Trying to define Eskibeat, Wiley’s super-influential production style from 2002-2005, means taking a cross-continental trip across grime’s influences. At its core, the frosty, digital sound is an East London answer to dancehall’s millennial anthems, grafted onto garage’s uptempo rhythms. Except it’s also Wiley’s answer to East Coast hip-hop’s own forrays into clean, digital production by names such as Swizz Beatz, Timbaland and The Neptunes. But it’s also—sneakily—the return of rave’s brash synthesized sounds to the hardcore continuum, which had been focusing on garage’s warmth and swing. Finally, for all of its bump n’ flex, it’s a shockingly avant-guard sound—a key component that got intellectual writer types interested in millennial pirate radio, and has kept them interested in grime to this day.
Which is to say, Eskibeat contains multitudes, every element of British dance culture in the 20th century refracted through Korg Triton workstations and E-mu romplers for a new millennium. You know the sounds, for sure. First, there’s the gliding squarewave basslines, the hollow, digital rumbles that approximate King Tubby throwing a jam in Antarctica, all while providing mournful melodies if played at a higher pitch. There’s that crashing, thundering kick drum, seemingly nicked off The Clipse’s “Grindin’” but actually originating from the same sound patch. There’s the infamous Eski click—a ping-ponging sound effect straight out of an 8-Bit Nintendo game. Finally, there’s that bizarre distorted flute, most infamously heard forming the backbone of Skepta’s “That’s Not Me” years later. It doesn’t take much to make an Eskibeat track, but in the nearly two decades since the sound originated, countless producers have taken a crack at the style, though none have topped the originator. With this in mind, here’s 10 Eskibeat tracks that helped define the style.
Oh and Wiley, we know you’re reading this: it’s time to reissue those early white labels digitally, in full. The world needs them! Plus, we’re pretty sure you could bread up self-releasing them on Bandcamp.
Eskimo
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“Eskimo”, the track that gave Wiley’s signature style its name, allegedly sold 10,000 copies on white label vinyl alone (out of local specialty shops like Rhythm Division), kick-starting a movement that has endured to this very day. With a rough breakbeat underpinning the whole thing, “Eskimo” introduces the plinky pentatonic melodies, clipped flutes, and hollow digital basslines that would serve as Eskibeat’s foundation. Compared to garage’s high-end sheen and increasingly pop-centric vocals, this was a return to a tough, broken, experimental sound not heard since the days of jungle. But even more shocking was the Devil Mix, a bassier version that cut out the break entirely, giving mic-men even more room to breathe and leaving dancers without a rhythmic tether beyond the bass and a few digital bleeps echoing out into the ether.
Ice Rink
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When it’s all said and done, “Ice Rink” will go down as one of the biggest sonic game-changers in the history of music, up there with Prince Jammy taking reggae digital with “Sleng Teng” and Sugarhill Gang putting a rap on wax. Best known for its release as a series of vocal EPs—featuring names like Kano, Riko, Tinchy Stryder and Dizzee Rascal tearing up the riddim—the “Ice Rink” instrumental is grime at its most sparse and most shocking. Made up of little more than drums that sound like slamming car doors and those patented Eski clicks, “Ice Rink” is minimal in a way that still doesn’t make sense to non-initiates. The drums land on the wrong beat! There’s no melody! It’s too fast! None of this made sense to garage purists but it immediately became an undeniable favourite among emcees and a younger generation of ravers looking for something fresh to move their bodies to.
Ice Pole
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If “Eskimo” and “Ice Rink” treaded on sheer minimalism and emptiness, shocking ravers and pirate radio listeners with the audacity of minimalism, “Ice Pole” is the moment Wiley ramps up the drama and fills some of that space with an array of off-kilter melodies. First up, that opening synth melody (!) was enticing enough to help inspire a related but nevertheless different grime subgenre—sinogrime—which drew inspiration from ersatz Asian melodies from classic Super Nintendo and PlayStation-era videogames. Then, the drop hit with the force of 20 atomic bombs, with a bizarre counter-melody that’s either the most aggressive dancehall ever, or a strange digital Tango written by someone who dances with eight or more legs. Repeat and rinse in eight bar intervals until someone calls for the reload.
Igloo
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“Igloo” is a notable landmark in Eskibeat’s development. The digital strings and flutes from “Ice Pole” are taken to their melodic breaking point, so it’s unsurprising that the riddim became the starting point for “Wot Do U Call It?”, Wiley’s lead single on XL. But what a single! Eskibeat’s breakout moment into the mainstream, “Wot Do U Call It?” used “Igloo”’s Eskibeat-as-pop template to deliver a meta-commentary on the nature of the UK underground, garage/grime scene politics and the evolution of music itself. A rallying cry around which grime fans of all postcodes could gather, “Wot Do U Call It?” was the first grime tune about grime, and that’s before the genre could even settle on a name. Eskibeat has darker tracks, weirder tracks and more obscure tracks, but “Igloo” might be one of its biggest.
Shanghai
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If “Ice Pole” hinted at sinogrime, “Shanghai” makes things explicit, both through its song title and striking melody straight out of a (not particularly sensitive, accurate or politically correct) cartoon about martial artists in ancient China. Unlike the previous entries on our list, “Shanghai” didn’t exactly go down as a blockbuster anthem—once he got his operation started, Wiley began churning out instrumental white labels like a well-oiled machine—hardly waiting for one to sell before pressing another—and even scene-favourites that didn’t quite break through, like “Shanghai”, proved to be quite profitable and worth pressing up on wax. Beyond commerce, this production proved extremely influential, inspiring producers as wide-ranging as Jammer and Kode9 to explore the possibilities of pentatonic melodies, and echoing out into the work of producers like Slackk and Nammy Wams years later.
Snowman
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Eskibeat’s biggest impact was through hits like “Ice Rink” and “Eskimo” that moved a considerable amount of vinyl, but “Snowman” is another lesser-known track, pressed to single-sided wax and released to hungry completionists copping every single Wiley Kat drop. It’s hardly the man’s most popular riddim, but its dramatic strings, chugging beat and ability to conjure drama out of a few simple elements demonstrates just how malleable the Eskibeat could be as a form. It’s the sort of obscure white label release that’s gone on to inspire a generation of producers from Zomby to Bok Bok, but while their tributes to the genre were loving and sometimes almost too perfect, “Snowman” is a down and dirty take on the sound that could’ve been cooked up in 30 minutes to make some bread.
Reasons
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It’s hard to imagine with the benefit of hindsight and nostalgia, but Wiley’s Treddin’ On Thin Ice LP wasn’t universally loved upon release. It faced uncomfortable comparisons to Dizzee’s critical smash, Boy In Da Corner—but fans also wondered why he’d started veering away from his classic sound when they still wanted more. “Reasons”, however, was a perfect blend of Eskibeat melodies and experimentation, zooming at a double-time tempo and cramming all of his signature tricks into this speedy new format. It’s the sort of left turn Wiley has continually embraced since, combining the classic tricks fans demand with a restlessness and an urge to seek out fresh ideas, often in hopes of landing a pop hit. Pro tip: check out the B-side “Bang Bang” as well, which is made out of little more than clicks, sub-bass and high speed percussion that almost approaches jungle speeds.
Snowflake (Tokyo)
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While Eskibeat, and early grime generally, is often described as cold, mechanical, strange, and various other inhuman qualities, there’s a staggering amount of beauty within the sound if you know where to look. While not as obviously pretty as certified classics like XTC’s “Functions On The Low” or Raskit’s “I Luv U (Remix)”, “Snowflake (Tokyo)” is an experiment in colliding those crashing snares and hollow basslines to an explicitly delicate melody. Reminiscent of both East Asia and the delicateness of the titular snowflake, it’s a little-known gem in Wiley’s early catalogue.
Mystic Forest
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Wiley has released at least five careers’ worth of music in his life so far, so it’s a sheer miracle that he’s got unreleased beats that never got a proper pressing. “Mystic Forest”, however, is among dozens of riddims aired out on pirate radio, never to see the light of day outside of Rinse or Deja’s studios. Carried by a haunting flute melody and a driving bassline, it’s the perfect mix of mournful and energetic—a samurai videogame theme song that could double as the perfect canvas for shelling bars in the early hours of the morning. Since the original is almost certainly lost to the ages, young producers like Scruloose have even taken to recreating their own versions, but with the benefit of contemporary high-definition mixing and mastering. Definitely a great tool for sets, but there’s still nothing like listening to Wiley’s original on YouTube and wondering what could have been.
Ice Master
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A personal favorite, “Ice Master” is a lost dub rescued from the brink of obscurity by badman DJ, grime veteran and all-around scene legend Score5 to launch his Reloadz label in 2016. Arriving a decade and a half after Wiley’s initial barrage of white label releases, “Ice Master” still sounds as fresh as the day it was made, and its sparseness and simplicity shine even brighter in a world where every kid with a cracked copy of FL Studio has attempted an Eski-track, to mixed success. There’s something about the sheer emptiness of “Ice Master” that separates it from its imitators, and what was once done by necessity—the stock sounds, the lack of fancy effects or mixing—now sound like incredibly brave choices in a world where producers tend to think that more-is-more. It was a thrilling release, and hopefully a sign of more to come.
