Scorcher: “There was anger towards the establishment”

“Bro, when you’re old and still not rubbed [past your best], it goes from old to cold,” Scorcher quips over the phone. The pioneering grime MC is in his artistic prime as he approaches his 40^th birthday, emphasised by his recent Invite Only freestyle, where he cuts the figure of a North London Don Corleone, blending menace with wisdom over a frosty beat. He’s spent the last year and change ripping through instrumental after instrumental like a superbike through traffic, scooping up a 2025 MOBO award for Best Grime Artist in the process. It feels like he’s been making up for lost time.

Hailing from my personal hometown of Edmonton, Scorcher emerged in the mid ​’00s with the presence of a supervillain on the mic, delivering some of the scene’s most iconic moments, like his 2006 PHTV freestyle, which stands as one the genre’s very best. While his discography is in double figures, his career has been interrupted by periods of disillusionment and incarceration. During his last prison sentence, separated from his two children, he resolved to do better. ​“Accountability came to me then. It was forced on me, to be honest,” Scorcher says, frankly. ​“And I had to break that cycle, man.”

I caught up with my old school friend to talk about seeing our dads as people, inherited trauma, delivering prison workshops, lessons from fatherhood and more, in a conversation that’s been 30 years in the making.

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What’s your earliest memory of your dad?

I had a swimming birthday and I remember bare of us climbing on my dad. And he was swimming with us on his back. I can’t remember how many of us there were but it felt endless. I was stunned! When I look back at it, he must’ve been crazy with the swimming.

Do you remember where you were?

Yeah! Tottenham Green Leisure Centre. It was my third birthday party.

How would you describe your dad’s version of being a dad?

Do as I say, not as I do [laughs]. But one thing I will say, and I think as I got older as a man I learned to appreciate this more, is for all you can moan about, he managed to be there. Now, why he was there, his reasons for being there, who knows? But I think the fact that he was there, was maybe him trying as best as he was capable of at the time.

Last time we sat down for a pint and a chat, you told me you’re ​“the son of a sound man”. Tell me a bit more about that, and how it influenced you.

I would go to the studio sometimes with my dad, but now I don’t take my dad seriously in that regard whatsoever. He’s a sound man, though. That’s something of interest to him. But my ting is different. I remember when my dad just randomly called me one time into the room. These times I was MCing. He’s like: ​“Show me your lyrics.” I thought: ​“This is mad.” I showed him. He was kind of pressuring me, basically. Almost like, if this [the lyrics] weren’t good, there’d be some pressure against what I was doing. And he didn’t really have nothing to say. 

Was it like a passing of the torch moment?

Nah. More like: ​“You’re old and can’t chat to me about this shit.” The reality is, although I didn’t know it at the time, man was kind of inventing certain tings. That’s who I became. That wasn’t his impact on the world, so he just had to take it in. The dynamic changed.

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Do you think that’s why he was silent when you showed him your lyrics?

Yeah. As an adult, he would’ve been able to see that this was beyond his capabilities. As a sound man, you know what you’re looking at. You know this is something else. 

There was always the promise from him, like: ​“I could take you to the studio anytime.” An ​‘almost’ vibe. But he never done it. And I wasn’t waiting on my dad, waiting on nobody. I ain’t one of these fucking nepo babies! Like, I did it myself. I’d pull up to wherever the fuck I had to travel to, to do whatever the fuck I had to do to MC.

My dad was a man of the world, he lived in multiple countries before he came here. He always talked about how he’d take me to those places to see for myself, but we never even left the country together.

These man have the best intentions. It’s just how it goes. Like in theory, I’m sure they wanted to do these things. More than anything, I just take those experiences and put it into my relationship with my kids. I don’t feel negatively towards my dad anymore. I get it. I see my dad as a person and I understand, man. Life is hard. I just zoom out and think: what did you actually do? You tried. Maybe you didn’t get it right. But you know what? There’s bare tings in life I ain’t got right. Him trying is what leads to me having a decent relationship with my son, which will lead to my son being a better man than the two of us. 

You were born in the aftermath of the Broadwater Farm uprising, after the bogus arrest of your dad led to a bogus raid on your grandma Cynthia Jarrett’s home, which resulted in her death. Did your dad ever sit you down and speak to you about that experience, or was it just something you absorbed?

I just absorbed it, man.

Did that history shape your way of thinking?

Definitely. I had a natural distrust as you can imagine, and passed down trauma. There was anger towards the establishment. I definitely wasn’t tryna’ hear no teachers. Anyone giving me ​‘English person’ vibes was mental to me. Any patriotism was mental to me. Any racism, of course, was mental to me. I think I carried that with me as a young boy, and I probably didn’t understand that at the time.

We’ve known each other a long time. I’d say you have a rebel spirit.

But also, I definitely have a community, village approach to things. We went to the same school. Like, I’ve been like this since then. I was bredrins with you. I was bredrins with Elliott and the Black lot. I was bredrins with Lydia and the grungers and the skaters. This was all in my orbit. And that’s my approach to making music. It’s never been a ​‘fit in’ ting.

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As a teenager, what did the outlet of MCing give you?

It gave me purpose. It gave me direction, that’s the main ting. It gave me focus, because everything I was doing was going in that direction. Even when man was doing road, I was taking the P and spending it on music. Some of my friends had other shit, cold watches and that. I was spending my money buying vinyl. I don’t actually know where I would go if I wasn’t doing music. Because even while doing music, I was still… [laughs]. You get what I’m saying?

Yeah, but look where you are now. Touching 40 and music is where you’re at. You’ve had lots of other things happen, but music has been an anchor in your life. I think we all need something like that.

That’s a real good way of putting it, man.

Brotherhood and loyalty are two big themes in your music. They seem like characteristics you really value. Where does that come from?

I think coming from our bit [Edmonton], how things are today ain’t how they were back then. We were not on the cool side of shit, you get me? We had to make our ting. Even to just fucking enjoy life, we had to make it to where this wasn’t a place where you [people not from Edmonton] come and do whatever. So that made the mandem have a certain bond. And it’s never really left me. 

I’ll never forget being in young offenders’. I don’t even know which prison my bredrin Brizzo was at the time, but he sent me second class stamps, because that’s all he had. He got my details and sent them to me. That’s never left me. This guy had nothing. All he could do was that. That’s the realest shit of all time, to me. He was riding a bigger bird [a longer sentence] than me, at that time. It always stuck with me.

I believe the boxing ring is a place where you find out about your true self. I’d imagine prison is like that too. What did you learn, or confirm, about yourself when you during your last stretch inside?

That I’m my own person. That became apparent to me. 

But also, I understood I need to do better. I needed to make some changes, as a man. I think I looked more at my flaws. More than anything, I remember being at that point in life, in some of the situations I was in and thinking to myself: ​“There’s no-one else to look at. Look at yourself. Figure out where you’ve gone wrong.” It was about improving myself as a man, small, small steps. And I’m still improving to this day. Going to jail at that age, and seeing the things I was seeing, and going through the things I was going through was a moment where I had to pattern up as a person. 

Something I think you should be proud of is the work you’re doing within prisons, delivering workshops. Why has it been important to do that? And what do you think people in prison gain from having opportunities like that?

I think more than anything, it’s seeing what’s possible. That’s what I personally take from it. Seeing something is possible can be the start. And when I go there, it’s all relatable and understandable. I’m not talking to them to preach. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But my perspective is one of being a prisoner, going through it on a social level, wasting whatever I have going for me, feeling old, feeling like it’s over. That perspective is not the same as a guy who comes in and tells you: ​“Believe, achieve!” On top of that, there’s the reality of the jail circuit and everyone knowing everyone, within reason. In that space there, it’s more digestible for them coming from someone like me. I’ve been in the other chair and I remember seeing certain things that changed my way of thinking. 

One of my proudest moments in life, bro, was doing a workshop. It was the last one of three I’d been booked to do. I’d done the first two with other people but the last one was by myself. I spent two nights writing things down, planning, putting together what I wanted to do. By the way, the people in the workshop ain’t geeks! Like these ain’t jokemen coming to this ting, they’re serious people, attempted murderers, shooters, man with big food [drug] lines. All of the things. When you first arrive, it is what it is, it’s unruly. But I did my thing and I remember looking around the workshop… you know the silent hum of people working? The groups were doing the work I’d set out for them. It was one of my proudest moments, and nobody will see it or hear about it. There’s no photos. But it was crazy seeing that I was getting through to these people and they were enjoying it. The feedback was crazy, so now when I land to deliver a workshop, the mandem pattern up and make sure they’re not unavailable for it.

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That’s community and purpose, which we were talking about earlier.

Yeah, man. That’s the realest shit ever. Man really know I’m actually like them. My nomis [prisoner information] is mental, just like theirs. Maybe worse [laughs]. So for me, that shit is top. Some of my proudest shit, honestly.

As an artist, you’ve had an incredible year or so. You won a MOBO for Best Grime Artist in February, which reflects that. How important have your children been in all the good stuff that is happening?

Both of my kids play a big part, they’re like my A&Rs, my son especially, It’s mad. I will take his opinion over anyone. And he’s on being right and making sure I know, as well. You see the record with Chip, ​‘Talking To’, there’s another version of it. I prefer it. My son came with me to the studio. He is very much like, ​‘nah, this [the released version] is good, dad. Trust me, you don’t get it!’ And we go to shoot the video. He’s with me like: ​‘See! Look! I told you this was good. Look at everyone saying all the words. I told you people are gonna rate it.’ That’s my boy.

Sometimes the kids banter me too, like I’m an eediat! When good things might be going on or whatever, my daughter will be like: ​‘Yeah, and you were chatting about not making music anymore.’ And then the other one will chime in too. I respect it highly.

It’s beautiful that they’re part of what’s going on. The experiences you’re sharing with your son, like studio sessions and video shoots, are memories he’ll hold on to forever.

I look at my life experiences and think of stuff that I would’ve liked to do, things I didn’t do and time I didn’t spend with my dad, and time that I did. I’d much rather this stuff be his reality. 

The other day I got him a jacket. I didn’t know if he’d like it. He’s such a laidback character, he doesn’t go mad about anything. When I gave it to him, I could see the happiness in his face. So we were talking about clothes and I asked him if he wanted me to start getting his bits now. He said: ​‘Yeah!’ This is just so different from my relationship with my dad. And it feels good, man.

That’s so nice, bro. So it feels fitting to finish with this: what has fatherhood taught you?

That life is bigger than you. Your life is bigger than just you. It doesn’t matter what the reality is, if you’re not in the best situation, or haven’t got everything right. If you keep trying, bro, it’ll make sense. I feel like I’ve arrived at a place where I’m in a good spot with my children. The quality of our relationships is great and I’m so happy for both of them. They’re both blossoming into young people that I’m proud to say are mine. That’s massively to do with their mothers but also, I’ve played a part in that too. 

My daughter’s turning 18 next week. My son will be 14. The reality of me at those ages with my dad is I used to rate him, then at some point that changed. But with my kids, it’s the opposite. Not that they didn’t rate me. But I feel the relationships are getting stronger. It’s always been there, but now it’s even stronger. Whereas I drifted away from my dad at these points, they’re coming towards me. I don’t know everything. I haven’t got it all figured out. But what I do know is that’s a good sign for where we’re at as a family.

Hard Feelings is Huck’s column on fatherhood and masculinity, hosted by Rob Kazandjian. Read more from the series here.

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