Hell Is Round the Corner

by Tricky

  One time, me and 3D were walking in Bristol, and the guys who were supposed to have done it slowed down in a car and asked me if I wanted a lift. 3D goes to me, ‘If you get in there, you won’t get out again.’ They definitely knew who I was, but I was too young for them to see me as a threat, I would’ve thought, because they were men. So why would they offer me a lift? It wasn’t like they were going to get me in the car and warn me. I found that one really strange …

  CHAPTER SIX

  DAYDREAMING

  On one of my return visits to Bristol from York Way Court, I wandered into this pub, The Montpelier. It was a good old haunt, where you could smoke a spliff, play bar football and relax – not exactly a squat pub, or a hipster hangout, but a bit of a hippy place, and I knew it was somewhere that 3D would be, because he used to have an artist space there, where he worked on his graffiti.

  I hadn’t been into this pub for about a year and, sure enough, D was in there, so we got a drink and started catching up on what we’d both been up to. Nobody had seen me in there for a year or more, but after about fifteen or twenty minutes, the phone rang in the pub, and it was for me. While I was talking to whoever it was, I could see D just looking at me in disbelief. After I’ve hung up, he goes, ‘You’re an enigma, ain’t you?’ At the time, I didn’t even know what that word meant.

  As I was shuttling more and more between London and Bristol, I guess me and 3D got quite close, because we were the rappers, and to begin with we’d write together in a fairly off-the-cuff way. In those months it went very quickly from Wild Bunch into Massive Attack. To be very honest, I don’t even remember the changeover, but I suppose that the two Fourth & Broadway singles had put Wild Bunch on the map, and after the name became Massive Attack, they were soon signed to this label Circa, which would soon become a part of Richard Branson’s Virgin Records – the big time!

  Right around the point where they signed, there was a falling out, and Miles decided to leave. Something happened. Then the name changed, and Nellee went off to do Soul II Soul. I don’t think Nellee went because of any problems; it was Miles and D who had the problem with each other. I don’t actually know what that was over. After all that unravelled, Mushroom, D and Grant stayed together, and it was them that got the deal.

  I was getting paid a wage to be a ‘member’ of the band without being a part of the deal, and I was very happy with that, because it meant I had regular money. I didn’t have to work in Iceland. I didn’t have to do anything dodgy. Honestly, in those days, to me Massive Attack just meant I had cash in my pocket, where I could do the things I wanted. Those three were smart enough to be more business-minded than me, because they knew they wanted to be a band – to me it still felt like I was doing a hobby, not taking it seriously.

  They’d also got themselves a manager called Cameron McVey. Back in the early ’80s, he was the singer in a pop band called Bim, which also had the producer Stephen Street in it, so he was in that English pop thing. I think they released a couple of songs that didn’t do anything. I noticed this a lot over the years, how you get guys who were trying to be singers or in a band, but it didn’t work out and their careers didn’t go that way, so they end up being managers or working in the business in some other capacity.

  At the same time as Massive Attack, Cameron was also managing Neneh Cherry. He and Neneh later had two kids together, one of whom is now a musician called Mabel. Back then, a single B-side he’d made in his own pop duo was reworked into Neneh’s first single, ‘Buffalo Stance’. So in relation to the ‘history’ of Massive Attack, he was someone who had connections in the London music business, and I think he was the one who got them the Virgin contract, because he would’ve known those label people. After the deal, the organisation got bigger really quickly, and looking back, that was when I think I stopped enjoying it as much.

  WHITLEY ALLEN: After Wild Bunch did those two singles on Fourth & Broadway, ‘Tearing Down the Avenue’ and ‘Friends and Countrymen’, it was on the decline – they were splitting because Nellee, who was one of the main dudes driving it, had already disappeared up to London to produce Soul II Soul’s album. So they had the connection with that world, but that’s also why they were falling apart.

  Tricky was really only in at the tail-end of it, but that meant he moved seamlessly into Massive Attack. They only really had one MC, which was Delj [3D]. They would always have guest MCs, and Tricky became a guest MC who automatically became a full MC once the name changed, because he was just different. Just look at his lyrics – there’s comedy, street things, political stuff. He’s a complex individual, so you can see why they wanted to keep him in.

  He was commuting backwards and forwards from London to do stuff with the Wild Bunch, but towards the end was when they were forming Massive Attack, because it was becoming something else without Nellee there. I was still on the phone to him, and he was like, ‘Yeah, it’s evolving.’ Me and the Un Deux Trois guy had a sampler, and we started looping tracks and making beats around the same time, but they were obviously more advanced than us.

  One time there was a big DJ sound-system thing – three or four different sounds, all playing in Temple Meads under the banner of Massive Attack. This was when we were still based in London, and he was working with Milo. Milo didn’t like 3D. I don’t think it was personal, but when Milo was cutting up at that event, it seemed like every time Delj was rapping, Milo would make a mistake. I can remember Delj looking at him, and Milo just had his head down. Then Tricks got on and Milo was perfect. So even though they were on the same sound, you would get that vibe.

  That time, it was Wild Bunch, UD4, City Rockas, all these different crews on one stage. That was the only time it actually happened – this huge show. They have gigs there now, but back then it was unusual, brilliant – something new happening in Bristol.

  During the early stages of Massive Attack, me and Adrian were talking, then we just sort of drifted. Mobiles weren’t about then, obviously, and anyway Tricks is a nightmare, as a person. I always tell him: the best thing that’s happened to him is having a manager. He knows it! He is the most disorganised dude. We used to go out, and I’d say, ‘Okay, I’ll look after your money,’ but then we would argue, because people latch on to him, and I don’t stay around him then.

  He’s getting people drinks, and he’ll go to me, ‘Get the drinks in with that money I gave you, yeah?’

  ‘You’ve only got like a tenner left.’

  ‘But I gave you sixty quid!’

  ‘That was two hours ago … Actually, have your money, and fuck off!’

  We would argue all the time about that stuff – always friends, but after a while it was, ‘I’m not looking after your shit. Do it yourself!’ He’s a nightmare. Anyway, he was getting busier, and we kind of lost touch.

  RAY MIGHTY: Originally, Massive Attack was an idea that Delj had for a British version of Afrika Bambaataa’s Zulu Nation – not actually a group as such, or an artist, but a movement of like-minded people looking after each other against dodgy promoters and helping each other make records. That’s what it was supposed to be when it was first talked about. That’s how me and Rob [Smith] ended up working on that first self-released single under the Massive Attack name, ‘Any Love’, in 1988 – it was all according to this ‘Massive Attack helping each other out’ thing.

  Because of their relative success in Bristol and beyond, Delj had all the connections and knew everybody, and on top of that he was DJ-ing and had the graffiti thing, so it was like bringing everybody in – artists, DJs, producers – and having a collective to watch out for each other. That was the idea that Massive Attack was started under. Tricky was jumping up and chatting with them, and hanging around with Delj, so he still seemed to be part of it.

  Hip-hop and graffiti was a big part of their style. Even then, Delj was known as one of the top three or four graffiti artists in the country – there weren’t that many around in Britain, obviously – it was him, Goldie, and a couple of others, r
epresenting the UK for graffiti. So that all tied in with the music. A couple of times, they would get New York graffiti artists coming over, putting exhibitions on at the Arnolfini gallery – the more famous ones at the time like Brim Fuentes and Bio [aka Wilfredo Feliciano] from New York – and Massive would be doing the music, hiphop with heavy bass, which was very much Tricky’s thing.

  While all that was going on, there was a guy called Peter D, or Peter Davies, who was doing pre-production stuff for Massive before they actually got a deal. At that time, in 1988/9, he was the only one that had any equipment and could sequence shit together. He was doing preproduction on rough ideas that everyone had – Tricky, Mushroom, D – putting breaks together, using samples and moving those rough ideas forward. Because he had the gear, everyone was doing stuff with him.

  Some of those tracks actually even made it onto their album, as well as the lyrics they were dropping. Because he was working with them, we were good friends with him, and we kind of consider him as part of Massive – and Tricky, too. After ‘Any Love’, they became a little clique which we didn’t get involved in. We left them to it because it was their thing, and we had our own thing going.

  At the same time as they got their deal with Virgin, we got a major deal, so we spent a good part of ’89 commuting up and down to London, trying to get our record together, and they were probably doing much the same thing.

  TRICKY: Massive Attack was never a thing where everybody made the music together. One person would bring their bit, another person would bring a bit – it was bits and bobs that people had done very separately, all put together to make an album, which became Blue Lines.

  For instance, I know that Mushroom did the skeleton of ‘Unfinished Sympathy’, then someone worked on it, then maybe a string section was added, and so on. The one I did was ‘Daydreaming’, which ended up being the first single. I did the music in the studio by myself.

  I was starting to toy around with sampling, but I didn’t actually have any of the equipment, so I’d go around to these two blokes’ house who had bought themselves an Akai S1000 sampler, and muck about with it. It wasn’t even a proper recording studio. ‘Daydreaming’ was based around a sample from an old Indian song, just looped off a cassette tape of Bollywood music – for some reason I loved that kind of music at the time. I always listen to a bit of everything.

  On the mic, I’d always voiced quietly, which was a confidence thing. I didn’t think I was as good as Rakim or Chuck D. The quiet thing probably started from rapping live, when you’ve got people in front of you – still managing to do it, but not having that real confidence and presence. It was just because I’m shy by nature, so I’d do it soft – hiding, almost, and totally not aggressive, like most rappers were at the beginning. My lyrics were softer, too, less boasty.

  That’s something people may not know or understand: I’m a really shy person. Getting up on the mic was hard for me. I soon found it was something that I loved to do, but I was just always very quiet doing it. I never had the confidence to be in your face and loud.

  It was a natural thing for me, to have that slower, more low-key thing going, but then once we started on Massive Attack, 3D noticed it, and he goes, ‘Aha, that should be our style – the soft vocal.’ To me at the time, it wasn’t a style, it was just how I did it while I coped with my shyness. From my side, it was all accident. Me, I just fumble along and things happen. It’s like with music and films, right? I never look for music, and I never look for films – everything I see or hear happens accidentally, I never go in search of it. But if something is good and I’m supposed to find it, I’ll find it. Just fumbling along.

  ‘Daydreaming’, the track I produced, was the first single. Now, it ain’t the best song they’ve released, I’m not saying that, but in some ways I helped to set a precedent for them – the gentler style of rapping, the English thing, not afraid to sound like you’re from Bristol, rather than Brooklyn.

  Blue Lines was mostly recorded in Bristol, and then them three – D, G and Mushroom – mostly mixed and finished off the tracks in London. I found it cool that they stayed living in Bristol, and then once they were a huge band, that they just stayed where they were. They’re homeboys, D and G.

  I only went to London with them once, while they were mixing. No disrespect to those guys, but we came from different worlds. We drove up there to work on a song, and I was a kid – I had no money. On the way back, we were at the services, and everybody got off the bus to go and eat – we had a tour bus for some reason but we were just on a studio trip. We walked into the service station, and it was £2.50 for sausage and chips, and I was starving. I said to G, ‘Here, lend me two quid!’ I was just a kid, but he wouldn’t lend me the money.

  That affected me a lot. That day was when I realised I would end up leaving Massive Attack, although it was way before I truly knew it or actually thought about leaving. When he wouldn’t lend me two pounds to eat, that was the end of our relationship on a certain level. Like, you know, these people come from a different place to you. Where I grew up, they would steal that money so I could eat. That’s when I knew that it was about business, about a band and a music career – and Massive wasn’t even big at that point.

  Once I’d done my part in it, I was off doing my own thing, just like I was with the Wild Bunch. They were Massive Attack, they were taking it seriously. Me? I was still hanging out with my friends, and more interested in going to clubs, and reggae gigs. What was important to me was when a sound system came to Bristol or was playing in London. If King Tubby’s was playing in London, we’d get on the train, thumb a lift – however we could do it, to get there and see them. And I was so focused on that, that the potential for being more involved with Massive Attack didn’t really sink in with me.

  Going to see the best DJ, all the best reggae – that was my thing. Even something like going to Notting Hill Carnival – that was a big deal to me and my mates.

  I just couldn’t comprehend it as a business at that point. Certainly not like, ‘Oh, I could actually make a living off this!’ If I’d been a bit older, I’d have been wiser about the money, and made sure I was getting paid, because back then I didn’t give a fuck. I just loved music, loved making it, and it went no further than that. It probably would’ve been better if I’d had a smarter head with money, but I’ve never been a money guy or cared about it. I’m not interested in a big house or a big car. I probably signed things that lost me money, and I also wasn’t able to manage the money I earned – because I didn’t come from money, I didn’t know how to manage it.

  I was on a wage, and then I got publishing income for the stuff I wrote, which was all done fair. Only thing was, I signed some of my publishing over to a mate, to help him out – this was Claude, who’d just had a kid with my cousin, Michelle, so my thing was, ‘Okay, I’ll sign some of my publishing over to you, so you have an income to help out your daughter in the future.’

  This was just for lyrics I wrote on a couple of songs. I mean, if I was a millionaire at the time – okay! But I wasn’t, so signing my publishing over to him was a bit crazy. I wanted to help him out, because he’d been involved longer than me, and otherwise he wasn’t gonna make any money off the album. He was a mate, so, alright, you help a mate out. He still has it to this day, and he’s still making money from it now. I’m not quite sure if he really sorted Michelle out, though.

  When ‘Daydreaming’ was finally getting released, it was a weird feeling. You’ve done this music in the studio and, all of a sudden, you’re doing a video to it. That’s like, wow! When you’re first writing stuff, you don’t think of it coming out. So when we did the video for ‘Daydreaming’, and then saw the video, it was a really strange vibe. You’ve made a song in a little studio in someone’s front room, and then they’re playing it on MTV and it’s being shown all around the world. It was hard to get a connection to it, like, it’s not real. I didn’t quite get the concept. I felt alienated from that public side of releasing music.<
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  But the track really blew up. No one had heard music like that in England. It’s hard to imagine today, but back then people in the UK didn’t actually know what rap was, so Blue Lines brought a hip-hop feel to people who didn’t know that hip-hop even existed. Saying that now, it sounds insane. Nowadays everybody on the planet knows what rap is, but back then people didn’t know what it was unless they were actually into it.

  So, ‘Daydreaming’ changed everything, and the next thing you know, it was videos, touring, interviews. It was a very fast transition, and I wasn’t really into it as a lifestyle. Coming up to London for a meeting or doing a video – I could take it or leave it back then. It was just boring to me, so, day to day, I operated like I always had: I would work for a bit, get some money, and then they wouldn’t see me for a while. I wasn’t signed to their Virgin deal. They paid me as a hired hand, so I didn’t feel like I had to turn up.

  With a mature head, I can see that I had access to success, and I just didn’t take it up. I would do the odd thing, and then I would disappear, and they wouldn’t know where I was. I just wasn’t around. What kid has a chance to be in music videos and doesn’t turn up? That side of things immediately didn’t appeal to me. I’d rather be doing something else, like going out to a party or a club, or smoking a spliff and listening to music at a mate’s house. I saw a video as taking up my time. When you’re young, you want your own time.

  It went really quickly from the Wild Bunch – a very loosely affiliated meeting-up thing, doing live stuff, then disappearing for a while, and everybody can go and do their thing – to like, ‘Okay, we’ve got to meet at twelve o’clock tomorrow in the studio and spend the whole day there till twelve o’clock at night.’ I struggled with that transition. It became like a job, and one of the reasons I did music was because I didn’t want to work. ‘You have to be here at a certain time and do this and do that’ – that just wasn’t my vibe at all.