Jamie T has been branded as everything from the bastard child of Billy Bragg and The Streets to a one-man Arctic Monkey, but it’s rather amiable to hear an up-and-coming young Anglo pop star whom the long-reaching, ever-charging cavalry that is the British press hasn’t massively touted to the point where listeners this side of the pond are ‘over it’ long before the first full-length ever drops. The ditties of this 22-year-old Wimbledon lad are skippered by his thick and sly-accented (but languid) voice, singing about drinking, girls and lack of funds. The bedroom beats are a punchy mesh of dub, folk and trip-hop, for a 2 a.m. resonance that sputters on fumes towards Panic Prevention’s end. Yet Jamie T is a pop nihilist, to the degree where his lackadaisical lyrical knack, indolent hooks and skeletal beats give the listener a peep into what it truly means to be the average, youthful bloke.

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