The first thing I am struck by as the members of Dot’s Funk Odyssey settle into a loose circle on the grass of one of Balliol College’s quads, sunlight filtering through the spring canopy, is a feeling of welcoming. There’s an easy warmth in the air that goes beyond the blue sky and sunshine – a settled kind of closeness, built over time and countless rehearsals.
Ben, drummer and musical director, flashes a warm grin. Maisie, trumpeter, band wrangler, and chaos coordinator, moves between jokes and quiet check-ins with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly how things run. Phoebe, one of the vocalists, sits cross-legged and glowing. Erin, trombonist and unofficial holder of the band’s ‘golden retriever energy’ title, leans back into the light. Tom, new on guitar this year, already has his sunglasses on and is cracking jokes with Patra, a vocalist basking in the sunniest spot.
Being part of a resident band in Oxford is not like joining your average student society. DFO, born from Wadham College’s Wadstock dreams and now a fixture of Oxford nightlife and ball culture, is something inherited. “It’s not just a band,” says Phoebe. “It’s something bigger. A family, really.”
Maisie nods: “It’s emotional. You’re contributing to something that doesn’t need to be your personal brand – it’s a legacy.” That legacy echoed at the 20th birthday celebration, when dozens of alumni flooded back to the stage, some flying in from as far as Tennessee. “There was this incredible sense,” Ben reflects, “that we’re not just the 2025 DFO. We’re DFO. Full stop.”
And like any family, there’s a lineage: whispered stories of DFO priests, honorary cousins, DF-mums, and DF-kids. Erin, in her third year in the band, laughs: “We literally made a family tree once. We just put ‘DF-’ in front of everything.”
There’s music, of course – funk grooves that wrap around jazz progressions, silky soul vocals, and horn sections that make you dance even if you meant to be serious. Behind the setlists and soundchecks, however, lies something even deeper: joy. The band doesn’t take any of their pay home, because they choose to spend the money instead on big meals after gigs, summer festivals together, and better kit. “You’re not doing it for money,” Maisie says. “You’re doing it because you love it, and because you love each other.”
Phoebe lights up at this. “It’s like a sleepover every summer. It’s a big holiday. Honestly, it’s the thing that’s kept me sane through Oxford.”
The gigs, too, are memory machines. They reminisce on gigs in Jesus College’s bar, soaked in nerves and neon. They reflect on Wadstock, too, with thousands of students singing back their set like a gospel choir of indie kids. “It’s wild,” Ben recalls. “You’re used to regular shows – and then you hit that first chord, and the crowd just erupts. That sound. I’ll never forget it.”
Beyond the music, the band has become a school of living. “I’ve learnt more management and people skills from this band than I have from my degree,” says Maisie, grinning. As musical director, Ben has honed the delicate art of feedback: “It’s so easy to say the wrong thing to someone. Musicianship is personal. You learn when to push and when to just stop.”
Phoebe adds: “You can read books, practise alone, but there’s nothing like communicating through music – with your eyes, your timing, your instrument. It’s the best education there is.”
Each new member brings their musical world with them: Ezra Collective here, trap beats there, a polka arrangement of ‘Bad Romance’ lurking somewhere in Maisie’s files. The setlists are as democratic as they are joyful – equal parts crowd-pleasers and surprises, tailored to whether it’s a ticketed gig or a May Ball marathon.
“We’re friends first, bandmates after”. That’s how Ben puts it, and the others all murmur in agreement. “Honestly,” Tom chimes in, “this has made my Oxford life. Like, this is it for me.”
Erin nods: “I want to come back for the 50th. The 100th. Freeze my brain if you have to. Just wake me up in time.”
Everyone laughs, but there’s a seriousness underneath it. “If I came back in seven years and everyone in DFO looked miserable,” Erin says, “I’d be like – we messed up.”
They won’t mess up, because they know what the secret is. They say it again and again, like a mantra passed from generation to generation of DFO: have fun. Enjoy each other and make music like it matters – because it does.
As the shadows grow long on the grass, the band begins to scatter. There’s a Balliol Ball to prepare for, a European tour to dream about, and new members to find. The music doesn’t end, though. It hums under their words, sways in their movement, curls around their memories. Somewhere out there, a first-year is tuning their trumpet. Somewhere else, an alum is playing a gig in London, or Vienna, or Barcelona, remembering a joke from Wadstock 2019.
Dot’s Funk Odyssey doesn’t belong to one person, one year, or even one genre. It’s what happens when talent, friendship, and absurd levels of joy find their groove – and never stop dancing.
