So summer is deader than Meek Mill's Canadian tour bookings, school is back in—shout-out to all the teachers, y'all deserve everything—and police are still jumping on black bodies like they were Wiz Khalifa's hoverboard. Jaywalking looks to be almost as dangerous as not properly signaling—and remember, we still don't know what happened to Sandra Bland. In Dallas, people were hateful and stupid enough to arrest a little-ass boy for allegedly bringing a bomb to school—even though they didn't really think he had made a bomb. I hope the next thing Ahmed Mohamed decides to invent is a lawsuit for that ass. White supremacy always needs another L.
Speaking of: I know Iggy Azalea had to cancel her headlining tour earlier this year, and T.I. (who signed and cosigned her) has lately taken to distancing himself from her in interviews, but rest assured that she's still going stronger than ever—she just played a top-tier entertainment destination in town, namely, the Puyallup Fair. Yes, where people eat Earthquake Burgers and try to sell each other mixtapes. No shade, all schadenfreude.
Now: That packed-out Thraxxhouse show at the Crocodile was a riotous homecoming for the rulers of Seattle's young underground—and their thing ain't slowin' up too soon judging by the new Mackned video for "Live Without Me," the "Heart-Shaped Box"–sampling cut from his upcoming Hurt Cobain 2. But in the meantime, it is imperative you not miss the boom-up of Ned's fellow Westsider SneakGuapo. Guap's new Konica tape—much like its Japanese-made namesake, when used with skill—captures vivid, emotional snapshots, in full color. From the jump ("Thraxxhouse, all my niggas kill the stage/Moor Gang and my niggas on they way"), it's clear that Sneak is perfecting the style—an unthawed disregard that betrays uncooked emotion—that's been gestating since 2013's evocatively thug Suicide Capitol. Thraxx keeps distilling the essence of post-internet rap. If you love the rawness of Main Attrakionz, then listening to this, you might just "fall in love with potential." Just know that hard-driving Guap "needs perfection."
Speaking of: I hope by now you've gotten to sit with 90059, the new album from TDE's flamed-up Watts rep Jay Rock. Rock and his cohorts' heavy, hardcover new volume of Top Dawg's ongoing saga of sly rap dominance is absolutely another one for the year-end lists. Historically, the Black Hippy member that moved me the least, Rock has leveled up noticeably now that the lane is his. The welcome presence of his clan cousins is palpable—"Vice City" gon' be the death of me. And I mean really, with these guys (and Vince Staples) around, really rapping with purpose and heart, front lining for street-deep hiphop music from LA—why would I be compelled to care about the stagey, soulless Compton, except as an exercise in nostalgia? Not to keep harping on that, but damn, it's a big deal when the good Doctor seems out of touch with what's vital on the West Coast. What a Time to Be Alive.
(Speaking of Future and Drake—confidential to the big homie DV One: Our guys might just need to hear "Jumpman" to find their tempo like DJ Mustard in order to get us those "Big Rings." CiCi will just have to understand.)