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.