still tippin (on finals), wrapped (in finals) or what? this sad old chode mole hill of a monument needs polishing (with any luck, american airlines flight 305253 will suffer some injury that demands emergency deployment of landing gear in a costco parking lot [toggle: deli mustard, onions, coca cola classic, remorse at putting money in that pocket, resolve to elect to henceforth occasion one on each return home as exclusive license to slave-driver patronage privilege, sigh, providentially straightened back, valor and renown (data_set_label__)] + [toggle: presence of mind to call "shotgun" (data_set_label__)] so, after running up a tab of 20some chuch plays alone this morning on the ipod, i'll tell you what is shabazz palaces
panther brat podcast from a hidden location as read by jack nicholson and harry belafonte to the stylings of vision questing, peruvian-reared nature walk girl talk with the obnoxious lopped off and and a fist grown where it was, fully informed by her childhood fantasy to be native, fully entered into the dragon
female vocals lend themselves toward my tastebuds. i wish more girls would rap. i think the problem stems from a relative lack of actual female rap listeners. i think my relative lack of a girlfriend has midwifed both my listening almost exclusively to rap and my swooning over this bonnie raitt video.
i've read a bunch of aught-topic reflective shenanigans about radiohead having fired the shot heard 'round the world in music's current industrial cataclysm when they decided not to require payment for in rainbows rendered. famously starved of significance, generation x still oughta know enough to prevent themselves pilfering that distinction from the datpiff prospectors who made an all-world artist of lil' wayne. birdman II made himself the decade's foremost latter day saint with a bunch of free music readily available for download from the internet, accompanying and reinvigorating mostly beats he downloaded from the internet. too bad he's ethnically unkempt
if anyone would like to donate their time to some artistic miscarriage i'd like a graphic like that as the cover page for my next round of academic treatises. i look so frail. i'd like to look so dauntingly ignorant. mirror, mirror onna wauhw.
please download that criminal manne mixtape.
"they call me 'young tony' 'cause i keep crack. my real name 'young crim'.. but i keep crack"
there is no more variety in this man's vocabulary than in his subject matter. there is a god.
"let me talk about my paperwork, 'cause i got more paper work than your folks at work"
if people can appreciate the clipse as the wire in headphones they've gotta recognize criminal manne as jack black or some other low rent chris farley. yeah i said "it", jack. your publishin' should go to ms. farley.
if hip hop generation 2 got cormega and shameless, post-hiphopcultural rap listeners get husulah in this mode i'll stand pat with my left hand guarding my groin and two fingers twisted for the west side
here's a goofball hyphy rapper with an empirical norteamericano worldview who i happened upon via digitaldripped. rap's a j edgar hoover experiment that allows corporations speech as well as the rights of the citizenry, no?
"biggie on the hook" hahhaa classic. i don't want to see what roach gigz looks like and spoil my imagined transposition of human speech on the slow loris.
couldn't find beats steady knocking on youtube so i threw it back up onzshare.
i'd not have a lot of success guessing at the percentage of blog posts dedicating some space to apologies over inactivity. i tend toward submissiveness when confronted with direct intellectual challenges. in keeping with that, i'm not gonna guess.
i'll never have you mistake this sort of music for meditative lubricant. you'll emerge from that video clip a soul no smarter. may you someday find the cocoon of enlightment, peeyump. i'm sticking with my guns. i'm sticking with criminal manne's guns, at any rate. and criminal manne's dope, crack, rims, hoes and assorted criminal miscellany.
the mixtapecertified dope boy presents a flat character with a lucrative sales position. funny how mustering the resolve to sit through a feature-length presentation of terrence and philip would inevitably prove a charge for mightier paladins of patience, but i'm right at home listening to homogeneous dystopian trapanese at 7:00am on the lord's day of rest. criminal manne would have me believe he trades in drugs. this mixtape's more a testimonial to that end than the jubilant crack gala hosted by young jeezy in thug motivation 101 or the playful pot-stirring of gucci mane. criminal manne's style stands as a value stock, of a sort, devoid of the exponents punched in by dj toomp and the archbishop of ad-libs. he always sounds desperate to convince you of his self-assuredness that resembles the confused ramblings of the post-wayne flossmonauts pleading insanity and pouring into world wide web in droves. unlike those bums, though, crim (he calls himself "crim") argues stewardship of a reality that exists outside of the sci-fi section and thus garners sympathy instead of the contempt i keep in store for the martian manhunters in their non-prescription glasses and neon tights.
i think i just like any rapper who makes rhyming seem surplus to the requirements of his subject matter without succumbing to the beat and speaks a language that sounds a bit foreign to me. my disbelief hangs suspended above my ears and you, as a rapper, have the opportunity to slip under the radar should you play along with the program. if you, however, deign yourself worthy of a dumbout with an inhuman cadence or invite focus on your lyrics by jumping your vocals out in front of the beat super enthusiastically and treating it more as a platform than a partner i will probably pay more attention to what you're saying than either of us should want. maybe you're andre 3000, more likely you're not. if you are you must forgive my wondering what you think of the blog. my first time ol' girl had "so fresh, so clean" on the playlist; you inform everything i try to do! criminal manne's cadence has a simple mother goose bounce so that each line interacts readily with the next and never promotes his vocals at the expense of the song in total. he's never inventive and often incompetent with the pen but his voice and conservative flow carry the day
a few years ago i listened to rappers with whom i shared a language and a liberal ideology. i eventually discarded most of those guys 'cause they said too much shit that didn't make sense without translating for me a world i didn't know. rooting through rap's history in the northeast will yield a lot of good results, but as a hip hop listener i think i'll ever remain tethered, if perhaps loosely, to the trends of the moment. rap songs have a lot of words. hip hop has more potential to report whatitiz with the kids than any other major musical format, and in the south right now the irreverence for convention is such that i often have a hard time distinguishing between the documentarian chronicle rap and the cutting edge. theez doodz is making up words and tastemaking in explicit terms, even to a fault. analysis of lyrics and musical textures in even outspoken rock/blues/jazz yields an understanding of the moods of an era but damn in rap you have up-to-date announcements of what our generation fears and covets, hates and loves. we're given clear profiles because 'hood demands convincing alibis and that's where the talent comes from so that's the acclaim often necessary for the acquisition of a record deal or grassroots word o mouth in the first place. excuse my scream of unconsciousness i've gottend runker as i've gotten along. i think i had some good ideas. i think i'd write a good essaygood night, beloved
oh yeah been fucking with shakira's she wolf single, those beatles re-releases, let it blled rolling stones, rich boy's kush convertible mixtape, washed out's cassette, watch the waves (memory tapes remix) taken by trees, chewy chips ahoy, freddy gibbs midwestcadillacboxmuzik, ransom pain and glory 2, monsters of folk, regular hcips ahoy, love vs money by the dream, pusha by lloyd ft. wayne, gassin em by roach gigz (his mixtape mostly sucks but he's gonna be a star you make your mark where my wors at). i swear upon all i appraise at high value that i just caught myself actively typing sloppy with rocked up jack as an excuse. now i'm lying. we don't have ice. oooow anyway i've been fucking with all of the british invasion bands who/stones/beatles/kinks pretty heavy, of late, with the velvet underground and the doors a sort of supplementary dig. the who's operas are the only part of their catalog i don't really dig THAT MUCH. i forgot pete indulged himself so handsomely on the synthesizers! raw! that "love vs money" by the dream is a great album.
my internet homie is sick so i'm gonna shoplift some skinny jeans and burn lmfao in effigy in his honor. cop the new m.o.p so he recovers along with some other good news! i heard it's crazy and that "blow the horns" was astoundingly progressive in an astoundingly good way.
i still can't give up the latest phoenix or understand how it's taken such a catchy band so long to blow in the united states. boycott israel
that's throwed on the broiler thoroughness. my compliments to the def for the seasoned lone star screws driven into atlien ballroom ghetto funk remodeled for rap's lamentably unyielding hi fi habit. the last fellow as big boi >>>>> bobby ray as 3000.
it's way too faithfully step n' snap for my tastes. i feel like the cafe kick back rap leaves thig's talents undercapitalized. monk and thig definitely spit some ole cool shit but the beats and hooks have too much buttoned up embroidery. sorta that j.u.s.t.i.c.e. league chandelier music without the momentous rising action to help you imagine yourself dining with the dons. six tenths of tight, with "the session" painful and "back track" deathly ill
the whole song's great and the video's cool but prepare to be floored when you hear the verse at the end from ish of digable planets. my hair caught fire upon first viewing. i have great hair and it doesn't combust for just anything. u-n-i has spent 2 albums in the last few years trying to spit that verse and neither of them have brought it off. his flow's so conversational. sounds like he's phlegmed up when he "gun[s] you down" aaah watch it.
"it's all hip hop" "hip hop is what you are, rap is what you do"
i can do what you do without being who you are. i eat "chinese food" all the fucking time. so do all of my friends. they eat "chinese food" all the fucking time. still not chinese!
can one reasonably argue that "chinese food" doesn't play some part in my culture at this point? still not chinese, and certainly not a relevant part of their culture when i'm not shoe shopping.
cultural exchange took place a long time ago and the eminescrow plopped rap music into the hearts and hard drives of a zillion kids devoid of the social conditions that make up the real elementary ingredients of hip hop. asher roth raps. to listen to asher roth rap, i might have to huff enough krylon to make me seizure into a headspin. that doesn't make us hip hop, and neither does anything else that i'm willing to subject myself to.
rap's a daughter that married off. she'll probably always be a part of hip hop, but she's also on the internet
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