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‘Youths everywhere were spitting over tinny beats playing off a Nokia’: great grime photographer Simon Wheatley

He was young and broke when he became grime’s first documentarian. Then his book Don’t Call Me Urban captured the energy of the grittier first wave – and an expanded edition is finally hereIt’s an overcast Thursday morning, and photographer Simon Wheatley is doing a soft-shoe shuffle through Roman Road in Bow, east London, as a market stall blares out exquisite 70s funk. “That’s more like it,” he says, with a grin on his face. “A bit of energy.” This was once grime’s artery, its chaotic central hub, even its muse – a street Wiley once told me was “the nurturer” of local talents like him and Dizzee Rascal. And it was here, in the 2000s, that Wheatley would create a vivid and intimate document of grime in its frenzied flush of youth, and of working-class neighbourhoods like this before they became considerably more sedate. Fourteen years after the release of Don’t Call Me Urban, Wheatley’s long-sold-out photo-book from that era – once described by Vice as “grime’s Old Testament” – it ...


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