Marshall’s words, though, are often structured with a rapper’s flow, with internal assonances and self-referentiality to the fore.
Marshall’s dense soup of unlikely influences – jazz, dub, rockabilly, post-punk, the Specials, even bossa nova – comes refracted tonight through a haze of virtual smoke and is delivered with a guttural London growl that can’t help but recall Joe Strummer. His recent US and current European tours sold out swiftly. The child has become a man – a little threatening, where once Marshall’s fury was undercut by his elfin appearanceĪs his King Krule debut, 2013’s Six Feet Beneath the Moon, attested, a certain sludginess has long been Marshall’s metier, and unlikely as it seems, it’s connecting hard with an audience who nod along to songs like the wired 90s indie-rock bent of Emergency Blimp – from The Ooz, about insomnia – as though it were UK garage or hip-hop.
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Also typically – for Marshall’s meta-narrative is full of despair and frustration – the writing sessions he did do with Frank Ocean came to nothing. Typically, because Marshall is a savvy loner, he turned down the chance to work with Kanye West. Somehow, this south Londoner – a troubled truant who finally found a home at the Brit School – has gone from being a true cult original to a certain level of US fame, his work being praised on Beyoncé’s Beyhive blog (although he doubts it was actually her).
It’s safe to say that no one else is making music quite like this (save for Marshall’s friends, like Jamie Isaac, who tends even more towards jazz).
“I’m mashed! You’re mashed! He’s mashed!” runs the bit of that song that most resembles a chorus, pointing up the default wastedness of a lot of King Krule’s output and, tangentially, the Monster Mash.
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