One Thursday night last month, rapper Central Sea performed in New York City for the first time in his young and rapidly ascending career. Central His Sea, or Senche, as his fans affectionately call him, is British, and the Manhattan stage can feel like a testing ground for newcomers. Instead, thanks to the friendliness of the internet, the frenzied, sold-out show at Irving Plaza felt like coming home. Senchi once rapped, “If I can’t come with everyone, I won’t perform.” He lines up the tracks on the back of his laptop and points the lyrics into the microphone at key moments. This tactic, usually deployed to provoke excitement, was largely unnecessary. The audience was ready to sing along with every word. “How many of you have ever been to London?” Senchi asked the crowd, yelling. “I’ve been in New York all my life,” he said, adding, “I hope I can draw a picture to help you understand where I’m coming from.
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On stage, Cench wore an oversized chain and classic Yankees hat. The latter may have been just a topical accessory, but it recalled the common DNA of contemporary New York rap and Chench music. Over the past three years, Cench has become one of the most prominent ambassadors of Britain’s thriving drill scene. Drill was originally inspired by the brutal waves of Chicago hip-hop and has become a dominant strain of British rap over the past decade. The signature drill sound, marked by a cold, out-of-tune 808 and swaggering sullenness, was eventually exported to America through a Brooklyn rapper. In recent years, their sound has penetrated the mainstream, adding a truly international chapter to the history of street rap. Across the pond, Cench is a hero in his hometown, but for New York audiences, he offered a captivating mix of exoticism and familiarity.
As his music has traveled far from home, Cench has acted as a game tour guide for those new to the world of British rap. Last fall, he visited American hip-hop agency Los Angeles radio station Power 106 FM. He was there to appear on a show hosted by LA Leakers, best known for a series of his beloved YouTube videos in which guests freestyle. Freestyling isn’t exactly common among young American rappers, but it’s been critical to Cench’s success. He first made a name for himself in 2015 when he appeared on the prominent UK music platform Link Up TV. At the time, he was in the early stages of developing his own style. It was dense, digressive, diary-like, full of references to very difficult real-life experiences. But seven years later, when he competed at the L.A. He Leakers, his freestyle took on a nimble vibe. He performed a clever instructional rap his skit explaining the differences between British and American slang. “We don’t lock ourselves in abandoned buildings. Bullets are fired from empty houses. In other words, ‘apartments’, hidden compartments cut off,” he rapped.
The lyrics were too cleverly crafted to be improvised, in line with a modern approach to freestyle, but the performance was a highly acrobatic (and funny) feat of storytelling, and the video It quickly spread by word of mouth. The song has become a staple of Cench’s live shows. “Would you like to learn some British slang?” he asked the New York crowd before starting the LA Leakers discussion. Cenci’s talkative lyrical style did not diminish the crowd’s ability to sing along. The audience enjoyed the opportunity to showcase their knowledge and proudly uttered his British street slang such as ‘leng’ (sexy girl), ‘skengs’ (guns), ‘nanks’ (pocket knives) and ‘prang’ (paranoia). I recite to “In London, I’m Verified,” Cench rapped. “In New York, I’m ‘valid’. ”
British drill’s influence is widespread, but few British rappers have broken out in the United States. Cench is one of those rare exceptions. Growing up in West London, a hotbed of rap talent and gang warfare, Cench was exposed to a variety of local influences. An early mixtape he released to his streaming platform in 2017, “17,” sounds more R.&B. He often filtered vocals with his Auto-Tune. This was a move he later despised as he developed a more ruthless street rap style. “Let’s turn off autotune and hear how you rap for real,” he taunts on the standout “Day in the Life,” from his 2021 mixtape Wild West. increase. He separates the lines with snide end caps.
In a 2021 interview with the British publication, Cench talked about the ‘Wild West’. “It’s all a drill,” he said. “Well, actually, I don’t know if I do the drill or what exactly it is.” , but Cench’s crossover moment came through American pop music. Last summer, he released a track called “Doja,” named after chart-topping chameleon Doja Cat. The song relies heavily on Eve’s sexy sample of her 2001 hit “Let Me Blow Ya Mind.” If sampling was once meant to demonstrate a producer’s credibility using arcane source material, it has become a much duller tool in the TikTok era. Now, Y2K-era hits are used to add rocket fuel to artists’ careers. Lord of “Let Me Blow Ya Mind” His tested charm has made Cench a global pop he crossover.
There are many reasons why someone like Senchi would want to graduate beyond Drill’s relentless style limits. There are personal and commercial rewards for making sweeter songs. But for British rappers, evolving their style beyond street rap is also a real question of survival. In the United States, there is an ongoing debate over whether rap lyrics that refer to drug use or violence should be admissible in court as evidence of criminal intent. In Britain, where censorship protections are scarce, authorities are already searching rapper’s lyrics and music videos for legal ammunition. was ordered by a judge in 2018 to stop releasing music that referenced gang violence. He also notifies the police 24 hours before he releases new music, and at least he has until 2025 to provide the lyrics to the police. This policing and moral his panic isn’t just about his personal career, but about the genre in general. To outwit the police, the British rapper may have evolved slang with agility. For Kench, turning violent slang into cute and educational tidbits for digital audiences could be more of an accidental act of self-preservation than crafting a world-weary street-corner tale. I have.
Cench seems to be actively engaged in this push and pull, even during live shows. At a concert in New York, he softened the expectations of anyone in the crowd expecting wall-to-wall party music. But when it came time to wrap up the show, everyone was ready for the grand finale, “Doja.” To pay homage to the song’s origins, Cench’s dj made it a habit to first play a snippet of his original Eve song. In New York, this caused a rare moment of boredom. But once Cench started his own version of the song, the audience went wild. He pointed the microphone at the crowd and urged them to complete the performance on his behalf, confident that everyone in the room would speak his language.