The rapid musical express train of Jamie T's debut had the public near-rapping their way through the trials and tribulations of "Panic Prevention" with everyone's favorite metropolitan minstrel. Its filthy urban-pirate mentality was about as gutter as it gets. Anecdotes of cider swigging youths and throwaway tarnished tarts proved to fill a gap in which T's urbanised-indie sat rather comfortably - The only worry was, would the Wimbledon ragamuffin be able to come up with something just as innovative, grimey and groundbreaking as his first-coming?
Giveaways to whether or not Jamie had altered his direction were slim and mostly absent - he's been a little quiet as of lately and other than the early release of "Sticks 'n' Stones", that graced the net at various qualities, we were left a bit bemused as to what the audacious young chap had up his sleeve.
Thankfully it's tip-top first-class news. From beatnik desirous acoustic busks to seedy ska palpitations; it's evident that in just four-tracks he's got it all firmly covered. After the gritty punk-punch of "Sticks 'n' Stones" and it's overwhelmingly authentic street credentials, T soon switches his reckless, rowdy mannerisms around as he commences a four-minute ditty of discontent and dismay in "St Christopher". Lost souls and discarded individuals have appeared in T's chants before but never has it seemed so honest. Backed by an electric guitar and little else it's a confirmation of progression in both musical and mental maturity that states a paramount sense of development for the mix-tape madman.
"On The Green" could be conceived as a bit more typical of the bass-bully. A rustic acoustic skit with a sack-full of accomplished lyrics that concrete themselves flawlessly to the backbone of this city-soul hoodie-folk composition. And as regular as clock work, his poetic ramblings lodge themselves into your lyrical mind-book with countless catchy lines and fetching croons. "I've got angles/ Knocking at my door/ Whispering sweet nothing/ and I scream I can't take it anymore!" he yelps. And it’s clear that this affair is no longer such a juvenile and booze fuelled proceeding with the Pacemaker skipper, more of a ripened cultivation from someone who’s clearly grown up in the past two years.
But the principle problem here is it's all happened so quickly! After around twelve minutes this amalgamation of impeccable swoons is kaput. A varied selection of what's to come has solidified ideas behind what's next for Jamie, but not before "The Dance Of Young Professionals" terminates the eclectic ceremonies. A truly scurvy ridden jive upon the city-sea that Jamie T has created from various squeaky-ska blasts and beat bombardments - He even remarks a certain pirate-loving beverage that authenticates this absolutely ragged product of future greatness. Arrrr!
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