Zippin up ma boots, going back to ma Roots
There are many reasons why I love London’s own Rodney Smith, better known as Roots Manuva, simply one of my favourite rappers full-stop. One is that he shares a first name with my other all-time favourite Brit MC, Rodney P, formerly of London Posse and now a solo artiste with a consistently brilliant output and incredible vocal style and delivery. Don’t ask me why, I just like the symmetry and sheer unlikelihood of that serendipity. There is also the fact that he records for the brilliant Big Dada label, Ninja Tunes’ own British hip-hop imprint, who should always get props for their approach and championing of the UK scene. Also, in a purely homegrown type of way, there is obviously a bit of brazen nationalistic pride in supporting one of your own, a pleasure in a British artist who, to my mind, can truly cut it with the best of his American cousins in terms of lyrical invention, content, delivery and showmanship.
And more than that, there is some local pride at stake also, with Roots Manuva’s stomping ground of Brixton and Stockwell in London’s south west, doubling as my own domicile in this lovely old city, and thus his music in some ways seems to provide something of a soundtrack to my daily life. Not that I share actively in his tales of urban mischief and philosophising of course, just that there is a neighbourhood affinity that imbues his music with the familiar and therefore the comfortable. And then there is the music itself, so far three albums deep and of a quality which, in my humble opinion, puts him up there in the high echelons of rap heritage, such is the artistry, uniqueness of style, and consistency of flow and provision of coherent pieces of work of the highest distinction.
Manuva seems to have blended the inherent traditions of American hip-hop with his own personal history and a very British sensibility which combines elements of his West Indian heritage, with influences from black London in the 1970s and 1980s, “Carry On” and Ealing comedy, religious moralising, and distinctly UK musical styles such as ska, British electronica and northern soul, along with more universal sounds of dub and roots reggae, funk and even some Afro-centric leanings, and all seen through a philosophical, meandering, slightly paranoid prism of the finest London skunk fumes.
But his music, and lyrical content, is also sometimes rather uniquely written under the black cloud of depression and bouts of mental confusion, his rhymes often a refreshingly honest confessional that gives his music an appealingly raw accessibility, an intriguing insight into the internal battles of light and dark that surely, to a lesser or greater extent, sometimes afflict us all. Whatever the ingredients are in this heady concoction, for me the result has always been a stew worth tasting and savouring, and a recipe worth returning to. Debut offering, “Brand New Second Hand” gave British hip-hop at the turn of the new millennium a welcome shot in the arm, an injection of rough bass and gruff vocals which bangs and elbows its way into contention with a freshness and swagger, not to mention originality, which suggested a great new talent was born. But his opus to date came with 2001’s “Run Come Save Me”, quite simply a brilliant album from start to finish.
The thinner production values of his debut were replaced with a sophisticated and fully realised aural landscape (Manuva carries production duties on much of his output), and this record gave voice to the fully-realised Manuva manifesto, itself a darkly sophisticated dissection of the ills of the Western World, an Orwellian-like take on the evil powers embedded in the inexorable forces of globalization. It is a classic and a landmark in British hip-hop, and should be one for hip-hop generally. If there were any justice in the music world, Roots Manuva would already be a household name, and certainly known more widely in hip-hop circles beyond these shores. It is not perfect, but then perfection often isn’t, if that doesn’t sound too crazy.
My point being that the album has to have rough edges to truly realise its ambitious reach. And of course the album spawned one of the greatest UK hip-hop cuts of all time, “Witness (1 hope), with its spacey electro and syncopation, skittering off-rhythm, and ridiculously infectious chorus. And here we find the other reason for my love of Roots Manuva, the video to this song. If you don’t know it, have a dig online and you’ll find it easy enough. Just an incredible concept, simple and downright hilarious. Fitting the song perfectly, and incongruous at the same time, the offering epitomises the square peg in a round whole that is Roots Manuva. Take time to witness the fitness, and like the man himself said on his third long-player offering, you'll soon be getting awfully deep
And more than that, there is some local pride at stake also, with Roots Manuva’s stomping ground of Brixton and Stockwell in London’s south west, doubling as my own domicile in this lovely old city, and thus his music in some ways seems to provide something of a soundtrack to my daily life. Not that I share actively in his tales of urban mischief and philosophising of course, just that there is a neighbourhood affinity that imbues his music with the familiar and therefore the comfortable. And then there is the music itself, so far three albums deep and of a quality which, in my humble opinion, puts him up there in the high echelons of rap heritage, such is the artistry, uniqueness of style, and consistency of flow and provision of coherent pieces of work of the highest distinction.
Manuva seems to have blended the inherent traditions of American hip-hop with his own personal history and a very British sensibility which combines elements of his West Indian heritage, with influences from black London in the 1970s and 1980s, “Carry On” and Ealing comedy, religious moralising, and distinctly UK musical styles such as ska, British electronica and northern soul, along with more universal sounds of dub and roots reggae, funk and even some Afro-centric leanings, and all seen through a philosophical, meandering, slightly paranoid prism of the finest London skunk fumes.
But his music, and lyrical content, is also sometimes rather uniquely written under the black cloud of depression and bouts of mental confusion, his rhymes often a refreshingly honest confessional that gives his music an appealingly raw accessibility, an intriguing insight into the internal battles of light and dark that surely, to a lesser or greater extent, sometimes afflict us all. Whatever the ingredients are in this heady concoction, for me the result has always been a stew worth tasting and savouring, and a recipe worth returning to. Debut offering, “Brand New Second Hand” gave British hip-hop at the turn of the new millennium a welcome shot in the arm, an injection of rough bass and gruff vocals which bangs and elbows its way into contention with a freshness and swagger, not to mention originality, which suggested a great new talent was born. But his opus to date came with 2001’s “Run Come Save Me”, quite simply a brilliant album from start to finish.
The thinner production values of his debut were replaced with a sophisticated and fully realised aural landscape (Manuva carries production duties on much of his output), and this record gave voice to the fully-realised Manuva manifesto, itself a darkly sophisticated dissection of the ills of the Western World, an Orwellian-like take on the evil powers embedded in the inexorable forces of globalization. It is a classic and a landmark in British hip-hop, and should be one for hip-hop generally. If there were any justice in the music world, Roots Manuva would already be a household name, and certainly known more widely in hip-hop circles beyond these shores. It is not perfect, but then perfection often isn’t, if that doesn’t sound too crazy.
My point being that the album has to have rough edges to truly realise its ambitious reach. And of course the album spawned one of the greatest UK hip-hop cuts of all time, “Witness (1 hope), with its spacey electro and syncopation, skittering off-rhythm, and ridiculously infectious chorus. And here we find the other reason for my love of Roots Manuva, the video to this song. If you don’t know it, have a dig online and you’ll find it easy enough. Just an incredible concept, simple and downright hilarious. Fitting the song perfectly, and incongruous at the same time, the offering epitomises the square peg in a round whole that is Roots Manuva. Take time to witness the fitness, and like the man himself said on his third long-player offering, you'll soon be getting awfully deep
posted by Twelve Bar at 6:56 PM
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