Keeping it real.

Danny McFadden tells the story of how UK Hip Hop finally found its voice.

As anyone who’s ever heard Tim Westwood speak can attest, the influence of the US on the UK Hip Hop scene is undeniable. But it’s no longer the dominant force. British musicians and producers have finally staked a claim for a genre that not only reflects British life but its accents and dialects too – and in the process, have created a form of music with a singularly UK sound.

The journey from US imitator to UK innovator hasn’t been an easy one. Although the ‘elements’ of Hip Hop (rapping, turntablism, breakdancing and graffiti) were shipped across the Atlantic in the late 1970s, the genre was so undeniably American that, for a decade at least, the Hip Hop adage of ‘keeping it real’ was somehow interpreted as ‘keeping it Stateside’.

‘US labels had expressed interest in what was happening over here,’ recalls Krispy 3’s Mikey D.O.N of the early days of British Hip Hop. ‘That was a big thing. But I remember distinctly that we had rappers coming back from America saying they had been booed off stage. Even then, they were trying to sound like they were from the States and the audiences could tell that it wasn’t authentic.’

It wasn’t until the late 1980s that British Hip Hop began to find its own voice – literally, as the London Posse, The Demon Boyz and Krispy 3 began experimenting with British accents. Even then, the likes of Krispy 3 found themselves up against MCs far happier working with a South Bronx than a South London sound, so much so that Krispy 3 felt compelled to include a skit on their debut long-player that, in an American voice, intones ‘are you trying to sound American?’

By asking the question, Krispy 3 and their counterparts changed the face of British Hip Hop. Fast forward to 2005, in fact, and listen to Mikey D.O.N and Mr Wiz on What They Talking ‘Bout? an EP whose title track gives a blistering rebuke to those MCs still faking their accents. But this time, faux yankification wasn’t the problem. ‘We had actually reached a point where many people were just over-emphasising where they were from,’ says Mikey D.O.N. It seems that British MCs were no longer pretending they were straight out of Compton; instead, they queued up to represent their region, city, town, borough or even their postcode.

British Hip Hop, then, has come a long way, with its history and highlights the subject of an exhibition that opens this month at Urbis. Now celebrated as a genre in its own right, UK Hip Hop has transcended its original American roots to embrace other, global influences. ‘It illustrates the magpie approach we have to music and culture in this country,’ says Urbis’ Andy Brydon, who curated the exhibition with writer James McNally and artist Kid Acne. ‘Hip Hop didn’t arrive in a cultural wasteland: before the London Posse and The Demon Boyz, we had Smiley Culture. Before that, when DJs first picked up American Hip Hop records, they filled in the gaps with vinyl from their existing collections. So already, as soon as Hip Hop arrived in Britain, we had a different slant on the way the music was heard and understood here.’

That magpie tendency is ultimately true to the original spirit of Hip Hop. Forefathers Grandmaster Flash, DJ Kool Herc and Afrika Bambaataa appropriated whatever was available at the time, boldly mashing-up influences and sounds. They created a music assembled from the rhythmic off-cuts of funk, pop, soul, disco and more; a music which is widely sourced, remixed and repurposed by its very nature. The only potential downfall, predicts Brydon, is when Hip Hop becomes a clearly defined ‘product’, one whose boundaries deflect the sonic curveballs that have so far produced the genre’s ongoing experimentation – and success.

Even then, this is where the UK version has a chance to shine. At a time when US artists are becoming firmly established as multi-platinum signings, where it’s risky for them (or, more likely, their labels) to stray too far from an identifiable template, the genre’s far less flash Cockney, Bristolian or Manc cousins still have the freedom to experiment. The result is that UK Hip Hop has gained recognition as a hotbed of innovation. It’s a genre that often deviates so far from its original blueprint that it sometimes prompts questions about whether it can legitimately be called Hip Hop or not. Over the years, records that have been labelled Jungle, Drum & Bass, Trip Hop, UK Garage, Grime, Dubstep and Wonky are, in fact, just part of an ever-expanding UK Hip Hop sound. And its proliferation doesn’t stop there. Export-wise, the UK scene has seen Estelle, Lady Sovereign and M.I.A. find success in the US, just as Missy Elliott looks to our shores for fresh production talent.

The question of mainstream crossover success for British rap has largely been and gone and, of late, it seems like hardly a week goes by without Tinchy Stryder conquering the pop charts. ‘That’s where it really differs from where it used to be,’ says Mikey D.O.N. ‘There used to be this massive issue about “selling out”. I don’t hear that any more. “Sell out” appears to have disappeared from the language and if that attitude was still around then we’d have heard someone say that “Tinchy Stryder is a sell out” or “Dizzee Rascal is a sell out” or “Roots Manuva is a sell out” along the way.’

In fact, D.O.N. goes as far as to suggest that the scene needs to return to its underground roots to truly represent what he sees as genuine Hip Hop. Certainly, UK artists are finally beginning to emulate their American counterparts’ moneymaking ability – and with that cash comes fears of formulaic results. But such fears appear to be unfounded. Lyrically and musically, UK Hip Hop has simply learned to reflect our own, very particular society. And as far as we are concerned, respect is due.

Homegrown: The Story of UK Hip Hop runs at Urbis until March 2010. Free Entry. Danny McFadden is a writer who contributes to a variety of regional, national and international publications. He lives in Manchester with his Giant Schnauzer, Nina, and also edits ‘a local/lo-fi clubbing website’.

Images (top to bottom): The Wild Bunch (1985-1986), Beezer. Breakdancer (1985), Richard Reyes.

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