Amid the war on blackness worldwide and the bum's rush out of the city, those on the receiving end of progress can find it all too easy to rely on familiar and trusted sources of cultural sustenance—that is to say, you just listen to old shit and miss how much good hiphop and soul can be found these days. That's if you know where to look—a great place to start is always in your metaphorical backyard (God knows you probably can't afford a real one here). Here's a very brief selection of some new Seattle-based black music, served three ways.

SILAS BLAK

Blak Friday: The Mixtape (Cabin Games)

Though the beer-pong generation could be forgiven for not knowing the name, anybody appreciating the local scene for more than a moment will know Silas Blak "the Artifact." He's one of the town's most recognizable voices, from Black Stax to Silent Lambs Project to Blind Council. Blak's signature is a jagged, swinging style that rhymes in places you'd least expect, repeating, folding in on itself, obscuring—like an eyes-only military document that redacts and reshapes itself as you read it. He's a Seattle original, but he could be comfortably filed next to the best moments of Oakland's Saafir or the Wu's Masta Killa. Blak's verses are art: Abstract and powerful, they often hold a different meaning for every listener. Most MCs are pure commerce, selling an idea of who they are, all "I" and no heart. This is not the case with Blak.

He's every bit the stoic lyrical monolith and then some on Blak Friday, his first solo work since 2007's stellar Silas Sentinel. Whether he's deconstructing colonialism and black pain or asserting technical superiority, his spit is heady and authoritative. Blak Friday is the strongest work to come from the Cabin Games label, a real testament to fusing old game to young blood—the production from Kjell Nelson (known for his work with Otieno Terry as the Hightek Lowlives) suits Blak well, with a funereal stomp and occasional sun-glittered shards of soul (as on "Chores" and "Bus Stop"). In a Seattle that's capable of seeing the worth of complex black art (Shabazz Palaces, for example), it would be right and just for a veteran like Silas Blak to find a bigger audience than he's had to date.

SASSYBLACK

Personal Sunlight (Self-released)

You know SassyBlack, aka Catherine Harris-White, as one half of soul-ar sistren THEESatisfaction. As of late, both her and Stas THEE Boss have been as prolific with their solo work as they have as a unit. SassyBlack's latest EP, Personal Sunlight, is exactly what it sounds like, a bright picture—a selfie, even—of the narrator's inner space. Lo-fi and high-flying, she asserts her right to nuance, showing multiple aspects as a playful seducer, a ray of sunlight, an eternal "thrilla" who one must never play or test—not to mention vocalist and producer. The spare, DIY bedroom productions not only give the project a sense of deep-space isolation, but a degree of timelessness. If not for the phrase "on fleek" giving a clue to the era of origin, Personal Sunlight could be a homegrown demo of experimental, transcendental R&B poetry from the 1980s or '90s, perhaps unearthed by another alien culture.

CAM THE MAC

Chef Killa (Self-released)

West Seattle's Cam the Mac reps the Moor Gang—for some years now, kind of the premier "bad guys" of the local hiphop scene. Which is to say, they're the most visible, young, all-black street rap collective—12 deep at last count—trying to make it in a city that is, well, Seattle. (Conflict alert: I manage the Moors' Jarv Dee.) So though they enjoy a lot of popular support from fans, they get bad-mouthed, blocked, and watched—being "no angels," as the news would say when it comes exclusively to black bodies. (Can you even imagine HBK, or A$AP Mob, or, God help them, OFWGKTA—the very acts whose headliners regularly come through the city's best venues and festivals—trying to kick off careers in this town?) What never gets lost in any discussion of the Moors, though, is their deep reserve of talent—and out of their considerable starting lineup, the prolific young "Killa" might be the clique's best-kept secret.

Cam the Mac's latest and best mixtape, Chef Killa, finds him in peak form, filleting, buttering, and broiling a mix of original production and industry beats (from Drake, Yo Gotti, and others) with an ease as palpable as his hunger—just let that boy cook. His ruthless hustler pragmatism and son-of-a-pimp game won't endear him to the genteel, but his bars are slick enough to delight actual rap fans and sharp enough to fade 99 percent of his young fly rapper comp. "Everybody got bars, though," as he says—it's Cam's humanism and humor that make him a cut above. On "Out Here," he reminds you that your waitress "got bills to pay," hopes out loud that you find confidence in yourself, and warns us not to give up hope in this cold world. That's the real killer. recommended