Dizzee Rascal - Maths & English

Dylan Mills has always treaded the fine line between gun-toting gangsterism and the equally nauseating hip-hop-with-heart of the likes of Miss Dynamite, the streets’ self-appointed moral saviour. Looking over the tracklist to third album Maths and English, you can’t help but worry he’s lurched head-first into misogyny; Suk My Dick and Pussyole aren’t exactly titles likely to earn favour with the WI.

In truth, we get more of the same. Dizzee rescues himself from being pigeonholed alongside his stale US peers with typically British grime and an honest portrayal of the feelings on the streets of Bethnal Green, as urban UK falls apart. Critics of the record have damned what they deem to be Dizzee’s ‘Americanisation’ of his style, once so quintessentially modern Britain, with Maths & English’s US guest rappers and the supposed rise of egotism, but even on Showtime, he was telling us about having his name not only on ‘the flyer’ but on his ‘trainers.’ Somehow, be it through his charm or his scattered references to Eastenders and such, he gets away with it, although the occasional awful rhyming couplet grate far more. Multicultural unease post July 7^th, gun crime and inner-city deprivation are all also touched upon, although the sideswipes at faux-ghetto wannabe gangsters don’t really work when accompanied by Lily Allen, the Queen of Mockney, even if it is spot on in sentiment and in lyric.

The Arctic Monkeys’ Alex Turner also pops up with a guest vocal, his instantly recognisable but limited voice jarring uncomfortably with Mills’ on Temptation. Suk My Dick is actually surprisingly, perhaps shamefully, catchy, though fortunately aimed at his detractors, rather than the female population, and the edge is removed slightly as he continues his inappropriate sampling history with Yankee Doodle Went to Town. Ode to summertime, Da Feelin’ will bounce from many a soundsystem and clapped-out Astra, its adage that “I don’t believe in fate / life is what you make it / make it great” following his previous encouragement to the streets it will air in. Stand out track is Excuse Me Please, a plea for peace peppered with a somewhat juxtaposed‘fuck it’, over an effectively simplistic rhythm section.

However, you get the feeling its a few tracks too long, with the undoubted highs stretched too far. The repetition of certain phrases and nods to the predecessor appear conceptual rather than jaded or lazy, but musically he hasn’t changed things too much. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” of course carries weight in this industry, but eventually you may have to.

For now, with M.I.A.’s sophomore also on the horizon, the golden children of brithop are still showing their tired American counterparts how it’s done, but you have to wonder how much longer that will last.