How does one make a debut, splash or hoopla worthy of superstardom and worldwide adoration?

In 2016, the very best and the astoundingly worst of performers are worshiped and celebrated in equal measure. I am not foolish enough to expect or require anyone to agree with my views, I am, in fact, a huge admirer of anyone opinionated enough to challenge me, argue on behalf of pop culture and its controversies or tell me to pipe the hell down.

I like sweaty basements and sticky floors rather than vast arenas and adoring gaggles of admirers. I like gigs with two tourists and a mother whose sole purpose is to drive the equipment to and from the club rather than squealing hoards and paparazzi.

Whatever your preference, the one universal desire of a gig-goer is to find something extraordinary. We all seek a lyric, a bass line or a pregnant pause that defines the very moment that we are set in, and, when we find it, the impact is life changing. When I say life changing, I don’t mean fireworks and global unrest, I mean miniscule reactions that seep into our bones and souls.

In a world where anything, however ridiculous, is possible, how can anyone emerge as something original?

This week I was introduced to something truly exceptional. It wasn’t star spangled, it was a field, car and mystery away from ordinary.

The old “if a tree falls in a forest and no-one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?" philosophy is the only possible reference that I can apply to the debut of a new London artist, and, I know full well that he’d despise it.

I cannot give you a name. I don’t have one. I could give you a phone number, but, it no longer exists. I can give you a website, but, it has no name or face. In a world where nothing at all is private or off limits, a handful of London folk have been beguiled by an exceptionally lo-fi creation.

Highly respected and somewhat old school people in the know followed a trail last week. From a text message to a Soho screening room to a website which now only stands to link a video and phone number.

I am still completely in the dark, and, I love it. This treasure of an event was, quite honestly, the greatest gift that my fellow cynical hacks and weary social commentators have been given in an age. It is the thing of legends.

Someone will break this story, spill the secrets and let the cat out of the record bag.

For what it is worth, I don’t like cats.