The Streets - None Of Us Are Getting Out Of This Alive Review

Elsewhere you’re faced with this weird notion that underpins the record, as though he wants to make some grandiose and profound statement.

It doesn’t take much looking around to see the cultural impact Mike Skinner’s had with his musical project The Streets since the release of his debut Original Pirate Material in 2002, back when I was but a little eight year old lad. I can’t say I remember too much about the first time I heard the London-Born, Birmingham-Raised ‘urban poet’ come on the radio or TV but I can say that his music shaped a great deal of my teenage years and has always managed to find its way back in to my life. Skinner’s conversational-lyricism brand of social commentary preceded that of Alex Turner by a good four years and was a rare thing then (in that raw way on the radio at least). And despite certainly not selling as many records as the latter, his wisecracks and brilliant beats still form a sort of cultural touchstone — you can meet Americans who are capable of reciting every word to Fit But You Know It without fail, Australians who play Blinded By The Lights at pre-drinks, and Estonians who love Weak Become Heroes.

Now in 2020, Skinner’s return to his Streets moniker is faced with a different world to slide into. But (unlike the weird men referenced in Drum ‘n’ Bass banger Take Me As I Am) he doesn’t aim to slide in anywhere. Instead, Skinner pushes on with his distinct style of everyday lyricism; it’s just that the everyday is a lot different to what it was before. That Skinner avoids the lure of rehashing a proven formula is (somewhat) refreshing. I certainly don’t think many people could be bothered for another lecture on how much better a girl might look after a few beers, even if we still chuckle at those lines after a few of our own.

But, in his attempt to keep pushing ahead, he seems to fall on his arse a bit more than you would hope. It’s a shame, as in his early work I considered Mike to be a brilliant lyricist: I’ve spoken extolled to friend and foe the virtues of his lyricism. But here he swings, from well-paired rhymes delivered with his classic delivery, to moments that sound shoehorned in as filler content. He does score some chuckles with short quips (“That’s for future me, I’m glad I’m not that guy” – Take Me As I Am), introducing the type of playful toying with words and British culture he’s known for (“Three rizla sheets to the wind” – Falling Down). Elsewhere you’re faced with this weird notion that underpins the record, as though he wants to make some grandiose and profound statement. “I know he says he’ll change, but maybe you should know / That people never change, they’re just exposed” on I Wish You Loved You As Much As You Love Him sounds like a Reddit shower thought, whilst the track title sounds like the advice a 15 year old would give to their unrequited crush. This dichotomy of youtube philosophy vs. witty rhymes is potentially most visible on Conspiracy Theory Freestyle, quickly bouncing between the shoehorned “Unless of course the world is credibly flat” and the quite hilarious “But if you want a conspiracy / There’s an edible for that”.  At these points it seems as though Skinner has gone from a brilliant lyricist – a witty poet with astute observations on the reception to stoner culture back on Original Pirate Material’s ‘The Irony of it All’ – to a uni fresher who’s fresh off his discovery of weed or philosophy. 

Away from his own words, one thing Skinner certainly still packs a heavyweight punch in is his attention to music. Bloody good music. Described by himself as an album of duets, None Of Us Are Getting Out Of This Alive is teeming with features, and this is one area of the record that’s incredibly hard to find faults in. Our first taste of this is the opener, with Kevin Parker of Tame Impala and Pond (and here, credited as the former) lending a vocal hand for the dreamy hook that weaves between Skinner’s reflections on his relationships, exes, and his phone. When Call My Phone Thinking I’m Doing Nothing Better first dropped as a single along with socially-distanced video back in April, the internet seemed alight by this combination (to the point of me getting woken up by a text from a friend in Missouri letting me know The Streets had new material). But Kevin Parker’s far from the most sonically sound contributor to the record and perhaps eyes should’ve been focused a bit more on the names popping up on Mike’s Nokia burner than the luscious sun-kissed locks of Parker. Greentea Peng’s sweet vocals drip through the infectious beat on Wish You Loved You As Much As You Love Him, which more than makes up for the “LSD has opened my mind, bro”-tier philosophical lyrics on the track. Any lyrical miscues by Mike on You Can’t Afford Me (“Born in Barnet at the age of 0” is hardly going to see him pick up a Forward Prize any time soon) can be glossed over as Ms. Banks brings in the laughs (“I’m from M&S, babes / You got a better chance at Lidl”).

This whole “Variety is the spice of life” approach is brought over into the beats as well. The early feature of “not a fucking punk band” IDLES might seem a bit unexpected for a Streets album (then again, Mike had Pete Doherty join for an early B-Side back in the day) but it certainly doesn’t feel out of place. The bass line is beautiful and, coupled with Mike’s change of flow, capitalises perfectly on the beat. Eskimo Ice teases us with an intro that would sound at home beside Blinded By the Lights before revealing itself as a post-dubstep tune. Yet, despite pulling us between sounds, this album never feels like a fully disjointed mess. Rather it feels more akin to being led drunkenly through an enchanted forest, while tripping over logs of synthesised melodies, distracted by piano ballad leaves that dangle from garage trees.

In the end, None Of Us Are Getting Out Of This Alive is much more than lyrical mishaps and witty one liners. Even with the above criticisms, I can’t genuinely pick out a song I’d say I don’t like. Any poor moments are quickly saved by engaging features or infectious beats — and quite often both. Since the first listen, it’s been nigh-impossible to get this album out of my head. While nothing’s re-hashed, all in all Mike Skinner’s still got the musical knowhow that allowed him to influence so much of now-institutional British music back in the early noughties (if you don’t believe me, look at his early work with The Mitchell Brothers, the respect received from Kano, and the Chip/D Double E/Jammer remix of School of Grime). I’m glad to see The Streets back and I hope their return is long-lived.