So where are we today? Any further? It feels like technology is speeding up but society is gearing up, to put some of us in the jail, or beneath it. I won't go easy, or quiet.
Moving on: I've touched upon what is, for me personally, one of the most troubling trends in rap—the rise of the frat-bro Hollister-rap wave. Wax, G-Eazy, Hoodie Allen all are high-ranking purveyors—even though Hoodie took the time to personally drop me an e-mail, and he's a very nice young man—but I don't think the Rohypnol- hop wave has a better exemplar than a rapper coming to the Crocodile on Wednesday, July 31, a rapper who's name is Mike Stud. Mike fucking Stud, yo. Say that name out loud three times, look down, and realize that you're wearing two polo shirts simultaneously, with both collars tickling your fucking earlobes. Most rappers in this vein give off that smarmy letterman jacket, team-captain swag, but none more than Mike Stud, an actual once-promising college baseball player (for Duke University no less). Now, even I—a guy who gives less than a half-squirt about sports in general—know that Duke is the biggest douche factory in the game this side of Massengill. (No shame or shade toward feminine hygiene products meant, either, if that's your thing.) I seriously cannot, not even a bit, with this guy's music, Jesus fucking Christ—as if White People™ weren't already living directly atop my very last surviving nerve as it is. Just kidding, I love everybody. Except Mike Stud. Kick your feet, bro.
Please go see some good shows, not this forever-chillaxed party boy bullshit. Nothing wrong with raging—but most of all, rage against the dying of the light. A great time awaits you at Nectar on Saturday, August 3, as THEESatisfaction headline a show with NYC's reunited queer party-rap sisters supreme Yo! Majesty (can we please get a surprise appearance from their buds Champagne Champagne for "Cali Bud"?), along with a killer bill consisting of Moor Gangstress Gift Uh Gab, JusMoni & WD4D, and OCnotes. Equal parts edgy, weird, awesome, and raw. What exactly is fucking with that? Not satisfied? Try an evening with the aqueous/plasmatic sounds of Seattle's premier BasedWorld ambassador Keyboard Kid—along with Denver's preeminent dopehound goth-hopsters BLKHRTS, and lyricist/activist Julie C of Alpha P—at the Crocodile's Back Bar on Monday, August 5.
MMG—no, not the one founded by the ex-pig-playing-coke-dealer, but DC's topnotch Mello Music Group—just released 33 and a Third, the new album from Seattle-based producer deluxe Def Dee, who I've been rocking with tough since his heavy Gravity LP with the MC now called La. It's dust-gritty, fresh-never-frozen-in-time boom-bap, and a killer top-to-bottom listen with shots of the raw from a gang of cats ranging from Oddissee to One Be Lo, as well as local shiners La, Grynch, Chev, and Mic Phenom. Stitched together from vaulted MMG cuts as well as new verses, remixes, and inserts, Dee's newest is ringing bells all over the place—so you damn sure better give him his props at home.