Wretch 32

The plan was anything but straightforward: Peak by the time you’re 32. Ambitious and bold by any standard. Even early on in his career, as a starry-eyed young hitmaker, Wretch 32 envisioned himself being in the “best shape” of his career by the time this personal milestone came around. A self-willed prophecy intended to align with his now-famous lucky numbers. Now 34, he remains as forward-thinking as ever. 

Since helping form and later breaking out from grime collectives Combination Chain Gang and The Movement late last decade (both of which have since been disbanded), the cerebral rapper has never ingratiated himself with any one label, collective, or sound: Instead, he’s maintained an impressively inflexible focus on his own brand of flame-spitting, conscious rap music. He rarely does features, doesn’t adhere to any one particular production style, and the proud Tottenham native even refuses to allow geography to dictate his image, with his Twitter bio reading: “UK / Global rapper”. Wretch 32 is everywhere. 

Upon Reflection, his fifth album, is a blend of life-spanning introspection and bright production. It’s a dispatch from the past handful or so years of his life, in which he has admittedly matured. Case in point being the track “Mummy’s Boy”, a subversion of the pejorative that was regularly lobbed at him as a teenager, doubling as a heartfelt ode to his mum. Not only is this song the album’s emotional centrepiece, it is also a new personal favourite of Wretch’s.

Hindsight has allowed him to re-evaluate what his mother, who raised him and his five sisters alone, means to him, alternately describing her as a “king”, a “father figure”, and on the track itself, as “Zeus”. “It’s like wow — this is what you went through on your own,” he says. “I’m an artist with a great support system, good finance — and I find it difficult. So what the hell were you going through with five children?”

The 34-year-old, born Jermaine Scott Sinclair, has spent the last decade-plus recording, touring, and raising his kids — but he’s not close to finished yet. Not least because he’s evolving as an MC. On the new album, which was surprise-released in October, Wretch sounds more emotionally plain-spoken than ever, cutting an observant and studious veteran figure in a UK rap scene full of life. Across 12 tracks, he directly addresses his now-resolved beef with Chip, interrogates his “wonder years” atop of the charts, and advocates for quiet contemplation as a remedy to modern madness. Lyrics like, “You been my nigga from we cotting / First tooth, first coup, first college / First zoot, first move, first bondage“, indicate a newfound clarity. 

This breezy profundity, Wretch says, is a direct result not of perfectionism but of experience — though maybe these are one and the same. “I’m getting better all the time. I’m finding new ways to speak, I’m finding new words, I’m trying to push forward,” he says with determination, noting his abiding belief that the “great writers find new ways to tell the same story”. 

Wretch also has a penchant for rhetorical colour: Periodically during conversation, he’ll pause, momentarily, before spinning off extended metaphors like an excitable Oxbridge professor, riffing on everything from adapting to the whims of streaming (“At one point, there wasn’t a toaster — there was a grill — and we had to figure out how to make toast on the grill”), to his political disillusionment (“The people who live above the ground are going to continue to make decisions for what happens underground”). Sometimes his analogies are inscrutable to fresh ears; other times he pokes inquisitively at a profound idea in a hilariously mundane way. He’s smart, wistful, eager to learn, and extremely open-minded — a natural conversationalist whose answers betray a mind that’s always working overtime. 

After all these years, a curious assumption has taken hold among rap fans and critics: that his music — when separated from his rapping prowess — has been inessential. But skating back over his discography, you’ll doubtless find hard-nosed verses (“DPMP”), genre experiments (“Tell Me”), thoughtful social commentary (“Open Conversation” and “Mark Duggan”). A preternaturally gifted lyricist who grew from the original grime milieu in the late 2000s, Wretch has no illusions of grandeur and he definitely reads, questions, and considers all your critiques. All of them. Conversations about his art are welcome in this house; at least they’re happening. 

It was his solo debut proper, 2008’s Wretchrospective, that formally introduced Wretch to the wider UK rap scene. Word-of-mouth buzz spread in Tottenham following Teacher’s Training Day, his 2006 debut mixtape, that he was forced to sell and distribute himself. But it was Wretchrospective that earned him the odd below-the-headline festival slot, eventually leading to a record deal with Ministry of Sound, where he released his debut studio album.

The rest is history: the tremendous success of Black and White’s singles spurred him into a commercial space few UK rappers have ever ventured. “Traktor”, the Major Lazor sampling lead single, reached number 5 in the charts. “Don’t Go”, a pillow-soft jaunt featuring Josh Kumra, went four steps further, landing at number one. His life changed forever, and his name was already etched into the history books. 

But even though his time at Ministry of Sound initially paid dividends, the sudden eruption of Top 10 hits soured the working relationship. Reels of recordings were ready for release but never saw the light of day. Frustration abounded. The record deal he signed, he insists today, was not inherently bad. It was a matter of conflicting interests: He wanted to change artistic direction slightly, while the label wanted to glom onto a tried-and-tested formula.

Darkness set in. There were five long years of silence from the Tottenham native, who, like many before him, went from chart-topping superstar to just another young artist caught up a web of industry politicking. “What happened was, I stepped onto a field and I was selling rice and chicken, and everybody liked the rice and chicken,” Wretch explains, as if there is no other way of putting it. “Then I came back the next season and I now decided I wanted to make vegetarian food.”

Moving to Polydor, in 2016, gave him a new lease of life. His sophomore album, Growing Over Life, was an explicit reaction to this creatively restricting period of his life. When recalling the borderline furious mindstate that went into recording the album, his throat rumbles: “Oooooof”. 

Now, he’s still making albums and still a name to look out for. Gripping onto relevancy is no mean feat. Aging can soften ruthless streaks, change motivations, breed cynicism, but Wretch’s best impulses remain intact. “I still write and record because I need to — for me. I think I’ve found a great way of expressing myself.”

It can sometimes be hard to say whether he has fulfilled his early promise, or hovered below (arguably unfair) expectations. Some people cherish his pop hits, while others rhapsodise his blistering, canonised freestyles. Wretch grew from grime, but never felt pressured to stick to rhyming over grime riddims. Which is not to say that Wretch was ever a dedicated grime artist — he is a rapper, an MC, a lyricist, and now, an author. Days after we jump on the phone, Wretch’s first book, Rapthology, hit shelves. Part-autobiography, part-memoir, part-creative rap how-to manual, Wretch has entered a new realm with his debut book. But, to him, it’s just another “string on my bow”. 

Otherwise calmly articulate and personable, Wretch’s voice raises a register when speaking about legacy and perceptions of his art. He’s just at that point in his life, he says, where every decision, mistake, and moment worthy of remembering are being mulled over. Thankfully, he doesn’t expound some inane one-fits-all ethos for self-reflection, and he doesn’t let allow himself—or the resulting music—to become too solipsistic or unfair on a past self. This honesty has not spilled over into him getting therapy or watching mindfulness techniques on YouTube; he continues to find solace in music and family. 

There’s nothing enormously pain-stricken on the new record. Nor is there any socially conscious deep cuts. It’s an album by Wretch, for Wretch. Just like always.