Folgers With The Flowin...

 I don't really have much time to update the blog with anything remotely interesting or eloquent these days, but apparently Philly Freezer does. Please check out Freeway's Month Of Madness. He is uploading a brand new banger a day for the entire month of December. Back in the high school days, Free was my favorite rapper out for his one of a kind delivery, unorthodox bar structure, and fantastic ear for beats. While I haven't checked for him in a while, the Month of Madness proves ahk still got it. Don't sleep.

 Freeway - Hustler's Prayer (Day 9)

 

 (Philly heads... peep the Young Gunz, Jakk Frost and Tana cameos above)

Fly Shit...

It is November 11th and the impending political apocalypse has not set off with the anticipated rapidity (though fo sho Jan. 20th has not arrived yet). Thank God.

Therefore its as good a time as any to turn attentions to those musical matters that matter for getting through oft tiring and troublesome days. I've never been to Memphis, yet I bring the city wit me everywhere i go through the one and only Playa Fly. A former member of the incomparable Three Six Mafia, Fly left their fold in the mid 90s and proceeded to carve a niche so strange yet funky i've yet to meet a rap friendly fellow who don't feel it. Fly's rhymes teeter from pensive observations on the nature of spirituality and purpose to shooting 'sap suckas' and snorting coke in just a few bars. His production similar swings wildly between off-key, ominous bangers that seem to only sprout in the Ten and plucky guitared, off-key harmonized junts equally indigenous. If it all sounds confusing, that's cause it only makes sense through the miracle of flow. As far as I can find, this right here is the only proper music video he's ever made. The song is not particularly one of his best, and is actually much longer than the clip's play length. Yet in typical Fly fashion, the video is unique, erratic, hypnotic and utterly enigmatic all at once.





Of course, much mo to come on the King of Funkytown.

These Are The Times...

 This election eve beckons a potentially terrifying time for the unprecedented. Stay alert across the diaspora.

 

The Real Art of Noise

 By now it's no secret that Slow Motion Soundz is the aural antecedent to unoriginality in modern rappery. Yet I realize that barring thefader and soundcircuit, most of the digital underground is still unawares of what they're missing. So allow me to further intimate you to the Block Beataz production team. For parallels sake, Mali Boi & CP are DJ Paul & Juicy J in RZA's Basement after a few liters of lean. For practicality's sake, just listen.

To kick this feature off proper like, I present two of their undisputed personal classics: Naturalz I and II. If you've been to 134 Cross or a passenger in my car, you've surely heard them at least once. Ice cold ig'nance over Crown Royal smooth knock. While you certainly can't go wrong with any "Moments In Love" sample, the flip is what makes each so thorough. Yet the jury is still out on which one hits harder. I'm more prone to say that they're like choosing  favorite child - feasible, yet ultimately undesirable and unfair. But feel free to drop a verdict.

B.O.S.S. & X.O. - "Naturalz" (2005)

Inbetween step-child: "Natualz (remix)" (2006)

B.O.S.S. & X.O. - "Naturalz II"(2006)

It Ain't No Thang...

 Most rap songs advocate some form of extreme response to life's travails. Be it mind-numbing materialism or nerve-busting violence, many emcees across all times and regions seem to advocate some form of indulgence/intensification as the bets way to navigate the day to day. Hustle harder, bust more guns, pop bigger bottles, drop more knowledge. Even aesthetically, it often seems hip-hop is the mantra of never enough, as bass is cranked beyond while more bells and whistles are whisked into mid and treble mixdowns. That's precisely what makes Young Bleed's "Give & Take" so refreshing. Nothing about is particularly spectacular nor particularly excessive. Rather Bleed's calm drawl brings the most keeping it real realism of all: that in-between space in which life's unavoidable joys and sorrows collide and the true tests of wisdom, experience, and characters are revealed through personal choices. 

 You win some, and you lose some

  and then you spend some on em when you choose em

  See it's a cold world, and it's a cold game

  But if you learn to give and take, it ain't no thang

I caught this video once on Rap City and have been trying to find it ever since. I was still a youngin and didn't quite remember exactly what the jawn was about, but I knew it made me smile. And now I see why.

Also, this clip definitely sets a clear precedent for how today's hood videos should capture a community. Just like Juvenile's "Ha", it gives a distinct feeling of what the respective area is like in ways that greatly contextualize and enhance the music. Southern Louisiana definitely got that aesthetic on lock, which makes sense as it remains one of the most unique places on the planet (word to the fam).

Orientation Ruminations

Thoughts on XXL's The 10 Freshmen: Hip Hop's Class Of '09 Attacks 

Delivery certainly has become an afterthought or impediment for this upcoming crop. It seems that in the transition from Big Daddy Kane barrage to Jay-Z conversationalism, too many rappers are trying to sound smooth at the expense of actually spitting. I never thought this would be an actual point of contention (Lil Waynetitus certainly didn't help).

 A lot of these songs just sound soft. Synths have a time and place, and it is certainly not fluttering behind an autotune sung chorus. Them tight jeans and backpacks are catching up to the knock. Creativity shall not compromise the low end theory.

 Braggadocio sounds tired. As a proud adult, I'm not particularly interested in how fly, flashy, or phenomenal another grown man I've never met is.

I'm half caucasoid, from PA, and graduated from college, and I still relate to Chingo Bling more than Asher Roth. Somebody flush that kid down the development deal toilet.

 I appreciate the transition away from punchlines ad nauseum ala early 2000's. However as not everyone can truly write cleverly, the weaknesses of flow, delivery, cadence, etc. become infinitely more transparent without the zingers.

One of the most wonderful aspects of rap is that you can literally rhyme about anything. Therefore, why anyone would want to rhyme about the saaaame things time and time again is mind boggling and actually quite offensive, considering that the money and time used to make the thousandth song about how you smoke better than errybody else could have fed hungry children or rehabbed a burned out crib. Selfish fuckers.

Someone has yet to truly merc "Swagger Like Us". Emcees please remedy, or somebody offer compelling counter evidence ASAP. And Cory Gunz, please leave autotune alone. You sound like a tween with emphysema. And in no way, shape, or form are you a freshman. At all.

Maybe its my latent Wesleyan traits, but spitting actual verses over MIA hipster mash-up beats

yields more freshness than a little bit.

B.O.B's. croonspitting is growing on me. Charles Hamilton in persona, lyrics, and topics is most definitely not.

So overall, i'm glad I graduated before '09 cause it don't seem there's too much to be schooled on by this crop, 'scusng Wale, Cudi, and maybe B.O.B. on a good day. And last time I checked 3/10 ain't no passing grade under any circumstances. 

Leaders Of The New School, Hold the Dinco Brown please...

 As the months have progressed and my Best Best (word to Fela Kuti) of Saigon CD has gotten more rotation, I have come to the reluctant conclusion that perhaps our dear Brian may not be the best rapper of this generation. However, this is mostly due to no fault of his skill, but rather his incessant homophobia and violence which seem to pop up at the most pointless moments of other absolute lyrical brilliance. Now don't get me wrong, as an Illadelphian I am forever wedded to the ign'ance. It's just that at some point it all gets old when you know someone can flow so much mo forward thinking. With that on the table, I now present the only emcees who still truly keep me interested in the recorded craft of rapping. Those brothas who actually still put in the grind time woodsheding their craft to show and prove that emceeing ain't a lost art relegated to VH1 specials and street corner ciphers.

Joell Ortiz

I slept on Joell for quite a long time. I definitely wasn't feeling his name, subject matter, or flow during the initial innanet buzz phase. However, that all changed when I peeped the following:

I was most definitely taken aback by both the relatability and professionalism with which he parlayed his joys and pains. So I dug deeper. And I found out that bul really can get down. He can rap about the struggle with those intimate details Ice Cube used to throw in that betray the sensibilities of a novelist rather than a novice, while actually building his image around rapping rather than swagging.

Joe Budden

As an anti-hypnoholic, I resisted the clamor about Jumpoff Joey as long as I could. But online and in real life, Mood Muzik kept popping up as a seeming mantra for multisyllabic meanness. So a download the first installment and was rather underwhelmed. Yet then I took another chance and peeped Mood Muzik II. And lemme say, I've been an unashamed believer ever since. Perhaps more so than any other nationally known rapper today, Budden can write from all angles, never sounding off his pivot or out of his element in any way. Truly impressive and refreshing. Also, like Joell, he's unafraid to (and would have you believe repopularized) spit self-critically bout getting grown and getting focused.

Sha Stimuli

I have however been up on Sha. Not much to say bout this dude other than he's like a freakishly right splicing between Saigon, Jay-Z, Grafh, and a fifth element of unknown dopeness. Stimuli spits conscious without sounding contrived by embracing his contradictions as points of honesty rather than compromises of a static image. Although homie could try to throw his hooks a lil harder.

Vodka

Philly's best kept secret and my personal favorite rapper. This nigro is not playing. If you think you catch what he's saying, listen again. Then pause for a lil bit more and listen again. Then once you figure out the bars, go back and try to digest the flow. Unfuckwitable. The only problem is his atrociously irregular output of only one full-length album and a bunch of scattered DVD and radio show verses. Innanet A&Rs get on ya job!

2003:

2006:

(2007- incarceration intermission)

2008:

Loaded Lux

Beating Lux is practically impossible. Every line he delivers has at least two meanings and rolls with a ceaseless barrage of fury. His utter and absolute desecration of 106 & Park's Freestyle Friday may demonstrate his strengths, but by no means the true parameters of his talent. It's truly not fair, as evidenced by his unique claim to be the only New York dude, scratch that, rapper anywhere to scare battle scarred Philly rappers into submission. According to him, the only time you seen rap tours is in a dinosaur book. Dizam.

 much more to come on these young cannons... trust

All About The 17.5

In the spirit of freshness, I bring some brief rap related thoughts of the day (inspired by The Wire 2 rap DVD):

While listening to the Streets May Be Icey mixtape by Cash Daddy (terrible, terrible name btw), I couldn't help but keep returning to the line "if you don't sell drugs, why rap about it/and if you do sell drugs, why rap about it". So common sensical yet seemingly so ignored in this day in time. The line definitely resonated loud and clear throughout the week as I tried to find the golden ticket of goodness in Jeezy's newest (The Recession), as apparently Mr. Patty Cake, Patty Cake Microwave has the streets and the screens going nuts again. Now mind you, Jeezy is the only rapper who is whack enough to make me physically sick. Literally. The Inspiration was one of the most tedious and stomach-churning experiences of my music listening lifetime. But the bul has stepped his bars up.
Back to the topic at hand. Obviously rappers are liars. However one must ask, why would rappers be allowed to lie so profusely and consistently about their status as street generals, and why would real deal hooligans decided to pick up a pen to put some words on a beat? The answer - extortion. Perhaps the world's true oldest profession. I see you Cass.

Freedumb Song

This afternoon while walking downtown, a brother not much older than myself passed off a shrinkwrapped CD and a performance flyer. Now at first I was hesitant to accept the handoff, as being a hustle city alumni I know better than to believe any rapper is willing to provide product for free. But sure enough, the exchange was made sans commerce and he went about his way. Upon closer inspection, this brotha was representing himself a “rebelutionary” rapper, one of the chosen enlightened few who spat truth to the ignorant masses brainwashed by commercial crappery. I figured I’d bump the CD on my ride home, providing some free promotion for a fellow struggling artist who sought a better day for Black people. Following an uninspired introduction, he proceeded to launch into some of the most shameless, corrosive, and artless misogynistic drivel I’ve ever heard on wax. Several tracks worth, including one detailing how don’t nobody “got more hoes than him”. Swirling with flashbacks of Patricia Hill Collins funk with Kwame Ture, I reconsidered her warning that the revolution of the “Black man” really was intended just for those with dicks. There ain’t nothing revolutionary, progressive, or remotely Afrikan about weed smoking sista bashing under the guise of gun busting militancy. It ain’t work in ’68 and it damn sure ain’t gotten no better in ’08. So shut the fuck up, rabble rouser rapper, and go read a few more books before claiming enlightenment. Cause your current shine can’t lead a scared little boy out of a too-tight cardboard box of misguided masculinity.

Styles P - The Key

Real Rap

Rappers from Philly have a historically terrible penchance for the pen (and i ain't talkin bout the bic variety). Blame the city's seemingly ever escalating murder rate*, or more realistically, the fact that without the stable hip-hop industry infrastructure of NY or LA, there really ain't much else for a rapper in Philly to do other than whatever he would usually do when not rapping. And as Peedi Crakk among countless others has mentioned, that pretty much subjects one regardless of verbal talent and budding career to the same consequences of any other young brotha in said circumstances. So needless to say, some get caught up in the judicial system. And no matter the circumstance, each rapper ultimately generates a "free (insert name here)" campaign from the local hip-hop community.

While in no circumstances do I believe that this so-called justice system has any legitimate right to judge any descendant of enslaved Africans, in recent years I've come to understand that doesn't mean the accused is necessarily worthy of adamant (or even partial) support. Take the case of Cash Dollaz, an inarguably gifted emcee who without a shadow of any conceivable doubt (as per video evidence, victim confession, etc. etc.) disgustingly murdered, robbed, raped, and terrorized a couple earlier this year. Fuck that nigga. Hot bars does not excuse all injustices. Yet nonetheless, there seems to be a blightfully big blind eye turned to the terrors verbal trend-setters commit by their Black male peers. Pun, Biggie, and Kool G Rap are all perhaps equally prolific as woman beaters as they were influential and innovative artists. Mystikal videos don't just depict shakin it fast, but gang rape and extortion. And if we are to include all the countless spitters that pitch poison in the form of coke and dope curveballs, this paragraph could fill at least three legal tablets in tiny font. No, I don't expect rappers to be any better than their out of studio counterparts. But I am asking that their supporters think a lil more carefully about why exactly we want so and so "freed" more so than the countless political prisoners (from Jalil Al-Amin and Sundiata Acoli to Leonard Peltier) who are down for a real cause and or the innumerable brothas and sistas who don't enjoy the public profile to generate a (albeit ultimately fruitless) movement.

Enter Touch Money's Brick A Raw, who just this week apparently was sentenced to life in jail for a homi. While I'm in no position to judge the situation of what actually happened, and the court is no position to snatch away a person's right to freedom indefinitely, the fact of the matter is that catching a body coincides with the type of "real rap" he claimed to spit. Is it a shame he tried to make a living rapping about killing or a shame they took away his right to make a living off of an alleged killing? Both.

I'm neither a gangsta nor a gentleman and as such have little automatic empathy for either extreme. If the poetry is indeed a product of the environment as Uncle Russ continually reminds us, then all I'm asking is that perhaps a lil more thought go into connecting the dots from celebrating the artist to co-signing the (90% time) man.

Bricks - Criminal Background

* which, thank God, is dramatically down this year for some inexplicable reason that seems to underlie all homicide rates regardless of what criminologists crapshoot about.

AutoTune Is For Sap Suckas, TalkBox Is Strictly Trill

Lest you forget, or perhaps even worse, never knew. Teddy Pain/Lil Wayne/today's trend-hopping lame is the (very) poor man's Roger Troutman.

Respect the Architect.

Lesson Of The Day

I'll never voluntarily listen to Slum Village.

Poet Laurete of Death

What. the. fruck. This dude is the definitely drawin with subsequent bars of fury. If he wrote all this in jail, then most of these rappers on the streets have nooooooooooooooooo excuse.

C-Dot (Trouble Makers) Live From Parkside:

Dialectical Materialism, My Mello

I abhor consumerism, misogyny, and Black fratricide. Yet as the music on this page thus far clearly illustrates, I still garner much respect for and satisfaction from culture that coincides with these conditions.

For the saddening yet consistently reified fact is that contrary to privileged liberal revisionism, corporate boogeymen did not swoop down from the hills one day and poison the loving peaceful streams of consciousness flowing joyfully from the mouths and minds of rap's founders. Milk D threatened to smack women down on "Top Billin". The lower case g himself Rakim Allah stayed adorned in gaudy gold rope chains. Schoolly D waxed poetic about popping his gun the same year I was born. All these unsettling phenomena have existed in varying forms and been articulated repeatedly both within broad dimensions of modern life and the art that reflects/directs it. It's not as if rappers stopped advocating sexism, capitalism, and Afrikan genocide that these forces would cease or even lighten their spiritual, mental, and material burden. If that was the case my father's generation would be the shining pinnacle of revolutionary respectability, and they're certainly not. For better or worse, hip-hop has democratized the means of musical production, distribution, and subjectivity so that young Black and Latino men can develop and articulate our expressive potential as never before. Yet this does not mean that it's needed or beneficial for anyone, even ourselves, to listen. The true testament of its value is to be reflected in our actions towards and beyond oneanother, and our ability to ultimately maneuver the vehicle of rap to whatever lanes need to be explored towards more just lives.

So in the meanwhile, I will continue to promote that which I feel reflects the best that this form has to offer, even when its content may not coincide with the change I may want to see. Because as Huey Newton so wisely taught, it is within the crevices of such contradictions that truly innovative ideas trickle into action.

Plus most of that so-called conscious shit don't bang like it should. And I'll be damned if progress has to sound like pots and pans. Best believe most of those mediocre coffee shop dudes (*cough* Little Brother) really don't be sayin much of anything, they just don't say those things which trigger the hip-hop content cops (of either conservative or so-called revolutionary stripes).

The Coup - Not Yet Free:

Raw Footage

As any nucca between 16 and 25 in Philly will tell you, there are entirely too many rap DVDs. While they were originally innovative and captivating during the early 2000's, since the decline of Big Star's pioneering 2rawforthestreets series most are majorly trash. However, when all the planets align just right, the Philly rap DVD format can still capture the candid finesse and fury that inspires spitters to hit the lab twice as hard, fans to raise their standards twice as high, and a&rs to listen to the streets twice as deep.

Ceza - Headshot 3:

Case In Point: Saigon Interviews Himself

Sai Giddy interviewed himself about his favorite aspects of life and in the process transformed an old jingle used in Mazda commercials into a certified '04 mixtape banger. Lyrically dense? Nah. Creative without being corny? Absolutely.

"My Favorite Things"

Got The Whole Block Mad At Me...

Though today's top hit topography certainly suggests otherwise, at one time it was damn near blasphemous to bang down south music in the northeast. But my co-d Ross always knew what time it was. I ain't ashamed to say that "trill" was a part of our regular vocab back in '01. So of course you know my man had much love for the Slow Mo. This right here is a criminally slept-on banger that grows betters with age like a fine jailhouse fine. It truly embodies all that is so unique about the Block Beataz and their team: highly creative while refreshingly familiar, richly textured and diverse while retaining cohesion. And who knew anybody could flip SWV into somethin so cool yet sinister.

Without a doubt the perfect soundtrack to whippin the Cutlass Ciera down Broad Street late night in light rain with a choppa in the trunk. R.I.P./R.I.U. to the General.

"Doin My Dirt"

The Future Sound Right Now

My college was arguably the hipster capital of God's known universe. As such, I have had ample opportunity and exposure to their strange yet captivating ways. At said college, my room was arguably the northeast epicenter of Slow Motion Soundz, the best movement moving in rap since the Wu-bloodkin.

One day, a skinny white man known as Diplo brought them together in an 'awkward' embrace... but then, that embrace turned shockingly beautiful. and mo than a little freaky.

enter the bombastic bastard child that is "Bama Getting Money (Diplo Remix)".

Amen.

The sound right reasoning of Malachi York..

(the title of this post is an oxymoron, btw)

Installment duece in the obscure philly rapper of random flameage.

Rapper: Rockie Reyes

Song: "What's Really Good" from JMT's Visions of Ghandi

Substance: Whimsical reality rhymes over Stoupe's flyest salsa horns. A wonderfully unapologetic aesthetic nod to Jedi Mind Trick's North Philly Rican connection. They ain't did it before and they ain't did it since, and no matter since this jawn stands so strong alone.

Ayo these streets hate me, but it made me an animal
We little ghetto boys that was raised on the avenue
With drug dealers, stick-up kids, and what have you
In rap battles, where the audience'll clap at you
My block crazy, I never seen a cab pass through
On bright sunny days you can see my black shadow
Gats with barrels tucked under the apparel
And that's natural in a city of cracked statues
Please believe it, gunshots don't keep secrets
You keep sleeping, you're caught in your Jeep reaching
Always listen to an old man when he speaking
And learn how to keep at least a grand on the weekend
Learn how to analyze a man when he creeping
Learn not to never burn a bridge when you need kin
That's street knowledge, write it down and speak about it
Drug dealers use this rap as street outlet
I leave doubters in the back and move outwards
Watch for them niggas in Tims and loose outfits
Guns don't kill people, the bullets'll kill people
And bullets leave holes that people can just see through
It's all mathematics is what these streets equal
It breeds evil, city niggas with Desert Eagles
That won't hesitate to drive by in tinted Regals
And that's how it is in my life, that's how it is...

It's like he ain't even wanna end cause there ain't no end to the sin he's spittin.

Holla at Rockie Reyes

Brian "Saigon" Carenard is the best rapper of this generation.

As brothas in the Burgh say, "truuuuth!"

comparisons are simply laughable.

More evidence to come for the non-believes...

Cold juice like a frozen hug...

"When To Stand Up"

In eighth grade, a friend in my math class once inquired, "why do you only listen to that underground rap!?" Bemused and delighted for a chance to demonstrate my superior tastes, I hurriedly scooped the Soundbombing II cassette from a tattered cargo pocket and slammed it on our shared table. Pointing to Eminem, I stated with confidence, "because these guys are the best rappers."

My, my, my (copyright Johnny Gill) how time changes. Nowadays most of the underground/mixtape shit is as whack as the commercial shit, only with poorer mastering, worse skits, and even more myopic topics.

But this right chea is one of my favorites, a rare jewel from them days when Em really was one of the freshest and there was a reason to be a lyrical elitist.

The combination of Marshall with Illadelph arsonists Jazzy Jeff and Paul Yamz is strange indeed but wonderful. While Jeff and Em certainly need little introduction as to their talents, it is truly middle-aged Pauly Yams who steals the show. In Philly there are always those thural rappers who everyone knows will neeeeeeeeeever blow up or even flicker but every once in a while can come through with the type of diabolical heat only battle-tested skill, literal hunger, and the swagger of daily PA struggle concoct.

Behold the willful ignorance:

You rappers never learn, that's why I don't fuck wit y'all
Runnin round tellin niggas they could fuck wit Pauls
I bring it to ya highschool nigga, and smoke the prom
Put ya brother in a headlock and choke ya mom
Send you home like a playoff loss in game seven
Walking round gritting on niggas, madder than James Evans
My left hand sharp and move teeth
Styles ultra- slap my bitch like Kool Keith
Beat a nigga like he stole from me, and rule streets
I don't wanna hafta fuck you up, so cool cease
Paul Yamz be the chosen thug
What I spit be cold juice like a frozen hug
Run the streets while you stuck at home
My temper like Bushwick Bill nigga, leave me the fuck alone
I been dealing since niggas was windmilling
These cats just started to rhyme, I been spilling
Ya moms just loaned you the Ac, I been wheeling
Ya bul just stole you a got, I been steeling
I wet rappers cause it's me or them
I guess I just ain't giving a fuck, I'm like Eminem
Burglarize till they bust me a slug
Come in ya window like Bruthaman and bust in ya grub
What the fuck, I teach dumb bitches what to suck
And my young buls, when to stand up and when to duck

Offensive!? certainly. Tasteless? prolly. Indelibly thural? Fo sho.

If that ain't enough, Jeff's scratches are soemthin serious. Like DMC '88 serious.

And the shit is edited. Why even bother with these seismograms of ignorance? Because in the FCC handbook, possession (of so-called cusses) is 10/10 of the lyrical law.

Of course, all audio is for private preview purposes only so... stop drawin.

Holla at Paul Yamz

Yizzo...

I don't own an iPod, because i absolutely loathe technoindulgent tomfoolery.

But at the same time, ya boy stays posted on blogs and forums well into the early morn looking, listening, and absorbing. Consequently, I am also in need of a full-time job. Such an acquistion requires writing clear, coherant, and confident cover letters. Which I absolutely fell off like a hubcap in ability to spring forth. So for real for real, I've started this jawn to get back in the swing of penning for the peoples. Consider it a spontaneous and timely incarnation of my half-finished book, quarter written screen-play, and underexplored contributive potential.

Oh internet, from you so much I have taken. It hath come time to reciprocate.