East Londoner, Hakeem ‘Hak’ Baker (above) went from teenage dreams of pursuing his rhyming talents towards MC stardom, to becoming a post-punk, cockney troubadour (think a hardcore The Streets). En route, Baker also served a two-year stint in prison. It was whilst behind bars that he started taking guitar lessons, and thus changed trajectory. This is the starting point for DEADHORSES production’s documentary, Hakeem, filmed over the course of five years.

Anger, if not outright rage, permeates Hak Baker’s music. Even when he’s in playful mode, on stage or with friends, there’s an underlying tension. Yet, according to the man himself, he’s come a long way; thanks to therapy and, no doubt, his entourage. In addition to copious tour footage, much of the film is dedicated to Baker’s friendship circle. (The multicultural milieu of his adolescence has become noticeably less diverse over the years.)

This is (mostly) not about ‘angry black man’ stereotypes, although a working-class black kid from East London would have much to rail against. Hakeem makes no claims to universality. Neither does Baker’s foul-mouthed folk tick any lazy ‘black music’ boxes.

Hakeem nevertheless feels like a missed opportunity. The publicity pitch suggests a contemplative feature about modern masculinity and mental health, with a passing reference to lad culture. Yet the latter rather than the former characterises a substantial part of the film; boozy nights out, holidays and raucous tour antics. In one off-putting scene, the viewer is subjected to a full-frontal shot of one of Hakeem’s pastier companions. For no apparent reason. Five years of filming, and the production team really believed that should make the cut?

Whilst the film is interspersed with Baker’s occasionally thought-provoking commentary, the overall project isn’t as insightful as sold.

There are unexpected moments of tenderness, however; such as Hakeem speaking of his plans to build his mum a house in the Caribbean or bursting into tears after after being rapturously received at a festival. This unguarded vulnerability is a welcome respite from the glorified home video footage of him and the crew.

One of the most poignant and memorable scenes –  most of which are concentrated in the film’s second half – is a discussion between Baker and his no-nonsense mother.  Having strived to instil good values, she struggles to see the point of his misspent youth.

‘Character’, her son replies

‘I would not want you to go that far to get character…at all’

‘It’s necessary’

‘No! Nah…’ Mother Baker retorts, unconvinced.

The documentary ultimately appears to have Hak’s loyal fanbase in mind. For the rest of us uninitiated or unpersuaded, Mr Baker would probably tell us what we could do with our opinions, in no uncertain terms.

This review also appears on the I Was Just Thinking blog