The wildest internet rap scenes of the last few years, from the head-scrambling shudders of rage to plugg’s heavenly glide, have largely been dominated by Americans. But that’s starting to change thanks to a zany crop of Brits mangling and remaking these subgenres. YT and Lancey Foux’s “Black & Tan,” a contender for song of the summer ’24, crams in so much convulsive percussion you almost miss the rappers’ dignified English accents. They brag about how they can make crowds explode in Miami, Tennessee, or Surrey Quays over an Ambezza beat clearly inspired by jerk (aka Milwaukee lowend). A few MCs lead this wave, among them Lancey, Fimiguerrero, and Len. And rather than trample each other to the top, these three artists have combined forces to create a new narrative. Their debut collab tape, CONGLOMERATE, rings out like a war cry: Don’t fuck with the UK underground.
Of the three, Lancey has the supreme reputation, collaborating with stars like Yeat and Sexyy Red and palling around with Kanye. He practically spawned a new microgenre (“dream rage”?) by coating the subgenre’s cybernetic steel with psychedelic glitter. But the hottest right now is the Nigeria-born Fimiguerrero, who’s coming off a relentless run of TikTok hits and the eclectic hyper-jerk of his album New World Order. Raised in the hood in Stockwell, Len is the least renowned member of the trio, but maybe the most tonally tantalizing. His spectral melodies thrill on album highlight “Excuse My French,” whose bejeweled bass smacks like OsamaSon moshpit rap for posh Kensington kids.
Throughout CONGLOMERATE, the trio foils each other in hypnotic ways. Fimi hits the rawest, with barely any Auto-Tune or reverb, just locked-in, clenched-fist flows. He delivers flexes with such forceful phrasing that every word pops: “I get paid in euro, dollar, peso, even yen,” he boasts on “Excuse My French,” spacing each syllable perfectly in the pocket. “I didn’t die trying getting rich, like 50 Cent.” Constantly cloaked in smoke, floating across the mix like a phantom, Len thirsts after hotties amid the lightfoot skitter of “After Life” and confesses his rap dreams to his disapproving mum on “Ozempic,” the album’s prettiest song. The slickest but most inconsistent is Lancey, who only appears on six of the album’s 13 main tracks (plus one of the three songs on the album’s deluxe version). His naturally emotive tone makes him sound slightly devious, like he’s the dark horse hiding behind his homies waiting to attack—or to deliver a spontaneous absurd image, like “too burnt, I’m filled with cheese, a nigga be splurgin’ out” that makes you picture Lancey as a human toastie.
