The Streets - 'A Grand Don't Come For Free' (679)
5/5
By: Toby L
'At least I remembered my phone, man... Where's my phone, have I got it? Oh, this is a crock of shit... I lost the f**king thing... Oh, here it is in my pocket... But the battery's nearly flat... Got a call quick, snap... Oh shit... the battery is flat...'
Thank you, Mike Skinner. Thank you for returning and not failing in your sophomore attempt. Thank you for pushing things forw... Nah; too obvious.
'A Grand Don't Come For Free' isn't leaps and bounds away from his sensational, landmark and unquestionably classic debut-LP 'Original Pirate Material'. Nor does it need to be. The Streets' second album is a daily-life foray into the realms of the socially active, beer-guzzling geezah, and a simultaneous concept-record (as the story unfurls, we hear of a troublesome relationship between Skinner and his laydee, Simone, and the events that ensue, amongst other ongoing, sordid outings).
'Not Addicted', meanwhile, is about football; 'Blinded By The Lights' unmasks the effects of copping off on drugs in public; 'Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way' is a summery, soulful loved-up ode which throws up the pro's and con's of 'birds vs. mates' nights-in or out, and the nagging repetitions of either. It's both hilarious and moving in equal measure.
And it's such unashamed, unmatched levels of real life documentation that would just seem trite from any other destination; Skinner is consistently the humble, weirdly eloquent host in his world. And eavesdropping on Mike is akin to the same thrill of acting the voyeur of some tawdry soap-opera - the escape from your own dismal state of affairs, and the engaging in examining someone else's regime.
So, we join him on holiday (the 'Jean Genie'-aping 'Fit But You Know It'), watch in horror as his girl chucks him out ('Get Out Of My House'), adopt the garage/orchestra-soundtracked paranoia of 'What Is He Thinking', and bellow in poignant woe during a mournful, infectious, strings-laden 'Dry Your Eyes'.
Nice one. Skinner remains as ordinarily, typically, everyday jaw-droppingly essential as one might expect. F**king stellar, mate.
Artists in this article: The Streets
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