I'm not exactly a fan of rap.
It's not so much the predictability, the preponderance of strained couplets and that I actually prefer singing....it's more to do with its association with gangsta lifestyles and the glorification of violence.
Often, more pose than poetry.
However, when I look back there are exceptions.
There is Gil Scott-heron for one, the so-called 'Godfather of rap', who was nothing like much of what followed.
He drew primarily on jazz roots, attacked gun culture in the States and had an idealistic, internationalist vision.
'B Movie' and 'The Revolution will not be televised' were two of his classics which challenged authority and the right-wing establishment of that time, represented by Reagan.
Similarly, I also relished Welsh language rappers Tystion, though my limited knowledge of the language at the time meant that I only grasped an inkling.
Like Scott-Heron they had a wider agenda and vision where the Welsh language and our people's liberation were central.
Of a very different kind, I liked Newport's Goldie Lookin' Chain, often scorned by ardent rap fans.
There's was parody, but one which was often hilarious, with a humour which could be crude and satirical.
Generally though - even with the likes of Dizzee Rascal, whose qualities I could see - rap left me totally unmoved.
So it was with trepidation that I decided to download 'Everybody Down' by Kate Tempest.
I think I did so finally because I've become tired of the total lack of lyrical prowess by so much of the music scene.
I'd read articles eulogising this poet, playwright and rapper from London, another product of the Brit school.
Even the fact that she'd won the Ted Hughes Award for her book of poetry ' Brand New Ancients' didn't allay my suspicions of hype.
Tempest (her pseudonym) resembles an innocent 16 year-old with scant knowledge of the world.
I was blown away by 'Everybody Down'.
Like early Cooper-Clarke every backing track perfectly matched her delivery.
Belying her appearance she's street-wise and politically passionate, yet never rants or preaches.
Like The Streets the essence of her album is the narrative and 'Everybody Down' is a rap novella, only the rhyming is never arbitrary and the imagery often that of a fine poet.
It's yet another great concept album of this century, following Tom Russell's 'Hotwalker', Gruff Rhys's 'American Interior' and Robb Johnson's 'Gentle Men'.
Each track's like a chapter unfolding the tale of Becky and her relationship with Harry ; every bit as tragic as Romeo and Juliet, but with a heartening optimism as well.
Drugs and prostitution play a vital role , but are never sensationalised soap opera style. The humdrum stands alongside the fight for survival which inevitably steps over into the criminal underground.
Tempest uses dialogue as naturally as she rhymes, and what impresses especially is her persistent humour and concern for the development of her two main characters, whose perspectives are alternated.
Lines like 'posers giving blow-jobs to mic stands' and ' one man's flash of lightning ripping through, is another's passing glare hardly there' show how she can be both earthy and philosophical.
The music is predominantly electronic and drum 'n' bass and never impedes the delivery which , judging by her performance on Jools Holland, must be captivating live.
Politically, her life was altered forever by the mass protests against the war in Iraq, but she's never pushy with her undoubted left-wing zeal.
Will I read her poetry?
It's hard to say.
I much preferred to listen to the records of Linton Kwesi Johnson and Attila the Stockbroker, though both were more agitprop.
She lives up to her name - taken, surely, from the Shakespeare play - by ripping through the streets of London with a word-storm and taking the dog out of doggerel to make it howl.
THE FIGHTIN SEASON
Black Friday, Black Saturday, the fightin season.
An always comin inta Merthyr vale station
it begins real serious an crazee.
Drunken drongos or piss'ead footie fans,
yew jest know it's gunna kick off
before Securitee cun move in.
Or, there's no uniforms, an this woman
gets between em, so one calls er 'Slag!'
She's braver than any man.
There's fuckin this an fuckin tha
an bloody bastard shittin,
there's fists an feet an gobbin.
Like-a train's bin eld t ransom
an us kidnapped on-a platform.
An-a p'lice? They miss ev'rythin!
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