Streets : Dry Your Eyes

A friend of NME's went to see is the best lyricist ever. Others marvel at Eminem's verbal dexterity. Some even find wisdom in Kurt Cobain's sixth-form poetry. But what the British music-buying public have always loved, whether it's Paul Weller, Suggs from Madness or even Damon Albarn,
is one of their own who can encapsulate the British suburban experience in a killer three-minute pop song. Basically, Britain wants someone who likes a pint, shops
in Asda, goes to the match, reads the Daily Mirror and shares their frustrations - someone unpretentious, basically. Someone who talks their language, yet is sensitive enough to use that language to chart life's upheavals.


If 'A Grand Don't Come For Free' nixed any lingering doubts about unplugged and huddled in a bus shelter near Birmingham - is a model of simplicity and restraint, yet exceptionally
brave too. Blokes just don't get this emotional outside Brixton kebab shops if they value their teeth, so Skinner's open-hearted lament peels another layer of 'front' from
the wide-boy 'tood and stands as a rare testament to the fact that, hey, chavs are people too.
Tony Naylor



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