Don’t mess with Dizzee Rascal
Interviewed Dizzee Rascal in Germany the other week - a long and sweat-inducing task.
He greeted me with that cool wrist-to-thumb thing that rappers do.
Man, I felt ’street’.
He seemed tired so wasn’t exactly very forthcoming and after some gentle prodding, he growled a few times which was unfortunate. A bit later, and a few more nudges; fascinating wisdom started to spew from his articulated but potty mouth and the allocated 15 minute interview had begun. We discussed various topics like the rise in knife crime - through the haze of insanely bad language and all under the watchful eye of his two large and scary henchmen.
Check out part of my interview in the Mirror.
Later that night I watched the Dizz-master play in what was fast becoming a scene from 8 mile as I witnessed with both of my eyes; a large number of rowdy and drunk individuals screaming awful things about the law and making ghastly hand gestures. I left early and went back to the hotel. The Killers were partying downstairs (their manager confiscated my camera earlier in the night - only to return it to me without its battery) so I wasn’t in the best of moods with Brandon Flowers (the stroppy mare) and retired to my room.
5am the next morning and I had to get ready for my flight back to London. And walking past reception at this horrific hour (with drinks in hand) was none other than Mr Rascal and one of his henchmen - who came up to me and shouted; “You’re the guy that interviewed Dizzee?” “Yes” I replied, waiting for him to rugby-tackle me to the ground for interrogating his boss in a wonderfully tabloidy way. “Ah cool man, did you see the show?” “I did, it was great,” said I. “Cool mate, see you again, yeah?” He then hugged me and away they both went.
Dizzee didn’t say anything.
I later heard him say to a reporter that he’d happily “kick” his head in; should that particular journo upset him.
Perhaps I got off lightly…