Unknown T interview: 'You can't blame artists, they're just representing reality'

Mystery man: Unknown T
Daniel Hambury/@stellapicsltd
Alex Dymoke1 April 2019

It’s a mild spring day in Dalston but you wouldn’t know it by looking at Unknown T. His coat is enormous, with a large hood obscuring his face. “Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking my hand.

Hood up, dressed all in black, he looks every bit the UK drill artist of tabloid readers’ nightmares. But when he takes his coat off he transforms into something approximate to a nerd with thick-rimmed glasses and a broad, inquisitive smile. “With me, I’m unknown,” he explains. “You don’t know what to expect.” Later, he tells me he did well at school. “I got two A*s, one A, and, I think, nine Bs.” He looks almost embarrassed. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

Anyone surprised by T’s intelligence has paid too much attention to the tabloid narrative surrounding UK drill and not enough to the music. In Homerton B, his breakthrough anthem named after his home area, T’s menacing baritone slaloms between street braggadocio and dancefloor rabble-rousing. It’s complex and original, a thrilling blend of attitude and craft. Last week, it became the first UK drill track to go silver.

“In our scene, no one tried to get the females interested,” grins T, now signed to Universal. “Being a cheeky lad, I thought, I’ll keep the ladies happy and mention them in the rap. I kept it jumpy, used my flow and a new concept.” UK drill’s default mode is one of discretion. Raps are delivered in quiet monotone, often from behind masks or balaclavas. Stories of London street life are shielded from “civilian” scrutiny by layers of slang.

Unknown T takes an open approach (That said, he’s never revealed his name. “Even I don’t know it,” his publicist admits). He shows a willingness to experiment with subject matter, melody and flow. It’s hard to think of another drill artist with the confidence to pause mid-rap and invite the women to “bend yer back and then dig it, dig it”, as he does in Homerton B.

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But that was last August. It took T six months to release his second single, Throwback, a nostalgic ode to Noughties naughtiness (think Sony Ericssons, knock-down ginger and top-deck-of-the-bus shenanigans) set to Wifey Riddim, Tinie Tempah’s instrumental from 2006. That it took so long reflects the tightrope faced by drill artists seeking to cross over. “People think I’ve been silent but they don’t understand. I needed time to focus, and to shift my sound, especially after everything that is going on, the stereotypes. It was difficult.”

The release of Throwback — a track absent of references to the harder side of street life — was part of his attempt to emerge as an artist rather than a drill artist. “My shows were getting shut down, so I wanted to show people that I could do something different. When people hear Homerton B, that’s the first chapter to my book. Then they hear Throwback. It comes as a surprise.”

T is a fan of surprises. Last year, when he appeared on the Capital Xtra Radio show, the producers sat him down with a classical music academic who they tasked with appraising Homerton B. The pairing of drill rapper and academic was meant to be absurd but T held his own, naming a favourite Mozart symphony.

“I studied music at school,” he explains. “At secondary school I studied economics and music. That led to my passion.” Part of the appeal of UK drill is its punkish spirit. Any young person with a camera and basic recording equipment can rap some bars and upload them to YouTube. Against an ocean of rudimentary, independently produced music, T’s ability stands out. “All my teachers told me I was smart, but I was also a troublesome yout’. [Growing up] was difficult. There were a lot of social pressures, the kind of thing a lot of young black people go through in deprived areas. But in life you have to push and keep going.”

He won’t be drawn on the exact nature of the trouble he got into, but his lyrics suggest an environment replete with challenges for young boys trying to achieve their potential. When Dizzee Rascal took to Instagram to rhapsodise about Homerton B, the Daily Mail used lyrics from the song to paint T as a violent criminal. Such stereotyping is frustrating, says T.

“Music is art and we’re just painting the picture. You can’t put the blame on the artists, they are the ones who are representing the reality. That’s the only way you can see the community. You have to show it. I want to reflect the reality. I have to, so they understand where I come from, but I also want to show change. I want to show where, if you put your mind to it, hard work can take you. That’s what I’m trying to represent.”

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