you will not catch Torii MacAdams at Moby’s new eatery
Where do you film a music video if you’re a precociously talented 18 year-old, and, like most 18-year olds you’re without the means to throw money at strippers? If you’re Chester Watson, it’s the laundromat, reclining knees to chest in a tiny laundry cart, and a Chinese market, stratospheric dreadfro bobbing above packets of noodles and cheap plastic bowls. This is what a rapper-producer prodigy stuck in the twisted, not-quite-bucolic exurbs of St. Petersburg, Florida has to keep himself entertained when he’s not orbital bone deep in his laptop or girlfriend. Shit, why not rap when you live in god’s waiting room, a place so slow and consistently warm that the elderly flock like geriatric geese in winter time? “Creed” sounds a lot like a Madvillain c-side (even going so far as to refer to the duo), but what more can you expect from a Basquiat-reverent ex-ballet dancer? At least he’s got good taste. More importantly, he can really fuckin’ rap.
