The United Kingdom may lay claim to inventing the English language, but British and rap are two words that have never inspired much excitement when placed next to each other.
That's all about to change, however, thanks to Ms. Dynamite and the recent U.S. release of her debut album, A Little Deeper (Interscope).
Her incendiary stage name seems like an understatement when describing the rapid burn-rate of her success. From her very first appearance on record, a 2001 collaboration with U.K. garage producer Sticky, called "Booo!," Ms. Dynamite (born Niomi McLean-Daley 21 years ago) rocketed from the underground into the U.K. Top 20.
Then, last September, A Little Deeper won the Mercury Prize (England's equivalent of the top Grammy) over hot favorite the Streets. The key to Ms. Dynamite's appeal lies in her album's title--she does go deeper than the average hip-hop MC. For one thing, she sings in addition to rapping, often dipping into her Caribbean heritage to spice the funk with warm melodic flavor.
She's also not afraid to tackle serious topics, in lieu of bling-bling boasts, drawing comparisons with Lauryn Hill as a result (longtime Fugee associate Salaam Remi, in fact, produced much of A Little Deeper). But the best thing about Ms. Dynamite is that even the most solemn subject sounds like a party through her microphone--tracks like "Dy-Na-Mi-Tee" radiate a sassy brass that would give even Eve a run for her Benjamins. So watch out America--U.K. hip-hop has a new weapon at its disposal, and as Interview's David Furnish discovered in New York recently, this is one smart bomb.
Interview:
DAVID FURNISH: I have to tell you, I've listened to your album so much.
MS. DYNAMITE: Aren't you sick of it? [laughs]
DF: No, I'm not sick of it, actually. For me it's the best album of the past year. And it has such lasting power, because it's a great mix of really good music and just amazing content.
MD: Thank you.
DF: Your lyrics are intensely personal. It sounds like you had a really harrowing journey growing up--a lot of hardship. How did you come to be where you are right now?
MD: [laughs] To be honest, I don't know. I think it was a lot of luck. I mean, I believe in fate, and I believe this is where I'm supposed to be right now, but I never expected to get here. I never wanted anything to do with the music industry. I love people--especially young people--and I really wanted to be a social worker or a teacher and just help--physically help--young people.
DF: You come from a big family, right?
MD: Yes. There are 10 of us, and being the oldest, well--that was a task and a half.
DF: Did you feel like you had to lead by being responsible?
MD: I hated being the oldest, because all I'd ever hear is, "You should be setting an example." And I got the blame for everything. I also found it very difficult because I had an older brother, who died of cot death before I was born.
DF: Oh, God...
MD: It was something my mum had never hidden from me--my mum's a really honest person. If you're old enough to ask the question, then you're old enough to get the answer, is her motto. So I grew up feeling really angry [that he wasn't around], and even though I didn't know him, I felt like I did. If I got into trouble for something, I'd go off to my room and talk to him: "I don't want to be the oldest. You're supposed to be here, looking after me." Growing up was difficult, but now I can appreciate it. My brothers and sisters are so proud of me, and they're all really good, intelligent, vibrant people. They say, "Wow, she's my big sister," and I'm like, "Wow, these are my little brothers and sisters," because they give me so much joy.
DF: As such a large family in London, there must have been tough times--economically tough times.
MD: Yeah. When my mum and dad split up--they separated when I was about two years old--it was really hard. Then my mum met my sister's dad and had my sister, and quite a lot of other children, who died when they were really young. Then, my sister's dad and my mum broke up when I was about 10. And that was when it became amazingly hard. By that time, I was old enough to understand everything that was going on. My mum was living on something like 40 pounds, maybe less, a week to feed three children. She wasn't working; she was trying her hardest to finish her degree. I saw my mum struggle for years and years. Then when I was about 13 or 14, I did an internship at a movie theater, and they liked me so much that they gave me a job. I felt like, "Right! This is my chance. I can help my family." You know, my little 40 pounds a week from my Saturday job-but it did help. I'd work extra days or extra evenings so that I could get my brother a pair of trainers or get my sister a new coat--
DF: --Nice sister! [laughs]
MD: A lot of people say stuff like that, but I don't see it as "nice sister." It was more like, "What else was I gonna do? Watch my sister be cold or watch my brother go to school with holey trainers?" I could never do that. I thought, "They need this. I can help."
DF: "There's not enough money to go around. We're all in this together."
MD: Yeah. My family's like that. "What's yours is mine; what's mine is yours."
DF: From your lyrics, it sounds like you hit a rebellious period a few years back, and you moved out. What was that all about?
MD: I think when my sister's dad left, my relationship with my mum started to deteriorate. Just because it was so difficult--she was working so hard to provide for us, and I kind of had this responsibility to be the other half, holding the family up. Then my mum was diagnosed with cancer--and that was like, "Okay just kill me now! Give us a break!" Us kids were like, "God, what have we done?" We really did blame ourselves. And we were kind of in it on our own, because even though my family is really caring, everyone had their own problems to deal with. And no one ever sat us down and said, "It's all right, she's going to be okay."
DF: So you were really fending for yourself.
MD: Basically. We were shopping for ourselves; we could buy whatever we wanted. I suppose, if the circumstances were different--say, my mum had gone away for a holiday--we would have loved it, but obviously it wasn't nice. And when my mum started to get better, she was angry. You know, she's a really strong woman--
DF: --And she suddenly had to come to terms with being human, and accepting she was vulnerable.
MD: That's exactly it. I think she was angry that we had to look after her, that we'd seen her so weak. So she was really angry--and I was angry. Not with her, but with the situation. And on top all of that, I was a teenager, I was a girl, I thought I knew it all--especially after being the woman of the house. You know, I wanted to do what I wanted, when I wanted.
DF: So you rebelled.
MD: Yeah. I was like, "Right, I'm leaving."
DF: You moved out--once you knew your mum was well?
MD: She'd been in remission for at least a year. I'm really glad that I did it now. I wouldn't be doing what I'm doing if I hadn't.
DF: In your lyrics, you talk about reaching a level of enlightenment, and how music's your natural high, and that you're living life chemical free. When you rebelled, did you experiment--
MD: --Not with hard drugs. I did start drinking a lot. And once I came out of that period, I smoked a lot of weed. I think weed amplifies what's already inside you--and I was already depressed, so it made me a million times more so. I really didn't give a shit about being here. I did not open my door to anyone-not my brothers or sisters, my mum, my friends. My curtains were closed, and I didn't let anyone in.
DF: How did you pull yourself out of it?
MD: I think music pulled me out of it. I know that sounds crazy, but--
DF: --No, it doesn't sound crazy at all.
MD: See, even in my depression, my house was always tidy. My house was spotless. That was a little sign that I did still care, you know? And I still always went to college, even if I was drunk or high. And I was writing.
DF: Now, at that point, you were thinking about music and writing lyrics...
MD: No, I was just writing down my thoughts and feelings, like I had always done since I was six. Back then, when I didn't want to tell my mum, "I'm really pissed off" or "I'm really hurt," I would write everything down. I'd write letters to my dad, because I was angry with him for leaving--but I'd never send them. That was my way of dealing with stuff. I'm a write-aholic. So I was still doing that. I think I wrote the most when I was depressed, because I wasn't talking to anyone. I needed to get it out somehow. Then one day, I started chatting along to the radio, and I kind of realized that I could emcee. It wasn't anything that I'd ever wanted to do, but one of my friends came to see me, and she was like, "We're really worried about you. We're going out, and you have to come." Eventually, I went out. And I just started emceeing.
DF: Was this in a club?
MD: It was a friend's birthday party in a club, and everyone was like, "Go on--sing, emcee!" So I did, and from that second, I just remember feeling like, "Wow, I haven't felt this good for such a long time." And it wasn't because I was drunk. It was because all these people appreciated what I was doing. I was giving something to them--and they were giving back to me this whole buzz of being onstage and performing. Even though I convinced myself that I was really shit at it, inside, I enjoyed that feeling of, "Oh wow, I have to do that again. I want to do that again." That's really where it began. I started emceeing on a local radio station and got the taste for performing. I think that's what dragged me out [of the depression].
DF: And, presumably, someone from a record company spotted you at some point and helped you take the natural talent you were developing and start to channel it into what it's become.
MD: Yeah. I basically went from club to club, someone spotted me, and I did a track called "Booo!," which was a big underground hit. From there, everything has been like a roller coaster. Because from that point, all these record labels were suddenly like, "Ms. Dynamite! Right, we want to sign her." It was just the weirdest, most bizarre thing ever. So I signed to Polydor [in the U.K.] and started making the album--which was also weird, because I was intending to make an emceeing album and I ended up singing, something I had no faith in whatsoever.
DF: But you're a great singer. I love that you don't just rap, that you sing as well.
MD: [sheepishly] Oh, thanks. It took me so long to get used to singing. I had the biggest argument when I went to work with Salaam [Remi], my first producer. He was like, "I found a track for you, and there's a little hook on there, and I want you to sing." I said, "Sing? Are you crazy?" Eventually, he convinced me, and I heard it, and I was like, "That's it. I'm not doing it again. I sound like a cat falling off a building." [DF laughs] I hated it! But--and I think I got this from my mum--I can't bear to think that I can't do something. Even if I think I sound like shit or whatever, I just have to do it. I love a challenge. So I ended up making an album full of singing, and I started to get more comfortable. Singing was kind of this symbol of me being at peace. I just felt more right inside, even though I still thought I was shit at it. [both laugh] Seriously, even when the album came out, I refused to listen to it. I only started to when I won the Mercury Prize, because I was like, "Why did I win?" I was so shocked.
DF: But there was a critical explosion in England--you had such an amazing impact. Even the most serious music journalists around were praising this as one of the most exciting debuts to hit British music in a long, long time. Did you not believe that?
MD: Not at all. I mean, it was nice. But I'm really strong-minded, and I've been so used to beating myself up for such a long time that the whole world could say, "You're amazing," and I'd be like, "They don't think that I'm amazing; they think Ms. Dynamite's amazing. They don't know me; they know Ms. Dynamite." I've been able to separate everything like that.
DF: You have an unbelievable maturity and sense of being happy where you are right now--which is a really cool thing for someone who is 21. I mean, most 21-year-olds feel pretty fucked up.
MD: Well, I know that I've come a long way. I always reflect on what I'm doing, on how I'm behaving, on my relationships with people. You know, if I need to take 10 minutes out because something doesn't feel right, I'm going to do it, and I don't care who I piss off. For me, it's about staying in touch with who I am. I'm quite a spiritual person, despite growing up not believing in God at all. Cussing him, in fact, because of all the things that had happened.
DF: Did you think, What kind of God could put one family through so much?
MD: Yeah, that's how I felt. So I'm not a religious person, but I believe there's something-and I communicate with that something, whatever it is.
DF: Some people call it your higher power.
MD: Right, that's it. And I'm getting steps closer to being content.
DF: Who are some of the musicians who inspired you? Were there artists who helped you through tough times?
MD: Not necessarily artists who helped me through tough times, but the artists who helped me, in terms of just being a person, were people like Public Enemy and N.W.A. I really like outrageous artists. I listen to a lot of early, early reggae, and people like Bob Marley, obviously. Dennis Brown and John Holt--they were outspoken about social issues and said stuff you didn't hear elsewhere in British music. My friends at school would be listening to Kylie Minogue-- [sings] "I should be so lucky"--and I'd be singing a really politically conscious song about history or about poverty and kids dying in Africa.
DF: It's interesting that you didn't want to escape. Because your everyday life was so tough, you could have been forgiven for wanting to indulge in pure pop entertainment, to kind of take you away and cheer things up a bit.
MD: But it didn't stimulate my mind. I just found it boring. I thought, "You're not saying anything; it doesn't really interest me." I was a bit of a snob in that way, I suppose.
DF: You were looking for more.
MD: Yeah. My mum brought us up to always search for more. We were aware of all these terrible things that were going on in the world, and I didn't want to hear about "I should be so lucky" when, you know, I could listen to other stuff that would kind of educate me at the same time.
DF: It sounds like, even when you were in the depths of despair, you didn't give up on your education--that you knew it was an important element, to transport you and give you more opportunities.
MD: Do you know what? I was so down that I didn't even think that deeply about it. But I've had so many teachers who have looked at me like, "Niomi, the mouthy, feisty, cheeky, loud little black girl who's never going to amount to anything." And I refused to be a stereotype. I've always been aware that the odds were against me--I grew up in a single-parent family, a working-class family, with a white mum, as a black child--you know, the list goes on. But there is no way I'm going to live up to what certain people expect me to be.
DF: Listening to your first single, "It Takes More," I hear a lot of anger about certain aspects of hip-hop culture. Rap and hip-hop came from an anarchic social voice, from the ghetto, from people talking about the imbalances in their lives. And as that's gone from being an underground movement to a successful, mainstream movement, a lot of the substance has gone out of it. Is that what you're talking about?
MD: Definitely. That song is about hip-hop but it's also about anyone who has any influence over young people--politicians, teachers, parents. This is how I look at it: As an artist, I have a responsibility to young people. The fact that this year, at 21 years old, I am able to buy a house for myself to live in--which I would never, ever have been able to do--comes down to the fact that young children have bought my records. Of course, I was given a chance, and I've worked hard, but the bottom line is: I live in a house that these young kids bought for me. So, without a doubt, I have a responsibility to them. Young people are influenced by those they look up to, and they do take what I might say, and what others in the public eye say, literally. As you said, hip-hop began as a means of expression, and even though it was often about the struggles and the hardships of young black men in America, it was a positive thing. It was like, "This is our voice. We are speaking out, and we're going to do something about it." And for music to have started as something so great and positive, only to get to where it's at now--so much of it is materialistic and sexual--it's really disappointing.
DF: When you're being critical of elements of hip-hop in a song like "It Takes More," do you worry about pissing off an industry that you're part of?
MD: Not at all. If you feel pissed off by my song, then obviously you need to look at yourself. I'm saying, "This is my opinion." Why does it piss you off? Am I talking about you? I'm not afraid to speak my mind--that's why I've been given a mouth; that's why I've been given a voice. If these people can get up and sing stuff that I feel is totally irrelevant or unimportant to me, then I can get up and talk about stuff that I think is important, things I think young people should be aware of. As long as you can live with yourself and live with what you're doing, you shouldn't have to answer to anyone apart from your mum.
DF: [laughs] I'd be scared to meet your mum.
MD: [laughs] You answer to yourself, you know? As long as you can walk down the street with your head high. And as long as we keep talking, others will keep talking, and then they'll keep talking--and one day everything will get better. We have to believe that.
David Furnish is a frequent Interview contributor.
Source
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment