|The superb Primitive Man|
SCREECHIN WHITE WALLS
Nothing to do with Harold Faltemeyer, Axel F is the nom-de-plume of J. Rocc of Beat Junkies & MED aka Medaphoar. Their soon-dropping 'Theme Music' album is phenomenal and probably won't get picked up by any cognoscenti until 2018ish. Get in early on this astonishing track — nowt but a wobbly, disturbing slab of bass slammed down over progressively more tense and turbid beats. Guilty Simpson's verse only adds to the dread and chaos. If you say you were into this now you're gonna be the hippest motherfucker on the block come next year. Get in and get in early.
(Cinematic Music Group)
I know I know, this has been rotating awhile round your way, but after recent disappointments (that frickin' single with Kiesza + the album 'B.4.DA$$' aint so great) still sublime to hear Joey rip it on a track that suits his voice, that matches it for grain, oddity and barely-held-in paranoia/hysteria. Smart of Kirk Knight of Pro Era to slather the stereoscape with his vocal during the chorus, the little bits of echoey wibble he seems to coat every single loop with contrasts beautifully with the sharp heaviosity of the beat here. Great jazzy vibed-up outro too. Superb.
BADBADNOTGOOD & GHOSTFACE KILLAH feat DOOM
Always worry when live bands and hip-hop meet — for me always in danger of slipping into noodling jazz-funk territory and surrendering of the essentially mechanical, inhuman and futurist elements of hip-hop production that have always most excited me. Hats off to BADBADNOTGOOD for managing in a live sense to actually replicate a dementedly clipped kind of nu-school production, a meandering slice of jazz-funk played as if it's a loop, strings and colour building the intrigue until 'Ray Gun' reaches the kind of lush and lurid heights and depths of a primo Lalo Schifrin production. Ghostface and Doom on point but wish I could hear more of them — the aptly-titled album 'Sour Soul' is on the shopping list for shitsure.
BIG SHUG Ft. TERMANOLOGY & SINGAPORE KANE
Can't stop listening to that Phryme album partly because Premo seems so liberated by finally collaborating more on the musical side of things, contributing only as part of a team — here he's back on his own producing but does seem to have been affected by his experiences with Adrian Younge, the strings here descending like black clouds, the orchestration as sublime as an Axelrod or Barry. Massachusetts heavy hitting veterans Big Shug and Terma (and new Bostonia spitter SK) add to the growing sense of apocalyptic doom and menace — this is determinedly grainy, rainy, East Coast hardcore hip-hop that bodes enormously well for Shug's soon-come newest opus 'Triple OGzus'. Superb last blast of winter.
(Fresh Herring Records)
Manc MC Burgundy Blood's debut album 'Suede Comet' has been leaking tracks for a while now and this is the latest joint — typically dusted insanity ("I'm like Orpheus/pop a tampax in every orifice") and production part Bollywood, part Pete Rock. The album also features cameos from Kool Keith, Sadat X, Meyhem Lauren, X-Ray, Konny Kon & Chalk. Check this and you'll want to check IT. Make sure you do both.
CANNIBAL OX ft. MF DOOM
Cannibal Ox have been elliptically travelling the solar system a while now, but their 14-year orbit is nearing its next pass of earth — 'Iron Rose' is the first probe they're dropping before the release of their newest opus 'Blade of the Ronin' and it's... nuts. As you'd expect. Antarctic-cold, as jagged and rugged as a meteor-belt, Doom side-eyeing Vast Aire and Vordul Mega to the point where you can't tell if he's a willing participant or a terrified hostage. No-one else sounded anything like them. No one else sounds anything like them now either. Superb and a cold fuzzy to all psychonauts who remember. They're back.
Sorry Chezza but I can partly trace my parentage back to the mole-volk of Enceladus actually. Don't beat me up in a nightclub toilet please y'racist bitch.
Nasty, brutish, short 5 tracker from Toronto. Reminds me of Kepone and Jesus Lizard. Not a single song over 90 seconds long. Grab it before it self-destructs.
THE JAZZ JOINT
(Creative Juices Music)
Oh man, when your ears are as old as mine the incessant diet of deodorised-noise and digi-cleanliness so much modern hip-hop production gives you can grow exhausting — see this as a nice deep bath to get properly cleansed in, Maylay Sparks and Jeru the Damaja adding a few neat verses to DJC's jazzy loops and post-hardbop abstraction. These cats can really swing.
Loose, langourous, jazzy track from CD's just-dropped 'Avant Garde' set. Could be from any point in the last 30 years but no less on-point for it: good to hear razor-sharp clarity in the beats, loops and rhymes here as opposed to the overly-impressive racket so many crews shoot out there. Tasty.
|Sick twists Cult Mountain|
SINGLE OF THE SEASON
CULT MOUNTAIN EP
"Tomorrow's looking shit and it's Tuesday" — OMFGodfathers, what a twisted collection of talent has come together here. Milkavelli, Lee Scott, the mighty Trellion and Sumgii (producer behind the equally mind-bending Piff Gang and Problem Child) knock six tracks together, available as limited-edition cassette and also download and vinyl. Groggy, wasted, drugged to the eyeballs, trippy-as-fuck production populated by nowt but Theremin and slo-mo dub dementia, truly diseased rhyming particularly from Trellion, a general feel of deranged untrammelled nastiness and 24/7 fucked-upness that's addictive and compelling. If you don't understand how to listen to massively offensive music and read it like an adult then please disregard. If I was editor of the NME I'd have these sick bastards on the cover like fucking YESTERDAY. The true sound of the estates. Search for Cult Mountain on Bandcamp and gorge yourself soon as. Single of the year thus far.
DEFENDERS OF STYLE Ft. SPLIT PROPHETS
FERME LA BOUCHE/SMASH & GRAB
FERME LA BOUCHE/SMASH & GRAB
Dubby, spacey stuff from the ever-essential Defenders and Prophets, 'Ferme La Bouche' is perfect for this cold weather, so damn spectral and suggestive it feel covered in stalactites, sharp rhymes from everyone concerned and a unique vibe I'm not hearing anywhere else. On the flip 'Smash & Grab' is a little more conventional, but even here you find glimmers of oddity, a strange keyboard creeping into the chorus, rap music absolutely possessed and infected by its own unique northern sense of place and space. Go get.
FLAGS OF THE OLD REGIME
(Walk Tall Records)
I remember him playing Cov and out of sheer desperation interrupting the gradually deteriorating chaos with a chorus of 'In Our Coventry Homes'. Fuck off Pete, sorry PeteRRRRRRRRRR. You're from Beduff! You don't speak with an accent exceedingly rare and if I wanted a cathedral you WOULDN'T have one to spare. ANYHOO - here's his comeback single in which the overrated yet cleaned-up turnip sings a heartfelt song about Amy Winehouse/himself. Best thing he's ever done by miles. A fucking shit-awful dirge.
ERIC PRYDZ Vs CHVRCHES
Love what Prydz has done to yet another typically tedious Chvrches track here. Ripped out the verses pretty much entirely and taken them down the tip (hope he's correctly put it in the non-recyclable hatch so there's no danger of them reappearing ever again) pulled out the chorus hook and slapped it atop his usual euphoric, exquisitely appointed widescreen bounce. A brutal act of butchery that has salvaged gold from gruel. A properly irreverent, brutally efficient rerub.
SINGLE OF THE SEASON
FAITH NO MORE
Now THIS is how you do a comeback. Still sounding as fresh as when they first got pinched off, set on fire and left on our doorstep FNM channel the best bits of 'Album Of The Year' and 'Angel Dust' into this five-minute pocket rocket. Love the drama, the desert-psyche bridge, Patton's growl recalling Chris Cornell back when he wasn't an international embarassment, Billy's keys as ever vital in tearing FNM away from the potentially macho expanses of chest-beating rock and to their unique place between grand-guignol, cabaret and pulverising pop metal. Superb to have them back and seemingly at their best. Can't wait for 'Sol Invictus'.
Dig the big fat brassy synths this starts off with, wish 'Real Joy' could stay a little dry, close, intense rather than losing itself a bit in the big space opened up once the kick comes in but it's still a wickedly punchy thumping track good enough to make it into Zinc's sets so most definitely good enough for me.
FUSE ODG FT. KILLBEATZ
THINKING ABOUT U
Look, Fuse ffs - if you're gonna push a crossover-crockashit like this out there crucial thing is you do it with conviction. 'Thinking About U' sounds like something you've been frogmarched into, a forced euro-friendly over-autotuned nursery-rhyme vocal so shameless in its aim for radio-friendliness and enforced catchiness (that's how so much pop works now, not by being catchy by dint of personality or idiosyncracy but by closely cleaving to the most anodyne jingle-type infantile constricts it can, so it sticks like velcro shit) you almost sound ashamed singing it. You certainly sound non-committed, like you clocked on, sang this with one eye on your phone, and then clocked off and went home. Lazyness abounds. Lazyness everywhere.
|Haim & their biggest fan|
PRAY TO GOD
Fucking HELL. See? Guess how long it takes before you can hear that chugga chugga 'Edge Of Seventeen' guitar in this? Gwan guess. Five seconds? Nope. Ten seconds? Nope. 2 Seconds, nope.
ONE FRICKIN SECOND. That's all it takes. And almost immediately you know every single thing you're in store for on the ensuing 230 seconds of time-wastage on offer here. Are the vocals double-tracked? OF COURSE THEY ARE. Is the verse an entirely forgettable run of cliched melody and lyrics only in place to build towards the sea-of-hands anthemic chorus? YR DARN TOOTIN. Is there a moment when it breaks down to an overly busy 20-odd tracks of backing vocals in a straining, pathetically inadequate homage to Stevie's finest moments of studio-bound sorcery? Oh yes. Sound that tastes glossy, that coats the mouth with a thoroughly un-moreish plasticity because nowhere within this music is a single unique or original idea. I LOVE dated music but I hate being told I should be impressed with this kind of utterly emotionless assemblage. Well done everyone, you sure do have expensive studio facilities. Well done.
HIGHER SELF FT. LAUREN MASON
Nice memories of Crystal Waters 'Gypsy Woman' sparked by Lauren Mason's vocal here on this otherwise fairly pedestrian house tune - thankfully HS know they're onto something and foreground her as much as possible, keeping the rest minimal, repetetive, undistracting. I would turn this up in the car. That's the only objective criteria I have left anymore to be honest.
RIVERS IN YOUR MOUTH
WORLD WITHOUT YOU
HOLE IN MY HEART
In one of the greatest children's books ever, 'Charlie & The Great Glass Elevator' (far more worthy of cinematic treatment than its more famous prequel just don't let that Tory fecker Tim Burton near it please) Willy Wonka gives the bed-bound grandparents a shot of Wonka-vite to get them up and at 'em upon the families safe return from space and the battle with the Vermicious Knids. The inevitable overdose necessitates a trip to minus-land to retrieve Grandma Georgina who has gone beyond babyhood and backwards beyond her birth into a strange netherworld. In minus-land Willy Wonka hits Georgina with a puff of Vita-wonk which has the unfortunate affect of making her 358 years old. Vita-wonk is what modern British male singers are injecting into their voiceboxes (or spraying with newly available atomizers) on a daily basis. Like steroids, Vita-wonk's consequences for cock-size are all too counter-intuitive and imaginable but more importantly for those of us who would like to listen to daytime radio without wanting to striate our wrists and neck with a blunt spork it's having a truly calamitous effect on young male voices, and future expectations/limitations of young male voices. Why do these young men with guitars want to sound so fucking old? Like the beards or dreads these witless bores always sport, it's a false and easy earning of gravitas, an affected spray-on sense of world-weariness that can't mask the utterly empty blaring shitcuntery of their music. Luke Friend is merely the latest casualty of this current vogue for men whose balls haven't dropped sounding as if they have leathery auld knackersacks that they trip over when running for a bus but he won't be the last. Utterly grisly music.
(Audio Danger Records)
On the quiet, AD are sending some great stuff outta Cambridge (check out the superb 'Moose Funk Volume 1') — the key to why 'Speaker Attack' is so brilliant is Sumgli's production, a sparse, eerie mix of decaying synths and dubby slo-mo grime that's utterly undistorted, completely clear and yet somehow pumped full of just the right balance of low-end punchiness and trebly spookiness. Great verbals as you'd expect from Inja combine with Sumgli's soundpad to create a track that immediately hooks you, demands you check out more of AD's brilliant output. Don't sleep. The sun rises in the east.
Oh BOY did these guys have me fooled. Remember when the Strokes came along and killed rock forever by being so good and so sexy at it the legion of copyists that came in their wake just seemed like they were trying to suck off a dead horse?
I'm being serious. I fucking loved those first two Strokes albums. Anyone with ears should.
Well, from the flotsam and jetsam that was DJ-able soon afterwards (Art Brut, Pink Grease, Maximo Park etc) Interpol's 'PDA' was a fucking amazing thing I used to play out regularly. The album that came . . . . wasn't. And since then it would appear they're freefalling into turgid turbid cesspits of enshittitude that show no signs of abating on 'Anywhere'. Lumpen, dated, a song that's wearing a very very long coat but hasn't got the balls to roll it's sleeves up. Makes both The Killers and Arcade Fire sound 'edgy'. Apprehend for a moment just how pisspoor a song would have to be to achieve that. Apprehended it? Good. Swerve this shit.
What's so thrilling about the rise of High Focus is both how aware they are of hip-hop history but also how irreverent they are to any perceived limitations behind the form, just how fully they explore all the possibilities still inherent in the hip-hop blueprint. Love the sound of 'Incoming', a spectral, suggestive, almost haunted set of hypnotic loops over a droning one-note bass and exquisitely measured beats, JB dropping lines that increase in intrigue all the way to the inevitable rewind you have to pull at the end. Superb production from Chemo aka Telemachus (and my god, his new album's a doozie too) throughout the new JB opus 'So We Ate Them Whole'. Get it in your life now.
I ask these questions cos I know the answers and just want someone to prove me wrong - Why the fuck would anyone want to still make music like this? To JT's credit he's produced the absolute living fuck out of 'Rabbit Hole'- armed himself with a rhythm section and a fuzz pedal that takes his essentially tedious buskery-bollocks and chrome-plates it for battle. But seriously - why would you want to make music like this? To just contribute more to the piles of this kind of stuff that have already been created? To be an inspiration for Jake fucking Bugg? I mean, we have enough 'spikey' music don't we? Enough 'punky' troubadourism? Something about guitars, how flaccid they look now when playing this kind of dull dickcheese, how spunk-encrustedly dull this old toy for old boys looks when used to make such frighteningly conservative music.
An old hobby, like battle-recreation at the weekends. Hope JT still enjoys it, that's the main thing. I only listen to guitar music now that sounds like it was played on guitars shaped like battle-axes and I suggest you apply the same rigid criteria to your listening too. Parses out alot of this kind of shit for a start off. You can thank me later.
MAMMOTH WEED WIZARD BASTARD
(Tape Worship Records)
RADIANT MOON EP
(Magnetic Eye Records)
Fr'instance. SO MUCH ACE doom/sludge/crust on Bandcamp difficult to know where to start (check out Watchtower's mighty 'Radiant Moon' EP seeping out of Melbourne, Oz right now btw) but 'Nachthexen' kind of bullies its way to the front not just by dint of its sheer length (30 minutes odd and nary a moment you'd excise) but because it takes those vital steps away from the Sabbath/Kyuss/KarmaToBurn imprint and stumbles into moments of Goblin-style guignol and Amon Duul-style space opera that are totally convincing, crushing beautiful and entirely ace. Up there with Sonance's magnificent 'Blackflower' as new noise you absolutely need.
MUMFORD & SONS
Yeah right! As IF I'm gonna listen to this. I'm not getting fkn paid y'know! Instead, please to be reading a review I wrote of Coldplay's last single that I never got to use and is now massively out of date, a bit like M&S's conviction that the Hothouse Flowers were the pinnacle of Western pop culture. You might think this is irrelevant. I don't care, I KNOW it's absolutely crucial before we can go any further . . .
A SKY FULL OF STARS
Chris sat alone, trying to work out the song, fidgeting. He felt sick and bloated from the McDonalds he'd just eaten in a fit of macho pique, couldn't deny that her Pappardelle Duck Ragu that she did every Tuesday night was much missed. The song, Chris thought, and whispered, THE SONG. Concentrate. Images came to mind, the same images of vaguery and faint urgency that the band had put out before. It comforted him. Stars. Rhymes with 'heart'. That's good, thought Chris, that's good. What then? Dry. What the hell he thought - yeah, that bit after can be an instrumental. I can do my shit dancing on that bit if we need to do it live. Was he losing his motivation? Undoubtedly he was lonelier than he'd ever been before. Still, a verse and a bridge, that's not bad work for an evening he consoled himself. The band can fill in the rest with their usual gubbins, thought Chris. Some twinkly Radiohead/U2isms, they always work - desperate to turn his procrastination into worthwhile conceptualising he flailed around for impetus - I'll get a friend to make it dancey, a remix might make a few more ackers, maybe get Diplo involved? His thoughts, unformed as they were, were suddenly interrupted by a ring on the doorbell. Who could be calling at this time? Punching the intercom button with trepidation Chris pondered - who the hell? Lawyers? Management? HER?
It was David. "Hi Chris, it's you-know-who". Sighing, Chris hit the entry buzzer. He'd been expecting this. David had rung as soon as it had all fallen apart, had offered help ("I'm here for you Chris, just likewere there for us"), but Chris had been in too dazed and despairing a state to process it. Now, with his fresh flush of inspiration, but with a growing sense of isolation and purposelessness, he needed some company, some warmth. A minute later, David stood frozen at the apartment door momentarily as Chris sized up his paunchy yet appealingly pink frame, clad in loosely-tailored chinos and old denim shirt. Heart starting to race, Chris let him in: 'Hi David, what's up?" he asked nervously. "One guess" growled D, eyebrows rising, then gaze dropping down to his own rapidly tenting groin. "I want to talk to you about the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony . . .". "But Prime Minister" stammered Chris, "this is all so sudden". He knew he was lying. By the wicked leer on D's face, Chris could see HE knew he was lying. "Shut up Chris" barked Cameron, "what was that song you wrote, The Hardest Part?" . . . Chris nodded, jaw dropping . . . "well I've got a real Rush Of Blood To My Head, can you help me out?" snarled the Prime Minister. Behind them the door slowly swung shut on a world that didn't matter tonight. A world that could never know . . .
(No Label Just Us)
A mean, nasty, twisted little track. Crucial are the drone keyboards, keys jammed down with the weight of a dead body, Divided Souls producing things with immense control and the clear intent to utterly unhinge the listener. Good work you freaks. Essential.
FIVE AM IN L.A
Oh fuck — something about the phrase 'Vine sensation' has me immediately thinking 'flybynight', but don't let the means of Atlanta upstart OG Maco's meteoric rise blind you to his skills. '5.am In LA' is only one-hundred-and-ten seconds long but within that time-frame he absolutely grabs you by the lapels and makes you listen. There's an insistence and grain to his voice that suggests a deep intent to communicate, there's a brilliant sparseness and robot-like repetition to the track that makes a minute-fifty both fly by and loop in on itself. What you'll keep rewinding for is the verbals though, tangled, suggestive, great punchlines, truly atmospheric. I'm going backwards from this to the '15' EP and holding tight for the 'Children of the Rage' album that'll be dropping later this year. I stongly suggest you do the same.
SINGLE OF THE SEASON
(High Focus Records)
Stunning production as ever from Chemo — a spooked, deeply haunted, trippily psyche mix of phased honky-tonk piano scattered like skimming stones over an ocean of bass and kick, perfectly suiting Onoe's reflective unfathomable leaps from street to Marianas-Trench depth to vertiginous overview. An unsettling track in the best possible way, less interested in simply laying the rapper's mind over a pre-determined track, rather having that more natural relationship 'tween production and voice where each seems to be emanating from the other. The soon drop 'Voices From Planet Catelle' album from Onoe coming soon on HF is entirely produced by Chemo, and just might be that amazing label's greatest masterpiece yet. Pre-order NOW for one of 2015's undisputed highlights. Essential.
SINGLE OF THE SEASON
YOU SHOULD KNOW
Phyrme is DJ Premier and Royce 5'9 and this introductory salvo from the just-dropped self-titled album indicates everything that makes it a new lease of life for everyone involved. Premo seems to enjoy being pushed to the edges a little, collaborating with more musicians to limit his role has refined what he does, made him just an awesome player with a set of other likeminded headz. And Royce's verses are just sublime, passionate, direct, angry, punchy, packed with drama and intent. The album crept out just before Christmas and may well have slipped under your radar. Don't proceed with the rest of the year without checking it. Superb.
SINGLE OF THE SEASON
HOME IS WHERE THE HATRED IS
'Scorn' from 2012 revealed just what a unique slab of monstrous molten heaviosity this Portland 3-piece can cook up - the split 7/10/12"s that have come since with Xaphan, Hexis, Fister and Hessian have only deepened the awe and intrigue and this new EP is yet more addictively aggravated mayhem. Truly a mirror to our times and absolutely essential.
PROFESSOR P & DJ AKILLES Ft. RAH DIGGA
FOR THE CITY
Yes it was the Rah Digga cameo that suckered me into this but damn glad I investigated cos this is, as we used to say, some ill shit. While normally resistant to the US MC/European producer matrix that seems to be becoming a habit for so many US rappers in search of fresh inspiration, Pro-P & Ak have been creating great beats for a long time out of Upsaala, Sweden, and 'For the City' is no exception, a simple but rich and warm roll and ruckus, not especially innovative but as comfortable and enjoyable as anything off those Phryme/Bada$$ albums you're all bumping right now. And of course, a joy to hear Dirty Harriet herself Rah Digga spitting on such a sweet backdrop. From an EP called 'All Year: Every Year: Winter' that forms one seasonal quarter of a soon-come album. Love it.
THE PURIST FT. MICK JENKINS
TOUCH ME (Soundcloud)
"Backwash, I just keep tasting the same old" — totally fresh spice from The Purist, who previews his long-awaited new collabo EP with this slow-burning corker, featuring the ever-compelling Mick Jenkins (whaddayamean you've not heard 'Free Nation Rebel Soldier', GTFO of here!). A smeared, sexy, diseased, febrile, ice-hot production laced with exquisitely fragile piano and unearthly b-vox, Jenkins hook-vocals slurred and slowed like Spark Master Tape, the utter fearless genre-carelessness of the joint bodes well for an EP that will also feature Freddie Gibbs and Roc Marciano. Welcome back nutter.
RAPPER BIG POOH
(Mello Music Group)
"Beat box, this is back to the block/Before every rapper sold rocks/Before everybody needed rocks in their watch/ Just watch, now it’s all about board rooms and stocks/ Words paint pictures, I’m an artist non-stop/Raw beats, raps, this is called hip-hop"... beautiful reaffirmation of what's important, what's generous, what's giving, what's funny, what's crucial about hip-hop. For all true believers.
MAN ON A WIRE (Sony)
ED SHEERAN AND RUDIMENTAL
No, sorry, can't weigh in. I detest Sheeran's music with a passion only rivaled by my passion for 360° commissioning-models and dwelltime dashboard paradigms, but so does Noel 'Hates Women And Black People' Gallagher. Noel Gallagher has been way more damaging to British pop than Sheeran (& don't forget, Sheeran did make the best Music Of Black Origin in 2014 and according to 1Xtra is the most influential black artist of the decade). Yes I'm sick of 'down to earth, lovely chaps' in pop. But if the alternative is what's posited by Gallagher, i.e gobby thick prejudiced narrow-minded English Rock Defence League fuckers then count me out. Let Sheeran sell his cheese. At least he's just a thief and a bore, not a thief, a bore and a bigot.
SIGMA FT. LABRINTH
Dogshit. Absolutely everything that's wrong with 'drum and bass' at the moment (although using those words in association with music like this always seems like a misnomer - after all there's NO BASS and what beats you can hear hit you with all the punch and incisiveness of a wetwipe). Of absolutely no interest to anyone else, or anyone who actually likes music - this is most assuredly snowboarding music. For snowboarders.
FEED THE MANTARAY
What an absolute pair of fucking cuntbubbles. Just watch the video for this. The fact that this ugly unfunny duo of ambulatory Dick'n'Dom burdturds have been signed by a major and are having their utterly shit mix of sub-Therapy/Feeder rawk and 'zany' lyrics boosted by said major (yeah, cheers C.Montgomery Beard) is angry-making enough. But the style in which they throw this reheated diarhoea in your face, in a manner that suggests they're not only the wittiest band on the planet but also the most 'attitudinal' will seriously make you want to put your spikes on and kick the fuckers in the face repeatedly until their gurning punchable phizogs are a tattered mess of ribboned cheekflesh and seeping unhealable puncture holes. Doubtless like their god Timmy Mallet they'll count any irritation they cause as some kind of justification but 'Mantaray' is by some distance the most aggravatingly pissweak thing you'll hear all year. Here's hoping they become the hapless victims of a major slurry-spill incident soon, just to wipe the smirks off their hateful fucking faces. Definition of cunts.
SOLO 45 ft. PREDITAH
FEED EM TO THE LIONS
Boy Better Know better start doing better. A crock of shit.
SUBLIME WIZARDRY Ft. EXILE
KEEP LIVIN' (Show & Prove)
If there's any left by the time you read this, snap up this corking little 7" from Brighton (MCs The Remarkable One & Native Son) via Hamburg (producer Merlin), featuring Exile and some tasty cutting from DJs Highfly & Tones. Noisy as fuck, like a good marble-red 7" should be.
"ONE OF YOU TURDS IS ABOUT TO GET SMACKED IN THE MOUTH" — hell, I'm a sucker for a great intro and I'm loving this daffy, goofy, B-movie-rap little gem. The last thing I'd expect from Toronto but there it is, backwoods-bound space-age boombap, Timbuktu, Chokeules and Savilion swapping rhymes with a beautifully nonchalant ease and charm that you can't buy or pre-program, but that oozes from every groove. Gonna go check out their latest 'Outer Limits' opus on Bandcamp right now and strongly recommend you do exactly the same. Oh Canada.
TCHAMI FT. KALEEM TAYLOR
(Ministry Of Sound)
Noooo! WHAT THE FUCK have you done you pricks? The original of this that came out in 2013 on Fool's Gold was an absolute fahooking barnstormer, just a peach of a pop/club house track, big fat slabs of synth, brilliantly bassy danceable pop music. In repackaging it for 2015, with new vocals, Ministry Of Sound have somehow managed to suck all the life out of it, deoderise it (perhaps with an eye on day-time radio, perhaps just operating under the hypnotic aegis of their C.E.Overlord the one they call Mephistopholes, Beelzebub, Lucifer, Ozmodius, the beast, the fallen one, the Prince Of Lies, Abbadon, the archangel of human sorrow you get the jist).
It's actually intriguing seeing how they've done it. Deflated the beats. Fatally made the bass fit correct notions of compression and 'sitting in' the mix, rather than the belligerent bullying brilliance of the lo-end in the original. Added new lyrics that stop the voices warping and wefting around the peripheries and make the whole thing a more 'centred' performance from a clearly identifiable ego, rather than the liquid polymorphous identity-blurring bliss of the original. NATAS SI DROL.
"If you know your rent's due get the fuck out da club!" — something about Tink I like. I think it's her unwillingness to fit with any of the previous archetypes for femme-MCs, her guardedness, her refusal to give everything just yet. Also the girl can spit — there's great lines here that you feel are only scratching the surface of everything Tink has to say. Just wish Timbaland would find some more interesting beats for her to spit on.