This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/music/2017/mar/09/why-doesnt-everyone-rap-in-scouse-how-british-hip-hop-broke-free-of-london
The article has changed 3 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
| Version 0 | Version 1 |
|---|---|
| Why doesn’t everyone rap in scouse? How British hip-hop broke free of London | Why doesn’t everyone rap in scouse? How British hip-hop broke free of London |
| (about 2 hours later) | |
| There’s a track on the most recent Giggs album called The Best. The London MC takes the first verse, setting out his credentials as a master gangster and talking about how he might have to “spank some arses” in his trademark basso profundo. The hook follows, rapped by an MC called Aystar. The theme is the same while the flow is slightly longer, but there’s one thing that makes the lines stand out: they are delivered in broad scouse. | There’s a track on the most recent Giggs album called The Best. The London MC takes the first verse, setting out his credentials as a master gangster and talking about how he might have to “spank some arses” in his trademark basso profundo. The hook follows, rapped by an MC called Aystar. The theme is the same while the flow is slightly longer, but there’s one thing that makes the lines stand out: they are delivered in broad scouse. |
| Aystar has been making waves in Liverpool for a while now – the footballer Raheem Sterling, when he was still playing for Liverpool, was singing his praises on Twitter back in 2013. But, after discovering him on that Giggs track and then digging back, first into his Fire in the Booth session for Radio 1Xtra and then his SoundCloud page, the question that came to mind was: “Why doesn’t everyone rap in scouse?”, with those long Rs and hard Cs, not to mention the vernacular (of all the various names for police used by rappers over the years, Aystar is the first I have heard use “plod”). | |
| The most exciting thing about all this is that Aystar is far from alone. The regional British accent is popping up on a rap track near you in near dizzying quantities. From Bugzy Malone and Levelz in Manchester to Lady Leshurr and Hitman from Birmingham, Splinta in Nottingham and the baby-faced Shogun from Paisley in Glasgow, the list actually does go on and on. So why is it happening now and what does it say about the health of UK music? | |
| Disclaimer: this hasn’t happened all of sudden. There have always been MCs from across the UK. But UK rap has taken a long time to mature to the point where it can sustain so many different scenes and as many distinctive voices as it has today. For the first 25 years of hip-hop, Britain struggled to find its own identity within the music. MCs such as Rodney P, with his cockney accent and with his references to Premier League footballers, Manchester’s Ruthless Rap Assassins (whose lead MC, Kermit, went on to find fame alongside Shaun Ryder with Black Grape) and the entirely distinct stylings of the Bristol sound, as embodied by Tricky, were pioneering exceptions before the turn of the millennium. In the 00s came grime, which gave birth to a sound and a style of rapping that was unapologetically British – but also, for many years, unquestionably a London thing. | Disclaimer: this hasn’t happened all of sudden. There have always been MCs from across the UK. But UK rap has taken a long time to mature to the point where it can sustain so many different scenes and as many distinctive voices as it has today. For the first 25 years of hip-hop, Britain struggled to find its own identity within the music. MCs such as Rodney P, with his cockney accent and with his references to Premier League footballers, Manchester’s Ruthless Rap Assassins (whose lead MC, Kermit, went on to find fame alongside Shaun Ryder with Black Grape) and the entirely distinct stylings of the Bristol sound, as embodied by Tricky, were pioneering exceptions before the turn of the millennium. In the 00s came grime, which gave birth to a sound and a style of rapping that was unapologetically British – but also, for many years, unquestionably a London thing. |
| “Each city now has its own voice. That’s what makes it exciting,” says Charlie Sloth, the host of Radio 1’s Rap Show, the country’s biggest platform for the music. “Even five years ago, everyone sounded as if they were from London. The comparison would be 20 years ago in hip-hop when everyone had to sound as if they were from New York.” | “Each city now has its own voice. That’s what makes it exciting,” says Charlie Sloth, the host of Radio 1’s Rap Show, the country’s biggest platform for the music. “Even five years ago, everyone sounded as if they were from London. The comparison would be 20 years ago in hip-hop when everyone had to sound as if they were from New York.” |
| Sloth began hosting the Rap Show in 2013. He took over from Tim Westwood who, despite his public reputation as a slightly ridiculous figure, had been incredibly influential in developing the music in the UK. Sloth knew that as well as anyone else and wanted to continue Westwood’s work as a champion of rap. He also, however, wanted to carve out something that was his own. So he told his producers to find him rappers from outside London and get them into the BBC’s recording studios. | Sloth began hosting the Rap Show in 2013. He took over from Tim Westwood who, despite his public reputation as a slightly ridiculous figure, had been incredibly influential in developing the music in the UK. Sloth knew that as well as anyone else and wanted to continue Westwood’s work as a champion of rap. He also, however, wanted to carve out something that was his own. So he told his producers to find him rappers from outside London and get them into the BBC’s recording studios. |
| “Fire in the Booth started as a platform seven years ago [on Sloth’s previous 1Xtra show], but when I replaced Westwood, I had to ask myself: ‘What’s next?’ I’ve been involved in the scene since I was 13, I’ve grown up around artists, but I was always fascinated by music from outside London; the different accents, the different terminologies used. When you look at hip-hop, it was a New York cottage industry for a long time. It only changed when the Dirty South [movement in US rap] came along. That was when it became a lifestyle, a global business. That needed to happen over here. To be taken seriously as an art form, rap music in the UK – and for me, the moment you put a rhyme over an instrumental it becomes a rap – it needed to stop being London-centric. So I sat down with my producers and said we needed to find artists outside the M25. They looked at me as if I’d lost the plot.” | “Fire in the Booth started as a platform seven years ago [on Sloth’s previous 1Xtra show], but when I replaced Westwood, I had to ask myself: ‘What’s next?’ I’ve been involved in the scene since I was 13, I’ve grown up around artists, but I was always fascinated by music from outside London; the different accents, the different terminologies used. When you look at hip-hop, it was a New York cottage industry for a long time. It only changed when the Dirty South [movement in US rap] came along. That was when it became a lifestyle, a global business. That needed to happen over here. To be taken seriously as an art form, rap music in the UK – and for me, the moment you put a rhyme over an instrumental it becomes a rap – it needed to stop being London-centric. So I sat down with my producers and said we needed to find artists outside the M25. They looked at me as if I’d lost the plot.” |
| Sloth was serious about his commitment, and he and his team began ploughing through mix tapes (as another symbol of his commitment to UK music, the first song he played on Radio 1 was a Giggs track). They began ringing up rappers, bringing them into the BBC studios and recording their verses over the big instrumentals of the day. It was soon a central part of the show, but without any of the artists necessarily catching fire. Then, in 2015, on a journey up to Leeds, Sloth found a freestyle from Manchester’s Bugzy Malone. | Sloth was serious about his commitment, and he and his team began ploughing through mix tapes (as another symbol of his commitment to UK music, the first song he played on Radio 1 was a Giggs track). They began ringing up rappers, bringing them into the BBC studios and recording their verses over the big instrumentals of the day. It was soon a central part of the show, but without any of the artists necessarily catching fire. Then, in 2015, on a journey up to Leeds, Sloth found a freestyle from Manchester’s Bugzy Malone. |
| “I watched it five times back to back. I was engrossed,” Sloth says. “It was the delivery; the body language. He was articulate, he was rapping in his local accent and with slang relevant to his city. I remember ringing round, desperate to get his number. When I finally spoke to him, I said: ‘Look, bro, you’ve got the potential to be a superstar, get in the booth. He thought it was a prank call. His Fire in the Booth went on to get six million views and since that moment it really feels like the rest of the country believe they can be accepted.” | “I watched it five times back to back. I was engrossed,” Sloth says. “It was the delivery; the body language. He was articulate, he was rapping in his local accent and with slang relevant to his city. I remember ringing round, desperate to get his number. When I finally spoke to him, I said: ‘Look, bro, you’ve got the potential to be a superstar, get in the booth. He thought it was a prank call. His Fire in the Booth went on to get six million views and since that moment it really feels like the rest of the country believe they can be accepted.” |
| One of the interesting things about the visible new diversity in UK rap music is that a lot of the time there’s a sense that the artists aren’t necessarily looking for acceptance. Yes, there are artists such as Malone or Aystar who look set for recording careers. But elsewhere, especially among the dozens of YouTube channels dedicated to music from individual cities, where MCs are filmed in their estates dropping bars about their lives, it’s as much about representing a neighbourhood as anything else. | One of the interesting things about the visible new diversity in UK rap music is that a lot of the time there’s a sense that the artists aren’t necessarily looking for acceptance. Yes, there are artists such as Malone or Aystar who look set for recording careers. But elsewhere, especially among the dozens of YouTube channels dedicated to music from individual cities, where MCs are filmed in their estates dropping bars about their lives, it’s as much about representing a neighbourhood as anything else. |
| Manchester group Levelz are a sprawling collective who mix rapping of various styles with an equally broad range of musical influences, from grime to 2-step and drum’n’bass, with a dollop of humour on top. The group may not have a huge imprint outside of their native city, but they celebrated their third birthday last December with their own night at the prestigious Warehouse Project. Their style is distinctly Mancunian. | Manchester group Levelz are a sprawling collective who mix rapping of various styles with an equally broad range of musical influences, from grime to 2-step and drum’n’bass, with a dollop of humour on top. The group may not have a huge imprint outside of their native city, but they celebrated their third birthday last December with their own night at the prestigious Warehouse Project. Their style is distinctly Mancunian. |
| According to the group’s producer and MC, Chimpo – sample lyric: “Trouble brewing up / Pass the teacups” – the group come out of a long tradition. “You’re getting off on the wrong foot [if you think this is brand new]”, he says. “There’s bare unique slang [in Manchester rapping] but you’re gonna have to listen to us to get them bring-ins.” | According to the group’s producer and MC, Chimpo – sample lyric: “Trouble brewing up / Pass the teacups” – the group come out of a long tradition. “You’re getting off on the wrong foot [if you think this is brand new]”, he says. “There’s bare unique slang [in Manchester rapping] but you’re gonna have to listen to us to get them bring-ins.” |
| Chimpo says that the humour is something that marks Manchester MCs out – “Everyone’s a piss-taker up here, pretty sure it’s not confined to Levelz” – but he also makes a claim for British MCing benefiting from the diversity of British musical styles, especially in dance music. “Music in general is maybe more interesting from the UK than other places,” he says. “I can’t say UK hip-hop is better than US hip-hop. They’re the originators so they’re always gonna hold the crown with that. But things like grime and jungle and drum’n’bass could have only came from the UK, and to me they’re the most exciting and creative modern genres around.” | Chimpo says that the humour is something that marks Manchester MCs out – “Everyone’s a piss-taker up here, pretty sure it’s not confined to Levelz” – but he also makes a claim for British MCing benefiting from the diversity of British musical styles, especially in dance music. “Music in general is maybe more interesting from the UK than other places,” he says. “I can’t say UK hip-hop is better than US hip-hop. They’re the originators so they’re always gonna hold the crown with that. But things like grime and jungle and drum’n’bass could have only came from the UK, and to me they’re the most exciting and creative modern genres around.” |
| Around a decade ago, after the first wave of grime had exploded, once Dizzee Rascal had started to collaborate with Calvin Harris and Tinchy Stryder had topped the charts, there was a feeling that the British MC had arrived and finally earned mainstream acceptance. Major labels hoovered up any British MC they could get their hands on in the hope they might become Tinie Tempah. Most of them did not, and after a period of making music that was neither popular nor what they wanted to make, many of these MCs found themselves back at square one. According to Sloth, this paved the way for the music that is being made today. | Around a decade ago, after the first wave of grime had exploded, once Dizzee Rascal had started to collaborate with Calvin Harris and Tinchy Stryder had topped the charts, there was a feeling that the British MC had arrived and finally earned mainstream acceptance. Major labels hoovered up any British MC they could get their hands on in the hope they might become Tinie Tempah. Most of them did not, and after a period of making music that was neither popular nor what they wanted to make, many of these MCs found themselves back at square one. According to Sloth, this paved the way for the music that is being made today. |
| “I think when you look at the landscape and how things have changed, particularly over the last seven years”, he says, “it’s a story of how ownership has changed. For a long time, nobody understood the power of ownership. Professor Green, Tinchy Stryder, even N-Dubz were having all this chart success at that time. It was all funded by labels who controlled everything; how it was heard and how it was perceived. They signed 98 artists, 98, but only nine achieved success. And what the majors did, and the industry in general, once they’d invested this money and saw they weren’t getting a return, they withdrew everything. | “I think when you look at the landscape and how things have changed, particularly over the last seven years”, he says, “it’s a story of how ownership has changed. For a long time, nobody understood the power of ownership. Professor Green, Tinchy Stryder, even N-Dubz were having all this chart success at that time. It was all funded by labels who controlled everything; how it was heard and how it was perceived. They signed 98 artists, 98, but only nine achieved success. And what the majors did, and the industry in general, once they’d invested this money and saw they weren’t getting a return, they withdrew everything. |
| “Artists got dropped, investment got pulled like a rug. Whoomph! It was gone. And that scene had no foundations. It was 20, 30 years old but people kept making the same mistakes. But finally, once that happened, a lot of people started having conversations about ownership and understanding their worth as an artist. They knew they were speaking to the hardest-to-reach audience in the country. So things changed, and now look at it. Stormzy has a No 1 album and he’s an independent artist. You’ve got Skepta, you’ve got Giggs. If major labels want to get involved again, they’re going to have work with the artists. And they’re going to have to dig deep.” | “Artists got dropped, investment got pulled like a rug. Whoomph! It was gone. And that scene had no foundations. It was 20, 30 years old but people kept making the same mistakes. But finally, once that happened, a lot of people started having conversations about ownership and understanding their worth as an artist. They knew they were speaking to the hardest-to-reach audience in the country. So things changed, and now look at it. Stormzy has a No 1 album and he’s an independent artist. You’ve got Skepta, you’ve got Giggs. If major labels want to get involved again, they’re going to have work with the artists. And they’re going to have to dig deep.” |
| Rap music, the art of rhyming on a beat, has always been an art form that spoke directly about the world in which it was made. Now UK MCs are showing this is possible in ways more varied than ever before. | Rap music, the art of rhyming on a beat, has always been an art form that spoke directly about the world in which it was made. Now UK MCs are showing this is possible in ways more varied than ever before. |