Kae Tempest describes his new album, Self Titled, as “a celebration” of the journey he’s been on for the past five years. This means the record’s distinctively raw, buttonholing “saff-east” London poetry comes charged with some biblically bold production courtesy of Grammy winner Fraser T Smith (best known for his work with Stormzy, Raye and Adele). He delivers mighty orchestration and beats that come crashing down from Tempest’s mountain with the heft of stone tablets. Facing down those whose “fear” leads them to view trans people as “disgusting” on single “Statue in the Square”, Tempest assures his community that: “We don’t need their permission to shine!”
That confidence has been hard won. Anyone who saw the 2023 BBC documentary Being Kae Tempest will have seen the then 37-year-old poet, playwright, author and rapper bluntly breaking down the distress of gender dysphoria and his struggles with panic attacks before finding “calm I have never known” after receiving top surgery. “People are obsessed about how difficult being trans is,” he told NME in April. “Being trans isn’t difficult, it’s f***ing extraordinarily beautiful. What’s difficult is being in the closet, hiding from yourself, lying to yourself, the living death of self-denial… the hatred I get from other people is nothing compared to the fear, pain and hatred I was giving myself.”
On the single “Diagnoses” – over which Smith scrawls an acidic synth hook – Tempest spits out an alphabet spaghetti of challenges facing his audience. “C-PTSD, ADHD, OCD and PMDD/ Anxious attachment TBI/ But it’s the world that’s sick baby, we’re alright…” The much-garlanded child of a media lawyer and a teacher then gives us a wink and notes that, at risk of losing us in the slew of acronyms, it’s “lucky that I turned down that MBE”. It’s a line that both cements his allegiance to his outsider tribe and also sparkles with a cheeky wit – one this album could probably have used a little more of.
Tempest has often been accused of a wearying earnestness. Live shows – such as his charismatic set at Glastonbury – can dispel this, but on record, you still sometimes catch a stale whiff of the sixth-form common room that could be blown away with a little more humour. But Tempest’s blunt reality cuts both ways. The moments that make you wince or drift into mundanity can also be the most human and relatable. There he is on a bus, in the rain on “Sunshine on Catford”, while Neil Tennant’s singing swooshes over Tempest’s rapped bars like a windscreen wiper. The Pet Shop Boy has always made a point of setting moments of personal drama against the comforting/dispiriting grey of English suburbia. His light, thin, arch voice is the perfect foil for Tempest’s deeper, more urgent register.
While the first half of the album delivers string-soaked, high-stakes drama, the second settles into more reflective electronica. “Bless the Bold Future” has a cool, trancey vibe over which Tempest explores the societal tendency to repeat patterns. “Prayers to Whisper” and “Hyperdistillation” ride on loping trip-hop beats and cooling ripples of piano while “Forever” brings some pizzicato punch to the party. Tempest plods a little through his breakdown of the social issues – poverty and addiction – facing modern Brits. There is power and truth in his weary clarity, but it can also feel a little prosaic. The pace, if not the mood, picks up on “Breathe” as Tempest addresses gang culture and describes a scene in which he found himself with blood on his trainers, delivered over a jittery trap beat that recalls Mike Skinner.
Props go to Smith for keeping the sonic textures varied; he chucks in samples throughout and eases us into the final track, “Till Morning”, with the bluesy gust of a harmonica. He ensures Tempest’s personal story maintains its accessible momentum, hopefully ensuring that, as well as providing comfort to existing fans, Self Titled should reach the ears of those who might not otherwise engage with these unique human stories.
