Description

 Devlin, the young Dagenham grime MC with a name that sounds like a brand of vacuum cleaner, first gained prominence hosting sets on pirate radio station Rinse FM as a 15-year-old. Back then his quick-fire cadence and compellingly brutal tales of council estate depravity were evocative of Dizzee Rascal (before he turned into a Butlins entertainer).

Listening to the 21-year-oldΓΓé¼Γäós major label debut, it is clear that something has gone awry. His delivery on almost every song is laboured and morbidly languid; heΓΓé¼Γäós beginning to sound, dare I say it, a bit doltish.

You canΓΓé¼Γäót blame Devlin completely, though. In a musical climate where Tinchy Stryder, the rapping Kermit The Frog, was the biggest selling British male solo artist of 2009, major labels will try anything to mimic the bafflingly popular midgetΓΓé¼Γäós success. Since last year a host of grime MCs ΓΓé¼ΓÇ£ Tinie Tempah, Scorcher, Skepta ΓΓé¼ΓÇ£ have been snapped up, and Devlin is just another name on this list.

From start to finish on this depressing album the inoffensive, catchy chorus and characterless production mulch has been laid on thick in a bid to pick up tweens. The problem is, Devlin doesnΓΓé¼Γäót alter his lyrics to suit this unfamiliar musical palette. You can get as introspective as you like on avant-garde grime beats but when youΓΓé¼Γäóre talking about your heart being ΓΓé¼┼ôcolder than PinguΓΓé¼┬¥ over emo pianos and sappy strings it just suggests that youΓΓé¼Γäóre yet to grow out of your Eminem obsession.

ΓΓé¼╦£Let It GoΓΓé¼Γäó, made by Tinie Tempah collaborator Labrinth, jolts uncomfortably from sluggish dubstep dirge to dreamy, lolloping waltzer synths before inexplicably jumping into a mid-section of angular indie-rock, like circling the perimeter of a very low-budget music festival in a fairground dodgem while sat next to a stoned teenager having a bit of a moan.

ItΓΓé¼Γäós not, however, all bad. The grime-by-numbers of ΓΓé¼╦£1989ΓΓé¼Γäó is a touchingly open account of his short life set over beguiling synths and urgent heavy-metal guitar stabs. Devlin then threatens to get ΓΓé¼┼ôdirty like Leslie GranthamΓΓé¼┬¥ on ΓΓé¼╦£BrainwashedΓΓé¼Γäó ΓΓé¼ΓÇ£ and short of sticking his finger in his mouth while masturbating in front of ?a stranger on his webcam, he sort of does. ItΓΓé¼Γäós also the closest to the Devlin of old that we get. As usual, though, the song is marred by an angsty chorus that sounds like it could have been lifted off Mel CΓΓé¼Γäós debut solo LP.

This album is a brutal lesson concerning the countless flaws of allowing hit-obsessed majors to try and mould grime MCs into pop stars. DevlinΓΓé¼Γäós slogan is ΓΓé¼┼ôsex, pubs and on the doleΓΓé¼┬¥ and itΓΓé¼Γäós hard not to believe his life ΓΓé¼ΓÇ£ and ours ΓΓé¼ΓÇ£ would be much more pleasant if he lived by this and forgot about being the new Dizzee Rascal.