Hopefully by the time you read this, a week will have passed without the Seattle Police Department shooting anybody to death, without any fucking ax murders, without the Koreas clashing, and without us all being on the verge of ruin and annihilation (more than usual). Hopefully no college-bro funk-rock bands decide to enlist an MC, no dimwit rappers or famous-for-being-on-TV types influence younger minds to emulate their lack of common sense and excess of self-regard. Hopefully, the snow shitstorm that terrorized my balls last week will have abated, and you will be on the last day of Thanksgiving leftovers. Maybe by then you'll have heard Vitamin D's hearth-warming Funk on Sight mix or Sol's "Feed My Ego," an eerily timely joint written from the perspective of an imaginary gassed-up town rapper thinking his shit is somehow free of stank. It's a welcome reminder—as everything, in its way, should be—not to lose proper perspective. Sorry for the gloomy tone, I just hate the goddamned snow and its overbearing white bullshit!

Luckily, I got Curren$y's Pilot Talk II to keep me feeling turtleneck-toasty. Spitta just makes that swanky space-age bachelor-pad music; his Mr. Butterworth drip-drawl drizzles all over perfectly chilled synth noir or lean live funk, such as on album standout "Montreux"—oh so smoothly named for the Swiss jazz hotspot. The next track, the low-eyed sax romp "Famous," sounds like it was jacked from a Sade album. There is, to me, no better weed rap currently available. Make no mistake, though, dude is more than a bit of a beast on the low, subtle with syllable-work and with a pop-cultural frame of reference that few out there are seeing. So you know I'll be at Neumos on Thursday, December 2, to see Spitta, along with the hellafied supporting cast of Nipsey Hussle, Dom Kennedy, Smoke DZA, the ex–No Limit Soldier known as Fiend, Corner Boy P, and DJ Swervewon.

Right up the road at Chop Suey that night, though, is the CD release of the self-titled debut from Dyno Jamz—the young collective that won top honors in 2009's EMP Sound Off! and that solidly, righteously pulls off the too-easy-to-be-corny vibe that is live-band hiphop, with brass, hooks, and soul. With them are Theoretics and the Flying Sneakers Crew.

What's left this week? A huge fucking party at Neumos on Friday, December 3, as Mad Rad celebrate the release of their second album, The Youth Die Young. No matter your take, you must admit that Radjaw, Buffalo Madonna, and P Smoov have pumped some real life and controversy into their surroundings, and cut a memorable swath of sellouts and ballsy promo through the city that others have since happily tried to replicate. TYDY's mattress-jumping club-kid electro is laced with stadium hooks, theatrical moan-singing, and (much improved) raps both crass and poetic. Pardon my metaphor, but this album corners you like a hot cokehead at a party someplace you ain't never been: oversharing, sometimes overbearing, sometimes not nearly as deep as it thinks, all frantic buildup and single-minded intensity. In a good way. Go see them sweat with Champagne Champagne, Viper Creek Club, and White Fang.