Check out my review of the lovely and lyrical, exceedingly smart Superbigmouth LP out on Pyrcoclastic Records in the current issue of DownBeat magazine. Thanks to all for the opportunity to be published in the print edition.
So sad to hear the news about Ras G yesterday. We had brief contact trying to set up an interview for this site related to his 2017 album My Kinda Blues, one of my favourite releases of that year and a record that still stands up in all its muted intent/musical intelligence.
Ras G was simple to interact with then, unassuming; gentle in his words and manner, open to the idea of talking with me even though there was no record to promote, no obvious benefit to him. The same qualities - simplicity, dedication to his music - memorialised yesterday online. I deeply regret not speaking to him when I had the opportunity to do so. That quiet presence, embodied in his person and heard in his music is rare, of real value.
I won’t write on My Kinda Blues here for the simple reason there’s a risk if I get started it won’t get done, and end up being filed in all my other half-written pieces (to be returned to). Though I recommend you listen to it in full, here’s the link.
Listening to the album again this afternoon, I was struck by how good the songs were and how distinctive; it is as the title has it, a personal Blues as felt by Ras G, filtered via hip-hop consciousness. I kept adding links of songs I liked to this draft, track 3, and 4 and 5 and 8 and it kept going on and on … Here’s track 8 - an amazing sound, no need to over-complicate anything, present it as it is:
Rather than an Afro-futurist cosmic vibe, as it appears was his wont, this album is intimate, sketches and ruminations with its own intensity. Far removed from that cliché of lo-fi – that enervates me so much, as music to chill to/to read a book to – this is music with depth and strong emotion coming through. It has its own distinctive voice and tone.
I liked this quote included in the Pitchfork story on his passing yesterday:
“My relationship with sci-fi is from a creational standpoint,” he told MerryJane in 2018. “My label is called Ghetto Sci-Fi Music, which is how I identify my studio and music-making methods. It’s Ghetto in terms of set-up/layout, but it’s a science to how it all works together and fiction to most who come from a more professional studio setting.”
Here’s an interview from February 2018 with Ras G sharing some of his dub picks, the genre he describes as the great-grand-daddy (if I heard it right) of all contemporary Black music genres … dub as a form of music that is felt, not seen or heard.
And here’s another great album, Beats of Mind - this is really fantastic (release info below the video).
As someone who appreciated his music but didn’t know him personally this news comes as a shock; the best way for me to pay my respects here is to put up his music.
Condolences to his friends and family in Los Angeles and fans/listeners across the globe. Please also consider donating to the GoFundme page for Ras G here, set up by his family to maintain his memory.
Constant Elevation/ Maintain And Build 12'' Prod. Maniac Mob 1996
Perhaps you’ve noticed that the amount of website entries has reduced here. I haven’t moved to a Nepalese cave, or shack near a Lombok beach (or hiding out on a fire-escape in some major urban centre in the United States) where the Internet is tricky, even if the connection in Paris remains highly irregular. (Tech support faults my computer).
The past 18 months have been a mix for me following the death of my sister in late July 2017. Passing within a fog, at times – not depression’s stark certainty, but harder to define emotions such as confusion, doubt and loneliness. Splintered, exaggerated feelings and reactions, marked by pain. Where the suffering is cumulative, thick with the past, held within disorienting realisations: I am older today than my sister when she died, though her birth preceded my own by two years.
Writers writing about themselves writing after loss are not my interest. Though I appreciate memoirs of writers experiencing extreme circumstances: imprisonment, political exile and the like. Sentimentality is always the main risk with this kind of writing, alongside falseness, egotism. Seeking out the “silver lining” when the cloud is more pertinent. Looking for meaning and transcendence when there is none. Ignoring the fact that it is never only this.
Suffering is malleable, shifting to fit within the lives we lead. Children need to be fed, jobs attended, bills paid. Ambivalence about this continuation of life when confronted by pain does interest me; as another example of the in-between emotion that shapes much of our lives - some refer to it as aversion. But the truth is as I was coming to terms with this loss, other aspects of my life were moving forward. I was working more as a journalist than before, for Passion of the Weiss and The Wire mainly, but other places too.
This “outside” writing as a music journalist is the principal reason for the decrease for posts on my site. Since December 2018 too I’ve also been working on a project that I hope to finish this June. I won’t detail it here. One of the most useful pieces of online psych knowledge I’ve picked up is the danger of sharing projects (and success) prematurely – the chorus, or absence, of hosannas lessening the intensity required to complete something; the fact that there needs to be something to push against for us to complete the work. I’ll keep it quiet for now (“pray for me,” though that I get it done).
Some of this journalism I’ve published during this time can be read here at my Muck Rack page, but it’s not all here. The site provides a great service, compiling portfolios of journalists. Over time, I’ll put up some of this writing and will also keep you in the loop re a future by-line, which marks a new/old direction and for that reason means a lot for me.
Feel free to check out Passion of the Weiss - please consider donating to the Patreon so the site can only get stronger - and read/subscribe to The Wire, a print magazine dedicated to the underground and those making music because it means something to them, others is something precious in this era of the disposable, trivial-hysteric and slapdash.
Thanks to the great editors at Passion of the Weiss and The Wire, for the commissions and responsiveness to my ideas/work; to my family and all those in the Paris circle too.
Ayo, Black, it’s time, word (Word, it’s time, man)
It’s time, man (Aight, man, begin)
Yeah, straight out the fuckin’ dungeons of rap
Where fake ni**as don’t make it back
I don’t know how to start this shit,
Not entirely sure about the above video, with it’s very literal editing (“Be havin’ dreams that I'ma gangster …” and there’s a close-up of a familiar screen face, ditto for other references, say “The city never sleeps, full of villains and creeps …”) splicing shots from Taxi Driver, Shaft with Nas’s rhymes about “stories when my peoples come back, black.”
Below the YouTube video two listeners battle it out (I’ll include the exchange at the end of this piece). One states baldly: “Show the 90s this stuff is not describing hip hop subculture and 90s suburbs” another replies: “Nas makes many references to pre-90s culture (including movies). It's supposed to be relatively timeless.”*
What’s interesting about “N.Y. State of Mind” is that it is both: archetypal and personal, in terms of its construction and themes. The first verse is Nas taking on the persona of a jaded, older man, as he put it in 2007:
[“N.Y. State of Mind”] is one of my favourites, because that one painted a picture of the City like nobody else. I’m about eighteen when I’m saying that rhyme. I worked on that first album all my life, up until I was twenty, when it came out. I was a very young cat talking about it like a Vietnam veteran, talking like I’ve been through it all. That’s just how I felt around that time.
Interview with Rolling Stone (2007)
The opening lines has this “older man” looking back, comparing the current scene with the past: “It’s like the game ain’t the same/Got younger ni**as pullin’ the trigger, bringin’ fame to their name …” The second verse is more introspective, with Nas describing his artistry and compulsion to write: “I got so many rhymes, I don’t think I’m too sane/Life is parallel to Hell, but I must maintain …”
Not much information on Bileo – Bill Williams, Bobby Love, Joe Farnis, horn arr: Maceo Jackson – other than the group released two singles, this being one of them. The single was re-issued by Athens of the North in 2014. As the promo material for the re-issue states the single sells itself, the song too writes itself; it’s all there, the message of uplift and continuation. It’s a lovely thing.
Movin' up now
To higher ground now
Can use my stride! (?)
When I get there, yeah
I'm gonna smile now
Cause I'll be high!
High on love
That's all I need, yeah
To make my day!
I am happy
Happy now I'm
I'm on my way!
You can be there
If you want to, yeah...
You can be there
If you want to, yeah...
Another track credited to Bill William’s Bileo’s lead vocalist (under the name Bill Williams & Billeo is “Robot People” out on WCM, 1983), probably only of real interest for those seeking to “complete their collection.”
Ditto for another Bill Williams’s track: “Things WIll Be Better Tomorrow,” also from 1983. That said, this remix of “You Can Win” - Dorsi Plantar’s French Kiss Edit – is great:
“I get inspiration from lots of different things, nature … silence …”
MF DOOM talks about how he deals with writers block at the Red Bull Music Academy Madrid 2011.
During the recording session for The Ecstatic
“98-year-old refrigerator” - This is extremely wise & useful (I think).
First published at Ambrosia for Heads, 29 September 2017, read the article on the AFH site
That highly distinctive deep-atmosphere, kept so twitchy and tense, that defines the Griselda Records sound is on full display in “Bullet Club” – the first single taken from Conway The Machine’s upcoming G.O.A.T. The track sees him paired up with G-Unit MC Lloyd Banks and fellow Griselda affiliate Benny.
Produced by Griselda beat-maker Daringer, the track perfectly captures the menace we now associate with the Buffalo, New York crew. “Ni**as know something, don’t play stupid…” the sample at the start begins, setting the scene for Conway’s more measured than usual verse, against the trademark hysterical laughter and simulated gunfire.
Conway addresses the listener, or to be more accurate, the competition directly, telling us he’s “dropped the hardest tapes since ’94.” And that even though his face might be “twisted,” no other rapper can “spit it the way [he] spit it.” At one point, Conway challenges us to come up with a name equal to his, even stopping for “a minute” – literally. This adds a humorous touch to his earlier riff on people getting stabbed in the face and all the other elements that typically make up his dark musical head-space.
Lloyd Banks, who with 50 Cent dominated the East Coast Gangsta Rap game through the 2000s is fully at ease here with this next generation kindred spirits, setting it up perfectly for Griselda stable-mate Benny to close, as he makes a strong showing.
First published at Ambrosia for Heads, 27 September 2017, read the article on the AFH site
Few would expect that DOOM would be taking on the straight role as he does in this vaudevillian Rap High-Art wonder, “Gorilla Monsoon,” produced by Daringer and more than ably set up by the unhinged prevarications of Westside Gunn.
“Ayo/Ayo” Westside Gunn repeats in his squeakiest voice ever, alluding to himself as if he were Dorothy, far, far, far away from Kansas. “Ayo, I was in my cell, I clicked my heels three times / P Just 2’s, my khaki suit mastermind / Water whip, tossed the coke in the alkaline … Immaculate rhyme (Immaculate rhyme) / It’s so obvious / Watchin’ the world from up top / Snakeskin binoculars.” It’s hard not to be impressed by an MC that rhymes “obvious” with “binoculars.”
Stoned immaculate, the Buffalo, New York little brother sounds quite strange here. His helium-maniacal delivery is buttressed by the pure creativity of the Daringer beat, drenched in a tacky ‘50s B-grade movie vibe, but it sounds like he’s spinning about lyrically – letting off sparks.
It’s funny too, as Westside Gunn enunciates his rhymes with such an earnest style that sounds pre-adolescent: this is not an insult. He spits with great enthusiasm: “My bedroom had a bedroom, my wrist be dancin’ / My bedroom had a bedroom, my wrist be dancin’ / The flyest that’s livin’, we live and die by the kitchen / Choppin’ on dishes, rack the puff in…”
In comparison, DOOM’s verse comes across as relatively sedate and even seems to make some sense. Unlike Westside Gunn’s verse with all its trademark Griselda interruptions – all the “skrrrrrtttt” and “Pow-pow-pow-pow-pow-pow-pow” and “Drrrrr” and “Du-du-du-du-du-du-du-du…” – DOOM’s only has a subdued “yup” and “psst.”
DOOM seems to be taking on the older statesman role here, surveying the contemporary scene. His closing words are typically elegant, albeit with opaque references: “What’s revealed is of a certain feel – growth / Yellow moist mushy, banana peeled coke / At worst, could not be confused with real soap / Nope, you see disaster is intended / In the face of truth, don’t ever be offended….Overstand the past to get a grasp of the present (psst) / I make it faster than you spends it / End it.”
What is particularly nice on “Gorilla Monsoon” is the way the musical mania is sustained by Daringer, in a way that supports the MCs’ imaginative flow. It never lets up, even while the drums are relatively relaxed and laidback. Occasionally, there is a drum-roll, just for show almost, but it’s the wall of wavy sound that creates the highly cogent and distinctive mood that is almost beyond words.