Every Rosh Hashanah, Passover, and Thanksgiving, I try to put my family on to some good music and I invariably fail. The conversation always strays to the mediocre rapper du jour from six months ago and/or a roundtable discussion on the latest Kanye endeavor. Tonight, I’m not falling into that trap. But maybe I’ll retreat into my room and put this on and maybe someone will ask me to run back Chuuwee’s verse. Maybe.
Be honest, did you ever expect anything good from Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s son? His music career seems to exist as a crude tribute to his father with RZA at the helm. But this is dope. It sounds less like Hollywood RZA and more like a random dope Killarmy or Cappadonna track that no one remembers. Boy Jones knows better than to mimic his dad and opts for brash shit-talking. Keep this one in your Wu archives.
Bonus: the time Boy Jones (then known as Young DB) met Chris Rock
Ten years ago, when I could barely call myself a teenager, I would have snored at this track. “76” forgoes the bangs and smoke and thrives on a spacey, supine beat and Roc Marc’s gangster musings. It’s a perfect palate cleanser for the end of a playlist of 2012 rap.
As always, DJ Premier’s inscrutably enthralling beat enables decent MCs to rap their technical best. Michigan’s finest mic skills are on display on “Straight Up”.
WHEN Tim Zagat dines out in New York, many of the restaurants he goes to know that he prefers his soup served in a cup and enjoys iced tea with cranberry juice in a large glass over lots of ice. Jay-Z’s fondness for white Burgundy is also no secret among the city’s headwaiters.
Since I tend to read a lot of random articles rather than listen to random rap music these days, it’s nice when little rap nuggets pop-up in my readings. I really hope Hov get *really* pissed off when someone comps him another bottle of Ace of Spades, when all he wants is a nice bottle of white Burgundy to drink with Bey. #toughraplife
I like that Flying Lotus’ status as a left field savant doesn’t preclude him from making minimalist atmospheric beats that give rappers a wide berth when they need it.
Three of my favorite songs of the year belong to Danny Brown: “Jay Dee’s Revenge”, “Blueberry (Pills & Cocaine)” and now “Molly Ringwald”. The arc is a jarring one: a staunch skull breaker turns into a drug fueled orgy, which then awakens as a zombified trap banger. Danny’s wail is the great equalizer, subsuming sounds from different continents under his cracked out performance. “Molly Ringwald” has the kind of energy that people use to justify listening to Waka Flocka and yet it’s named for the 80s teen star. It’s just over two minutes of blissful concussed rage and you can’t listen to this it picturing his gap tooth smile.
