genuine. Of course, this was demonstrated most prominently by Charli XCX’s shift between the ultra-conventional Crash and the more personal and re-focused Brat. However, she isn’t the only person creating from a place of greater authenticity, over the pursuit of musical trends.

Catherine Garner, known as Slayyyter, has been chasing fame for almost ten years now. She started out making ‘lo-fi pop’ from her bedroom closet, before bursting onto the music scene in 2019 with a string of electro-pop tracks such as ‘Mine’, ‘Daddy AF’, and ‘BFF’. Though her songs all proved TikTok-popular, they never seemed to translate fully out of a chronically online space into the cultural mainstream. 

Slayyyter’s previous works were great projects that felt authentic within their self-aware pastiche, but all tied themselves to various personas; the music did not necessarily represent the creative voice behind it. Their inability to produce the success she’d hoped for, even when striving for commercial viability, drove her to make a decision – her next album would be the last, one final go at being a star before she called it quits. After an edgier sonic shift in a single she dropped in 2024 titled ‘No Comma’, Slayyyter began working on her third studio album, WOR$T GIRL IN AMERICA. The first single, ‘BEAT UP CHANEL$’, was noticed by Columbia Records, allowing her career trajectory to finally change.

The album is an advent of originality, reconnecting Slayyyter to her Missouri roots and the rawer and previously unseen parts of her life, while refusing to chase trends. She focused instead on her own interests and ended up producing her most unique work, unplagued by formula. She describes it as “iPod music”, a “sweet spot of 2010s indie electronic”, encompassing songs she would’ve curated in her teenage years, when individual songs were bought and not readily available as in the streaming era.

WOR$T GIRL is intrinsically tied to its DIY approach to visuals. Each song has a self-directed music video, while costumes are hand-made or utilise pieces from her own wardrobe. Nothing feels too put together; instead, it is a patchwork of influences, from her Midwestern upbringing, to Tumblr mood-boarding and her music and film literacy (note the frequency of Lynchian rabbit imagery). She is still provocative and ‘trashy’, but forgoes hyper-feminine glam and seeks imperfection, her lyricism newly exposing. This is not just an additional layer to the album, but helps to form its thesis. 

The album’s cohesive through-line does not prevent it from textural layering throughout its 14 tracks. Distortion is a sonic mainstay, with songs entrenched in grime and aspiration. The album’s opening track, ‘DANCE…’, cuts in at almost five minutes, its long intro crescendoing into a thumping bassline which transports its listeners to an unrestrained club atmosphere. ‘CRANK’, ‘OLD TECHNOLOGY’, and ‘YES GODDDD’ are aggressive, the sound dialled up to 100 with maximalist production, heavy bass, and gritty and intense synthwork. Slayyyter is keen to prove her own musical capabilities, the album paring back with dreamy indie electronic as in ‘GAS STATION’, and the wistful, nostalgic ‘UNKNOWN LOVERZ’, while ‘CANNIBALISM!’ is more rock-focused but vocally driven, oscillating between screams and hypnotic crooning. WOR$T GIRL seeks out the personal and sometimes ugliest parts of success, lyrically wavering between self-assertion and profound insecurity on ‘WHAT IS IT LIKED, TO BE LIKED?’ and the satirical, spoken-word hallucinatory journey of ‘I’M ACTUALLY KINDA FAMOUS’. 

There is also something personal enclosed here, best represented by the final track, ‘BRITTANY MURPHY’. Slayyyter has remarked that it encapsulates the album’s overall feeling and reflects the message she tried to get across. Its summery atmosphere and almost-robotic vocals conceal an inner depth, with the artist at her most vulnerable, as she ponders on feelings of inadequacy and suicidal ideation. The patchwork of WOR$T GIRL finally converges here, allowing the artist herself to shine through.

Maybe pop is a borrowing game, but when influences are being used like in Slayyyter’s music, it is difficult to say there isn’t still something unique to be found. Perhaps the problem is not creative pastiche itself, but the constraints of formula imposing themselves in the streaming era, making the genre so homogenous. It seems as though audiences respond far better to work that doesn’t try to mould itself, but goes against the grain through the expression of artistic freedom. In Slayyyter’s case, authenticity is the motivator, and her refusal to conform seems to be paying off. 

Hundreds gathered on Broad Street in the afternoon of Sunday 10th April for the return of Dom Whiting’s travelling bike rave. Otherwise known as ‘Drum and Bass On The Bike’, Whiting has built a following of more than 800,000 across his social media by riding through cities on a custom-built bicycle with speakers and decks, turning public roads into a moving “community-driven explosion of positivity and high-energy music”.

The ride, which saw crowds amassing outside the Clarendon Building from just before 2pm, drew almost 1,000 people. Cyclists, skaters, and scooters all assembled in a loose crowd that soon stretched down to the Sheldonian Theatre, around to the Bridge of Sighs, and up towards Wadham College, with families, newcomers, and returning attendees forming a rather mixed group. The format is remarkably simple: Whiting and his DJ decks and speakers lead, and the crowd follows.

Simplicity is what has allowed the event to grow, gaining such rapid popularity. Since emerging in 2021 as what Whiting describes as a “creative outlet during lockdown”, the rides have exploded across the UK and internationally, amassing huge turnouts. Oxford was one of the first places where Whiting brought the concept. Addressing the crowd, he appealed to Oxford’s identity: “It is a cycling city, we can do bigger and better than last year.”

The event has grown into a well-managed and structured affair. Regular announcements were made over loudspeakers asking for the crowds to part to let cars through, while a set of ‘dos and don’ts’ was briefed before the group set off to, as Whiting described it, “set a good example and keep everyone happy”. The result is something that sits uniquely between spontaneity and structure.

Participants came from across Oxfordshire and beyond. One attendee remarked that he’d flown over from the United States to take part. One rider, who had signed up to Whiting’s newsletter and seen the event advertised on Facebook, said she had attended multiple times. “I’m a mother – I don’t get to go out to nightclubs. This is as close as I get.” Another attendee celebrated the chance to connect with others: “I like the idea of a critical mass more than the music.” Having lived in Oxford for several years, they described the ride as an annual fixture in their calendar.

Unlike many large gatherings outside the Clarendon Building, the tone of the event was not defined by politics but instead by a clear emphasis on shared participation. Attendees consistently described it as something anyone could join, regardless of background, with one noting that “anyone is welcome to come” – a sentiment reflected in the diversity of the crowd. Inclusivity is built into the event’s structure itself; there are no tickets and minimal distinction between organiser and audience. The result is a crowd that is unified by a shared decision to be part of a community, even if only for a couple of hours. 

At the same time, small pockets of political expression surfaced at the margins. One attendee referenced online posts suggesting far-right groups might appear, prompting informal calls to bring flags; they had attached a Progress Pride flag with a skull and crossbones to their bike. On the other end of the crowd, members of the Socialist Workers Party had set up a table after seeing the event advertised online. Nearby, someone held a sign reading “FCK ICE”.

The event was made even more striking by its overlap with Oxford Folk Festival, held on Broad Street that same day. The contrast was brilliant: as you moved between the two, traditional English folk music and Morris dancing bells gave way to drum and bass from portable speakers, each occupying different ends of the street. Despite their differences, both events drew substantial crowds with attendees drifting between them. Proximity produced a strange coexistence between these two distinct collectives, perhaps a testament to the shared demand for in-person gatherings that cut across genres and traditions. 

Sunday’s turnout demonstrates not just the popularity of these particular events, but the durability of public gatherings that emerged from the constraints of the pandemic. Events like the bike rave rely on high participation, creating spaces that are temporary and collectively sustained, simply relying on people eager to show up. 

As Broad Street returned to normal by the early evening, all that hinted at the day’s festivities were the scraps of confetti puddle floating outside the Clarendon. Nevertheless, the scale and variety of the crowd that day embodied something abstract, but lasting: a shift in how public space is used and experienced. Hosting the temporary convergence of people who might never otherwise occupy the same space, Broad Street witnessed a story of people brought together through shared movement. In that sense, the event falls naturally into the sports column; it represents the simple act of participating in something larger than oneself.

As I write this, I’m hurtling down the East Coast Mainline at 120 miles per hour – the speed at which I feel I’m travelling through my university experience. Only nine weeks to go, and that’s it: the final year. Things start getting serious.  

But, from my experience of the Oxford life thus far, this ‘seriousness’ is a thing worth keeping at a safe and respectable distance. As a bright-eyed fresher, determined to excel academically at one of the best universities in the world, I forgot to look for the things outside the curricular last year. I signed up for societies that I never went to, events that I would miss, balls that I was too exhausted to enjoy. The reality was that I forgot about the ‘normal’ university life, and pursued what I thought the ‘Oxford’ life should be. In the mind of my over-eager first-year self, Oxford was about the work, about the grind, about the one-hundred-and-one percent academic effort.  

To some extent, I still believe that this is true. The Oxford experience is slightly different from what most of us expected from university. We were told to ‘make the most’ of our time here, told that it would be the best years of our life. For lots of people, such a sweeping statement is overwhelming; it contains too much, it has the potential to spiral into a never-ending train of sports clubs, socials, projects, trips. But, for me, this sort of mindset was exactly what I needed after the burnt-out academic frenzy I had mixed myself up in throughout my first year.  

The demand on Oxford students is obviously immense, and I had convinced myself that university life at Oxford should be purely academic, that anything else was a distraction from the real reason I was here. I would be undeserving of the place I’d worked so hard to gain if I wasn’t wholly and completely committed to the degree. I would be lying if I said that I’m not a little sore about the comparative lack of work my friends at other universities have – in my mind, other universities were about drinking, socialising, and exploring. Oxford had no time for that. Here, I stand corrected. I have been thoroughly surprised by the wealth of things people get up to at this university. It turns out that even clever people get drunk.  

When I began my second year, I was determined not to make the same mistake again. This time, I would commit myself to the societies I had abandoned last year. I would go to the events, I would take on all these opportunities. I threw myself into everything that I thought I would never have time for, just to prove my past self wrong. And I realised that it was possible to thrive academically as well as to have an enjoyable life outside the tutorial. I joined the college choir, wrote articles, edited student publications, took days out in the Cotswolds, joined independent bands. All of this, and I have actually achieved better grades than last year, and had more time off. Now, more than ever, I feel that I am living the true ‘university experience’, and I haven’t had to sacrifice any sleep, or grades, to get it.  

But, the truth is, no matter how many societies we join, how many clubs we attend, articles we write, or places we go, many of us will still feel as though we aren’t fully taking advantage of the vast wealth of opportunities that Oxford has to offer. For everything you try, there are five things that you haven’t. With such short terms it can feel impossible to taste every flavour of university life. And that’s because it is.  

At this point in my degree, I’ve come to accept that the most important thing to figure out is what you want your university life to look like. Whether that’s pure academic commitment, exploration of societies, or developing skills beyond the degree. I know people who are involved in more societies and sports and social events than me. I know people who are involved in less. Yes, it can be exhausting to even consider every possible way to spend your time at university, especially at Oxford. But, isn’t it just as bad rotting away behind a laptop screen staring blankly at a document titled ‘Week 6 Essay’? For me, taking a step back from the academic side of university life and learning to explore the world outside books was the best thing I could have possibly done for myself; the benefits have been enormous. I’ll never remember an afternoon spent tucked away in the Rad Cam, pouring over PDFs. But the memory of a trip to Charlbury, spent wading through mud on a cold day in February, will stick with me even after I graduate. Others may find the opposite, but, at the end of the day, nobody is missing out.  

You cannot be in control of the rapid pace of Oxford life, but you can be in control of your own pace,: in control of what you can and can’t take on. You can learn what it is that you want to remember from these ‘golden years’. And that’s the beauty of university life – there is no one way to do it.