Multi-faceted, critically acclaimed actor, comedian, screenwriter and songwriter Ben Bailey Smith, aka Doc Brown, has been a torchbearer for UK Rap for decades. For those that don’t know his name, get familiar…

What five words define your sound?

I’m gonna cheat with hyphens: new-retro, future-nostalgia, instant-vintage, jazz-infused, street-certified.

Tell me something unique about your creative process.

I work with one producer, the same musicians. So the process is quick and comfortable – because we all know what the vibe is, every session begins from a place of progressive positivity. We don’t sit around staring a blank page, we can just jam straight away. Also we have so much faith in each other we have the confidence to experiment without feeling self-conscious, which creates the best work.

Which song of yours would you like people to hear first?

Probably ‘Sorry We’re Still Here’. Partly because it’s my favourite song on the album and the coldest beat but also because lyrically it addresses something bigger than me.

What inspired you to make that song?

A combination of three things. The first was that I’d had two completely separate and random conversations with strangers. Both were from my area in North-West London, one was an older white lady in her 70’s, one was a young black guy in his 30’s and yet they both said the same thing to me – that the new money in the area was making them feel marginalised and invisible. The second thing was that someone who moved in opposite my mum put a sign up on their house giving it a posh name as if it was a mansion in the country without even saying hello to anyone and I just thought, what an non-inclusive, snobby bullshit thing to do. Then the third thing was the riots that started in Southport that became this big anti-immigrant thing. The three events combined to force me to write about the assumptions and prejudices that are held against both the working classes and people of colour. I don’t really like protest songs unless they bang – and this bangs.

What’s the most vulnerable you’ve allowed yourself to be when writing/making music? 

On this album it’s probably the last two songs, ‘Just For Today’ and ‘Celebration’. I wanted to make it clear through those songs that I’m not some superhero or faultless role model, I share all the same anxieties of any human. But I wanted to be completely honest so that the listener might relate, despite the fact that on a surface level we might live very different lives. Ultimately, everyone’s shit stinks the same – we’re all trying to work out how to deal with the fact that we do not live forever, death is life’s only guarantee, so how do we live without fear and anxiety? How do we search for contentment? To discuss that I found I had no choice but to lay bare my own vulnerability. What’s ironic about sharing your weaknesses is that afterwards you almost always feel stronger.

What’s the best/worst experience you’ve had on stage?

I was a stand up for ten years so there’s too many to list here [laughs]. But I’d say right at the top for the best is hosting the BAFTA awards at the Beverly Hills Hotel in 2016. My front row was Jake Gyllenhaal, Ewen McGregor, Jennifer Lawrence, Samuel L Jackson, Jodie Foster and Tom Hanks. Also playing Wembley for Comic Relief in 2013, and music-wise playing the Isle of Wight Festival in Mark Ronson’s band with Amy Winehouse and Lily Allen in 2006. The worst is probably every time I died doing comedy – there’s nothing worse than that feeling of hundreds of strangers just fucking hating you [laughs]. Probably the very worst was on stage at the Tabernacle in Notting Hill, performing comedy at a benefit for Human Rights lawyers that just did not require comedy. I remember getting about four minutes in and saying “I think I should actually just leave,” and a woman in the front really politely said “yes, I think that would be for the best.” Ouch.

What is your favourite song to perform?

‘Interview With A Vampire’. The song is written to reflect an interview with an annoying presenter and onstage Tony plays that guy and I respond, but we’re both sat up on stools like a chat show – the crowd goes nuts for it. It’s a simple piece of theatre that is so effective. The other would be ‘Golden’, which is a melodic love song but has such a catchy chorus that people sing along even if they’re only hearing it for the first time. It’s a joyous, inclusive experience. One old one I still love to perform after twenty years is ‘On My Ends’ which was my first street level hit back in 2004 and to this day there’s always a section of any crowd that wanna hear it. Fortunately for them, I absolutely love the nostalgia.

Which artist/song/album made you want to make music?

I was obsessed with music and musical performance from around seven or eight years old – my parents had a ridiculous record collection, so I was raised on 80’s Reggae, R&B, 70’s Soul, 50’s Jazz and 60’s Folk music. But I never felt like making music myself until I got into Indie and Rap as a teenager in the 90s. I’d say Evan Dando of the Lemonheads made me wanna sing and Blak Twang made me wanna rap.

What’s the meaning behind your name?

It was a dumb nickname I got as a kid because I was a know-it-all. I would have an answer to everything, even if I didn’t know I’d pretend I did. And because I was also obsessed with Back to the Future (still am), me and my brother were constantly quoting it – someone said you’re like an annoying brainiac, a mad professor like Doc Brown. And that was that. I never liked the name but it stuck. I used it for battling then kept it for stand up. I never really think of myself as the full name “Doc Brown” but I legitimately feel like Doc is my first name every bit as much as Ben. I mean I’ve now been called Doc for 28 years, so…

If you weren’t making music, what would you be doing instead?

Youth work. I was a youth worker for eight years, I grew up around youth work because my mum was a youth worker when I was a kid so it was just something I naturally slid into as a young adult. I got a BTEC in Youth Management when I was 20 and was co-managing my own youth club right up until I quit to pursue Stand Up, so not only do I already have the experience, I also just loved doing it so if I wasn’t an artist it’d be an easy switch for me.

What’s success to you?

Waking up and doing whatever the fuck I wanna do, every day. I’d love to be wealthier than I am but I’m doing okay and my kids aren’t hungry so I genuinely don’t care about being a millionaire or being famous or having awards and all that shit. The very first day I woke up in 2008 and could look in the mirror and genuinely say “I make a living as an artist” even though I was scraping a living, I felt I was a success. People always say “when are you going to LA?” “When are gonna have a hit?” “When are you gonna be in this big movie?” In other words, “when are you gonna really make it?” But that’s their interpretation of making it. What they don’t realise is that I really made it 16 years ago.

What moment in your life/career forced you to change direction?

Since I was five years old I knew I wanted to be some kind of entertainer. Not pursuing it as an adult always frustrated me, so even though I enjoyed being a youth worker, there wasn’t a single day that went by when I didn’t think I had another calling. The big moment was when my missus was pregnant with our second daughter. It was March 2008 and I had just quit my job to try and become this rapping comedian. We were flat broke man, it was such a huge risk to take at the time but when I found out she was pregnant I just had this really strong feeling of this actually HAS to work. Like I cannot afford for this to fail, you know what I mean? I respond well to pressure so I thought why not me and why not now? I was born to do this so I just felt it might work. I bet on myself and it turns out I was fucking right.

Where can people keep in touch with you? 

The best place is @docbreezy88 on Insta. I’m not really about that online life but it’s the one place I regularly connect with fans.

Photo by Adam Docker.