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Blade, London's Pioneer
The story of Blade
If Hollywood could script pop careers, they'd still have struggled to come up with a tale to rival that of the adopted south Londoner who goes by the name of Blade.
His story takes in revolution, tragedy and death by way of stardom, success and a happy family life; not so much rags-to-riches as an endless cycle of forward motion countered by obstacles a recalcitrant music business seems to delight in placing in his path.
The only constant in Blade's rollercoaster existence has been the undimmed self-belief that burns in his heart, so it's little surprise to find that, after tasting chart glory on a major label, the fiercely independent rhymesmith is back where he feels most comfortable - on his own.
In the beginning
It's not difficult to see why. Born in the Armenian quarter of Iran thirty-odd years ago, Blade came to London aged 7, ready to get an education in Blackheath. But within months of arriving, he felt the effect of the Islamic revolution back home.
Unable to send money out of the country, Blade's family could no longer support him; and with the threat of two years' national service to contend with should he ever return, going back to Iran wasn't an option.
So, with no money, no family, alone in a strange country, Blade's self-reliance and determination were all he had to see him through. Ten years later he was expelled from college after a childish prank backfired. Then again, perhaps holding up the principal with a toy gun wasn't the smartest move he'd ever make.
The Hip Hop era
A self-taught lyricist, beatboxer and rap performer, Blade had been captivated by hip hop after hearing the Sugarhill Gang in 1979. A gifted footballer and sportsman, his frustrations reached fever pitch after a training accident left him unable to compete on the pitch. The microphone and the studio provided his only release.
'Lyrical Maniac', a single, surfaced in 1989, and immediately got people's attention. Blade took to selling his single out of a bag off his shoulder on the capital's streets. Soon the talk wasn't simply of this gifted rapper and his debut release - Blade's one-man record operation quickly became the stuff of rap mythology.
A year later, the acknowledged classic 'Mind Of An Ordinary Citizen' hit the shops. An insistent piano loop, tough drums and a lyric about the day-to-day realities of life as Blade ("So what if I was stealin'? At least I was doin' it with feelin'"), Mind... became the blueprint. 'Rough It Up', again released a year on, offered more of the same. But still it wasn't right. Blade's sales were healthy, but the cashflow wasn't.
As always, there were bills to be paid, and one single a year isn't going to help much. So Blade decided to cut out the middlemen - distributors and shops - and try to profit from his own work instead of handing over the readies.
The Releases
In 1992, his mini-album, 'Survival Of The Hardest Workin', became the prototype for a new way of doing business. So successful did it prove, that Blade was ready to hit the studio in '93, finally ready to tell his story in the sort of widescreen detail it merited. A massive 22-track double album, 'The Lion Goes From Strength To Strength', was the result. With a gatefold sleeve and 16-page illustrated lyric book, Blade demonstrated his passionate commitment to give his growing army of fans top value for money.
He toured with non-rap bands for the first time, covering the country on the anti-racist United Colours Of Frustration tour and supporting Carter USM, appearing on the b-side of their Glam Rock Cops single with an overhauled reworking of one of the south London group's previous hits. And then it all went quiet. There were some rumours, most of them invented by Blade himself, concerning retirement, emigration and a particularly bizarre one about a chicken farm.
The truth - more mundane, perhaps, but undeniably real - was that he needed to take time out after the death of his father and the birth of his son. But, as the saying goes, you can't keep a good man down, and in 1996 Blade got back on the streets with another mini-album, 'Planned And Executed'. A more introspective record, it closed with the deliberately downbeat autobiographical track 'Keep Watchin' This Space', in which Blade laid bare the conflicting emotions that had wracked him since his father's death and his son's birth.
He returned to Iran to try to attend his father's funeral, only escaping national service after direct entreaties to a senior Army official convinced him that Blade was by now no more Iranian than Prince Charles, and should be allowed the chance to return to his destiny.
A change had come over Blade, though: while still determined to make music the way he thought it should be made, he appeared ready to, if not embrace the record business, certainly see what common ground he might have with it.
A single with the US label Bomb a year later can, in retrospect, be seen as Blade dipping his toe in the record labels' water. Its sales brought his career stats to a mightily impressive 60,000 units.
Enter DJ Mark B
He may not have been selling stratospheric quantities of records, but every purchaser got far more than they could have expected. He tried to retire in 1997, announcing his performance at the Fresh festival was to be his last. But they wouldn't let him go. Teaming up with producer and DJ Mark B was a departure for Blade.
On the duo's Hitmen For Hire EP, released in 1998, he allowed another man to produce the music he rapped on for the first time. But he trusted Mark to make beats that were right for him: for his part, Mark was a Blade fan, and wanted nothing less than to hear his hero in a suitable musical setting.
The partnership became the focus for both men, and for two years their names were inseparable. The album they recorded together, 'The Unknown', remains one of the best selling LPs in UK rap history, and it brought the pair to a new peak of prominence. They spent most of 2000 and 2001 on the road, playing hip hop gigs, rock festivals, indie tours and rock clubs. They even got to support the biggest star in hip hop, Eminem, on his UK tour in 2001.
The album's first single, 'Ya Don't See The Signs', was re-recorded with a guest appearance from Grant Nicholas of Feeder, who Mark and Blade toured with; crashlanding in the top 20, it earned them their first bona fide hit. Blade even got to fulfil, if not an ambition, then certainly a dream, taking his motormouth lyricism in front of an unsuspecting nation as the song was broadcast on Top Of The Pops.
But Mark B & Blade was always meant as a side project for both men. It was no surprise when they announced that they would be working on their own records in the future. Unfortunately, the label that had released The Unknown, the Virgin France-funded Source, wasn't in a position to act. Internal restructuring meant that key people involved in the first record had left the company, and control of operations had reverted to the corporate parent
It's time for BLADE
The only thing that was certain was that Blade and corporations don't mix. Throughout his career, Blade has shown that there is another way of making progress in this industry. Among those who've worked for him for free, given him studio time, loaned or donated expensive equipment or simply put their hands in their pockets to show their support are chart-topping musicians, major label A&Rs, mega-successful pop svengalis, respected music journalists and radio and TV broadcasters. Oh, and tens of thousands of ordinary fans.
One of the most amazing things about Blade, and something Virgin clearly couldn't believe, is that he has a way of winning over even the most unlikely of people. Just not record label people, evidently. His first post-Mark solo project has been in preparation for a long time. He's spent two years working on material.
Unknown, south London's worst-kept rap secret: he's a man on the verge of becoming a star, an acknowledged hip hop great whose time, surely, is now.
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