Murkage Dave, aka East London’s David Lewis, is a proper cult classic. A modern folk-hero. A musical pioneer. A single-minded Big Smoke institution that, to those who know, deserves to be mentioned in the same breath and held in the same cultural esteem as Brick Lane, Morley’s, NTS Radio, The Barbican, Nigel Godrich, The Prince Charles Cinema, Flashback Records, Sir John Soame’s Museum, Queen Elizabeth Park, and the Tate Modern.
On his third album, he continues on his exploratory, ever-evolving artistic path, incorporating elements of musical influences as diverse as UKG, dance, trip-hop, baroque pop, barbershop, house, indie, and more, all viewed through his remarkably distinctive lens, making music that is as difficult to pigeonhole as ever.
Brut Thoughts is the distillation of the experience of David and those around him, regurgitated and spat out into 36 minutes of introspective – but also broadly overarching – commentary.
I was born in Whipps Cross Hospital in Leytonstone, the same place David was (albeit a couple of years later), and raised not too far from there. I mention this because it might mean that I can relate on a higher level to the backdrop against which a lot of Dave’s gritty, sometimes grimy, tales of life, high and low, and urban survival are set, and that perhaps puts me in a rather unique position to review his work. It also just so happens that I absolutely love me some Murkage Dave. Anyone who has ever listened to my radio show All Over The Shop is likely to have encountered him there, as one of the most featured artists on the show, and will know that I can’t speak highly enough of him.
The album kicks off with “Brut Thoughts Theme”. A sparse electric guitar dominates this almost-instrumental, which is tastefully paired with Dave’s sweet, ethereal vocalisations in the background. Coming off like a wispy, ephemeral, spectral version of The Beach Boys – if they had been born in England as opposed to America – it sets the musical tone, but – as it lasts just over a minute – only very briefly, before segueing into lead single “Swordfight In A Chicken Shop”. A mixture of Chicago house, electro-indie cult favourites Au Revoir Simone, the kids choir from Pink Floyd’s The Wall, and the eternal sound of The Streets, “Chicken Shop” (as I’ve elected to christen it) is a modern anthem for the disaffected, downtrodden, and disillusioned.
“Newsflash, it wasn’t better back in the day,” Dave laments before going on to cast an exhausted eye over such modern trappings as bounced mobile phone bills, routine public transport interruptions, and the woe of the self-service checkout (”bro, don’t be a jobsworth, let me steal a plastic bag at least”).
In typical Dave fashion, cultural icons such as Little Simz, Dizzee Rascal, Morrissey, and his old mate Mike Skinner are peppered throughout, serving as grounding reference points that guide us through the mire of life’s trials and tribulations in 2026. “Chicken Shop” feels like a post-COVID cost-of-living time capsule, and it’s as poignant and horrifying as that sounds. However, it’s also artistically crucial and essentially a historical document. Half diary, half exposé, Dave is basically the Samuel Pepys of the 21st century (without the questionable political allegiances)
“Chicken Shop” is followed by “Putting On A Party”, an antidote to the despondency chronicled throughout the previous track. “Putting On A Party” is dedicated to the wonderful melange that is the melting pot of The Rave. It’s an ode to the joys of running a riddim and observing the reaction. Watching people sing and dance, and the assorted motley crew that assemble to indulge in such simple pleasures, or how they “all come together for this party”.
“Putting On A Party” is something that Dave has done rather successfully in the past. Whilst now resigned to history, his Manchester-based Murkage club nights were the stuff of legend. The tune opens with throbbing electronic beats reminiscent of Kanye West’s approach to music-making around the time of the classic Late Registration, but also of his 808s & Heartbreaks period, blended with elements of the rather abrasive sounds of Yeezus. The resulting instrumental feels like it could’ve been an early Mike Skinner piece, like it could’ve fit in nicely on All Got Our Runnins or The Hardest Way To Make An Easy Living. Clearly, Dave’s relationship with Mike continues to influence his artistic output in one way or another, and what a fantastic influence to have.
“RNA” is another prior single, and it has a surprising orchestral feel as it opens. The luscious string instrumentation swells and reminds us of Richard Hawley’s modern classic “Cole’s Corner”, if it were chopped and screwed by The Last Skeptik.
Dave is openly pensive and self-critical – as always – but, as per the rest of the album, with a pivotal external look at the world around him and how it has, and continues to, influence him. With subjects that range from the loss of his dad to his opinion on those beings known as “content creators”, he assesses varied topics with trademark, quietly wry, acerbic wit. There are also the now-standard and instantly-iconic Murkage Dave turns of phrase that go from poetic (“Can you imagine if I’d been born a rich kid? Probably do the same shit with a full fridge and a paid off mortgage”) to preposterous (“If you could, would you add another inch to your dick? Probably do the same shit with a bigger dick“) without batting an eyelid. With further references to cultural cornerstones like Burial, Craig David, Amy Winehouse, and Michael Jackson, “RNA” is another vital addition to the Murkage Dave songbook.
Another pre-album single, “Generation Left On Read,” emerges from the shadows and sparkles into vibrant technicolor as it begins, descending rapidly into a quintessentially skittish, shuffling UKG beat. As he observes, only he can see that the lyrics are archetypal Dave. He has repeatedly touched on masculine insecurity, bravado, and social veneers over the course of his 10-year career, and the opening lines to this song keep that tradition going. “You tell ‘em ‘light work’, secretly you treat it like the World Cup final”: A simple analogy that conveys complicated interpersonal dynamics in a perfectly proportioned box, all wrapped up in a snazzy little bow. Presentation, perception, and pretence: The three pillars of social potency. This track is complemented by the addition of a short spoken word passage courtesy of KONOPINKSY – the new solo nom de plume of Yard Act frontman James Smith – his first work released under this new moniker. He pairs perfectly, poignantly, and pensively with Dave, pondering decisions great and small and leaving huge questions unanswered (“hand on heart, I still don’t know if that decision was smart or div, but everyone I know is convinced their way of life is the right way to live.”) Ultimately, the track is refreshingly uplifting and energising at its core – the antithesis of the post-meh generation – with its earnest, heart-on-sleeve intention and repeated “if you love it, do it” mantra. I’m sure many of the Start-Track writing team can heartily identify with this sentiment.
“Friends And Family” is the first in a couple of brief interludes found on the album, and – with Dave repeatedly emphasising that he needs to prove his friends and family wrong – it feels like a bit of an introspective fever dream. Musically, the prominent chorussy guitar warbles, shimmers, and shakes, and is paired with pared-back contributions from the other instruments. Listening to this feels a bit like what we imagine it must’ve felt like as Alice tumbled down the rabbit hole, if it was lined with self-consciousness, professional pressure, lingering doubt, and heightened expectations. Recorded live, this interlude features contributions from Kayus Bankole from lauded Edinburgh-based genre-fluid critical darlings Young Fathers (as does much of the album, it turns out).
“Brut Pop” is up next. A massive misnomer, it’s as arty and ambitious as the album gets. It’s a collaboration with London-born, Manchester-based polymath Meme Gold, who, frankly, forms the backbone of the tune. The result of this team-up comes across like a mash-up of Kate Bush, Jessie Ware (and Dave Okumu’s trademark production sound), Koffee, Amy Winehouse, The Chemical Brothers, and The Flaming Lips. Thumping drums, layers of synths and keys, and more come together to form a huge, widescreen soundscape that serves as the backdrop for some real lyrical pearls. Lines like “I’m gonna ring my mum tell her that I found my person/(I’m gonna ring your mum, tell how you left me hurting)” and “Fuck fitting in just for the sake, I prefer not to integrate”, the latter perfectly encapsulating Dave’s fiercely individualistic approach to music-making that is – coincidentally – none more evident than on this particular track.
Beginning with an a capella nod to the seminal Grandmaster Flash track “The Message” in the intro (albeit delivered in a spooky, almost TV On The Radio-style vocal melange), “Running Outta Road” is a musically minimal piece of work. The ever-present, thudding electronic bass drum is garnished with a small amount of additional snappy percussion and a recurring far-away vocal sample and some subtle – but delicious – sub bass frequencies and not much more. An especially impactful chorus joins this – “Cos maybe you know / what it is / that I’m running from / the harder I go / the faster I go / the more I’m running outta road”. Dave is joined on this one by Trainee, a London-based artist, actor, and illustrator (who, incidentally, drew the now infamous artwork for Dave’s single “Old White Miserable & Rich”) known to the government as Lawrence Dodgson. Delivering lyrical barbs and beauts (inwardly, interestingly, as well as outwardly), he matches Dave’s individuality. He comes across a bit like Giggs crossed with Baxter Dury, a combination we haven’t encountered before but are extremely glad we have.
“Mortgage Guy (Interlude)” is a soulful, trip-hop-tinged confessional that strikes just the right balance between self-awareness and self-confidence. An ode to one that got away and their new life with another who – possibly – is now giving them things that perhaps you couldn’t, it’s an endearingly honest account of how one copes when confronted with some of life’s most difficult decisions. Decisions that are often not yours to make, but that affect you massively regardless. As mature and open as it is, there’s an undeniable undertone of bitterness and snark to the base-level regret and remorse. It’s tinged with a “cheeky-chappy” wit, whose purpose – you can’t help but feel – is to ensure that we realise that this situation is being taken with a considerable pinch of salt. But is that the case? Or is it more posturing? Another necessary front put up, another defensive shield against life’s many and varied trials and tribulations. Perhaps only the song’s author knows. Produced by Yard Act bassist Ryan Needham, we suppose that there’s a chance that maybe he knows too.
“One 4 Me & U” begins with some phenomenal guitar work. Reminiscent of Johnny Marr in his guitar-slinging prime, Kamran Khan – of the band pencil (with a lower-case p) – is all over this one (and is another musician who appears throughout the course of the album). He is joined by some minimal bass and percussion and an almost slowed-down calypso rhythm. It’s a phenomenal musical soup, incredibly and unusually imaginative. Lyrically, as in the previous song, this one seems permeated with significant regret, though also with a lot of fondness. Another one about another one who got away, One 4 Me & U is dedicated to the ghost of a past love that has never been fully exorcised. Catchy, danceable, cute, and relatable, it’s not hard to see why this was chosen as the last of the lead-up singles before the album was released.
“Money Isn’t Real” features frequent collaborator Caribbean/Indian/Filipino/Welsh singer and producer Kiddus, and is a cross between a modern lullaby and a reflective consumerist fever dream. The influence of Mike Skinner rears its head again, on lines like “And I hate it / That I participate in this fuckery / Get vexed when nothing changes”. The sentiment comes across like a 2026 reinterpretation of the immortal chorus of The Streets’ classic “Let’s Push Things Forward”. Dave knows he’s part of the machine, but he can’t do anything to stop the wheels from turning. Money Isn’t Real is tender and earnest – but also a rather hopeless feeling, a sign of the times.
Next, we get a reprise of the album’s opener on “Brut Thoughts Theme”. The same eerie, atmospheric motif is brought back, this time interspersed with new spoken-word dialogue and what sounds like warfare in the background. It’s quickly followed by “How To Subtly Disappear”, the last piece of the album’s puzzle. A twinkly low-key intro melts into a hazy wall of upbeat dance. The Chemical Brothers vibe is back again with considerable force. Dave is joined on this track by another guest vocalist, 24-year-old Watford-born, France-raised, but now Bermondsey-based singer-songwriter and producer Lauren Auder, who contributes a stark stylistic contrast to Dave’s soulful, breezy minimal input. Auder is really the start of the show here, if we’re being honest: So much so that this could well be called “Lauren’s Song”!
And with that, the album is concluded. It’s a rich, complex fusion of influences, styles, and thoughts. Brut Thoughts, if you will. But, as raw as they are, they can’t help but resonate. Perhaps they’re just a sign of the times we’re living in. Raw, real, unrelenting, and without reservation, across parties, political pain, social structures, and professional doubt, Dave spills his soul on album number 3, but – luckily – we’re here to mop it up and piece him back together. We’re all in this together, after all.
Written by Kinda Grizzly
1 thought on “Album: Murkage Dave – Brut Thoughts”