Words by Nicolas Fox Ricciardi
Photos by Dean Chalkley
January 22nd, 2004
Dizzee Rascal has already climbed higher than most musicians ever will or even aspire to climb. Moreover, he can hardly be called a rising artist because Dizzee is already at the top of his game. In September 2003, his debut album, Boy in Da Corner (Beggars) won Britain’s coveted all-genre Mercury Prize, an award for which he competed with Radiohead, Coldplay and The Darkness. He has supported live acts such as Justin Timberlake, The Neptunes, and Jay-Z, and many report that Rascal upstaged them all. Finally, his challenging and misbehaved Boy in Da Corner has already gone gold in a country that is usually drawn to mopey rock. Oh, and Dizzee Rascal is only 19 years old.
From a high-school dropout living on the streets of London’s Bow neighborhood, to an upstart 14-year-old freestyling at raves, Dizzee is today’s most unusual rap star. His zany approach challenges the listener’s ears to reconsider the sound of hip-hop and the way it may sound in the future. His beats don’t pulse as much as they stutter. His words don’t flow as much as they bounce. He has the idiosyncrasies of any regional rap artist that has crossed into the mainstream, but he’s not banking on one catch phrase. In fact, he’s establishing an entirely new dictionary for the American audience. While our inspiration-less scenes have only one trick up their sleeves (like St. Louis, for example, and its 1000 ways to say “there”), Dizzee is sleeveless.
On Boy in Da Corner, the Rascal toys with everything from arena rock (a sample from Billy Squire’s “The Big Beat” makes up the chorus to “Fix Up, Look Sharp”) to Asian pentachordial tunes (the chime-y synth of “Brand New Day”). His manic energy is splattered all over the record. Moreover, he’s working on a follow-up album, even though both the media and listeners continue to frenzy over his debut and his equally as fascinating personal life, which includes last summer, when he was apparently stabbed multiple times by friends of a rival.
It’s obvious from his lyrics that Dizzee has plenty to talk about, but the question needs to be asked: does he have anything to say? Read on. The Rascal speaketh.
You did your first U.S. show this February in Brooklyn at Volume. How does an American crowd respond differently?
I think it was an amazing response. They say the New York crowd is one of the stiffest crowds with lots of hipsters and trendy people, but there was big energy there. I’ve been to raves in London where it’s more about standing around and listening. To come with hip-hop and get a response like that was amazing for me, man.
What do you want people to take away from your live show?
Happiness, that they didn’t waste their money.
What can you get across live that you can’t on the album?
Me. [Laughs] I came up doing live stuff. I came up in pirate radio and at raves, so the whole studio part of it came last. I’ve always been doing raves, so I’ve become pretty good at it.
Do you prefer the studio or the stage?
I’m not sure. I love the studio, ’cause that’s the whole creative part. The live part is where you get to project it. Without computers, it’s just you one on one with the crowd.
How has your performance changed from when you were first starting out to now?
When I started out I was probably around 12, if you’re talking about just school concerts. I started doing raves when I was around 14. I was first doing house raves, then youth club raves, and eventually proper garage raves and big concerts. It’s always been a variation of just me and a mic.
How was it at the beginning?
Back then it would just be stupid. I just spat and that was my style whereas now I’ve gotten more comfortable and done more crowds and more variations of crowds. I’ve got more movement to create more energy between me and the crowd.
What comes first to you – beats or lyrics?
It depends, you know. Especially with Boy in Da Corner, I was in radio mode, I was always writing lyrics. So for a lot of it, the beats came second. I’d have the lyrics, and I would just make a beat and lay the lyrics over the beat. I would rap over someone else’s songs to practice and get a lot of my lyrics out. For “I Love U,” I wrote that to “Is That Your Chick” [2000 single from Memphis Bleek featuring Jay-Z, Missy Elliott and Twista]. Sometimes I hear a beat in my head, and I’ll just make a beat, or I could have a load of beats. One day, one set of lyrics might go over one of them, or I’ll just sit down and do everything from scratch. What’s important most of the time is that I don’t try to overcrowd the beat with sound effects. The voice is the last instrument, but because I emcee, I can build from an MC’s perspective. That’s the beauty of it. I always keep space for the lyrics. I prefer beats to be more minimal-sounding.
You wrote the album over a couple of years. Do you hear a difference in your beats or the content of your lyrics from then to now?
I started Boy in Da Corner when I was 15 and I only started MCing four years ago. I used to mix drum ‘n’ bass records before that, but it didn’t really fit the character of my lyrics so I started MCing, and making my own beats. But now I’ve been doing it much longer. I’m trying to be a rapper. I’m trying to do all different styles. You just cultivate everything and the more you do it the better you get. “Jus’ a Rascal” – that is a bit more recent. Something like “Sittin’ Here”, the opening track, I wrote when I was 15. With lyrics, I write basically whatever comes up. Sometimes I might try and have a plot, but a lot of the time it’s better when you come up with it and place the plot depending on what you’ve written down afterwards. Sometimes working in the reverse is better.
How was your writing in Boy in Da Corner affected by what you were listening to at the time? How is your writing affected now?
I really loved drum ‘n’ bass. I caught onto the garage thing late. When everyone jumped onto garage, I was still in my own little world mixing drum ‘n’ bass records. I wasn’t a big DJ or whatever, I was 15, just keeping the turntables and mixing. I loved hip-hop and even a little rock: Nirvana, Korn, a little Rage Against the Machine, there was some different stuff. I was open-minded to that music from when I was young. From a lyrical view, the people doing it for me were the drum ‘n’ bass MC’s. Although there wasn’t a major amount of substance to what they were doing, they sounded the most English, and they were proud of it and I love that about them. As far as sound, I liked crunk, the stuff coming out from Cash Money and No Limit a little later on, some reggae and dancehall. I listen to a lot, basically whatever catches my ear. I like The Neptunes, always loved Timbaland. There are a lot of new sounds to hip-hop. People have only realized what it’s about now. Ludacris is doing it in mainstream and Lil’ Jon is taking it to the next level.
How often do you go back to revise and edit? Did you go back to some of the old songs and redo them?
Nah. I believe when it’s done it’s done. Once the main vocal’s on it, I might retouch the beat again, but after that I just get everything mixed down, and that’s how I leave it. There’s so much more to be done, so many new ideas to lay down. I find it a waste of time to retouch beats over again. That touching-up time is another two or three beats I could be making.
When you were coming out with Boy in Da Corner, how did you let people’s opinions affect you?
You take what you need to take from it. Any criticism is good criticism, I suppose. “I Luv U” caused a massive stir. But it came out at a time where nothing like that was out. A lot of people were about being generic and trying to sound like American hip-hop or a lot of plastic pop. People were baffled. They either loved it or hated it. If people hate it, it might take them a while to get into it. But once they get in, they get in.
But do all these responses affect you?
They can. Going from a small crowd of people to a couple hundred on the radio to a couple thousand to a little portion of the world, opinions can take their toll. But I’m a strong person mentally, so really, to be honest I don’t give a fuck. I’ll tell you the truth. I’m about my music most definitely. I’ve got high standards on the music I like, so when I’m making my own, I’m gonna try and make something completely different. I’m aware that people will have their views on it. Any reaction becomes a good reaction.
Do you think your music can reach outside the urban market?
Well, I came from different means – the underground. I didn’t just come up from the Fame Academy or Pop Idol. I came up on my own before getting signed. I supported Jay-Z when I was 17, so I had a big underground following first. I’ve done alright with mainstream crowds. I supported raps with Pharrell, Justin Timberlake and Black Eyed Peas the other day. That crowd there was really mixed – a massive audience – so I feel like I’ve been able to reach more than just the urban crowd.
Do you feel that there is an unnecessary amount of pressure on UK artists to break in the U.S.?
I’m not sure if it’s unnecessary. It depends on what the artists are doing. A lot of the time, you can make the mistake of trying to sell coal to New Castle – trying to sell hip-hop to Americans with these fake Premiere-sounding beats. They’re from Britain and they’re trying to sound like they’re from the Bronx, and they’re just not. I think one of the few people that has made it from England is The Streets. We have the same kind of thing, but I come from a different angle.
After winning the Mercury Prize, you talked about establishing the British rap scene as a genre of its own to be respected and appreciated on the same level as American artists imported over to the UK. Do you feel like the UK public and the public abroad appreciates the rap that the UK is making?
I think maybe more on an underground level, but on the mainstream, I’m not sure if they’re aware of how much talent there is. I’d say slightly more and more. There is Channel U playing videos [in the UK] and there are several radio stations, like Radio One Extra [in Europe] exposing the talent, but I feel like there is some time to go still.
How much do you feel like the media is responsible?
I think the media could do more to help. A lot of the time, it’s the negative stuff that gets shown: the violence, the shootings – that side of it. Maybe that fills more papers than the actual talent that’s there.
How do you feel about the press you’ve been getting like the knifing incident, calling you a “British 50 Cent”?
[Laughs] Well, there’s only one 50 Cent. Honestly though, it’s not the best coverage and it’s something I might have kept to myself. I’ve been through a lot of life’s misfortunes, ups and downs and all. Where I’m from, you learn that from a young age. I’m really of an age that the music – although I incorporate aspects of my life into it – it’s not completely autobiographical, just some situations that people can relate to.
It seems like the press thinks the public needs to see this kind of street authenticity in order to respect a rap artist. How do you feel about the violence they seem to be promoting?
I think it sucks, ’cause soon you’re gonna have to be a fucking Marine or something to be a rap artist. I dunno, man. It’s a shame that a lot of the time, the music, especially from the street or the urban market, has all these violent attachments. It is the people’s music. There is no music like hip-hop that is as reflective of what is going on at that time. It’s the people who are having these problems that are the ones going to these events. And if they have a problem with each other, they’re gonna deal with it in the street. They’re gonna deal with it at Burger King, or wherever they’re gonna hang, but it gets all those direct attachments to the music, and it’s a shame.
Do you feel it is necessary to have street credibility in order for your music to be taken seriously?
That seems to be the case, but I don’t believe it’s right. You should be a good rapper for people to respect you. You should get more credibility if you come up from the underground and make it into the mainstream. I don’t believe it should be for how violent you are. If you’ve got that kind of background, then so be it. If people want to hear your story, whatever, that can be your downfall as well.
Do you feel pigeonholed by this image?
I don’t feel pigeonholed, ’cause I don’t flaunt it. It isn’t the main base of my music. My creativity and the versatility of my lyrical delivery, the variation and mixing of the physics of the music, it’s more about that. My background is my background. Where I’m from is where I’m from. It will always be a part of my music, but it’s not all that I am.
