Roots Manuva - Live At The Roundhouse, London

Are you for real? Even if he doesn’t “give a damn about UK rap” (as he claims in ‘Colossal Insight’), a consequence of his success and longevity means that Rodney Smith’s music is checked for realness. Each new album is held up to the light for the watermark connecting his roots to his sound. It was appropriate, then, that Manuva subverted identity – his and ours – at the Roundhouse. He walked on stage in a bowler hat, a St. George’s flag bowtie, and a hooded Victorian cape. These absurd but natty British signifiers set the tone for the first half of the set, songs taken from ‘4everevolution’. Big dance synths have replaced most of the dub stylings favoured on early Roots Manuva records, and thanks to the DJ and drummer (one tricky, one primal) new tracks like ‘Who Goes There’ were given a new force live.

But Manuva’s power still lies in the lyrics, and if these songs lack the painfully sharp self-awareness found on ‘Awfully Deep’, that’s because he’s prioritising the panoramic. The third song of the set, ‘Skid Valley’, was a vision of “insane Britain”, taking in immigration, education, hospitals, taxes, class. Lines like “eat as much as you can, get a gastric band, the NHS will save your life” stood out above the misjudged melodrama of the chorus. An exemplary Manuva lyric, it deals with the banality of excess. His world isn’t gangster – it’s a “part-time paradise” where people don’t die, they deteriorate. Like the rest of us, Manuva’s greedy for the wrong bits of living, eating, drinking and smoking too much and his pleasures aren’t sweeter for the transience. He’s unromantic: “the cost of life is cheap…but the cost of living ain’t.”

For all the slick exuberance of his band, Roots Manuva is surprisingly demanding. His lyrics shun easy, aggressive thrills and the Roundhouse was quite quiet during his new material. Smith himself was laidback to the point of coy, whispering to the keyboardist (whose seductive vocals managed to cut through the bass) or drifting to the fringes of the stage. And although they warmed up for ‘Witness’, the crowd remained reserved right up to the last song, ‘Watch Me Dance’, which won them over with a hard-edged sensuousness. That reservation may stem from an uncertainty as to who Roots Manuva is: neither boisterous enough for some, nor introspective enough for others. But these definitions are too narrow to fit his music, a witty, sceptical mix of hip hop, dub, electro, ragga and rap. It has a kind of imperfect, thrilling, sullen multiculturalism that feels true to the UK. And Smith’s dedication to pursuing his own sound – increasingly against trending currents – means Roots Manuva still feels real.

Words by Freddy Syborn