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Junglist
Back in print after two decades, Junglist tells the compelling, comic, stream-of-consciousness story of four young Black men coming of age among the raves and Jungle music scene in London during the 1990s.Layered with poetic verse, prose and humour, this cult classic of underground British fiction documents the rollercoaster ride of a weekend spent raving during Jungle’s cultural takeover in the summer of 1994. Jungle, with its booming basslines and Jamaican patois, burst from the pirate radio stations and mixtapes into cavernous clubs, pulling a generation of Black British ravers with it.Originally written as a way to document street culture as it became a feature of London, charting a time when working-class kids, both Black and white, merged to dance as "one family", Junglist is both a testament to Black British sound system culture and a rawthentic account of inner-city life.
186 pages, Kindle Edition
Published August 10, 2021
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124 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
May 2, 2022
Absolutely loved this, Joyce meets Marvellous Cain in mid-1990s south London; Irvine Welsh built a career on much less.
December 8, 2024
the prose is so odd to the point where it just doesn’t make sense and i don’t like random drops of gratuitous graffic sexual assault for absolutely no reason except to disgust
September 22, 2024
Pros: good energy, rhythmic, lyrical prose, captures and reflects the genre and feels like a neat capsule of the time.
Cons: no plot to speak of, verbose, sexual violence, every description of a woman made me wanna claw my eyes out.
Cons: no plot to speak of, verbose, sexual violence, every description of a woman made me wanna claw my eyes out.
January 7, 2024
Wicked, wicked! Jungle is massive!
Saturday night, strobe light on slow, putting the real world on hold, setting yourself free and living this State of Bass. As a love song has no meaning unless you are in love, a Jungle tune makes no sense unless you’re in the Jungle
Glem sommeren ’69. Glem alt det pisset du har fått tredd ned over øra og øya de siste åra. Glem engelsktimen fra barneskolen der du lærte at i England, der spiser de scones, drikker te, står høflig i kø og blir passa på av snille politimenn uten våpen med rare hatter på.
Ikke glem sommeren 1994. Historien du aldri ble fortalt. Den historien som istedet ble fortalt av de som levde den, for de som levde den.
— 105.3 FM. The Style FM. Mage on the mic. The man like Revolver on the one and twos.
— Do you know where your mum is at? Well I do, she’s at my yard.
— Live cusses on air. Coming atcha… Going out to the Muppet crew, the man like Big Bird, Miss
Piggy, the man like Kermit, the man like Fozzie Bear. The whole Sesame Street massive.
— Big shout out to Jason, you muppet. Get that hand out of your arse and tell it to stop picking your nose.
— It’s the 0956, the 123, the 321. Cusses live on air come with them.
— Michael, your mum’s so nasty she ain’t wash her pussy since you were born. You can still see the skid mark that your head left when you were coming out.
— Last caller call back.
— Caller from Kensington don’t know whatcha chatting about, listen to some real Jungle. Big up your ‘chest.
— Yo! Rupert your neck back’s so big that airplanes be mistaking you for Heathrow and trying to land on it.
— Nah! Nah! That’s just nasty. Rupert you can’t just sit there and take that, phone the 105.3 FM on the 0956 the 123 the 321.
— Shout out going to the Earls Court massive. All the Jungle crew. All the Bel Air crew.
— Wheel! Wheel! My DJ… Yes, here come the rewind, back to the old skool for the Helicopter massive… Move your wais, move your wais and feel the Jungle lick your face… Hol’ tight the rest of the crew.
— Last caller don’t know what he’s chatting about, don’t know nothing at all. I ain’t even gonna say nuttin’. Last caller wants to get a life and listen to some real Jungle.
— You’re in the zone with Mage and Revolver. Flexing on the SL12s with t
London er et høl. Boligmarkedet har kollapset. Befolkningen har vært drevet ut i fattigdom, noen flyktninger i sitt eget land. I 1992 samlet 40.000 mennesker i Castlemorton for å danse til techno, acid og breakbeat hardcore fra de massive lydriggene laget av Spiral Tribe og DIY. I 1994 kom «The Criminal Justice and Public order Act 1994» og forbød utenførs fester som spilte «sounds wholly or predominantly characterised by the emission of a succession of repetitive beats». Som et svar komponerte Autechre låten Flutter, en låt uten en eneste repetetiv beat.
Historien blir alltid fortalt av vinnerne. Og vår er en historie om en kamp om selve historien. Om å fortelle vår egen. Du har blitt ljugd til hele livet. Hvilken historie befinner du deg i?
I 1994 muterte historien seg. En historie fortalt gjennom en serie med repetitive beats krysspollinerte seg blant sprekkene i betongen i London og ga en stemme til de mest marginaliserte. En ny psykoakustisk sfære. Historien om Londons jungel som fortalt av panteren, ikke av "Sir" David Attenborough. Rytmer i rytmer i rytmer i rytmer. Rungende bass fra hjemmelagde lydrigger. Shout outs gjennom ilianene, gjennom de ulovlige radiostasjonene.
I was in it from the beginning. Just a yout back then but that don’t mean shit now. Back when Jungle was still Break-Beat House or whatever the fuck you wanted to call it before it metamorphosed into Jungle. The one and only. Ragga Tekno, Jungle Techno, Ragga Jungle, Hardcore, Darkcore, The Dark Stuff, Ambient Jungle. All just labels to try and describe a feeling that transcends labels. Jungle is just something else. More than the sum of its myriad parts. It is the lifeblood of the city, an attitude, a way of life, a people. Jungle is and always will be a multicultural thing, but it is also about a Black identity, Black attitude, Black style, outlook. It’s about giving a voice to the urban generation left to rot in council estates, ghettoized neighbourhoods that ain’t providing an education for shit. Jungle kickin’ ass and taking names. It run things, seen
What am I here for? What does it all mean? Bullshit meaningless mumblings of a generation ahead, which we will fall into eventually, but right now we have enough energy to create our own path before we become locked to the ones already made
April 2021 snurra DjRUM plater i Tower Bridge. I et grått og regntungt London. Det britiske flagget vaier i vinden der mesteren gjør en hyllest til undergrunnen. Over tretti år med historie komprimert ned til 45minutter. Ved 27-minuttersmerket dukker Flutter opp. Ved 38, Top Star og Master Flexxer:
We should take the time
express what’s in our hearts and mind
I know we have many things to say
we shouldn’t waste another day
Saturday night, strobe light on slow, putting the real world on hold, setting yourself free and living this State of Bass. As a love song has no meaning unless you are in love, a Jungle tune makes no sense unless you’re in the Jungle
Glem sommeren ’69. Glem alt det pisset du har fått tredd ned over øra og øya de siste åra. Glem engelsktimen fra barneskolen der du lærte at i England, der spiser de scones, drikker te, står høflig i kø og blir passa på av snille politimenn uten våpen med rare hatter på.
Ikke glem sommeren 1994. Historien du aldri ble fortalt. Den historien som istedet ble fortalt av de som levde den, for de som levde den.
— 105.3 FM. The Style FM. Mage on the mic. The man like Revolver on the one and twos.
— Do you know where your mum is at? Well I do, she’s at my yard.
— Live cusses on air. Coming atcha… Going out to the Muppet crew, the man like Big Bird, Miss
Piggy, the man like Kermit, the man like Fozzie Bear. The whole Sesame Street massive.
— Big shout out to Jason, you muppet. Get that hand out of your arse and tell it to stop picking your nose.
— It’s the 0956, the 123, the 321. Cusses live on air come with them.
— Michael, your mum’s so nasty she ain’t wash her pussy since you were born. You can still see the skid mark that your head left when you were coming out.
— Last caller call back.
— Caller from Kensington don’t know whatcha chatting about, listen to some real Jungle. Big up your ‘chest.
— Yo! Rupert your neck back’s so big that airplanes be mistaking you for Heathrow and trying to land on it.
— Nah! Nah! That’s just nasty. Rupert you can’t just sit there and take that, phone the 105.3 FM on the 0956 the 123 the 321.
— Shout out going to the Earls Court massive. All the Jungle crew. All the Bel Air crew.
— Wheel! Wheel! My DJ… Yes, here come the rewind, back to the old skool for the Helicopter massive… Move your wais, move your wais and feel the Jungle lick your face… Hol’ tight the rest of the crew.
— Last caller don’t know what he’s chatting about, don’t know nothing at all. I ain’t even gonna say nuttin’. Last caller wants to get a life and listen to some real Jungle.
— You’re in the zone with Mage and Revolver. Flexing on the SL12s with t
London er et høl. Boligmarkedet har kollapset. Befolkningen har vært drevet ut i fattigdom, noen flyktninger i sitt eget land. I 1992 samlet 40.000 mennesker i Castlemorton for å danse til techno, acid og breakbeat hardcore fra de massive lydriggene laget av Spiral Tribe og DIY. I 1994 kom «The Criminal Justice and Public order Act 1994» og forbød utenførs fester som spilte «sounds wholly or predominantly characterised by the emission of a succession of repetitive beats». Som et svar komponerte Autechre låten Flutter, en låt uten en eneste repetetiv beat.
Historien blir alltid fortalt av vinnerne. Og vår er en historie om en kamp om selve historien. Om å fortelle vår egen. Du har blitt ljugd til hele livet. Hvilken historie befinner du deg i?
I 1994 muterte historien seg. En historie fortalt gjennom en serie med repetitive beats krysspollinerte seg blant sprekkene i betongen i London og ga en stemme til de mest marginaliserte. En ny psykoakustisk sfære. Historien om Londons jungel som fortalt av panteren, ikke av "Sir" David Attenborough. Rytmer i rytmer i rytmer i rytmer. Rungende bass fra hjemmelagde lydrigger. Shout outs gjennom ilianene, gjennom de ulovlige radiostasjonene.
I was in it from the beginning. Just a yout back then but that don’t mean shit now. Back when Jungle was still Break-Beat House or whatever the fuck you wanted to call it before it metamorphosed into Jungle. The one and only. Ragga Tekno, Jungle Techno, Ragga Jungle, Hardcore, Darkcore, The Dark Stuff, Ambient Jungle. All just labels to try and describe a feeling that transcends labels. Jungle is just something else. More than the sum of its myriad parts. It is the lifeblood of the city, an attitude, a way of life, a people. Jungle is and always will be a multicultural thing, but it is also about a Black identity, Black attitude, Black style, outlook. It’s about giving a voice to the urban generation left to rot in council estates, ghettoized neighbourhoods that ain’t providing an education for shit. Jungle kickin’ ass and taking names. It run things, seen
What am I here for? What does it all mean? Bullshit meaningless mumblings of a generation ahead, which we will fall into eventually, but right now we have enough energy to create our own path before we become locked to the ones already made
April 2021 snurra DjRUM plater i Tower Bridge. I et grått og regntungt London. Det britiske flagget vaier i vinden der mesteren gjør en hyllest til undergrunnen. Over tretti år med historie komprimert ned til 45minutter. Ved 27-minuttersmerket dukker Flutter opp. Ved 38, Top Star og Master Flexxer:
We should take the time
express what’s in our hearts and mind
I know we have many things to say
we shouldn’t waste another day
December 13, 2023
I enjoyed this at first, even though it is crude. It captures an essence of the time, Jungle in late 90s London, and young men clubbing. I read it as a review likened it to The Lonely Londoners by Sam Selvon. However, whilst the narrative and the flow are intoxicating and different, there is brutal inexplicable sexual violence to a a female character, which serves no meaningful purpose in the narrative or character development, so is gratuitous. For this one small scene, which seems to have no relevance in the book, I could never recommend this.
April 18, 2023
This is an important book about Black British subculture in the 90s. It’s the stream-of-consciousness ramblings of four teenagers navigating a weekend in London’s Jungle Music scene.
It lacks detail on Jungle music itself, but makes up for it in its insight into the young male black experience of three decades ago.
It’s a Joycean take on dance, drugs & debauchery - worth a read for any retired ravers.
It lacks detail on Jungle music itself, but makes up for it in its insight into the young male black experience of three decades ago.
It’s a Joycean take on dance, drugs & debauchery - worth a read for any retired ravers.
June 2, 2023
Youth radiates from it, in all the best and worst ways. Can be corny, even peurile but it also feels refreshingly earnest, full of life. Plenty of experimentalist flair and not really like anything else I've read.
December 31, 2021
Tower-block psychadelia.
May 10, 2022
cool contemporary take on the jungle scene. one of the few pieces of writing that accurately captures the haze of those nocturnal bass adventures
January 28, 2023
boy book
March 26, 2023
A poetic look at a weekend of love, life and raving. A beautiful insight into the psychology of men in their early 20s.
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews