No Frills Reviews

Contrasts and contradictions drive a thought-provoking study of growing up poor in Britain

Bashy is a veteran of the grime scene, albeit this is only his second studio album, 15 years since his first. In the meantime his star has been on the rise in the acting world under his birth name, Ashley Thomas. This return to music also acts as somewhat of a return to his roots; juxtaposing his success with his humble beginnings in an exploration of mortality, race, and structural oppression in Britain.

The album plays out like a loosely chronological autobiography; flashbacks to scenes of his youth interwoven with the hindsight and wisdom that have come with time. It’s an unabashedly regional album, as he takes us on location to The London Borough of Brent on the opening track. But for all the localised reference points, its themes are much broader as it studies character as a product of environment.

The scene is set on that opening track; what may initially seem to be typical rap bravado about his fortune is contrasted with the lengths those on the other end of the scale will go to see even a tiny fraction of that wealth. And on the other end of that scale are the same guys he went to school with. But he doesn’t say this to bolster his own rags to riches credentials, instead it’s a recognition of life’s delicate balance – “We grew up poor and we had to make do, some will break, some will break through”.

This theme comes back around on the album’s closer. As he expounds on investments, assets, and passive income, it can almost sound like you’re getting a lecture from a financial adviser. But those contrasts come back around soon enough as money talk quickly turns to the fragility of life. It’s a jolt back to a bleak reality, as if to signify the speed in which one decision could change everything.

Elsewhere there’s the juxtaposition of innocent childhood nostalgia with the exposure to adult experiences before your time on Sweet Boy Turned Sour. Or, on Made In Britain, the contradiction for children of the Windrush; being raised British but feeling like the enemy. These experiences aren’t particularly presented as a means to seek solutions or cast judgment, they’re just a document of the lived reality for many. In fact, Bashy pushes back against oversimplified explanations about bad parenting, or clichéd sloganeering – “Drugs ain’t cool, but where we’re from people need a place to escape to”.

The album’s highlight is the heartbreaking, Earthstrong. Backed by the pained wail of a lone trumpet, Bashy ponders mortality and the circle of life, lamenting the small gestures never made. On an album that’s never short on honesty, it still stands out as a moment of gut-wrenching vulnerability.

For all that its themes are heavy, the album manages to be a surprisingly light listen. Its 37 minutes breeze past, carried by Bashy’s arresting storytelling and deft wordplay. He rhymes with the weary authority of experience, sneakily picking up the pace on occasions into a frenetic outpouring as the thoughts flood through him. The production, led by Toddla T, provides a backing of soul-infused grime and Caribbean grooves. There aren’t any immediately standout beats, but they’re consistently solid to good, always twisting to meet the lyrical mood.

Being Poor is Expensive. The sense of contrast, contradiction, and melancholia in that title is what lies at the heart of this album and at the heart of the world that Bashy explores here. The album is neither a celebration nor a commiseration; it’s an empathetic and thankful nod to the fine line between being broken by, or breaking out of, that world.

Best tunes: Blessed, Made In Britain, Sticky, Earthstrong

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