M.I.C Is Rewriting the Rules of Grime, One War Dub at a time
From dismantling the scene’s gatekeepers to calling out racism and transphobia, the North London MC’s latest war dub isn’t just personal, it’s political.
M.I.C, The Master of Inane Conversation, has never played by the rules, not of genre, identity, or politics. Over the past decade, the North London MC has carved out a space entirely his own within grime, wrangling raw, poetic lyricism with some of the scene’s most experimental production, thanks in part to longtime collaborator Nammy Wams. His music offers no comfort, it confronts racism, transphobia, grief, and rage head-on.
Now, with his latest release, a blistering diss EP aimed squarely at Snowy Danger in response to the latter’s racist and transphobic remarks, M.I.C strips everything back. No frills, no soft edges. Just clarity and venom.
“I just wanted to attack and humiliate Snowy Danger. That was my focus,” he says bluntly. “It wasn’t engineered for shock value. But part of the appeal is that it’s so offensive. When you’re doing grime diss tracks or war dubs, [that’s] essential.”
In conversation, M.I.C is as direct as he is on record. Reflective, yes, but still crackling with the energy of someone who’s just dropped one of the most incendiary grime releases in years. “I wanted to get back at him because he tried to violate me, and because he’s racist,” he states plainly. “I made sure there were no gaps in my attack on [his] character.”
Raw and uncompromising, the EP, entirely produced by Nammy Wams and maJ, also serves as a reintroduction after a period of silence. “I wanted to remind people that I exist. I hadn’t released anything in a couple years,” he admits. “I was so focused on recording with Nam that I just forgot to release. Before I knew it, it had been three years.” He chuckles at the absurdity, then shrugs - he’s never played the industry game. “It wasn’t deliberate, and I wasn’t on hiatus. I was recording more than ever.” In a scene obsessed with constant output, his absence wasn’t strategy, just a byproduct of his process.
“I was chasing perfection, but now I just want to connect with people,” he says. “I’ve gotten less focused on perfection and more on consistently releasing.”
But don’t mistake that for softening. His love-hate relationship with the grime scene still runs deep. “Recently, I’ve been wanting to distance myself from grime,” he admits. “Every song I make will be grime, but everything around it? I’ve been feeling more animosity toward. People see my energy on sets and don’t care about my back catalogue. They play puritan, clutch their pearls when they hear me say something inflammatory, and disregard what I do.”
His frustration is both personal and political. “Grime is as political as anything else, but a lot of artists are scared to rock the boat,” he says. Born from young, working-class, mostly Black kids in East London, grime, to M.I.C, is at risk of dilution. “If we’re not careful, it’ll be co-opted by big corporations and white people. It won’t be a space for Black and working-class people anymore.”
He sees the internet’s evolution as part of the problem. “Everything has become more homogenous than ever because of the internet being taken over by Meta and other companies like Google. Before, the internet was like the Wild West.” What was once a playground for weirdness and invention now feels sanitised.
M.I.C has always resisted that sameness. From day one, he’s approached grime as experimental music. “We didn’t go to school to learn how to spit on or produce grime. Grime is experimental music in its foundation, people need to remember that.”
Thankfully, he’s not alone. Artists and DJs like DJ Oblig, MJK, and Jawnino have pushed grime into new territory, blending it with techno, Bossa Nova, and more, making it more experimental and danceable than ever.
He's equally unfiltered about the platforms meant to support the scene. “Link Up TV and GRM [Daily], for years now, have lost their essence and passion,” he says. “They’ve become completely industrialised. They’re just platforms where they take people’s money and promise them success.” His hope lies underground: “Travs Presents, Off-License sessions - they’ve just got better curation. They care more about grime music and artists.”
His critique extends to the wider industry. “All this ‘industry talk’ is just another way to commodify us,” he observes. “You can see it in all these statistics where more people in the music industry than ever are from wealthy backgrounds. They're more middle and upper class than ever.”
To M.I.C, art isn’t content, it’s survival. “Making art is so natural and innate to humans. Anyone can make it. But there’s so many things that industry and capital are pressing onto artists. They have to be influencers, they have to be socialites… All this other stuff that has nothing to do with art.”
His politics, like his music, are rooted in resistance. “Being victims of capitalism and poverty, [Grime MCs] don’t think of politics too much. While you might not be thinking about politics, politics is thinking about you.” He points to Palestine, and to trans rights under attack. “Grime MCs don’t have anything to say, and if they do, it’s something bad. I don’t want to be associated with that.”
Yet he’s hopeful for change. “Guys just need to be more willing to demand more women on the lineup for events. We also need to put on more amazing female promoters,” he insists. “Soltura, for example. Brief Encounters, [which] Soltura organises, is one of my favourite music nights.” The systemic issues run deep: the Musicians’ Census reveals 51% of women in music face discrimination, many quitting entirely.
Still, M.I.C looks ahead. “I’m really excited for whatever music Jawnino releases next… Lauren Duffus’ next project, that’s gonna be fucked. Babydoom and Essem’s new projects too. I’m excited for Three Wheel Drive Festival in August, and I’m excited for this next EP I’m waiting to drop… I think it’s the best music I’ve ever made.”