Stormzy saunters amiably into a west London photo studio in socks and grey sliders, soft black shorts and a white tank top. “Whatsup, everyone,” he says, nodding around solemnly at the scattering of people setting up the shoot. His team arrived a little while before, and immediately he’s drawn into conversation about an event, possibly his forthcoming 30th birthday party, more on which later. Someone (his team are not sure who) has been spreading invitations around. “Does Idris get a plus two?” a manager asks. “No.” “A plus one?” “Yeah.” He’s animated, speaking with his trademark booming voice.
“I’m a fuckin’ talker,” he tells me later, almost sheepish.
