Derek B dies at 44

We’re not being late on this, we were just waiting for our boy Andrew Emery to write this entry for The Guardian. Needless to say it’s a terrible loss. We’re sure most people who read Fat Lace, especially those from the U.K. will appreciate Derek B played a significant part in our mid-eighties hop-hop education.

Original Guardian coverage HERE and HERE.

Derek B paved the way for UK hip-hop

The Bad Young Brother was doomed to commercial failure, but won something more valuable for the fledgling UK rap scene in the 80s – respect.

With Dizzee Rascal seemingly a national treasure, and the likes of Tinchy Stryder, N-Dubz and Chipmunk becoming household names, you could fool yourself into thinking that British rap had always been around and selling ringtones by the thousand. But in the mid-to-late 80s, any notion of a domestic rap scene entering the popular consciousness was a sick joke. The only rappers in 1987 that anyone other than the cognoscenti cared about were American giants such as Run DMC, the Beastie Boys and LL Cool J. Derek B, a London born and bred rapper and DJ who died this weekend of a heart attack at just 44, did his best to break into that league, and while he was ultimately doomed to failure, his moderate success blazed a trail in a quiet, English way.

B, real name Derek Boland, was a pirate DJ who found himself rapping when a compilation he was putting together for the UK rap label Music of Life in 1986 was a track short. He stepped up to the mic and carved himself out a niche that saw him become the first UK rapper to break into the charts. After a couple of early singles, Good Groove reached No 16 in 1988, propelling Derek B on to Top of the Pops, and his album Bullet From a Gun garnered critical acclaim. But the rapper found himself stuck between a rock and a hard place – or, more accurately, between a rap audience who felt his fake American accent made him an outsider in UK hip-hop circles, and a pop crowd who weren’t ready for MCs with London accents.

Still, in addition to taking homegrown urban music on to BBC1 (and, who can forget, co-writing the Anfield Rap), Derek B also succeeded in serving notice to the American rap fraternity that London was on the rise. He might not have the cachet among rap aficionados that other UK groups such as Hijack, Demon Boyz and Katch 22 command, but in 1988, the only people in the London rap world that Americans had even heard of were Derek B and Tim Westwood.

Derek B’s career came to a sudden end; his first album was also his last. This lack of longevity was probably due to a lack of core support from British rap fans. In the late 80s, there was almost a civil war in UK rap between those who aped America in a bid to match its achievements, and those who were determined to represent British reality, sales be damned. It was this schism – and the latter camp undoubtedly triumphed – that paved the way for today’s breed of confident lyricists. How you rap is no longer an issue for the likes of Sway, Wiley, Mike Skinner and Speech DeBelle; a local accent is a given. And Americans are no longer shy about giving UK artists respect and record deals. But without Derek B, the Bad Young Brother, the chasm between the two continents might have been that much wider, and UK hip-hop may never have escaped its humble origins.

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