Marvin “Fredo” Bailey has always made much of his west London roots, so it’s jarring to find that he’s named his second album of the year after an American holiday. No matter. Independence Day is as English as EastEnders, but what was once soap is now opera. Fredo’s gruff truculence is supersized, given widescreen swagger by the propulsive production, a dense lattice of piano, strings and subtle samples. Always articulate and intelligent, the word cloud hovering over his busy brain has barely changed since his early mixtapes. Prison. “Opps” (enemies) trying to drag him down. Drugs. Money, and the creeping paranoia that comes with it. Women – rarely to be trusted, even if they gave birth to you.

Predictable enough, yet so persuasive in Fredo’s relentless, rolling thunder flow. “I don’t write songs in English, they’re written in pain,” he raps, and you believe it. Some verses, particularly on Freestyle and Talk of the Town, are stunning, approaching the heights of Mercury-winning mate and Funky Friday collaborator Dave. Fredo may not yet be the GOAT (greatest of all time) for storytelling, but with his dark wit and wordplay, he’s now grazing in the same field.