Task: To scathingly criticise Kate Tempest in the style of Kate Tempest, thereby illuminating the reader of her shortcomings in both style and content. Can I have a beat please? Thanks.
Watch me unleash this whirlwind of abuse at the Tempest. Kate is wack, man. She ain’t got no bars to spit, none that I can swallow. So I wallow in her key stage 3 sub-arts degree shit. I hate it. Let’s not speak of her beats man cos even John Cleese man (who spits like a python) can see that they’re weak man and her verses are on repeat man like Top Gear on Dave man. (“Man”, rhymed, 5x).
Kate’s a south London girl, her hair orange, curled (not straight). Kate Moss she ain’t and neither Kate Upton. But they say her lyrics stick and grow so she was up—on the Mercury List, didn’t win it but was favourite for a bit. She raps about baked beans and real feelings as if that means her music’s got meaning I’m not being mean cos the proof’s in the pudd-ing. Case in point:
‘I’m paranoid, I’m selfish
Push me, I clam up, I’m shellfish’
‘See something great
Happen to a mate
I love that’
If you love that then you’re a lost cause because if you pause, forget the applause and listen you’ll hear it laid bare her ineptitude (long word) and I’ll say it again I ain’t being rude don’t mean to obtrude just trying to let you know that your time is wasted and your ears deserve more than this.
Success: Mixed; I wasn’t nearly scathing enough
Featured image: flickr / enola.be