Dizzee Rascal: The Fifth – review

In the decade since he won the Mercury for Boy in Da Corner, Dylan Mills has undergone an unlikely metamorphosis: from edgy grime upstart to festival-pleasing loon with an eye on the global market. Recorded in LA with Madonna and Rihanna producers, The Fifth – Dizzee's fifth album, innit – packs vocodered choruses and guests such as will.i.am into what is essentially one long paean to being young, male and successful, starring the protagonist a sort of crazed Loadsamoney character on a rampage of cash and casual sex. But any whiffs of lordly behaviour or misogyny are dissipated by the Rascal's self-deprecation ("What do you know of LA shootings? You ain't even bin to Tooting") and incorrigibility. It's hard not to picture that big, grinning face delivering Arse Like That – a stupidly catchy tale of being mesmerised by a rear end – or yelling Bassline Junkie's ode to "big, dirty, stinking bass!" It isn't art, but it is a hit-packed, goofy album that may prove impossible to dislike.