Giggs’s voice has long been one of British hip-hop’s mightiest weapons. The gruff, sinister sound that emanates from his apparently cast-iron larynx moves like an apparition; his words paint tough narratives set on poorly lit, chilly south London streets. As the years slip by and the success increases – his last two releases reached the UK Top 3 – the 35-year-old still presents as that hardened gangsta rapper lurking the same corners.
Grime surged back in recent years, but in a bid for more mainstream acceptance, stars like Stormzy and AJ Tracey padded their albums out with pop, trap, R&B and gospel. Giggs excelled instead by staying still, and has seen his style of more rhythmically straightforward tracks become more popular: Dave and Fredo reached the top of the charts with the steady Funky Friday.
In the 18-track Big Bad…, Giggs’s long-term dedication to a hard-boiled ethos has produced one of his most ferocious projects. Like his previous two releases – the album Landlord (2016) and mixtape Wamp 2 Dem (2017) – it is a fearsome set of gangsta rap tracks that eschews grime for more transatlantic trap and hip-hop production. The beats are grandiose, murderous things; Giggs enunciates every single bar, ensuring no words pass you by.
The opening cluster of tracks are among the most steely. Set It Off deploys a towering synth loop, stifling bassline and percussion so heavy you can practically hear fingertips whacking the electronic drum pads. On 187, Giggs counts his huge hoard of guns and the small circle of soldiers he keeps close “cos I got stabbed in the back”. His vision of south London, both lyrically and sonically, resembles the Chicago painted by drill music: the threat of violence lurking, swollen money clips, execution orders issued via text message.
Giggs is at his most comfortable on these numbers that allow for his core vocal delivery: a deep monotone – alternated with more urgent, higher-pitched bars – that basks in the sheer sensual joy of words, almost shorn of meaning. Few people can invest mere numbers like “one eleven” or “17,000 feeter” with such sensuality and gravity – he literally could read the phone book and make it sound ominous.
But he doesn’t totally rest on these laurels, tinkering with different styles to keep this lengthy odyssey going. On Mic Check, which features an assist from New York veteran Jadakiss, the pair ride some blipping electronics that sound summoned from an old arcade machine. In a nice moment of retro revivalism, the prominent soul sample on Show Me Respect harks back to producer Just Blaze’s era-defining 2000s beats.
An album this long, inevitably, bears some weaknesses. It’s fair to say that Giggs’s chemistry with some of his guests could have been better. He sounds uncomfortable on the quickfire drum loops of Terminator as Swizz Beatz sprinkles his trademark background yelps all over the track before dropping a weak verse. His tuneless singing on the gentler Talk About It isn’t great. Still, few experiments are totally uninteresting. Over the pan steel drums of Who, the rapper morphs his husky voice into a slowed croon to deliver an unusual melody that’s oddly captivating.
Giggs closes the album with one of its most stunning moments. There’s a lot going on with Shade: the retro-futurist electronics, the lush programmed horns, the funky bassline. Giggs details hand-holding with his sweetheart, his love of her perfume and the upset he felt after an argument; slipping into a more laid-back flow elevates these rare moments of intimacy.
Recent revelations that Atlanta star 21 Savage was born in the UK instantly sparked rather crass debates on where he sat in the pantheon of great British rappers. Yet Giggs has always existed in that pocket, blending raw menace with streaks of nihilism in a package that bangs harder than almost anything that’s ever emerged from the British Isles. As his contemporaries tinker with pop, Nathaniel Thompson continues to shine by staying in the dark.
Comments (…)
Sign in or create your Guardian account to join the discussion