I think it takes storytellers, musicians and poets to remind us of the human cost of what happens to a body in war. “This song, to me, has just about everything I find exciting about lyricism: the way it’s constructed, the storytelling, the sense of place, and the conjuring of character sentiment in order to speak of a bigger thing.
“I Can’t Write Left-Handed (Live at Carnegie Hall)” by Bill Withers
It’s true that I got thrown out by Method Man one time, but he did it in a way that was extremely cool and made me kind of respect him more.” “I got to meet some of them, and we had some beautiful exchanges. Can you just let me through?” And a couple of times it did work out. Sometimes they’d get girls up on stage that they would maybe take backstage after the show – which is problematic in so many ways – but I would use that opportunity to rush over to the bouncers and just start rapping, as if to say “Look, I’m not going back there for that, I’m going back for this. “I used to try to rap my way backstage at Wu Tang shows all the time. The whole thing about shadow boxing I found exhilarating.” I could have chosen any song from this record, but also it had to be “Shadowboxin’”. But I had a special connection to Liquid Swords. “I could very easily talk at length about any one of the Wu Tang rappers, including the kind of affiliated rappers like Cappadonna, who was actually my favourite. There are very subtle things he does that create these huge moments of understanding with the listener. He really sets the scene, giving very specific, concrete details in his character descriptions. You know, people often talk about GZA as quite a filmic rapper, and I agree with that. I was so drawn to his imagery and how visual he is.
“With GZA, I wanted to know everything about who this incredible lyricist was. Even then I was so attracted to the voice of GZA, but it wasn’t until a year or so later when I discovered his Liquid Swords album, which “Shadowboxin’” comes from. To this day, every time I hear a Wu Tang song from that era, it takes me straight back to those moments of discovery. “I was probably 12 when I first discovered their music, starting with 36 Chambers. Listening to them is so evocative to me, like it transports me immediately back to being a certain age and how much I loved them at the time. “I was like a disciple of the Wu Tang Clan or something. All of my choices have a staggering lyrical integrity, and it’s like a lens through which you can see the world more clearly.” “Obviously you don’t know how much integrity a person has unless you really know them, but I feel it in their music.
Another thing the artists all share is a perceived integrity, a characteristic that Tempest says they are consistently drawn to. It makes sense then that every one of the artists that Tempest has chosen for their Nine Songs is known for their way with words, whether in writing the story or simply telling it as only they can. “I hear the melody, I hear the beat, I hear the musicality and the harmonies, but I’m listening most deeply to the lyrics.” “When listening to music, my ear always goes to the lyrics first,” they say. Speaking over the phone from their home in Southeast London, Tempest tells me about their love for music that is lyrically transformative. And with their latest album The Line Is A Curve becoming a UK Top 10 chart hit, the only way continues to be up. Born out of a squat party in Peckham, the band split in 2012 after just one album, but not before Tempest’s righteous and poetic rhymes made a mark on their hip hop peers, winning fans in the likes of Roots Manuva and Scroobius Pip.įast forward 10 years and Tempest has become a two-time Mercury Prize nominee, an award-winning poet (both published and performed), a novelist, a playwright and, with 2020’s On Connection, an essayist too – a remarkable run by anyone’s standards. At 18, they formed alternative hip hop trio Sound of Rum. Suddenly there was all this incredible music to dig through.”Īlongside working at the shop, Tempest would perform regularly at open mic nights from the age of 16 – notably at the Deal Real record store on Carnaby Street, once known as London’s hip hop Mecca. I discovered all these great rappers who had already put out so much work. “For me, it was like going from black and white to colour – life suddenly became so much richer. “I think that when you’re young, discovering music can be the most technicolour experience,” they say. The shop specialised in hip hop, soul, reggae and dancehall, but Tempest explains the people they worked with were primarily into East Coast rap music, and that passion was passed on as they started to broaden their palate.