I’m returning to music with a mission: to save London’s nightlife. I still remember it like it was last weekend. It was around 2011, in a sweaty Cargo in Shoreditch. I was watching a crowd go crazy to a DJ set that cost less than a round of shots. No guest list. No section. Just pure energy.
I’d already had a No 1 by then, but in that room, with no phones in the air, just bodies in motion — I felt alive. That’s what London nights used to give you. The feeling of community. But in 2025, that type of night is becoming a rarity in the capital.
After taking a break from music to focus on being a father, I’ve had time to watch the industry from the sidelines. As a dad to young kids, I’ve started thinking more about their generation. I’ve seen how different things are for them, with fewer spaces to move, to meet, to just be young. The freedom I had just isn’t guaranteed for them.
Data from the Night Time Industries Association shows that between 2010 and 2023, the number of nightclubs in the UK fell by more than a third. In London alone, more than 3,000 clubs, pubs and bars have closed since the pandemic. At this rate, by 31 December, 2029, there won’t be a single UK nightclub left.
If we don’t act now, there is a very real prospect that we lose all these spaces where young people come together to create and express themselves.
Sure, London hasn’t gone fully silent. You can still find a decent night out in places like Dalston or Peckham if you know where to look, but let’s not pretend the scene hasn’t completely changed. Iconic venues have disappeared. Youth centres have vanished. Promoters have been squeezed by costs, residents by noise complaints and young artists by a lack of places to test their work and, for those with talent, to thrive.
Nightlife isn’t just about partying. For me, it was where I found confidence and community. Before I was Tinie Tempah, I was just a young kid from Plumstead trying to get the mic at a pirate radio set or get a guest slot at a grime night somewhere. Those chaotic, low-lit rooms that were full of strangers and subwoofers were where my sound was born. Without them, there would have been no Pass Out, no Frisky, and no platform for the next generation of British music talent.
We talk a lot about screen addiction and about how people feel more isolated than ever. Is it really that surprising? We’ve traded dancefloors for DMs, eye contact for ring lights and physical movement for digital presence. Young people are spending more time scrolling than sweating. That’s not just bad for music but for mental health, community and joy.
Worse, if they actually make it out of their homes, it’s now common for people to watch an entire set through their phone screens and equally for artists to be forced to perform to a sea of devices. Live experiences should be absorbed in the moment. They should be about connection, not creating content.
After some time away I’ve been thinking about how we can bring people back together, in real spaces. I’ve been working on new music that speaks to that energy — built for the club and made to move to. It’s being released alongside my support for The Last Night Out — a campaign with the Night Time Industries Association working to help revive the UK’s declining nightlife scene and get people dancing together again. There are loads of exciting plans in the works, and I hope they can make a difference.
However, this music needs a place to thrive. The infrastructure that supports London after dark has been left to crumble. The truth is no night-time economy means less business, fewer jobs and a weaker culture. Think of all the music scenes created in this city. Think of what we’d lack without them. A quiet London will not only drive young creatives and talent elsewhere, but damage our creative output and chip away at our very identity.
We need to start treating nightclubs the way we treat galleries, libraries and stadiums — as cultural spaces with both an economic and emotional value. While the UK’s nightlife economy has rebounded from the pandemic years (£153.91bn in 2024 vs £112bn pre-pandemic), the reality is that pubs and clubs continue to decline and without urgent support that recovery won’t be sustainable.
More than numbers, this is about people and young people in particular. Where are they going to let loose and feel free now? Where will they meet, bond over music, form bands or just be present in the moment?
The Last Night Out campaign is about prioritising that instinct to move and feel music physically together. Whether it’s a rave, a sticky pub backroom or a makeshift venue — I want to see sweat on the walls again. That’s how culture lives and movements start.
If you’ve ever had a night that changed your life or heard a track that rewired your brain at 2am, don’t let that energy fade. Show up and support your local venues. Dance, reconnect and demand more from our city leaders to invest in the spaces that bring us together.
Tinie Tempah has kicked off his solo return to music with Eat it Up, out now. For more on The Last Night Out campaign, visit ntia.co.uk/the-last-night-out
