Album Review : Dizzee Rascal - Tongue 'n Cheek

September 2003. Dylan Mills is stood at the Mercury Prize ceremony looking as awkward as shit, for want of a better expression. Amongst the dinner party organisers of the Guardian division, he looks genuinely uncomfortable, adopting the expression of a man who would rather have his testicles dissected by way of a pizza slicer than be in a room populised by people who have never witnessed a South London council estate in real life outside of a particularly patronising episode of 'The Bill'. His debut album Boy In Da Corner has just won said prize, and deservedly so, being a juvenile delinquent's palette of GCSE Music urban frustration, pots 'n' pans beats and a frankly amazing incorporation of Nirvana power chords. He certainly sounded troubled, and as far away from a run-of-the-mill popstar as was humanly imaginable. His follow up, 'Showtime' followed a simlilar blueprint. Whilst the aural electro-prozac of 'Stand Up Tall' was Mills' first top ten hit, such successes were showcased amongst the epic desolation of 'Imagine' and the questionable, yet regrettably hilarious misogyny of 'Girls'.

Whilst he may have brought industrial baseball bat grime to the coffee table, Mills' lack of real identity was always a troubling concern. Three years later, whilst playing the token black act largely supporting indie bands, his first real attempt at universal pop, namely thirrd album Maths and English was met with critical indifference, and collaborations with Lily Allen and the Arctic Monkeys were more than underwhelming. Yet, the grimey 'Sirens' made the listener want to stand up and kick the living shit out of inanimate objects. Fucking thrilling.

After Maths and English, Mr. Rascal (as he is known to Jeremy Paxman) stumbled across a chance collaboration with Calvin Harris, in 'Dance Wiv Me', a heavily playlisted slice of electro-pop which sat comfortably upon the Radio 1 playlist. Although it divided opinion, it's fairly grimeless reign at the top of the charts suggested something of an enduring summer anthem, which highlighted both Mills' commercial sensibilities and Harris' stadium-house capabilities, which would later be vindicated within the euphoric electro of Harris' number-one single 'I'm Not Alone' - which couldn't have been more unashamedly 1996 if David Baddiel sang the first verse. However, it was an instant classic if ever there was one. 'Dance Wiv Me' made a belated popstar of Dizzee. Rarely are albums preceded by a trio of number-one singles, and whilst the industrial house of Armand Van Helden-produced 'Bonkers' was incredibly successful, 'Holiday' was my most convincing of the three. All are, quite inevitably, present here.

'Bonkers' goes first, a thumping, comforting slice of familiarity that fills the listener with huge anticipation over what is to come. It was never his finest moment, but as an opener, it absolutely sets an agenda and causes genuine excitement. 'Road Rage' is exhilarating, portraying the viewpoint of a man who could well be looked upon as despicable, yet, as with with many moments on the album, somehow retains the charm and cheekiness to win one over, and contains an unprecedented amount of laugh-out-loud moments, not least in "I've got this other silly bastard behind me!". In addition to this, it's impossible to not recall Dizzee's own brush with the Transport Police when he received a caution, last year. If it was anyone else, we'd write him off as a complete twat, especially during the shameful misogyny of 'Freaky Freaky', whereby each jawdroppingly sexist couplet is superseded by another, not least "she was sucking my dick, you should have seen it!". As spellbindingly charasmatic as he is, it's easy to feel bad for enjoying it, but at least he's knowingly sharp - you always get the sense he doesn't mean it, hopefully. It could yet be hard to defy the charge that he is a misogynist git.

Tongue 'n Cheek succeeds in every area where 'Maths and English' failed and ultimately cements the importance of Dizzee within the commercial sphere. There is not one difficult track on the collection. Whilst Mills is no lyrical Thom Yorke, his bluntness is utterly refreshing. It's difficult to recall a hugely successful male UK rap star, but easy to conclude that Dizzee's recordings will dwarf the longevity of those by Apache Indian, for instance. Even when sampling 'Dirty Cash', the track from Adventures of Stevie V, Dizzee manages to take a long-forgotten 1990 number-two hit into something desperately contemporary and gripping, whilst making the original his own, and dragging a previously discarded 20-year-old single into 2009, effortlessly. It is as exciting and topical as the idea would have suggested, and if it doesn't become his fourth consective chart-topper, there will be no justice in the world, despite it's heavily reliance upon a sample. Looks like he was four-year-old when it came out, too, which somehow makes it an even bigger triumph, especially with that hair-tingling '303'. In addition to this, track seven on an album is often revelatory, as Brett Anderson would attest.

The idea of Tongue 'n Cheek seemed celebratory before I heard it, and it has taken my expectations and ridiculed them. An absolute whirlwind of a listen, it takes the 'sell-out' accusations and defecates all over them. It's a pop album and makes no attempts to hide this fact. Displaying the best elements of Dizzee's early work, but with added accessibility, it truly defines the whole notion of edge-of-the-seat material, whilst being so charismatic it almost dilutes his massively contradictory views on money - which, along with sex, colours the lyrical content of the album.Whilst no-one wants to be patronised by a rich popstar, 'Can't Tek No More' is one of several examples showcasing Mill's concise economic analysis. Whilst he's no Chuck D, his candid social viewpoints are refreshing in their simplicity, and the track's urgent, stirring dancehall forms a perfect accompaniment to references to cum and the congestion charge, like Ben Dover meeting Boris Johnson at a particularly worrying club. 'Chillin' Wiv Da Men Dem' is instant laidback cheese, with an Isaac Hayes vibe, carrying Dizzee's persistent nod to a certain 'pussy'ole'. It's so knowingly cheesy, it's hard to fault, and as it knowingly drips with it's own criticisms, it's as if it got there first.

'Money, Money' is tiresome, repetitive and massively hypocritical in it's materialism and celebration of wealth, which grates against his earlier displays of sympathy and solidarity towards the financially unfortunate. 'Leisure' is little to write home about, like the world's most conservative Prefuse 73 production, minus unpredictability. Therefore, a complete album still remains unattained. Placing 'Holiday' as the penultimate track is a wise idea, retaining interest, which speedily incorporates Harris' euphoric, high-tempo party trick, which surely has a very limited shelf life, and remains fun at the time of writing. It is also boosted by an extra lease of life, being part of an album.

The album end with the trancy, Tiesto-produced 'Bad Behaviour' which involves as much of a sense of finality as is needed. Coloured by a driving, choppy bassline, it's held together by a euphoric couple of synths and closes the album with a huge sense of jubilation. Whilst working with this amount of producers is often an eye-opener, somehow the collection remains coherent and euphoric, and it's incorporation of genres stands in it's favour. As an example of how forward-looking pop music could be in 2009, it's an excellent display, but it's not quite the full article. It will sell by the bucketload though, and for such an uncompromising force as Mr Rascal, it's a massive achievement. With 'Road Rage' and 'Dirtee Cash' being fascinating potential hits, it will certainly be interesting to see how things map out.