Magician and illusionist Steven Frayne, aka Dynamo, grew up on the Delph Hill estate in Bradford. He started his career performing locally, before mastering street magic in London – doing tricks for the likes of Coldplay and Snoop Dogg backstage at gigs, and posting the footage on YouTube. He has since created some of the most famous large-scale illusions – including walking across the Thames and levitating above the Shard. His new show, Dynamo Is Dead, is out on 14 December on Sky Max and Now.
I had my happiest times and spent most of my childhood where this photo was taken – at my great-nana and grandpa’s flat in Bradford. Mum had me when she was really young, and my dad wasn’t around, so they helped to raise me. They were the ones who got me into magic. They also liked to smoke Benson & Hedges.
I’m wearing a Condor costume from my favourite cartoon, Mask. It would have been given to me on my fifth birthday. I would have remembered if it was my sixth birthday because Mum organised a party for me, but nobody turned up. Parents didn’t want to bring their kids to the council estate where I lived. In the end, Mum bought me six Kinder Surprise eggs, and we sat and built the little plastic toys together.
I was too naive and young to fully understand the poverty I was living in. Because I was always surrounded by people in similar circumstances, I didn’t know any different. It wasn’t until I was a bit older that I realised Delph Hill had a reputation for being dangerous. It was also quite a racist estate. I’m mixed race [Frayne’s father is of Pakistani heritage] and most of the estate voted BNP. My mum is white and everyone loved her. Nobody questioned me as a baby. But as I got older, it was clear the natural complexion of my skin was not white. People called me the P-word.
At school it was the same – mostly white students. The main message was that I needed to conform: I was a really skinny kid and an easy target. I would get beaten up every day. I loved learning, but when it came to the playground part of school, I would have to hide rather than having fun and playing football. I was an easy target for the bullies and wasn’t strong enough to defend myself.
My grandpa used to pick me up on a Friday night as I’d spend my weekends at their flat. One day, he arrived at school a bit earlier. He saw me walk out of school and get beaten up by some kids, who then put me in a bin. We had these two hills at the school – we called them “the tits” because they were two massive lumps. They’d kick me down the hill in the bin. It was a big hill, and I got bashed about. After that, I picked myself up, cried, then walked to the gate to meet Grandpa.
He said: “I saw what happened. I want to show you some stuff to help get those people off your back.” I was thinking: “Sounds like Mr Miyagi from the Karate Kid films … maybe he’s going to teach me karate?” Instead he showed me magic techniques. One of them was like anti-levitation – an old vaudeville skill where you could adjust your body to become a human magnet and unmovable from the floor. It was so impressive.
The next time I went to school and someone tried to put me in a bin, I tried the trick and it worked. They couldn’t lift me up. It freaked out the bullies and they started to leave me alone. They spread rumours that I was a “crazy demon child”, which isolated me further. But it did mean I could survive my school years. I got my GCSEs and a GNVQ, and then picked an art and design college that was three hours away from my school. Nobody knew me, and I could have a fresh start.
On the first day at college, I met a guy called Gary who became one of my best friends. He told me he liked football and BMX, and I said I liked magic. He went and told everyone: “This guy Steven does magic!” – so I showed them all a trick. That was the first time I performed magic for entertainment rather than survival. From that moment on, I was “the magic guy”. A year later, I ended up leaving college to pursue magic properly. I was getting loads of gig offers and didn’t have time to study. I was making money for the first time in my life.
A few months after dropping out, my mum’s mum bought me a flight to join her in the US, where she lived. She had 19 award-winning golden retrievers, and we’d travel around the US in a massive RV. I’d help her with the dog shows, and in the evenings we’d visit the magic clubs or the circus. She’d scout out anything in the area where I could watch and meet magicians. It showed me that I could actually build a living doing magic. When I got home, I made a business plan and took it to the leaders of a youth club, who got me to pitch it to the Prince’s Trust. They gave me £2,300. I bought a camcorder and a printer, so I could film my magic and make business cards. I’ve been a professional ever since.
Even after my childhood, I’ve had a lot of challenges to overcome. I have health issues – Crohn’s disease and arthritis – that have at times taken my ability to perform magic from me completely. I also sometimes struggle with fame. When you get to the top, you can feel like you’ve got no purpose and feel depressed because you’ve achieved your aim. Deep inside, I’m still that kid from Bradford, and the pressure of wanting to succeed can get to me. I never want to let down anyone who has supported me. That’s why I like to disappear between projects. I need to constantly find the spark that Nana and Grandpa nurtured in me.
Two years ago, I lost my nana. She would always make cameos in my TV and live shows. When my grandpa died in 2012, she was the one keeping magic alive for me. In the same weekend I lost her, I also lost one of my dogs, and another one shortly after that. A succession of negative incidents pushed me over the edge and I lost myself for a little bit.
My wife advised me to see a therapist to help deal with what I was going through. Being a bloke, I had it ingrained in me that men don’t talk about problems. Speaking to someone about my past and present expanded my mind. I spent the past few years dealing with trauma, and I finally feel I have accepted my nana and grandpa are gone. It is time to lay the Dynamo that I was when they were here to rest. It’s why burying myself alive at the end of my new show feels so cleansing.
I feel I’m finally looking at life through the eyes of that kid in the photo. I’m not surrounded by the cynicism of the world. I’m not scared. I’m not faking anything or pushing down my emotions. Dynamo was a mask I was always hiding behind – but having to face my past in an adult way has become part of my evolution. I’m back with my eyes fully open.
