'We're not just moody hood-rats'
Roll Deep live among guns and drugs - but they don't want to rap about it. Hattie Collins visits their east London estate
Monday May 23, 2005
The Guardian
The estate Danny Weed and his friends dub Wilehouse is a maze of brown-bricked, four-storey blocks, littered with graffiti, smashed glass and boarded-up shop windows. Canary Wharf overlooks the estate, but it could be in another world. Weed - so named because he used to be "the worst addict. I couldn't go five minutes without a zoot" - has lived in this corner of east London all of his 21 years, sharing a house with his dad, a black-cab driver. His mum and grandmother live a minute's walk away, just by the shops. His friend Target used to live nearby, until he moved to south London five years ago. "Canary Wharf is like our Statue of Liberty," says Target, surveying the futuristic financial district. "It pushes me on. It's like all the money is there and it's an inspiration to get your own."
Most of Target's friends from the estate want to follow his example and leave. You can hear it in on Let It Out, one of the tracks on In at the Deep End, the album they have recorded together as Roll Deep: "I've seen the road to success, I'm getting out of here. If we're patient, we can all get out of here." The line is delivered by producer and MC Richard "Wiley Kat" Cowie, considered by many to be the frontman of Roll Deep. The 26-year-old has already found some success - he is said to have sold over 100,000 copies of his singles Eskimo and Ice Rink literally from the boot of his car. But Wiley, like the rest of Roll Deep, is ambitious for more.
It's hard to see how Roll Deep can make much money. There's so many of them: 12-odd MCs - including Breeze, Brazen, Jet Le, Riko, Flow Dan, Scratchy, Manga, Roachee and the excellently named Taliban Trim - plus DJs Karnage and Maximum and producers Wiley, Weed and Target. But when they do come into cash, they roll deep. "Split it in half," says Flow Dan. "Right down the middle."
Flow Dan coined the name in 2001, but the crew first came together in the mid-1990s. Target, Wiley and Flow Dan were all early members; so was Mercury prize-winner Dizzee Rascal. The latter's departure appears not to have had any dramatic effect. "I think he had a different vision to us anyway," shrugs Breeze. "That said," adds Weed, "people could learn a lot from that boy."
As the line-up changed, so did the sound. Now Roll Deep are considered forerunners of the British street sound grime, a name they reluctantly put up with but complain is negative and limiting. A vibrant stew of influences, grime borrows from UK garage, dancehall, eastern instrumentation and video arcade game effects. Not to mention the pop music the crew grew up with. "My mum would hoover listening to Sinéad O'Connor, Bob Marley, Tracy Chapman, Phil Collins," says Weed. "Always music, everywhere. All of us have had that from our families."
Music has already made the crew famous in their area. Up-and-coming rhymer Discarda, 17, Man Fred, 25, and numerous others on baby BMXs patiently follow the boys as they wander about the estate pointing out the sights. "I had a Desert Eagle [gun] put in my face there," Breeze says nonchalantly, nodding towards a second-level landing. "I was being lairy to this guy and he pulled the gun out and said, 'You don't like me, do you?' And then he wanted us to rob a shop with him," he says, shaking his head. "He was on Valium and all that," reckons Target.
They talk casually about the crime that has become a part of everyday estate life; point out "dead man alley", where "a couple" of people have died in mysterious circumstances; reminisce about a man who once got his face blown up; gossip about the crackheads, prostitutes and drug dealers who inhabit their residence. You'd imagine that such violent imagery would inform the majority of their album, but not so. In fact, the MCs have decided to all but steer clear of gun chatter and bad-man metaphors. Alongside lyrics about the worrying rise of gun offences are tales of police harassment, admissions of their fondness for weed and women, and awkward expressions of love.
Of course, violence still creeps in. "We live in the poorest borough in England and we haven't all had perfect happy family lives so if the MCs didn't cover it in some way we'd be lying," says Weed. "But we all went to school and got brought up properly. We're not just some moody hood-rats, we've got something to say."
That's not to say the boys themselves are angels. They constantly clash with other artists, Lethal B's Fire Camp in particular and most recently Demon, while both Riko and Taliban Trim admit to having "done time" for sentences they'd rather not discuss. "Whatever I got nicked for, I'm not that person any more. I know that myself," insists Riko.
But, Riko says, it's up to Roll Deep to show young kids that there's more to lyrical expression than dealing drugs and murdering people - subjects they admit to having covered extensively in the past. "Yout's today don't feel comfortable unless they're being a bad boy. 'Bore you out, my brother's a gunman,' blah, blah," he sighs. "If you chat negative you're supposed to be good, but that's bullshit. There's too many films like Kill Bill and rappers like 50 Cent with his bulletproof vests; turn on the TV and you get the war or look outside and what do you see on your own doorstep? It's too much."
Musically, too, the album veers into the unexpected. Grime has become known as tech-fest of odd bleeps and cutting-edge effects; In at the Deep End, however, offers irreverent samples and insanely catchy choruses that borrow liberally from 1980s bubblegum beats.
"This is a musical album, not just a grime thing," says Riko. "We've always wanted to branch out but we felt like we couldn't before because no one would have took it seriously." Adds Taliban Trim: "I want people to know that we can spit over anything because we're that versatile." While they admit they are concerned that their underground fan base may be disappointed, not finding the album edgy enough, the crew refuse to follow well-worn paths - and in any case, they're convinced other people will scramble to emulate them. "Watch producers try and bite it," smirks Wiley seconds later on Shake a Leg.
For Roll Deep, the point is not to stay in the grime underground. "My dream is to sell more than anyone else in the scene has, to sell more than a million," says Trim. After all, how else will they escape east London?
"It's not like we want to forget where we're from, but I want more than just the underground to hear this album," concludes Danny. "If I'm honest, I'm want the world to hear our music."
In at the Deep End is out on June 6 on Relentless.
Roll Deep live among guns and drugs - but they don't want to rap about it. Hattie Collins visits their east London estate
Monday May 23, 2005
The Guardian
The estate Danny Weed and his friends dub Wilehouse is a maze of brown-bricked, four-storey blocks, littered with graffiti, smashed glass and boarded-up shop windows. Canary Wharf overlooks the estate, but it could be in another world. Weed - so named because he used to be "the worst addict. I couldn't go five minutes without a zoot" - has lived in this corner of east London all of his 21 years, sharing a house with his dad, a black-cab driver. His mum and grandmother live a minute's walk away, just by the shops. His friend Target used to live nearby, until he moved to south London five years ago. "Canary Wharf is like our Statue of Liberty," says Target, surveying the futuristic financial district. "It pushes me on. It's like all the money is there and it's an inspiration to get your own."
Most of Target's friends from the estate want to follow his example and leave. You can hear it in on Let It Out, one of the tracks on In at the Deep End, the album they have recorded together as Roll Deep: "I've seen the road to success, I'm getting out of here. If we're patient, we can all get out of here." The line is delivered by producer and MC Richard "Wiley Kat" Cowie, considered by many to be the frontman of Roll Deep. The 26-year-old has already found some success - he is said to have sold over 100,000 copies of his singles Eskimo and Ice Rink literally from the boot of his car. But Wiley, like the rest of Roll Deep, is ambitious for more.
It's hard to see how Roll Deep can make much money. There's so many of them: 12-odd MCs - including Breeze, Brazen, Jet Le, Riko, Flow Dan, Scratchy, Manga, Roachee and the excellently named Taliban Trim - plus DJs Karnage and Maximum and producers Wiley, Weed and Target. But when they do come into cash, they roll deep. "Split it in half," says Flow Dan. "Right down the middle."
Flow Dan coined the name in 2001, but the crew first came together in the mid-1990s. Target, Wiley and Flow Dan were all early members; so was Mercury prize-winner Dizzee Rascal. The latter's departure appears not to have had any dramatic effect. "I think he had a different vision to us anyway," shrugs Breeze. "That said," adds Weed, "people could learn a lot from that boy."
As the line-up changed, so did the sound. Now Roll Deep are considered forerunners of the British street sound grime, a name they reluctantly put up with but complain is negative and limiting. A vibrant stew of influences, grime borrows from UK garage, dancehall, eastern instrumentation and video arcade game effects. Not to mention the pop music the crew grew up with. "My mum would hoover listening to Sinéad O'Connor, Bob Marley, Tracy Chapman, Phil Collins," says Weed. "Always music, everywhere. All of us have had that from our families."
Music has already made the crew famous in their area. Up-and-coming rhymer Discarda, 17, Man Fred, 25, and numerous others on baby BMXs patiently follow the boys as they wander about the estate pointing out the sights. "I had a Desert Eagle [gun] put in my face there," Breeze says nonchalantly, nodding towards a second-level landing. "I was being lairy to this guy and he pulled the gun out and said, 'You don't like me, do you?' And then he wanted us to rob a shop with him," he says, shaking his head. "He was on Valium and all that," reckons Target.
They talk casually about the crime that has become a part of everyday estate life; point out "dead man alley", where "a couple" of people have died in mysterious circumstances; reminisce about a man who once got his face blown up; gossip about the crackheads, prostitutes and drug dealers who inhabit their residence. You'd imagine that such violent imagery would inform the majority of their album, but not so. In fact, the MCs have decided to all but steer clear of gun chatter and bad-man metaphors. Alongside lyrics about the worrying rise of gun offences are tales of police harassment, admissions of their fondness for weed and women, and awkward expressions of love.
Of course, violence still creeps in. "We live in the poorest borough in England and we haven't all had perfect happy family lives so if the MCs didn't cover it in some way we'd be lying," says Weed. "But we all went to school and got brought up properly. We're not just some moody hood-rats, we've got something to say."
That's not to say the boys themselves are angels. They constantly clash with other artists, Lethal B's Fire Camp in particular and most recently Demon, while both Riko and Taliban Trim admit to having "done time" for sentences they'd rather not discuss. "Whatever I got nicked for, I'm not that person any more. I know that myself," insists Riko.
But, Riko says, it's up to Roll Deep to show young kids that there's more to lyrical expression than dealing drugs and murdering people - subjects they admit to having covered extensively in the past. "Yout's today don't feel comfortable unless they're being a bad boy. 'Bore you out, my brother's a gunman,' blah, blah," he sighs. "If you chat negative you're supposed to be good, but that's bullshit. There's too many films like Kill Bill and rappers like 50 Cent with his bulletproof vests; turn on the TV and you get the war or look outside and what do you see on your own doorstep? It's too much."
Musically, too, the album veers into the unexpected. Grime has become known as tech-fest of odd bleeps and cutting-edge effects; In at the Deep End, however, offers irreverent samples and insanely catchy choruses that borrow liberally from 1980s bubblegum beats.
"This is a musical album, not just a grime thing," says Riko. "We've always wanted to branch out but we felt like we couldn't before because no one would have took it seriously." Adds Taliban Trim: "I want people to know that we can spit over anything because we're that versatile." While they admit they are concerned that their underground fan base may be disappointed, not finding the album edgy enough, the crew refuse to follow well-worn paths - and in any case, they're convinced other people will scramble to emulate them. "Watch producers try and bite it," smirks Wiley seconds later on Shake a Leg.
For Roll Deep, the point is not to stay in the grime underground. "My dream is to sell more than anyone else in the scene has, to sell more than a million," says Trim. After all, how else will they escape east London?
"It's not like we want to forget where we're from, but I want more than just the underground to hear this album," concludes Danny. "If I'm honest, I'm want the world to hear our music."
In at the Deep End is out on June 6 on Relentless.
