It’s not easy to get a handle on what Roots Manuva is about anymore, beyond being a UK hip-hop stalwart. His last few albums have leaned on wonky digi-dancehall, positioning him as a cartoonish party compere. But now Rodney Smith has left the party and got weirder. If he’s the ringmaster of British ragga-rap, then his sixth album is the funfair you don’t want to get trapped in after dark. There’s some interesting production: the typewriter beat on frenetic, Four Tet-produced Facety 2:11, or the psychedelic trip-hop of Steppin’ Hard. At other times, though, it’s a house of horrors: Crying features freaky wailing-baby samples; Don’t Breathe Out blends a Bon Iver-like coo with a drowsy orchestra. The best songs paint him as guardian of the apocalypse, pairing his world-weary soulfulness with murky, mutant beats. Hopefully for the next album he’ll hang up his top hat and focus on those instincts instead.
