Don't think I've had to start a column like this for a while, but a big Rest In Power goes out to industry legend Sylvia Robinson—singer, writer, producer, and founder of Sugar Hill Records, who died on September 29. "Rapper's Delight" was the first rap song ever commercially released (unless you count that Fatback Band song, which is fine). The circumstances behind the creation of that song (replayed Chic loop, lyrics allegedly stolen from Grandmaster Caz and recited by amateur, unproven rappers) may be dubious, but the impact of it and its runaway success (it reportedly almost went diamond) cannot be overstated. (If you're the type of guy—and it's usually only guys—who gets mad about hiphop musicians selling out, understand that this happened at ground fucking zero of hiphop. Also worth noting: "Rapper's Delight" was nonsensical party rap, and they wore tight pants. Were Sugar Hill Gang hipsters?) Even more important to the development of recorded rap's narrative, though, was Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five's "The Message," hiphop's first real conscious rap song. No incense or P.M. Dawn (!) shit here, though, just street reporting way realer than anything heard yet, describing the squalid reality of the living conditions ("rats in the front room, roaches in the back, junkies in the alley with a baseball bat") that spawned what is the most important musical movement since jazz.

There's a lot of that sincere/campfire flow in Seattle music and thereabouts these days. Some of it's awesome; some of it don't move me. What's obvious is that it speaks to people about their lives at that time. These days, a lot of people move to that which moves them, you feel me? I assume some of you might be familiar with Astronautalis or became so at Bumbershoot? He's indie, he's folk, he's Tom Waits shanty-soul, but he's a road warrior ex–rap battle champ, too. That's hiphop. His album that came out a month ago, This Is Our Science (released by the rap 4AD, that is, Fake Four), breathes heavy with redemption, pianos, and guitars like another guy you might know, and shares the woodsy, "old growth, old hope" fiery soul revival vibe of a whole lotta fools you may know. But it's beautiful, articulate, short (38 minutes), and very sweet—his finest moment. The other voices you hear are Sims, Mike Wiebe, Odd Future fan Tegan Quin, and awesome one-bar cameos from Isaiah Toothtaker and P.O.S. Go see him at the Vera Project on Friday, October 7.

On Saturday, October 8, Yelawolf's Hard White tour hits Neumos with DJ Craze and Rittz, who actually has the best name, junk food–based or otherwise, of any white rapper ever in history. Like his bro with the punk do and the tats that's on Shady/Aftermath, Rittz can also spit his ass off, as evinced by his mixtape White Jesus (which, if you think about it, is one of the best names for a white rapper's album ever). Go see him but please don't pop the trunk. For real.