4 weeks ago

BHM: State Of Bass

Last week, we dived into the early days of dubstep with an exclusive extract from Georgina Cook’s Drumz Of The South, capturing the raw energy of FWD>>, DMZ, and the pioneering artists that shaped the scene. If you missed it, don’t sleep on that one—go check it out!

This week, we’re turning our attention to another seismic moment in bass culture: jungle. For week three of our Black History Month series, we’re excited to present an entire chapter from State of Bass by Martin James, a deep exploration of jungle music’s relationship with Black culture. You’re in for a treat with this one—it’s time to sink your teeth into a full chapter.

State of Bass breaks down how jungle and drum and bass were unlike anything the world had seen before: a genre that was both black and white, urban and suburban, blending old school attitude with fresh innovation. It was the sound of early ‘90s Britain—broken, diverse, and ready to take control. A sociocultural melting pot, jungle was the heartbeat of a generation seizing the wheel and driving change.

This chapter takes a close look at jungle’s deep connection to Black culture and how it became the soundtrack to a fragmented society. Ready to explore how jungle tore up the rulebook and made its mark? Let’s get into it.

An Extract From State Of Bass by Martin James

4: ARMED AND DANGEROUS

RAGGA JUNGLE TAKES CONTROL

‘Wicked, wicked junglist massive. Big up the original junglist massive. The original dancehall junglist… Incredible.’ ‘Incredible’ by M Beat featuring General Levy

Ragga was the sound of defiance. A solidification of cultural unity in the face of the dominant white British parent culture. The music presented a barrage of militant breaks with half-time reggae basslines and sound effects mutated from the heart of the old school dub soundsystem. The lyrics, which seemed indecipherable to anyone not ensconced in the culture, were a redeployment of the patois language of resistance. It was a free-flowing street slang that used overtly sexual phrasing coupled with the confrontational posturing of hip hop and dancehall MCs. In the dancehall environment of Britain’s Caribbean communities, ragga was the main sound. So popular was it that specialist shops reported import sales that challenged even the national top twenty with its ability to sell (although that in itself might have been a typically boastful exaggeration of the truth).

Ragga’s roots are placed firmly in the reggae soundsystem and dancehall tradition. Dancehall emerged through a need to get music to lower-class Jamaicans who didn’t have access to radios. The soundsystem enabled these communities access to music through the technological advancements in soundsystem technology. The term ‘dancehall’ initially referred to a physical location. The venues invariably were open-air which enabled mobile soundsystems to set up in locations with ease. For many Jamaicans these travelling soundsystems appearing at the dancehall event were the only way to hear the latest sounds. Eventually, the people who ran the soundsystems would become a major draw to the event.

As Jamaica pioneered remix culture, paramount importance was placed on the production and sound qualities of both music and soundsystem. As a result, technology was especially important to the dancehall with punters demanding high-powered bass and crisp treble to bring the sounds to life in the open-air spaces. An important aspect of this was the sound engineer who would build the soundsystem to suit the space in order to get the finest sound. The music would be provided by the DJ (selector), the MC (confusingly known as the deejay) as well as the producer who had created the dubplates as weapons for soundsystem deployment.

From the late 1960s, artists would voice new lyrics over already known recycled tunes. However, during the 1970s instrumental versions of new tracks (riddims) would be given to the DJ as an acetate dubplate, a format that had limited playability. Originally made of clay compound, the quality would deteriorate after only a few plays, but that was enough time for the producer to see if the newest riddims worked on the crowd, for the MC to place their identity onto the riddims and for the DJs to lock down a new battle weapon.

Dubplates by the top producers would have enormous kudos value with DJs and MCs begging the top studios for the upfront sounds. To get one meant you’d been acknowledged as a face on the scene, a potential tastemaker. To be given one without having to pay would be an affirmation of your status in the eyes of the top producers. It was a form of hierarchy that was taken on board lock, stock and barrel by the junglists with producers providing the chosen few DJs with DAT tapes of their latest tunes which would immediately get pressed up as a dubplate if the DJ approved. The primary organisation for pressing up dubplates for the UK’s junglists was Music House in north London, a space that buzzed under the pressure of DJs getting the futures of music cut on to a dub.

With the acetate of an instrumental riddim playing on the soundsystem, the reggae MC would chat their own lyrics over the tune, thus creating a different track. The MCing style was initially given the name of ‘toasting’. Perhaps the best known of these vocalists was U-Roy whose 1969 recordings with producer King Tubby have been hugely influential ever since. U-Roy is often referred to as ‘the originator’, thanks to his distinctive style that found an exaggeration of phonetic structures of words being redeployed as rhythmical instruments. Distorting words and rhymes to suit his own needs, U-Roy’s combination of highly melodic and rhythmically precise toasting eventually spawned a generation of imitators. I-Roy, Big Youth and Dennis Alcapone emerged with a whole new style of reggae.

The relationship between all black identified forms of music and technology is inescapable. Just as soundsystems rose to prominence through the technological developments of studio craft and live sound, so too the technology available for making music was quickly embraced by the reggae fraternity. This became particularly evident in the 1980s when raggamuffin music (ragga) emerged within the dancehall. Similar to its cousin hip hop, ragga relied heavily on tech-based music and the use of samples. It was typified by Wayne Smith’s Under Mi Sleng Teng.

Ragga became increasingly prevalent. Its terminology was adopted as the anti-system, oppositional language of the street, adapted to suit each new generation of user. The authorities were totally confused by a linguistic style that the black, white and Asian youth populations of inner-city Britain were fully conversant with. It became the true language of opposition that crossed the race barrier and had come to provide a street level lexicon of disenfranchised youth – the junglists.

Throughout 1992 and 1993, dancehall had become entrenched as a technology driven subgenre in its own right. The scene rocked to the vibe of the ruling MCs – Buju Banton, Top Cat and Shabba Ranks. However, dancehall wasn’t entirely in step with the tastes of the younger generation of inner-city youth who had been attracted to the clarion call of the hardcore raves, taking dancehall with them and mutating it in the shape of SL2’s On a Ragga Tip and The Ragga Twins’ Spliffhead. Ragga licks increasingly became synonymous with hardcore and by 1993 breakbeat jungle became intertwined with dancehall.

It was almost inevitable that the combination of160 bpm breaks and 80 bpm basslines would bring people to the ragga vocal. The two styles complimented each other and unlike vocal samples, the ragga vocal was already pitched at the right tempo. However, the first tracks to emerge that employed ragga vocals simply used samples rather than employing live MCs.

An increasingly dominant studio production tool was the sample CD of factory sounds. A series of commercially produced discs containing a library of sounds, they became an integral part of any studio set up. These were ideal for an engineer knocking out tracks in a few hours for DJs and perfect for the lone producers cooking up breakbeat alchemy in their bedrooms. The sample sounds included would range from the latest bass drone to more exotic selections like monk chanting or versions of the Qur’an. Inevitably the ragga lick became a staple of sample CDs.

As producers explored the studio sample CDs looking for the hook to lift their tune above others, they would stumble on a series of ragga samples ready to drop in. With the pressure of studio cost to record live vocals, the ready-made samples were a quick, easy and cheap option. Producers started to exploit these CD samplers fully, and a flood of so-called ragga crossover tracks emerged.

Ragga refrains by complete unknowns would subsequently sit next to all of the scene’s best-known names on jungle dubplates, but the crowds at raves often didn’t care. It was the ragga vibe they wanted, and this substandard version actually helped push the euphoria, so the quick-buck engineers and producers continued to push standardised tracks at the scene.

Not all of the ragga jungle tracks were pale imitations, however. Among the first tracks to emerge included A Guy Called Gerald’s 28 Gun Bad Boy series on his own Juice Box Records imprint. Initially a series of singles, the tracks were eventually collected on an album and have been credited as being the album that brought jungle out of the rave. The 28 Gun Bad Boy series inspired tunes such as Potential Bad Boy’s 1994 classic Warning (Remix) on Ibiza Records, a reworking of Firefox & 4 Tree’s The Warning on Philly Blunt and the startling Leviticus (aka Jumping Jack Frost) tune Burial, also on Philly Blunt.

‘Basically I made a record called Burial which was probably one of the biggest kind of reggae influenced jungle tunes made,’ explained Frost to Joe Muggs. ‘And I got the vibe to do that. I mean there were tunes that had reggae going way back before that. I’m not claiming that it was some radical idea to do it – but I think (the soundsytem background came out in jungle) when I made that record.’

Among the best known of the ragga jungle tunes was Original Nuttah by Shy FX and rising Asian ragga star UK Apache. Essentially a reworked version of Shy’s Gangsta Kid that featured vocals by Gunsmoke and had been released in 1993 on DJ Only, the label that became renamed SOUR (Sounds of the Underground Recordings). Excited by the huge potential in combining jungle with live vocals, SOUR A&R man Vini Medley had been inspired to put Apache and Shy together after hearing the former’s tracks that had been released by Ibiza. By coincidence, Apache had apparently been using Gangsta Kid as a loop in one of his own tracks, so when the idea of a collaboration was suggested he jumped at it. In the event, Apache’s vocals to Original Nuttah were recorded in only one studio take with the end results being put out as a white label at the end of 1993. It was given to selected DJs like Hype and Ron, who instantly dropped it into their sets.

The response to Original Nuttah was amazing with punters hanging around DJ booths desperately trying to work out who the tune was by. Once word got out, specialist shops were inundated with requests for the tune. Kool FM rinsed it out, playing it on just about every show and subsequently pushing demand even higher. Vini Medley recalled going into record shops with a box of white labels only to see people bartering for copies. An auction room atmosphere prevailed with copies of the white label fetching up to £30 apiece.

Vini recalled, with a glint in his eye: ‘It was just totally insane, man. People just wanted the tune so bad. A lot of demand came from that year’s [Notting Hill] Carnival. It was being played constantly: people shouting for rewinds all of the time. The jungle soundclashes helped as well. In fact, Kenny Ken won one of these soundclashes with Original Nuttah. Shy had recorded a new version for him that went ‘You never know the article, genuine in the jungle, you never know Kenny Ken, he rules the jungle’. They went fucking insane when they heard it and he got ten rewinds on it. Actually he beat Rap who got seven rewinds with the same tune. But she hadn’t got the special version! Actually, every DJ played Nuttah that night!’

By the time Original Nuttah was released in October 1994 it was one of the most sought after records on the scene, and as a result, it went straight into the national charts at #39. However, by the time Original Nuttah had hit the mainstream it had already had its jungle thunder stolen through the infamous coupling of M Beat and General Levy on Incredible. Coming out of the house of Renk Records, the white label had shown all of the signs of blowing up. But they could hardly have envisaged what would happen next.

Pre-sale demand was high however on release in June 1994 it only reached #39. But heavy airplay and full-on representation at jungle soundclashes gave the track an even greater push, so a re-release in August 1994 saw it hit the top ten and spend twelve weeks in the top 75. The success of Incredible also heralded a growing mainstream interest in jungle with the media immediately tagging the summer of 1994 as ‘The Summer of Jungle’.

The distinctive cry of ‘booyaka, booyaka’ that featured heavily on Incredible seemed to be everywhere all of a sudden. By the time of that summer’s Notting Hill Carnival, the ‘booyaka’ call of ragga jungle had taken over the streets of London, providing an overwhelming catchphrase for the nightlife culture of city life. Inevitably the popularity of the ‘booyaka’ call spread like a meme and before long the mainstream appropriated it. Indeed, Channel 4’s Big Breakfast show puppets Zig and Zag even started to use it. By late 1994 the puppets had released their own ‘Zaggamuffin’ record called 1994 Them Girls, Them Girls, produced by DJ Erick Morillo and featuring backing vocals by Jocelyn Brown and Althea McQueen. The irony of the fact that the word was an onomatopoeic expression used to imitate the sound of a gunshot was lost on the daytime TV producers.

It wasn’t all jungle cash-in though. The period from October 1994 through 1995 experienced a series of superb mixes like Buju Banton’s Champion – Miami Mix, reworked for the jungle raves to startling effect by an unaccredited source. Or there was DJ Ron’s London Some ‘Ting remix of Champion DJ by Blackstar featuring Top Cat. DJ Ron’s involvement in any remix project was an affirmation of authenticity. Ron’s DJ career was synonymous with the rise of jungle music. He had hosted a radio show on Kool FM as part of the A-Team Supreme Team with DJ SL, MC Moose and MC 5ive-0 since 1992 and was considered a key tastemaker on the scene.

Ragga jungle’s popular success was less well received by the dark fraternity who watched a host of outsiders jump on the bandwagon. Producers like Rob Playford regarded ragga jungle with contempt declaring much of it to be devoid of any real creative talent. To him jungle producers were using a sound that he and his contemporaries had already dropped as far back as 1992. ‘Personally, after doing the ragga jungle thing,’ said Playford. ‘There were all these people taking really obvious elements and sticking something even more obvious over the top to try and make a pop record. The sound they were trying to copy was something very close to our hearts, very deep underground and it just pissed everyone off. I just felt like I had to get out of it at that point.’

Not surprisingly, with Playford et al denouncing ragga jungle they’d already returned to their sonic laboratories and had started revealing what would be the next future sound with a production that would become increasingly known as drum & bass. Not that this affected the jungle cognoscenti though, the jungle raves were on fire.

JUNGLE RAVES

Until 1994 the hundred percent jungle raves had been relatively sporadic. In reality, the numbers of people into the scene just couldn’t warrant a high number of major events, although those that did happen would guarantee crowds of over a thousand punters. By 1994 the numbers of people embracing the jungle raves soared.

Randall

Among the first of the jungle raves was X: By Any Means Necessary at the Brixton Academy. Featuring Micky Finn, Grooverider, Randall and Ron, the vibe was much darker than the atmosphere witnessed at the hardcore raves. According to one punter on the night ‘there didn’t seem to be one person smiling in the whole place’, but he added ‘the atmosphere was still electric, with the music rather than the drugs carrying things.’

There had also been occasionally smaller events such as Kool FM’s first birthday party at Arcola Street in Stoke Newington in 1992. In 1993 Kool teamed up with pirate station Weekend Rush FM to put on Jungle Book – The Rave at The Rocket, Holloway Road in North London. The success of the collaboration had shown the potential impact provided by the greater reach offered by the two stations. Buoyed by the success, they again paired up the following year for Kool’s third birthday event at the 2,000-capacity venue The Astoria on Tottenham Court Road.

Kool and Weekend Rush promoted the event over the airwaves around the clock leading to an estimated 5000 punters turning up on the night. Talking to Vice, Eastman said: ‘We had our third birthday at the Astoria, and we shut down the whole of Tottenham Court Road. We had 3,000 inside, and there was something like 4,000 or 5,000 outside. They had to close the club next door for the night because nobody could get in or out.’

Kool FM mainstay Brockie confirmed the sell-out, although his numbers differed slightly. ‘When we saw the turnout, it was unbelievable! Everybody was there with this music, jungle, something was happening. There were about 2,000 people inside and out on the street there were about 3,000 people. There were people ranging from eighteen to forty, all ages. The police had never seen anything like it.’

Another Kool FM collaboration, this time with Ibiza Records resulted in the launch of Jungle Fever in August 1993. The event promised the best DJs, MCs, soundsytems, lasers and set design and offered a guarantee that every DJ printed on the flyer would play. Furthermore, they also guaranteed payment in full to their artists and even employed their own security staff. The ethos of self-professionalisation presented by the Jungle Fever team was quite simply one of mutual respect between promoters, artists and punters alike.

The first Jungle Fever was like a statement of intent to the entire scene. The venue was decorated like a graveyard with tombs, coffins and gothic statues in a move that exaggerated the dark moods of the times. The first in a series of themed events that travelled from venue to venue around London and as far north as Milton Keynes, Jungle Fever cemented jungle’s popularity in the minds of punters and presented a paradigm of how events should be managed. ‘Before us, people were putting on events but they were afraid to call it jungle,’ said one of the team in 1995. ‘We wanted to present jungle as it should be presented, and not water it down by mixing it with… techno and house. We said to our DJs “this is Jungle Fever, you go ahead and take jungle music to where it’s going to go”.’

Soon after the first Jungle Fever rave the Roller Express in Edmonton opened its doors to the regular Jungle Splash events. An extremely important breeding ground for the burgeoning MC presence in jungle, Jungle Splash boasted a steady diet of live ragga chatting and more than a few jungled up soul divas.

It may have taken place on a trading estate on the edge of London, but Jungle Splash at Roller Express was massively popular with punters and DJs alike. A typical line-up would include Randall, Micky Finn, Brockie, Darren Jay, Jumping Jack Frost, Ray Keith and Hype; a VIP line-up that echoed AWOL at its finest Paradise days.

Jungle Splash proved to be the turning point for two people who were to become inextricably linked to the scene: Dave Stone and Cleveland Watkiss. For Stone, it was an eye-opener that was to change the direction of his DJ Only imprint that had already released classic hardcore tunes like Bass Selective, aka T Power’s Southern Fried Chicken featuring Elizabeth Troy. Stone rebranded DJ Only as junglist label SOUR (Sound of the Underground). Until Jungle Splash events in Edmonton he admits he simply hadn’t got jungle. The tunes he’d been sent left him cold as without a kick drum he simply wondered how people could dance to it. But so many people he respected were into the sound he agreed to go to Jungle Splash with Shy FX so he could try and understand what the fever was all about.

Stone recalled: ‘I went out with Shy FX to a few of the raves in Edmonton, like Jungle Splash and Jungle Soundclash and I really liked what I saw, I really liked the vibe. It was different from hardcore. There was like, a fifty/fifty mix of black and white but you could really feel the black influence with the ragga samples and the reggae basslines. The DJs who were mainly black were pushing a real skanking feel, which I instantly understood because I was into reggae. It was the bassline, which gave the half time dance rhythm of the bpms. It quickly made sense to me in the context of the rave.’

Soon after Stone sanctioned the release of T Power’s extremely experimental Lipsing Jamring and Shy FX’s Gangsta Kid. SOUR Recordings became home for the entire spectrum of breakbeat, from jungle to drum & bass; ragga jungle to artcore. Indeed, the label would even go on to champion UK hip hop in the shape of Blak Twang’s Dettwerk South East album – a set where a hint of the future, grime, can be heard germinating in the production.

For Cleveland Watkiss the discovery of jungle was far more accidental. A stalwart of the jazz scene thanks to his days with the Jazz Warriors, he had very little to do with the rave scene. His days of clubbing were far more based around Gilles Peterson’s Dingwalls jazz floorshakers. Having lived in London’s East End for a number of years, he could hardly avoid the sound of jungle blasting everywhere, and it wasn’t long before he decided to check out a jungle rave. Jungle Splash converted him to the cause.

‘My first Roller Express was when jungle actually clicked for me,’ he said in 1996. ‘I’d been listening to this stuff for maybe two years, but I’d never been to these raves, and as soon as I did, the music just grabbed me, man. I hadn’t heard anything like this since I first heard be-bop. I knew immediately I was going to be involved. I had been hanging around the jazz scene, and people were like, “What are you doing listening to that shit”. But the jungle scene is a real integration of cultures on a level which I’ve never really experienced before. It’s a product of multiculturalism.’

Watkiss soon started to work with Goldie becoming an MC for the Metalheadz events as well as at Goldie’s live shows in the late 1990s.

By 1994 the jungle raves were flourishing. Another event that would have a huge impact on Stone was Jungle Soundclash, again at Roller Express. Talking to Brian Belle-Fortune he exclaimed: ‘… it was fucking amazing. The decks in a boxing ring, Moose and 5ive-0 wearing dicky bows – ringing a bell. The crowd controlling the DJs – screaming for the rewinds and getting them. It certainly was a spectacle. Rap got death threats on her answering machine warning that if she played Incredible, she would get killed. The BBC had been told to stay away. Rap started off her set with Incredible and finished with the rewinds of Nuttah. Kenny Ken went on to win drawing freshly cut Congo Natty dubplates. The atmosphere, the vibes. I’ve never felt such togetherness.’

In early 1994 jungle club nights in central London were also regular fixtures. Already a haunt for junglists, Sunday Roast moved to The Astoria after a short run at Linford Film Studios in Battersea, south London. It proved to be a hugely significant event as it was becoming a rarity for young black men to be allowed in access to central London’s clubs thanks to the open prejudices of door staff and club owners. Everton Taylor, who promoted the Astoria events alongside Wayne Roast explained to True Magazine that ‘it was really difficult for black men to get into West End clubs then. Roast broke down some barriers.’

In a move that seemed to take Everton’s comments to heart the line-up of London clubs devoting nights to jungle soon increased. A London Sumtin alternated between Samantha’s on Burlington Street and the Vox in Brixton and featured residencies from Brockie, Bryan Gee, DJ Ron, Trace and Stretch with regular MCs 5ive-0 and Det. Thunder & Joy took over Raw on Tottenham Court Road every other Sunday. A basement set six floors beneath the YMCA, Raw offered the best in subterranean clubbing. Thunder & Joy brought together people from all over the south-east of England to enjoy the booming 24K soundsystem and a line-up that included Rap, Nicky Blackmarket, Darren Jay, Brockie, SL and the Demolition Kru.

Meanwhile, the unlikely surrounding of legendary rock venue the Marquee opened its doors to what was described as featuring ‘the original dub tribe junglists’. Called Electrybe, the event was aimed at a mellower form of jungle that had been bubbling away in the background since LTJ Bukem and dropped Demon’s Theme in 1991 and would eventually become referred to as drum & bass. Electrybe was an anomaly however; as in the majority of the capital’s clubs the mood was still hard.

Nowhere was this more evident than in south-east London where the ragga jungle centric Lazerdome in Peckham Rye dominated. Lazerdome tapped into the large Caribbean population of the area and developed into a rudeboy swagger. It was an outward statement of pride, a south-east London thing. The event proved to be the perfect setting for Desert Storm, the jungle offshoot of Sandy Jarvis’ Biology promotions. Desert Storm put on two events in Peckham, The Lick and Simple Tings. While both were marred by violence, they proved to be stunning nights with the vanguard: Grooverider, Hype, Randall, Ray Keith, DJ Rap, Cool Hand Flex, DJ SS, Tonic and Jumping Jack Frost all tearing up the dancefloor.

Beyond the music, perhaps the most noticeable thing about the jungle raves was the style. Quite the opposite to the dress down utilitarian wear of the rave scene, junglism demanded an image that combined powers of designer clothing and overt sexuality. The style reflected the music itself with the bass tapping into a raw sexuality that aimed at the pelvis while the high sheen of the designer band reflected the extreme technological structure of the breaks. Naturally, the fashion sought to reflect these elements in a style that drew heavily on the sexual overdrive of the dancehall. Women dressed in the smallest and tightest shorts, known and ‘batty riders’. Legs would be adorned in thigh-length leather boots while leather waistcoats were also de rigeur. The colours: black and gold.

With the style order for the day for women being tight, small and revealing, it was inevitable that dancing styles too would exaggerate the sexuality of the music. Through the promiscuity of bogling interspersed with slower pelvic gyrations that flowed to the groove of the basslines. It was a style that depicted the sense of empowerment that junglism instilled in women. The sexuality wasn’t for the benefit of men, but an outward display of their own independent power. Jungle raves offered bodily empowerment for women.

The men, on the other hand, adopted a less physical dance style that played second fiddle to the women’s performance. However, there was a clear show of masculinity through two-finger mimes of gunshot and fists thrust in the air. Theirs was a far more predatorial style, the streetwise look of a bad boy on the prowl. They’d be far more likely to stand around checking people out than actually dancing. The guys would also be dressed to kill in their designer gear with (often fake) Versace, Moschino and Armani offering the choice cuts.

The crowd was incredibly loud. To them the jungle rave wasn’t just about dancing; it was a complete involvement. It was an extension of the expectation of total commitment, or way of life, that defined junglism. So crowds would holler ‘rewind’ at the DJs, foghorns were basted, whistles blown – when the MC shouted for them to make some noise the cacophony was deafening. A wild and violently loud euphoria gripped the jungle rave. The Independent newspaper described it as being ‘to music what Mortal Kombat is to video games. Aggressive, violent, but totally compulsive’.

Similar stories were run in almost every broadsheet newspaper and style magazine as an apparent about-turn saw them jump on the jungle gravy train. MTV too increasingly gave interview time to the stars of the scene. In reality though, the rave generation were now making their way as journalists and this new workforce were operating from the inside to get recognition for the junglist underground. Following the success of Incredible, the editorial gatekeepers felt the scene now had some value and allowed their younger staff to get the stories.

A large number of dance music magazines caught up in the bright lights and coke lines of house and techno were less open to the cultural value of jungle and in an attempt to get in touch with the most important UK phenomenon in twenty years went straight to General Levy for their stories. In a scene where DJs and producers were happy to be relatively anonymous, in keeping with the original ethos of the rave, the space was left wide open for MCs to take the limelight. These were the people whose voices were carried across the soundsystems of the clubs and the airwaves of the pirate stations. The mouthpieces behind endless streams of psycho-babble, shout outs and buzz phrases. For many, they were the catalysts who translated the energy of the music into the language of the rave.

Looking out towards the crowd, mics firmly to lips, the MCs would ride the ebb and flow of the rolling beats, working the audience with their lyrical dexterity, pushing the vibe to intensified crescendos while spreading their patter across the smoother passages. The MCs carried the message to the audience, boasting about the jungle massive and supplying a stronger sense of identity.

Each different personality on the mic would push their own catchphrase. MC Moose would holler his feelings that jungle was ‘like malaria, it’s contagious’, while 5ive-0 pushed his own version of jungle’s cultural significance describing the movement as ‘the biggest thing since England won the World Cup’.

If jungle seemed to have an at times overly high sense of self-esteem, then surely it came from the MCs and their irrepressible excitement. It was something which outsiders viewed as arrogance, but insiders would define as street attitude. With jungle, these rebels had a very real cause to fight for, and the MCs were the unelected spokesmen.

Jungle’s adoption of the MC from the reggae soundsystem and the hip hop block jam tied the scene even deeper into a sense of history. Little surprise then that every man, woman and dog wanted to emulate the MCs they’d grown up listening to. After all, they’d been singing along to these reggae riddims and hip hop jams for years, just how difficult could it be?

In the event, MCing proved to be an art form that few could master. DJs would increasingly complain that MCs egos took over as soon as their words were amplified. The power of hearing themselves over the soundsystem would open the sluice gates on an unending barrage of words, riding over the beats and crushing the vibe of the music. Quite simply, once they’d started, they couldn’t be stopped. Furthermore, the increasing celebrity status of the MCs, with some getting a higher billing on the flyers than the DJs themselves, created a very real friction.

For the DJs the music was paramount. Although individuals were allowed a certain underground celebrity status, no DJ was more important than the scene that they were representing. As such, no individual could take any credit for things. Little more than an unwritten rule, it was, however, accepted by everyone involved out of respect for the scene they’d stuck with, protected and subsequently nurtured.

These workings (or ‘runnings’ as they are often referred to) were the glue that held things together. However, with MCs slowly being elevated as the ‘chosen spokespeople’, the media were finally able to cover this sound while adhering to a star system that demanded figureheads. It was this ideology that was in line with dancehall and hip hop. The US and Jamaican scenes celebrated individuals and accepted that these special few would seek stardom beyond the confines of their scenes. In many ways, mainstream stardom represented the ultimate battle, with a mass media, industry and public response demanding a commercial hierarchy.

Jungle had always previously universally rejected the commercial hierarchy and, until this point, most publications were shy of any movement without its figureheads. Sure Fabio, Grooverider and their ilk were able to pack out the raves and bootleggers could sell enormous quantities of mixtapes of their sets but, as individuals, they resolutely refused to play the media celebrity game. Suddenly the MCs provided faces for the photos and quotes for the articles. The ripples of dissatisfaction spread throughout the scene, with many DJs openly condemning the shameless fame-hungry acts of these new stars of the microphone.

MC 5ive0

‘MCs are people who chat over records to help with the vibe so people can have a good time in a club, that’s it, full stop. I mean if I want vocals on a track I put them there. But some MCs started thinking they were more important than everyone else and because a lot of producers aren’t interested in talking to the press the MCs started coming forward,’ argued Dego McFarlane.

This tension was starting to become an increasing feature in the clubs as MCs flexed their self-proclaimed importance at every opportunity. More and more some MCs started calling for rewinds, not because the crowd had shouted for it but because they personally liked it or had new words they wanted to spit over the beats. DJs complained bitterly. Microphones would be unplugged in disgust, and increasingly DJs would only allow their own chosen MC partner on the mic. As a result, many of jungle’s partnerships started to emerge: DJs teaming up with MCs who understood about the spaces in the music quickly rising to the top of the pack.

For Cleveland Watkiss, better known as the Metalheadz MC, this understanding of space was paramount to a good vocal delivery. ‘If I’m going to chat or MC on top of someone else’s music, I have to respect it first. The thing is you’ve got your MCs, and they’ve just written some bad lyrics and they want to run them, which is understandable. But you have to find the right space first.’

Unfortunately, not all of jungle’s MCs had the humility or musicality of Watkiss and, as such, the tensions between vocalist and DJ just grew. By 1995, the only MCs still getting major respect from the scene were the ones who understood the vibe and pushed it, rather than using the mic as an extension of their own individual egos. People like Conrad, Watkiss, MC Det, 5ive-0, Navigator and GQ who remained intent on pushing the scene forward.

RECOMMENDED LISTENING

Limb by Limb – Cutty Ranks (Suburban Base)

Unity – Remarc (Kemet)

RIP – Remarc (Suburban Base)

Armed and Dangerous – Cutty Ranks (Fashion)

Burial – Leviticus (FFRR)

Tear Down (Da Whole Place) – Dillinja (Conqueror)

So Simple – Potential Bad Boy featuring MC Det (SOUR)

Incredible – M Beat featuring General Levy (Renk)

Original Nuttah – UK Apachi with Shy FX (SOUR)

Warning – Ibiza (white)

Code Red – Conquering Lion (X-Project)