Just when it seemed that the charts couldn't possibly get any chavvier, along comes Jamie T (no relation to Mr.), a 20 year old from Sarf London intent on bucking the niche that his precursors Mike Skinner and Lily Allen have created for themselves. The question is, can he do something that hasn't already been done? Is there room for another 'contemporary urban poet' in music? And what the hell is 'slack-rap', anyway? One thing is for certain, however: the boy Treay is in possession of a powerful set of lungs. Whether he's mouthing off gutturally a la Pete Doherty, sniffing snottily in his semi-incomprehensible accent like a male Lady Sovereign, or spewing forth his opinions like Billy Bragg without the bellyaching, something that can't be faulted is Treay's ability to vent - even if his oft-dodgy lyrical couplets sometimes leave a lot to be desired ('Sheila goes out with her mate Stella / It gets poured all over her fella'). Still, opener Brand New Bass Guitar's shabby, minimalist approach lends an instant pizzazz to proceedings, its cracked bassline and mellow reggae vibe setting the pace for the album; Salvador's steely guitar jitter and cocky lyrical flow tells tales of brutish nightclub encounters with unsavoury females, whilst single If You Got the Money's summery, festival vibe would give Lily Allen a run for hers. The real standouts here, though, are the ones that go above and beyond the invariable pace and style that bogs a lot of the album down. Operation's slapdash pop and serrated art-rock riff blend terrifically well, and Ike and Tina's clever trumpet sample over a drum 'n' bass soundtrack is annoyingly addictive. Still, despite it being far from the worst thing you'll hear all year by a long shot, it's a bit too samey, inconsistent and unimaginative to be the best, either.
