24-hour garage The hunt for the next Dizzee or Dynamite is on. Meanwhile Lady Sovereign continues to live the life of grime. Meet a big star in a little scene. In front of a pile of dirty dishes, stacked up high in this kitchen-come-pirate radio, Sovereign stands just 5' 1" small, dressed in a powder-blue hoodie, matching eye-shadow and mock Timberland boots. The 17 year-old's dark, shiny hair is precisely sculpted to her smooth forehead, her Evisu jeans worn with thick turn-ups. She looks cute. Like butter wouldn't melt. "I'll take the haters on the phone line!" she shouts. And when the mic lands in her tiny hand, red raw ragga-style chat hurtles out of her lungs at 1000mph. Her tone is dark, her flow sharp and her lyrics witty. "Nonaya words cyan hurt me fool. Nonaya comebacks mean fuck all..." She raises an eyebrow and smirks, "It's just some fucking 13 year-old girl stalker," referring to the 'hater' who keeps aggravating her mobile. Jealous probably? "Probably." Among the tangle of leads and equipment, to Sovereign's left is a fine-looking, light-skinned DJ - Youngster. But he's engrossed in his grimey garage, head nodding furiously to the beats banging out from the tatty speakers, oblivious to Sovereign's phone battle. This is exactly where Sovereign, Youngster, DJs like N.V., MCs like Mystery, in fact all the young bloods in the new era garage scene wanna be: In a rundown flat with wallpaper peeling off the walls and hot rock burns on the surfaces, on the 17th floor of a towering housing block, somewhere in the backstreets of Shepherd's Bush, broadcasting their music, censor free, across London. Weather and DTI permitting. Earlier tonight Youngster, the self proclaimed "hustler", rolled up in his shiny new Focus, while Sovereign took a lengthy bus journey from north London, unable to raise the funds for a tube ticket. Today is Saturday and every weekend this teensy teenager is locked out of her Mum's one-bed Wembley flat. "She chucks me out on the weekends 'cause she likes to spend time with her boyfriend, ya know what I mean? I stay at my Dad's and I have to sleep on an old, grotty mattress in Neasden." During the week she has the luxury of her Mum's sofa. Sov crosses her fingers to symbolise her and her Mum's closeness, "We're like that". Her mum likes her music and lets her smoke weed at home. Still, as often as she can the MC stays at her mate, 16 year-old Zoe's house. Earlier today, whilst stuffing a Burger King cheeseburger in her mouth (just after Sovereign protested that the mayonnaise "tastes like cum"), Sylvia Young drama student Zoe goes gooey-eyed over a baby, sitting opposite us. "She's obsessed," says Sov. "I wouldn't be surprised if she stole one." Zoe wrinkles up her freckly nose and giggles, "I nearly did when I was on holiday. There was this cute little girl running around." If your boyfriend wanted a baby, would you have one? "Probably." Don't you want to be an actress? "I'd rather have a kid." This may be Zoe's destiny, but Sovereign says it's not hers. She doesn't want a kid till "my life starts getting boring. I reckon around 27." And right now Ess-Oh-Vee (her alter ego) has a life that's far from dull. Lady Sovereign started MCing to friends at 14 but today is part of something far bigger; a scene; the garage scene- misunderstood by outsiders, respected by insiders. The same place that Ms Dynamite, Dizzee Rascal and Shystie came from. It begins with MCing to your crew on a street corner, grabbing the mic at a rave, then getting lucky and getting on a pirate station. You get a rep, a following, a hype. A few years ago it was all about the raves. That culture still prevails at places like East London's Eski dance. MCs like Wiley, Durrty Doogz, N.A.S.T.Y, Bashy and the Roll Deep crew get far more respect from the streets than more famous outsiders. Rodney P recently got booed (and boo meaning bad, not boo meaning good) when he made a special guest appearance. No one there cared about his fame or his 1Xtra show- they just wanted to hear the people they knew and respected. "Before 2001 everyone wanted to hear the DJ; MCs were just hosts," says Framster, one of Sov's collaborators. "Now people go to raves just to hear the MCs, they're not really bothered about the DJ unless it's someone like EZ or Slimzee. They just want to hear the next raw lyric." Now though, as so many raves have been shut down, any MC that wants to make a living has to think more about a record deal. Labels love cashing in on the UK urban/ gangster/crew image (So Solid, More Fire, Heartless Crew to name but a few) but Sov and friends are suspicious, having seen so many picked up and dropped. As well as seeing so many sell out. Sov was inspired to start MCing when she heard Ms Dynamite's 'Booo!' tune. But then she saw Dynamite ditch her street image to be "made up all nice and girly for her 'Dy-na-mi-tee' video." Sov reckons this lost Dynamite her street credibility. Even Dizzee's not immune. "He's getting so much hate now that he's blown up and working with Basement Jaxxx," says Sovereign. Though, she's still one of his fans. But now Sov's got her own fans. Mike Skinner of the Streets loves her, "He stopped me, shook my hand and said, 'Yeah, you're heavy.' I was like 'safe'. I didn't know who it was at first". Wiley (also signed to XL, Dizzee Rascal was his protégé) wants to work with her and DJs can't get enough of her. Sovereign rates herself, but she's still utterly naïve to her hype. "A few labels were interested." Which ones? "Locked On and erm there was another, Parla something" Parlaphone? "Yeah, that's it" You do realise that's a major label? She does, but Sovereign's "heard stories" about majors, about them changing acts' images. So she chose independent Casual records. Ross Allen (one of the first people to play Dizzee Rascal on commercial radio and the man who put the cash up for his early studio time) spotted her and signed her for £8,000 plus royalties. With the deal, inevitably come the haters. They harass Sov constantly on countless Internet chat forums like www.ukmusicworldwide.com where, when she's not chatting raggo garage, the MC spends most of her time. "I mainly get hate from white girls: 'Look at you, you're a wigger, rerr, rerr, rerr. Stop doing your hair like that, stop chatting like that.' I just don't take no notice anymore," says the MC, christened Louise Harman. Her friend, Zoe interjects, defending Sov's style, "She doesn't go out there trying to be black." Even if Sovereign doesn't get called it to her face, you can bet earlier today (when she took to the microphone at a female MC battle in Euston), the word 'wigger' bounced around several onlookers' tiny minds. But Sov's one step ahead. "Yo! People wanna justify me as an Eminem," she bursts in to battle. Everyone laughs, 'cause they know exactly what she's on about. Everyone roars, 'cause they know she's the heaviest contender. And although she's more comfortable "spitting in front of hundreds," Sov knows deep down she's already a winner. The other MCs look uncomfortable as the judges call each of them up. But Sovereign is taking things easy. This is just a heat and six of the 12 MCs here will go through to the final. She walks it. Denise Destiny, who organised the competition, is impressed. "You get this boooom voice come out of this little person." As is Lady MC, who'd only ever heard Sovereign's name on websites. "She's fucking young, but by the time she's twenty it's gonna be hectic for her...Because of their ages all these girls are a step ahead of me," the 23 year-old reckons, with a flicker of regret in her dark brown eyes. The winners are buzzing, arranging hook-ups and phoning their mates to tell them the good news. Sovereign is as cool as the breeze outside. She's chuffed, but it's no biggy. As quick as the competition started, it's over and the MCs scatter. So this is Sovereign; and this is this cliquey world of underground garage. And this is all the MC and most of the people involved in grime have got. The majority are kids who've grown up on estates with little cash; their families so dysfunctional they search for what's missing at home within the scene. They care deeply about their surrogate family, its community and opinions. As Sovereign stuffs a fistful of fries into her dainty mouth- the same mouth that spits, swears and smokes- I ask where the chunky, gold rings that she's named after are. "I had a whole handful, but I just keep loosing them, they slip off my fingers" No wonder, her digits are so skinny they could belong to an eight year old. Do you bite your fingernails? "Yeah and I punch walls as well. I get angry; I think I have a temper problem... it's like I turn into Hulk or something." She's been in trouble with the police a couple of times for shoplifting- once for accompanying her older sister on a "Christmas spree" around Tescos, nicking, amongst other things, Jack Daniels. The other time for thieving designer clothes in Watford's Harlequin Centre. "I'd never ever steal again," she insists, "Well... maybe a penny sweet." Last year, Sovereign was kicked out of her predominantly Asian school for poor attendance. "In school I was 'the white girl'. I wasn't as smart as the others. When it came to 'Everyone get in a group', I was the one sitting by myself. I had to get put into a group; I hated it... I used to stay at home and watch Trisha." Then Sovereign smiles her cheeky smile. "I'm not trying to big up myself but I've always had this weird, weird feeling like I'm gonna do well." Her number one priority is music. "I care about money... but I care more about what people think, what's coming out of my mouth, what's gonna entertain people and how it sounds." The scene to which Sovereign belongs is, quite simply, her life. "I ain't got nothing to fall back on, I've got no education, this is all I wanna do; straight up MC. Even if I'm not successful I'll do it. Even if it's just for myself." Words by Elle J Small