Crime and punishment.

Kev has had his life touched by crime, that’s what you get when you live on the killer streets of Chile and not the burgeoning hot spot crime capital of crime, Stafford.

That’s said I am not from the ghetto, I was born in Telford, blunts, ho’s and a 40 mean something different to me than say to Snoop.

In the 80’s I couldn’t really empathise with KRS-1 or Kool Keith but I could pretend I could, as a result of I enjoyed the electro compilations and this encouraged my belief that I was a fly breakdancer, I wasn’t, I was one of the ones that stand round the edge with their arms folded, possibly saying that a compadre was wack, or to use the vernacular, wiggidy-wiggidy wack.

After the electro I developed a love of The Beastie Boys, during 1987 only The Ramones came close for my affections, Licensed to ill was the soundtrack to my O’levels, I was perfecting my rhymes when I should have been revising, and by my rhymes, I mean learning the words to No Sleep Till Brooklyn, thank heavens for Smash Hits. Brooklyn was a mere stones throw away, just past Dawley.

Although after The Beastie Boys no one really came close, I still had a love of Hip Hop and the power of street knowledge but found it marginalised in the house, one song on a compilation, listening to NWA when the wife was out, it was a bit like a dirty secret.



“What did Daddy do during the Indie Wars mummy?”

“He bought Gangstas Paradise Dear.”



This is true, I bought Coolios Gangsters Paradise, not before it was a hit, not whilst it was an underground banger, not early on in its chart run, I bought it after its 32nd week at number one. Kev wants crimes, that’s mine.


Not Coolio.