Parker Pubs continues its outstanding work documenting the extraordinary history of the Project Blowed scene and the West Coast underground. Having previously turned the spotlight on its rappers, the publisher now focuses on ten of its leading beatmakers, exploring the dilemmas of underground life while reminding us of the criminally overlooked gems these artists have produced.
From Public Enemy to Death Grips, via Ice-T, Dälek, and a few others, rock has often proved a powerful outlet for Black political anger. Few forms are better suited to addressing the African American experience than one rooted in Black music itself. On “Cry Baby”, a live, punk, caustic record that ends his run of introspective albums, Vince Staples places himself brilliantly in that tradition.
Twenty-three years later, Epic delivers a sequel to “Heater On My Truck”, and almost nothing has changed: our rapper who doesn’t look like a rapper still deals in trivial subject matter and shares his love of hip-hop alongside fellow veterans of the Canadian underground, Moka Only, DJ Moves, and Noah23. Sure, this laid-back rap very much shows its age. But it’s aging pretty well.
After months of controversy in the UK, the US and France, Kneecap are making the most of their newfound notoriety. With Dan Carey’s help, the trio have honed their second album to a fine edge. Without giving up their political commitments or their bad-boy swagger, Mo Chara, Móglaí Bap and DJ Próvaí show that they are more than just “Irish rappers who support Hezbollah.”
The best Wu-Tang Clan album since the glory days is not a Wu-Tang Clan album. It is the one that Hus Kingpin – that great 90s nostalgist – put together by compiling his varied collaborations with some of the group’s members, affiliates, and a few others besides, all set to music that, with its string sounds, piano lines and soul samples feels more Wu than Wu itself. Wu-Tang Forever. Wavo Forever.
Nicholas Craven may collaborate with Boldy James, Tha God Fahim, Mach-Hommy, Billy Woods, and even France’s Akhenaton, but he hasn’t forgotten his roots. For the second time, the Canadian producer teams up with Montreal-based Haitian rapper Trapmat Savior. And to complement the latter’s haunting voice and understated humor, he delivers one of his finest works.
Long live globalization. It makes this kind of glorious absurdity possible. Trap-A-Holics-style trap music, complete with all the sounds and imagery that come with it, but cooked up by real muzhiks, by backwoods hicks from deep rural Russia rapping about saunas, and eating pancakes. And what’s more, their music actually works, as if this style of rap had truly been born over there.
Duality is embedded in the very meaning of IDK’s stage name: his rap is both “ignorant” and “conscious.” On “E.T.D.S.”, however, it is the “I” that takes center stage. Its content is devilish and gangsta. Yet in reality, this faux mixtape- which takes us back to the days of DJ Whoo Kid and G-Unit – is a carefully crafted album, one that does not abandon its urge to preach a moral message.