This book is not what I expected. A mixtape in literary form, it lists 50 of the most important tracks in the history of Grime. Other than a few short essays at the end, that's it: Jeffrey Boakye just describes and discusses these 50 songs. And he does it in a way that is jammed full of music journalist clichés, of jokey footnotes, and of awkward monologues to the reader (you know that thing where it's, like, he's talking to you, yeah? He's pretending to have a conversation, yeah? Being chatty, yeah? You do, you know exactly what I mean — after all, I mean, I'm doing it now. It's kinda annoying, don't you think? Mastubatory, self-congraulatory, various other kinds of —tory, yeah?)
But despite that — sometimes because of it — I ended up loving this book. *Loving* it. Of course, I read with the book in one hand, my phone in the other, so I could bring up each of the 50 tracks on YouTube and listen along, and that in itself taught me loads.
"Black Masculinity, Millennials"? There was less of that than I'd hoped (and most of it in the appendix), but some understanding of what it is to be young, poor, male and black in the early 21st century did seep out of the writing on the 50 tracks. Boakye doesn't shy away from the violence and misogyny that is a common to many grime tracks, and by the end I felt that I understood much better why these elements are there, though I didn't feel any more comfortable with them.
One of the few tracks by a female artist included in the book (Queen's Speech 4 by Lady Leshurr) is one of the few that my teenage daughter was aware of, and when Boakye says (of the 11 to 13-year-old girls in his English class) that "In Lady L, they found license to be extrovert and confident in a strictly female context", I scribbled in the margin "Fucking YES Jeffrey! It seems like you almost get it". But that was only after, two pages earlier, he'd written this about the same track:
"'Queen's Speech 4' won't win any awards for being profound. The first bar sets the tone and says it all, stapling a simile about contemporary temporary social media to an ironically simple simile about going over your head the same way a snapback does. This is the realm in which Leshurr seems to live today; unapologetic pop-culture references for the youth of today, sprinkled with playground bravado. Thing is, it's all rather quite addictive, and actually quite effective. It's impossible not to smile when you catch the puns in her hashtag flow, even when (especially when?) they are inane."
You know what you just did there, Jeffrey? You just described your own book, far better than I could ever have done. It's not profound. It's unapolagetically pop-culture. And, to my surprise, it's all rather addictive; effective, even!