Ask anybody and they'll tell you that the days when grime nights in London were all hats, hoods and hatred are long gone. Ask anybody except Sally Gunnell, that is; she's still clinging to the past like some sort of gangly blond limpet.
Nowadays, thanks to the combined efforts of The Guardian and Mike Skinner, grime music has morphed from that big, bashy thing that came bouncing out of East London council estates to that smaller, slightly less bashy thing that came on in between Lily Allen and The Fratellis on your iPod Shuffle. In other words, grime is just not that 'urban' any more and nowhere is this fact more obvious than at any mainstream club in which the genre gets played. With this new found diversity in mind, Ruffhousing is proud to bring you: THE RUFFHOUSING GUIDE TO A GRIME CROWD.
1. THE RUDEBOY.
THE LOOK: The basic look encompasses a black New Era hat and a black hoodie. Those feeling ambitious will add dark glasses, a deerstalker and possibly trousers and/or pants.
THE TUNE: Something terrible featuring a sped-up vocal sample produced by a friend of his cousin's. You won't have heard it. Check his myspace: www.myspace.com/friendofmycousins. He's gonna blow this year, apparently.
WHERE CAN YOU FIND HIM?: Usually standing either at the very back or at the very front and scowling. Most aim to be standing behind the MCs looking moody at some point during the evening. You can never – NEVER – find him dancing.
WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE?: The Rudeboy – along with The Blogger (see below) – represents one of the only two groups of people here that actually LIKE grime; therefore, his reason for being here is perhaps the purest of all: he wants to listen to the music. He is in no way here to cause trouble and just wants to hang out with his friends, have a drink and listen to the tunes. However, he was a little peeved at having to pay the full ticket price to get in; as he tried to explain to the bouncer, he once played squash with Jammer's brother-in-law's chiropodist.
2. THE BLOGGER.
THE LOOK: A t-shirt or hat with the name and web address of his/her blog is an absolute fashion essential for The Blogger. Aside from this, probably something fairly similar – if not slightly less garish – than what the Shoreditch Cunt (see below) is rocking.
THE TUNE: Something pretty obscure. Admitting to liking Dizzee Rascal or Lady Sovereign or anybody with any actual talent who has sold more than 13 records is the social equivalent of hugging a toaster in a bath full of poison for the average Blogger. A download-only remix or an exclusive Rinse FM freestyle would be the perfect candidates but, failing that, something like a bit kooky like 'Nintendo' by Skepta or 'Computer Girls' by Lee Brasco would suffice.
WHERE CAN YOU FIND HIM?: Outside, sharing a Lambert & Butler, bitching about the other bloggers that have turned up and referring to Skepta and Wiley as if they were Biblical figures. A typical conversation between two bloggers is demonstrated below:
Blogger 1: Can you believe Blogger 3 is here tonight?
Blogger 2: I know. He's such a dick. You know his real name? Richard!
Blogger 1: Richard! That's rubbish! (Pause) What's yours?
Blogger 2: John.
Blogger 1: Oh, well that's all right. But Richard?! His blog's shit too. You know he claimed that Wiley interview was an exclusive?
Blogger 2: That SO wasn't an exclusive. I was there when the guy from Vice was doing it. Wiley actually brushed past me. Touched my shoulder.
Blogger 1: Wow. Skepta once looked at me. Or at least, looked directly to the left of me.
(Blogger 3 comes over.)
Blogger 3: Alright? Can you believe Blogger 4's here tonight?
Blogger 1: I know. He's such a dick. Do you know his real name?
WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE?: Besides wandering around taking photos and simultaneously trying to get his hat/t-shirt into other peoples' photos, he is listening for any gossip, anecdotes or exclusive tracks that he might be able to mention on his blog. The Blogger considers himself a 'journalist' – and will introduce himself thus; however, he fails to take into account the fact that real journalists tend to write reviews longer than 100 words and rarely refer to themselves in the third person three or four times every line. The Blogger is one of the younger members of a grime crowd and, since he almost certainly still lives at home in Muswell Hill with Mum (Designer at the Observer on Sunday) and Dad (Head of BBC4), he has to be leaving before 12pm.
3. THE AMATEUR FASHION DESIGNER.
THE LOOK: Like The Blogger, a night out for The Fashion Designer doesn't mean an enjoyable time, it means hardcore promotion of her brand. Thus, she will always attend not only dressed entirely in her own creations but also flanked by two or three friends draped in her handiwork. She is – as her name suggests – not a professional designer and this fact is more than evident when you see what she and her companions are wearing; the most demure of the bunch has on star-framed Elton John sunglasses, a leotard with a lightning bolt through it and a crimson bum-bag, while she herself has gone for a necklace made of thoughts and has strapped a live hen to her groin as a make-shift cummerbund.
THE TUNE: Like The Blogger, she will favour the kooky, computer-gamey side of grime. However, unlike The Blogger, she actually knows very little about the music, so her choice will probably be either 'Eskimo' by Wiley, 'I Luv U' by Dizzee Rascal or 'Happy Days' by Ears. She would never admit it, but 'Brown Eyes' by Kano makes her spine go all tingly.
WHERE CAN YOU FIND HER?: Again, like The Blogger, she will spend the evening attempting to squeeze herself, her cronies and her garish garments in front of every lens in the building. For the most part, she and her crew will be on the dancefloor, simulating mild epileptic fits around the same handbag.
WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING HERE?: As I mentioned in the introduction to this piece, grime is currently quite trendy (although it is becoming increasingly less so) and thus it is the perfect place to show off her clothes; a very cheap catwalk, if you will. She is here, not to have a good time and enjoy herself, but to make sure that in every photo she looks like she is having a good time and enjoying herself. In the toilets, she wonders to herself when everything went so badly wrong, and concludes that it was probably around the time Dad left to go and live with Neil – the man from number 32. Then she dabs her eyeliner and heads back out.
4. THE SHOREDITCH CUNT.
THE LOOK: Glam fop meets urban simpleton. His hair is delicately askew and his thick black rimmed glasses are not only entirely unnecessary but are also doing his 20-20 vision a great deal of harm. He drapes a purple or lime green zip-up hoodie over an ironic T-Shirt; possibly the N.W.A. Version (“Ice Cube & MC Ren & Dre & Eazy”) of the the block lettered Beatles (“John & Paul & George & Ringo”) top. Or maybe something with a Disney or Nintendo character on it. He has ripped, skinny jeans and battered Converse. Inside, he is dead.
THE TUNE: The Shoreditch Cunt is into grime predominantly because he finds it humorous. This means that potential favoured artists will include Tempa T, Bruza and Mr Wong; however, Jammer's 'Murkle Man' undoubtedly takes first prize here.
WHERE CAN YOU FIND HIM?: Right at the front. The Shoreditch Cunt is the most excitable member of any grime crowd as, while both the Rudeboys and the Bloggers probably know more about the music than him, he is far more willing to make a tit of himself. Despite his enthusiasm for the songs, the Shoreditch Cunt will, at certain moments, prove himself to be a little behind the times. For example, he may roll the 'r' on a 'brrrap' (a la Klashnekoff), not realising that this is just simply no longer done, or – at worst – he may even use the word 'Boo!': an act so cripplingly embarrassing that it will cause the Blogger to fall immediately into the nearest available well.
WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE?: This is a good question. The Shoreditch Cunt's fascination with grime music is most probably borne out of his subscription to Vice Magazine; a publication that has been simultaneously promoting and mocking grime music for a long time now. However, once he had been to a few nights, it became difficult to stop as he realised that – quite suddenly and without any warning – grime had become his 'thing'. He'd go to parties and people would introduce him as being 'well into grime'; he'd walk down Old Street and people who'd been at the same nights as he had would give him a respectful nod; his Aunt bought him Flirta D's new mixtape. Now the fates had decided that grime was his quirky little eccentricity, it would mean social suicide to stop turning up at the nights that championed it. However, his major problem – and darkest secret – is that, apart from the comedians like Jammer and Wong, he actually finds grime a bit... well, shit.
5. THE NOVICE.
THE LOOK: Terrified/Bewildered.
THE TUNE: He's got all three albums by The Streets and he borrowed 'Boy In Da Corner' from a mate in order to copy it. He quite likes Lady Sovereign and once heard Kano's name mentioned at a bus stop. When asked his favourite grime tune, he will probably respond with either 'Fix Up Look Sharp' by Dizzee or 'Blinded By The Lights' by The Streets, although neither of these songs can really be classified as grime. He's more into indie, to be honest; like, have you heard Kasabian's new stuff?
WHERE CAN YOU FIND HIM?: By the bar or right at the back. In fact, you're most likely to find him by the bar because the Rudeboys wearing the biggest scowls tend to be right at the back. He gets there too early and leaves within an hour – hour and a half, tops.
WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE?: He is asking himself the same question. He now deeply regrets the moment last week when he said to his friend, “Man, we live in London, but we hardly ever go out and see new and exciting stuff”. He regrets the millisecond in which his friend saw the Observer's Music Section had been left open and noticed a piece on something called 'Grime'. More than anything, he regrets wearing his Toploader t-shirt; it doesn't seem to be going down well at all. Although, The Shoreditch Cunt is giving him an approving nod.
So there you have it. Now get down to a grime night and see them in the flesh.
Trouble
