Thomas Johnson’s selling 2-for-1 nunchucks in the alley way
In the traditional definition, “Rubble” is fragments of rough debris. In modern times, rubble is anything left in the wake of Run The Jewels. Punishing any and everything has become their calling card on the boards and the mic. But when there’s nothing left to punish, all that’s left is survival; something left for the fittest.
“Rubble Kings Anthem (Dynamite On The Streets)” finds Mike and El surrounded by wolves and concrete. Mike makes shop keeps nervous, and rightfully so. If he’s going to rob them, he might as well make them sweat beforehand. El-P takes it all in before spitting it all out, pushing the limits of alliterations and cadence in the process. Little Shalimar’s beat is harder than the cement that’s engulfed them, and sharper than it’s cracks.
The theme song to the documentary of the same name isn’t method acting of the highest caliber by Jaime and Mike. Acting entails pretending. There’s no room for fantasy here. They may inhabit the dungarees of some of the Bronx’s most notorious for a few brutish minutes, but this isn’t a façade. What lovability and empathy they tend to exude is missing. In its place sit two street rulers tough enough to back their shit up, and smart enough to know they don’t need to. This is just for fun.
“Dynamite” combines the calculated cacophony of their best with the even more chilling reality of gang warfare. A reality where everything is battered and blemished, and there is no rebirth after burning, only more decay. A place with street gangs so animated they spawned enumerable spin-offs who roam freely. Where everyone’s to scared to shoo them away. AK’s, sawed-offs, and dynamite litter the streets. Even Satan can’t carry enough heat to avoid getting his tail grabbed. But Run The Jewels can. Don’t test them.
