James Massiah: “As much as the social contract is lost, there’s a freedom with that”

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It’s mid-afternoon, and James Massiah is out of breath. The rapper, DJ, producer, London underground scene staple, and founder of alt-poetry night Adult Entertainment, has just cycled from Dalston, in east London, all the way to his familial home in south London. With ever-increasing rents and pints of cellar temperature pale ale costing north of £8, the UK capital is an incredibly difficult place to live these days. Massiah, though, has found a way to make it more feasible.

“I live with my parents, and I’ve got a few other pads across the city where I can crash if and when I need to,” he explains. ​“I’m fortunate in that regard – I’m kind of a kept man.”

Having friends be willing to put you up is a huge luxury in a city where flats are small, and the numbers with spare bedrooms are smaller, which requires a level of compromise and generosity. Yet Massiah’s close relationships have not always been simple, and that push and pull within them forms the basis for his new album, Bounty Law. Atmospheric and moody, it’s set as a sonic Western movie in London, where moral grey lines are held up for scrutiny and then continually overstepped.

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It’s the first time that he has enlisted external producers for his music, having created all the tracks and provided the vocals for his 2024 EP True Romance, instead working with the likes of Powerplant’s Cajm, and Jawnino collaborators Cold and 3^o. With his signature rap-poetry set on top of hazy, reverb heavy, sunrise-hour productions, Bounty Law is a cinematic, thought-provoking listen, built for slowing down in the instant-communication world of today.

I caught up with him to hear more about the record, London’s blooming alternative poetry scene, and whether the social contract is broken.

Congratulations on Bounty Law, can you talk about what themes you explore? Life in London plays a big part right?

Yeah, I mention Dalston a lot, Stratford gets a mention, west London gets a mention. It documents this one-month period of recording it. It was actually over the course of maybe two or three weeks, because we had all the beats there and a few lyrics, and we locked in around March. I was having some issues with friends, family, lovers and stuff, and I was documenting it all in these songs and using it as fuel to inspire the writing.

It’s about things that are expected of people and how people are meant to behave when it comes to getting to the sort of age that I’m at – what do people expect of you, of their lovers and their children? So Bounty Law is an album about the social contract through the lens of 2025 contemporary underground London.

Do you think the social contract is broken?

You know what? I think so. I think so much has happened – where do you want to start? The ​’90s, the ​’00s, the internet, dating apps, OnlyFans, the dark web, tariffs… All the things that the social contract might have been based on are shifting. How much money do you need to put down to get a decent flat in London? It’s not what it was. And then there are these questions like when are you supposed to get your own place or settle down? Or stop doing drugs? These are the sorts of questions that I’m discussing.

I think most people have lost trust with people at the top – what social contract is there when you watch politicians allegedly give multi-million pound contracts away during COVID to their friends?

For me, I remember that I first had doubt with it all during the coalition government, when the Lib Dems said that if they got in, they were going to abolish university fees. That was a promise, and when they did get in, they didn’t do it. And I remember the rioting in Trafalgar Square and they set fire to the big tree – that was me feeling politically active and that I deserve to be told the truth to. It was a big rug pull, and it’s just carried on from there – it feels like the frequency of these rug pulls are increasing to the point where you’re like: ​“Where is the ground anymore? It’s like the floor is lava.”

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Of course, London is a hard place to live, but there’s a lot of beauty in the record too. What were you trying to convey?

Yeah, I think there is a lot of beauty in the record, the producers did a smashing job, and I think they took a lot of references from my music too. There’s glitchy, high end bleeps and pads, and the strings on the record are amazing. And yeah, I talk about these spats that I had, but these are also people that I love and care about, so there are these flashes of brilliance in the midst of confusion, rage and upset. Because I really love this person, and I want to see this person. Or groups of friends that I didn’t see – sometimes you think: ​“I need to focus on my own stuff”, then you realise that you miss those guys. It’s a matter of crossing London and getting on a bicycle or a phone call.

During this time, I did start to think a bit more about leaving London and getting my own place in a different city, and get away from it all. Here, I am loved and looked after, but it can come at a price – people expect things in return, but I’m not always willing to give them. And it’s not just about living situations, it’s all the other things within the social contract. What do I get? What’s in it for me? You feel betrayed sometimes or let down, or people expect more from you than you can afford to give. So yeah, beauty and darkness captured in this record.

What made you want to work with producers this time, rather than doing it all yourself?

After True Romance, I was like: ​“I’m never producing another record ever again.” It took me such a long time to really lock in. The process took so much out of me – I love music, what beats I like, what tempos, but I’m maybe not such a natural producer. But I get emotional when someone sends me a video of someone playing [2024 song] ​‘Charlie’ in Barcelona, or like yesterday when I did a show and some guy in the crowd was rapping the lyrics to ​‘Heartbreak Freestyle’ back at me, which has happened twice now.

It means that the songs I’ve made are getting played enough – even if it’s just these two people – that they know the words off by heart. That’s really touching. I think having seen that it’s giving me a bit more confidence as a producer, and also made me feel like I’ve got more to say as a producer, too. But these people that I’m working with make music all day, every day – they’ll be at the computer and be like: ​“Boom, how’s that?” And part of the magic for me is getting in the studio with my friends and talking about things, having conversations about the lyrics and the arrangements. So even if I don’t have any direct producer credits, I’m still working on it.

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Adult Entertainment, and the wider alt-literary poetry scene seems to be having a bit of a moment right now. What made you want to start the event?

It is, but I’ve always done events. The first event that I did was called The A & The E, which started in 2012 and was a philosophy and arts project, which was born out of my desire to have a church again and a place to talk about stuff like ethics and politics, while sharing art and music. There would usually be poems and then a Q&A, but that was all these years ago and so much has changed culturally and politically.

I wanted it to come back but realised that it couldn’t come back how it did – it needed to be grown up. So Adult Entertainment is a revised version of what The A & The E was. I realised it needs to be a place for adults to have fun and mess about and enjoy themselves, and have these conversations where it’s not so serious.

Why do you think it can’t be serious?

I say serious, and I’m very serious about Adult Entertainment. I’m very serious about the fun that I have. So, in a very serious way, it’s like: ​“No, we’re going to have fun here.” And even though the poems are part of it, it’s really about afterwards, when you chat about who’s said what and done what, which starts its own discussion. I don’t want to imply that there aren’t serious conversations to be had, but I don’t want it to take itself too seriously, and I don’t want people to take themselves too seriously either. So, back your point, back your idea and your view, but have fun. You’re not better than anyone else – you may be on a microphone or been here since the start, but at the same time we’re all equal in this arena. My guiding A&E, Adult Entertainment principles: acknowledge everyone, arrive early, accept everything, all equal. I’m very serious about those principles.

I guess what strikes me about the poetry nights, is that they seem like the antithesis to the modern-day deluge of short form, rapid fire, onscreen content that we’re fed all the time with social media. Like it feels analogue in a way.

Yeah, I was chatting to a friend about music videos, and he was saying how he wasn’t seeing them anymore. And I was like: ​“What a shame.” Like everything’s going to Reels and TikTok, but it’s just 10 second clips. I’m all about evolution – things change, they move, they grow, and don’t fight it. But at the same time, if you believe in something, then you shouldn’t allow time to erode your beliefs. I really believe in poetry, hanging out, community, and sharing stuff. So, I intend to keep running nights for as long as I can.

What does Bounty Law mean to you personally?

I’m going to say freedom. It’s freedom from the EP format and the belief that I have to define what I’m doing. It is also the idea of the social contract, and as much as that is lost, there’s a freedom that comes with that. It The law of the bounty hunter means that you make your own rules – maybe we can rebuild them for ourselves. It’s the freedom to make your own choices and live your life how you want to live it.

Bounty Law by James Massiah is out now.

Isaac Muk is Huck’s digital editor. Follow him on Bluesky.

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