Ubiquity Written In The Stars: Tinie Tempah, Disc-Overy.

The perpetually bespectacled Plumstead ruler of the British R&B renaissance, Tinie Tempah's debut long player, the bizarrely hyphenated Disc-Overy with its Empire State Building-emblazoned sleeve is predictably bolshie, presumably colossal in decibel level and Manhattan-sinking choruses alike. Compared whimsically to Taylor Swift nemesis Kanye West, Tinie is stylistically and sonically far more commensurate with Lupe Fiasco, trading skateboards for TTs, kickflips for tequilas. From Disc-Overy's cacophonous Intro to Emeli Sande-featuring denouement Let Go, Tinie's more self-congratulatory than purchasing Celebrations for personal consumption throughout, as lyrics of birds, booze, and Beamers are drawled from convictions distinctly disparate to Catholic upbringing. Yet when stellar singles spanning the anthemic histrionics of Written In The Stars, to the genre-smattering Pass Out permeate the occasionally substandard hip hop of Obsession and Just A Little, caught between gritty South London grime and transatlantic R&B impersonality and Veuve Clicquot reference, Patrick Okogwu Jr.'s relentless self-assurances are acutely justified. Almost.

The lustful, soulful Snap once again recalls the geek chic of Fiasco, as rhyming couplets concerning young, unrequited love conjoin sultry guitars and lethargic, ambling drum beats, whilst the Kelly Rowland-featuring Invincible, despite Destiny's Child presumably hitting prime time whilst Tinie's rather handsome head would've been bookended by, well, textbooks comes across as a schmaltz-sodden Empire State Of Mind take, were Jay-Z and Alicia gazing longingly into one another's pupils, serenading spurned love between the two hip hop behemoths instead of an ode addressing the very city whose sky is diurnally pierced by the very skyscraper that embellishes the Disc-Overy artwork. Wonderman is guiltily beguiling, as abrasive synths are juxtaposed with a deadpan chorus from buxom faux-beau Ellie Goulding buried beneath a heap of studio manipulation, whilst Illusion with its Dr. Dre keys and militant drums is altogether more accomplished, veritably steeped in stars and stripes. Miami 2 Ibiza, with its fables of alcohol-induced amnesia, is peculiarly shoved slap bang at the tracklisted heart of the record, giving Disc-Overy a vague sensation of a collaboration record, akin to Now That's What I Call Music! whatever-bloody-number-we've-reached-by-now, heightened by the outlandishly boisterous summer smasher Frisky. Far from minuscule in ego and inevitable ubiquity, Tinie Tempah's success is sure to rage once the shortest of fuses is ignited just about now.