131 / 259

Friday May 31

Primavera Sound Barcelona



In her mouth she carries a torch. Her words guide. Her words burn. Kate Tempest’s language lights up the dark corners of the Great Britain of Brexit. And, then, sets them on fire. And sets us on fire. Because there is so much truth in her verses that, in the end, she is not talking about one country in particular, but about the turbo capitalist system in general. The lost Europe. The planet of chaos. Tempest’s incendiary poetry is the same as the one that burned in Piss Factory by Patti Smith and in Inglan Is a Bitch by Linton Kwesi Johnson. It is also reminiscent of the poetry that explodes in the working class voice of Jason Williamson (Sleaford Mods).  Because when Kate puts music to her spoken word, she becomes Anne Clarke disguised as Guy Fawkes, stirring up the masses against neoliberal dystopia. What does she deserve more, a Mercury Prize or the Ted Hughes Award? Both, and… why not the presidency of the world?

Whoops (Fiction Records, 2018)