Che Lingo - The Worst Generation [Album Review]
Photography by Ian Upton
In his phenomenal debut album ‘The Worst Generation’, South London rapper Che Lingo painstakingly dissects the lessons he has learnt from his most traumatic experiences, and in doing so has created a fiercely powerful and deeply emotional assessment of what it means - and crucially, how it feels - to be Black, male and growing up amongst poverty in Britain today.
Tying together a versatile grime, hip-hop and trap sound with bold, wily lyricism and a uniquely perceptive outlook, Che Lingo has been dubbed a serious one-to-watch in UK music. Today however, with the release of his debut LP ‘The Worst Generation’, Che has demonstrated that he is set to be up there with the greats, not only for his dextrous delivery and top-tier flow, but for his ability to transform his deeply personal stories of emotional and physical survival; his distress, regrets and visceral rage into a revealing, blistering picture of the unequal, unjust UK of 2020.
For a record chronicling the realities of growing up on a South-London estate spanning experiences of discrimination, violence and fear, the fact that Che makes so much space for self-reflection on his own shortcomings makes this album all the more moving. Songs that see Che reflecting on romantic relationships, like late-night jam ‘Love Drugs’, the lulling Kojey Radical assisted ‘Dark Days’ and the candid, conversational ‘A Bit Insecure’ are a place for Che to hold himself accountable for his faulty patterns of behaviour, explaining without excusing actions he regrets. Che has a rare fearlessness when it comes to expressing true vulnerability through his music, but when it comes to real life, being an open book is clearly more complicated. As he says in ‘Perfect Wounds’ featuring Rachel Chinouriri, “There’s a fortress round this heart of mine. Should I let you in? I can’t decide.”
Sonically, the album is varied and dynamic, ranging from the hissing beats and dark, looming production of tracks such as ‘Black Ones’ (featuring a fiery performance from Ghetts) and the scathing trap song ‘Screwface’, to the energetic, hooky sounds of ‘South’ and ‘My Block’. The former is inspired by Che’s South London upbringing and the latter inspired by Julian Cole, who was left brain damaged and paralysed by police in 2013. There’s also a gentler atmosphere infused in songs where Che contemplates his more tender-hearted feelings, with his down-tempo Kojey and Chinouriri collaborations proving particularly soothing.
What consistently stands out throughout the album’s 12 tracks is Che Lingo’s intrepid, soul-exposing lyrics, which, with the added effect of his dexterous, expressive voice and entrancing flow make the artist and his plight utterly unignorable. For those of us fortunate enough to be able to switch off and step away when the news of another Black life lost gets too much, Che’s debut is an all-encompassing, emotionally gripping reminder of what has been learnt, and what cannot be forgotten - a sentiment which is best summarised in the project’s final and title track (featuring vocals from Sam Henshaw): a soulful, desperate cry for understanding and real change.