Even when I was wrong, I got my point across.

May
18

Son Raw is electric sliding to this one.

“But is it Grime?” That question seems to be popping up with increasing frequency as the London based mutation of Garage and Hip-Hop nears its 10 year milestone. Whether it’s the rise of “road rap” explicitly rejecting dance music as a reference point or major label pop rappers aiming for that Lupe Fiasco money, it seems like the best way for a UK emcee to get a buzz these days is to disavow any connection to the movement which elevated rhyming in the UK beyond thinly veiled snickers. Thankfully, the scrappy mongrel of a genre has proven to be nothing if not adaptable, shfting its focus back towards a new generation of producers with Swindle at the forefront. Except, you might wonder if his latest missives are Grime as well.

May
18

Killer Mike’s R.A.P. Music > Rap Music

Doc Zeus is also glad that Reagan’s dead.

Given their shared fondness for bombast and apocalyptic oration, I imagine a choir of avenging archangels were sent as heralds to mark the occasion when Killer Mike and El-P met. Certain artists just simply belong working with each other and its no coincidence when fate forms a group even stronger than the pieces of the whole.

So, yeah… If you cannot tell from the enthusiastic tone of the previous paragraph, R.A.P. Music, the latest offering from Atlanta street preacher, Killer Mike, and New York indie rap god-cyborg, El-P, is an unqualified triumph. It is a completely realized piece of art born in a crack den of Ronald Reagan’s America, schooled in the false-highs of the Clintonian ’90s and re-contextualized for the age of Obama. It’s an homage and outright heir to the firebrand political rap of Public Enemy and Ice Cube, and a deeply personal record built on Killer Mike’s sad lament for a lost American dream. Rap music doesn’t get better than this.

May
17

Question in the Form of an Answer: Deniro Farrar by Jimmy Ness

Deniro Farrar is covered in tattoos and rhymes over trance samples, nuy isn’t a tacky Flo Rida clone. His second album Destiny Altered, is death, politics and sex over gloomy atmospheric electronics. Farrar witnessed tough times while living in two Charlotte housing projects and left High School before finishing ninth grade. He refuses the “conscious rapper” label and sits in the same contradictory class as Freddie Gibbs and Schoolboy Q, both promoting and condemning aspects of his imperfect life.

The 23 year old only started rhyming in 2010, but he’s one of the chosen few blessed with a natural talent that many of his peers lack. Farrar spoke to me from a sweaty hotel lobby in Atlanta while on a small two week tour. He was high as hell and we talked for nearly an hour about everything from his mother’s previous crack addiction to J Cole’s mediocre album. Farrar answered with brutal honesty and became more outspoken with time. The conversation wasn’t all serious though. We laughed about Deniro’s plans to sleep with Kreyashawn, he rapped a verse about Kendrick Lamar, and after the interview said he only uses Skype to watch Turkish women undress. — Jimmy Ness

What were you doing before music?
Um… You really want to know? Ah shit, fucking hustling man. It’s nothing to glorify, but I was just doing what I had to do in order to survive out here. I ended up catching some charges behind that man, so that did really ensure that I wouldn’t be doing anything too positive with my life. You know once you get in that system. It ain’t a good look for me.

Basically, I did little ends and outs, little odd jobs here and there but I’ve never really been the working type. I never really liked to go to work. I took it upon myself to hit the streets hard and I paid the consequences in the end but for now it’s just rap man.

How long did you spend in prison?
I actually did a couple of months for drug possession and a gun charge. When it all boiled down to it, I got a lawyer and I didn’t have to wear the gun charge. I ended up pleading guilty to simple possession and simple assault on a government official. I actually ended up getting three felony charges. I was arrested for possession of a gun and marijuana; I spit in a police officer’s face so they gave me a malicious conduct by principal. But when it was all said and done, I just pleaded to simple assault on a government official and possession with intent to sell and deliver. They threw the gun charge out which is a blessing.

May
17

Son Raw: Joker, Lone & Girl Unit take it to the max

Son Raw wrote a think-piece and killed three releases in one review.

I don’t like writing about music as if it were fashion. Some people may find it to be a useful parallel but reducing the meaning of music to the same base level as the endless commercial cycles clothing manufacturers use to hawk their wears fills me with dread: a good song is a good song even if it’s not what some *insert Son Raw straw man hipster description* approves of come end-year list time. Nevertheless, ideas can become exhausted – while I’ll forever treasure my copy of Hard to Earn, I want to hear 9th Wonder’s boom-bap beats about as much as I want a root canal. So while producers were making great strides in exploring negative space a decade ago, Dubstep and MNML’s spatial engineering have given way to the kind of colorful, big room, in the red vastness that’s now being described as maximalism.

Much as layering a hi-hat over a kick wasn’t all that interesting in and of itself, maximalism can result in some pretty awful music: the Americanized euro-trash of Lady Gaga & Red One, the screeching drug-activation of Brostep and the critic-baiting slopcore of Death Grips. That said, there’s a few reasons for the progressive rise of massive soundscapes beyond the exhaustion of EDM’s minimal current: an increase in synthetic drug use, rave’s return as a big business leisure industry, easier access to powerful audio-editing software and nostalgia for the tape saturated, crudely digitized production of the early 90s. The results have been music that’s expansive in its use of space without resorting to the cheap trick of pummeling the audience with sound, instead crafting aural environments as alien and inviting as anything conceived in the heady days of psychedelia.

May
16

Peaking Lights – Lucifer Mixes, Vol. 4

Only an ignorant itinerant sheepherder roaming around the outback would dislike the mix series that Peaking Lights have unleashed upon the world in honor of their latest, Lucifer. And even then, out of said lamb lovers (no Gene Wilder), most of them are known to appreciate some slinking summer-ready reggae jams. So smoke one or two or 13 and stay away from any weird wandering beardos clutching a staff. The mix will answer any and all additional questions.

Stream: (Via Lord Gorillington Bear)

May
16

TDE, They Got the Belt…

TDE have listened to enough Pac to know that rhymes alone can be the blueprint for money-making. The “Black Lip Bastard (Black Hippy Remix)” is a week old and I feel compelled to ensure that everyone has heard it. Even though I know you’re reading this on the Internet, so you’ve already heard it. But context is everything, so slow your role. Now then. Between offering orations on the excellence of Kyrie Irving, Doc Zeus wondered yesterday whether another crew had it on lock like this since Wu-Tang. The only other possible answer is Dungeon Family, circa their late 90s run when the second generation (Cool Breeze, Witchdoctor, Slim Cutta) all answered with a round of records nearly as good as the opening ‘Kast/Goodie artillery. But until TDE release their World Party, I’m riding for the kids from the land of sun, smog, and Sativa.

TDE have no wasted movement, check swings, or warning shots. Since Section 80 or arguably sooner, they’ve been taking heads off — Hannibal Lecter music (said the Jay Rock). That’s the thing, when the guy commonly considered the weak link, was once considered the next chosen one of West Coast gangsta rap, you’re not building a movement, you’re building an empire. Like K-Dot tells everyone on the Puffy-riffing outro, he made six figures in Texas over independent shit. Other rappers ought to take cues: they matter because they make the music they want to make. Even when the hooks feel forced, they feel sincere. With rap as in writing, the moment you sense dishonesty, you tune out (with the exception of Rick Ross, the celebrated James Frey of rap).

May
16

Son Raw: Stinkahbell, Psy-Am and P-Money think they’re hot…poo.

Son Raw thinks this song could use a better title, but what’cha gonna do.

Dubstep no longer wobbles, it pummels the listener with a sheer wall of morphing subfrequencies heavy enough to split the atom and modify the listener’s molecular structure. Or maybe that’s the drugs, or the plot of a summer blockbuster – either way, massive walls of bass are to London as gothic 808 beats are to Southern Hip-Hop: a staple food where progression is measured in incremental shifts in the formula rather than innovation on the macro-level. This latest missive from Stinkahbell and Psy-Am find the producers teaming up with P-Money’s OGz to craft a high energy club banger that’s high on testosterone, serotonin and aggression and low on subtlety. Like the best Grime, it’s jarring to US ears used to whispers and liquid flows but it’s also a million times more interesting than anything Death Grips have put out and perfectly compatible with the crunked up trap rap that Flocka trades in. Plus that intro where they geek-out over the beat is about as endearing an aside as you’re likely to get in a genre that prides itself on grim-faced seriousness.

May
16

MobbDeen: T.I. – Like That…

Deen doesn’t give a fuck what you like.

Before I hit play on this shit, I was pretty sure that I’d just be able to delete a paragraph or two, copy and paste a few nouns from the post about Rawse’s single, and call it a day. Alternately, I figured this song would be so damn good that I’d be able to rejoice in T.I.’s long awaited return.

Instead of either of those extremes, I’m stuck in the middle. T.I. has given us a good song, but it’s certainly NOT a single. WTF? How many fucking industry niggas does it take to change a lightbulb? Who heard this shit in the Atlantic offices and thought to themselves “this is the street single that T.I. needs to get some real attention again”?

May
15

Madeaux, Opium, & Influence Spotting

Jonah Bromwich also appreciates De Quincey.

As someone who doesn’t instantly spot all eight samples that today’s wunderkind producers are cramming into their songs, I’m thankful that Miami newcomer Madeaux’s new track “Opium” sounds as good as it does. There’s no personal gratification with easter eggs heaped throughout the track’s four minutes—I mean, I recognize the freakin Weeknd’s “High for This,” but the other samples (and there are definitely at least two or three) are a mystery to me. And though I could spend a lot of time googling songs that include the distinctive lyrics “Whoaaaaa” or “ooohhh ecstacy,” or poring through every song in my Itunes library, I really don’t think it’s necessary.

“Opium’s” altered, sampled vocals are so well incorporated into the track that they act as sophisticated instruments. They’re not Girl Talk samples to be recognized, acknowledged and forgotten. Instead, after the song ramps up slowly, with the kind of drugged-out vibe you’d expect, the sped-up Weeknd and screwed-down whomever form a high-low duet. It lends a heft that you might not expect a brand new producer to come with. A bridge three quarters of the way through the song breaks things up temporarily, but skittering keys splayed throughout the samples bring the track to a head just before it fades out entirely.

May
15

King Foe, BLKHRT, Baleful Junkie

The longer your feet wrinkle in the swamp that is pro scribing, the more you realize that who blows up is often about co-signs, management, location, and malleability to become a meme. I appreciate what Death Grips do, but remove Zach “Hella” Hill from the algorithm and they’re screamo rappers from Sacramento. Maybe great ones, but excellence doesn’t usually equate to attention from Epic. As Kool Keith complained a decade and a half ago: how the fuck you get a record deal (from LA Reid). That said, good for them. Kid Ink gets paid more than 99.9 percent of all writers, so it’s important to take victories where you find them.

Let’s not pretend that BLK HRTS are the next Kitty Pryde. King Foe is more likely to sleep with jailbait than to pose as it. I brought up Death Grips initially because BLKHRTS inject amphetamines into the same veins. They’re raw, grimy rappers with an emotional streak from Denver, Colorado. Within the Rocky Mountains vicinity, they are the biggest rap group bubbling. Of course, that’s like running the most popular crawfish spot in Bakersfield. But Foe’s new six-song EP is something like vintage Sticky Fingaz with a sensitive streak. This is rap for kids who drink 40s of Old E, hurl them against the wall, and slice themselves with the shards. Not because they want to feel pain, but because they’re fucked up and out for blood.