It’s been 13 years since Tricky released his debut album, Maxinquaye, and it continues to define him. In many ways, the man born Adrian Thaws in Bristol, UK spoke to and for a generation with Maxinquaye. In his distinctive half-rapped, half-mumbled, gravel-voiced manner, Tricky told truths, spat stories and shared much sexual innuendo with vocal collaborator Martina Topley-Bird. Maxinquaye certainly spoke to me, and remains in my personal top 10.

Tricky has since released six other full-lengths whose contents range from middling to mind-blowing. He’s been dismissed as too dark, heralded as a visionary, and virtually ignored — all in the past decade. Now, with the release of Knowle West Boy, the media trumpets are sounding, with many proclaiming the album a “return to form.”

“I think Vulnerable is better than this album, actually,” counters the man himself during a transatlantic mobile call. “I think Blowback is better, but this is the most accessible album I’ve done for a while, and some of the mainstream journalists basically find it easier to write about stuff that’s more obvious. Some of the people who listen to my music may like Angels With Dirty Faces or they like Pre-Millennium Tension or another album so, really, what’s back to form?”

Tricky chuckles and speaks both rapidly and openly, quite different than the brooding, surly sort he’s oft been rumoured to be. It’s clear that he’s happy with Knowle West Boy. The album is a strong collection of disparate songs, touching on pop, post-punk, reggae, ska, blues and his signature rugged, romantic trip-hop. The production is clean and the ideas clear, with Switch deserving a special mention for the overall sound mix. Most of all, despite obvious nods to some of his musical heroes including The Specials, Kate Bush and Howlin Wolf, Tricky remains utterly and undeniably himself.

“Unless you work to be an individual, nothing new comes about,” he stresses. “For instance, in urban music or indie music, everybody looks and dresses the same. Oasis sounded like Stone Roses, then you’ve got people who sound like Oasis, then people who sound like those people, and it just gets weaker and weaker down the chain. I don’t want to make music that everyone has heard before; I want to make something new.”

Tricky credits the Knowle West area in which he was raised for his individuality, titling this album as a thank-you to those who surrounded him.

“England is basically one big class system, yeah, and there are all these derogatory names for people who come from where I come from,” Tricky states. “I get into The Sun newspaper and I get into places that I shouldn’t get into so it’s like I’m flaunting it, like ‘I’m from where I am, I’m here, and I ain’t going anywhere. You’re going to hear me, you’re going to see me.’ It’s like sending a message to every kid who comes from where I do, saying, ‘You can do the same thing.’”

I appreciate his regard of roots, especially at a time in history when it seems that most people would like to pretend that differences in class, race, sexuality and gender are no longer barriers.
“I think it’s gotten worse, actually,” he says. “Basically, if you’ve got cash, you can pretend it’s not happening. It’s like, I’m supposed to be a successful artist, but where I am now, I could walk into a couple of stores and they’ll still follow me around the store, like I’m going to steal something. I’m not going to make money and be successful and ignore that. That stays with me all day.”

Tricky also continues to speak reverently of women. His strongest songs inevitably feature women at the fore, he’s signed many acts led by women to his Brown Punk label and he tours now with LA-based Veronika Coassolo as his vocal counterpart. It’s long been noted that Tricky relies on women to reflect back to him, and he makes no bones about why.

“Women are the real power,” Tricky notes. “In my family, men were either in jail or not around. I got fed, clothed, protected by women. I used to sit around and crochet with my Nan. I never had male role models so, to me, it’s normal to put a woman up front. From my cousin Michelle to my mother and my auntie — they’re the people who were always there for me, and still are. If I needed help today or was in hospital and wanted to see someone, I can’t think of a man who I’d call.”