At least twice in his career, Blanco has been on the frontline of a massive cultural shit in UK music. First, with the rest of his Harlem Spartans cohorts in the earliest days of drill’s formative years, and then when he went solo and surprised everyone with a project—City Of God—that swapped sliding 808s for Baile funk. “I don’t even like getting props,” he says of his inluence on drill and UK rap more generally, “because the one thing pioneers have in common is that they don’t get as much money as the people they put on. So I hate when people say ‘pioneer’. I want the money, man.” He laughs it of, but his laid-back ideals are quite refreshing.
The Kennington-bred artist, born Joshua Eduardo to Angolan refugees, says he didn’t feel a massive connection to UK culture or music growing up. Blanco, now 23, was exploring his tastes at a time when grime faded out of view and the most exciting new music, at least in his eyes, was coming from across the pond where names like 50 Cent and T.I. were setting pace in the rap world. “ere were some UK bangers that stood out,” he says, adding that he did watch UK music TV stations like Flava and Channel U at points. “Kano is one serious guy, but most of the time I was listening to American songs — especially the old-school ones. at’s why I know so many songs before my time; that’s what I grew up around. I rate Drake as well, though.”
By the time he hit his mid teens, Blanco’s attention was drawn to Chicago and the nascent drill sound. “Being on the ends, that’s all we used to listen to,” he explains. “Lil Jay, Chief Keef, RondoNumbaNine.” He always had respect for the Kanos and Skeptas of the world, but for Blanco, it was Chicago drill and the UK’s earliest take on it that really inspired him. “We did covers of certain songs and we used to go on Chicago-type beats,” he remembers. “e Chicago drill sound was a bit slower so the UK kinda deviated and we made our own drill.” Around this time, he heard of a local youth club in Kennington where you could record music for free. Along with Bis, Zeeko and a few other Harlem Spartans, he would head down every Friday and start formulating what would become the ‘Harlem’ sound.
Those early days had a big impact on Blanco, and not just because it gave him practise recording music. “At the youth club, you weren’t allowed to swear in your music,” he says. “at’s why I don’t really swear on my songs now because when I was recording back then, no one was swearing. Bis was the first one out of the crew to really take the music thing seriously, releasing songs on SoundCloud and stuf. Because I was already into music—I loved music—I figured, ‘Let me try something. I must be hard. I’ve got all these songs on my phone, so I must be hard.’ I
went to the studio, spat a little something and everyone liked it so I started thinking I could actually do something with it.”
It quickly dawned on Harlem Spartans that they had something special and it didn’t take long for the rest of Kennington to catch on. “I remember, these two girls—one of them’s got a lot of followers now—she used to listen to us,” he explains. “We used to get no more than 1,000 listeners, maybe less than that, and she was one of them. She actually made me think to myself, ‘If she listens to us, a lot of more people might like it.’ So we released our first song ater that. en, obviously, MizOrMac came, then a few other people.” Kennington is where it all started, but Harlem Spartans (and their contemporaries) were just a little bit too ahead of the curve. ey were critically respected and had a loyal fanbase, but the wider world was too slow to catch up. “I miss my friends, because everyone went down diferent paths,” says Blanco, “but other than that, I don’t really miss those times because the UK was just behind. ere weren’t really any label talks. Even though Harlem did so much, the money that I’ve been making solo is way diferent compared.”
Although that small taste of fame gave him assurances that he was on to something, actual fame has never appealed. For Blanco, being recognised by strangers is the worst thing about being successful in the music industry. “When you’re going places, sometimes it’s like: ‘How do you know me, man?’ Even when I was in Paris, people were clocking me and I didn’t get it. It’s like, ‘How are you doing this?’” It’s understandable, and he still wrestles with wanting his music to be successful without the trappings—or the industry obligations—of the business: “e music industry is not really something I wanted to be a part of. I don’t like the social media life—I just like making music and releasing music. All the extra stuf that comes with it, it’s really not for me.”
Blanco’s first project, 2021’s City Of God, was a landmark moment in UK drill. Although not really drill at all, it was a truly unique piece of work from one of its founding fathers. As underground drill shited and a new wave of incomers began to transform it into the chart-conquering mainstream phenomenon it is today, Blanco was letting the world know that things had changed. Baile funk was a big and audible inluence on that project, but what it really signalled was a desire to stretch beyond any one genre. “I don’t like to put tags on myself,” he says. “I’m not really stuck to one genre.”
Now there’s a new project on the way and it’s not necessarily a sequel to City Of God. “City Of God had a concept,” he explains. “is one kinda has a concept, but at the same time, these are songs that I’ve put together. I don’t like to call my releases mixtapes or albums, I just call them projects. But if I had to pick, I’d say City Of God was more like an album and this one sounds more like a mixtape.”
Beyond the new music, Blanco has a list of goals that stretch out years and years, even beyond his music career. Music was always just one part of his plan; even as a child, he was obsessed with football and even considered pursuing that instead. References to the sport are littered through his music and the same can be said of his other obsessions, especially anime and films. Years down the line, once he’s conquered all his goals in the music game, don’t be surprised if you see him on the big screen. “I really want to do films,” he says. “at’s one thing I’m really into.” Just like his music career, which is backed by over 100 millions streams (and counting), he’ll shake up the acting world too.
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Event Venue
The Deaf Institute, The Deaf Institute, Manchester, EN, United Kingdom
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