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XX x MMXX :: 20 best of 2020

Yeah, yeah: 2020 was a Tale of Two Shitties: it was the best of times (for rap music), it was the worst of times (for everything else).

I listened to 666 albums this year, which was a supposedly fun thing I’ll never do again. What grabs me is the joints that capture the times, that push the art forwards. But also it has to bob my head and shake my brain. So this is the best 20 for 2020. (After the first 4, they’re not in ranking order.)

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Here To Go

Many narratives follow the hero’s journey, the fool’s journey — from youth to wisdom, innocence to experience, hope to bitterness, from…what’s that shit, Hobbittown, to Mordor where it all ends in lava and tears. We’re all here to go.

It’s hard to put these three best records of the year in the right order. Unknown Infinite is a clear out-the-box legacy joint, SHRINES has seasoned wisdom, but Nebula is both alpha and omega.

Killah Priest :: Rocket to Nebula

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Every time I see that Jay Elec record on a year-end list, I think: well, you slept on Nebula. You fell for that pack of microwaved leftovers that tasted extremely Best Before Dec 21 2012. Y’all climb, I’ll take the shuttle up.

The 19th century equivalent of Killah Priest was William Blake, who said: “If it were not for the Poetic or Prophetic Character, the Philosophic and Experimental would soon be at the Ratio of all things; and stand still, unable to do other than repeat the same dull round over again.”

(Killah Priest is a better poet than Blake. Yeah, I said it. Come at me, red dragon.)

There were too many records this year which just colored inside the lines. If rap is a spectrum, I’m not interested in what you can paint with primary reds and blues. What’s way out in the microwaves, what’s chopping in staccato gamma rays?

Theoretically, the longest wave in the electromagnetic spectrum would be a radio wave echo from the Big Bang itself. This wave would be the length of the entire universe. That’s some Killah Priest shit.

Burroughs says: What are you here for? We’re here to go. Earth is a space station, and we’re here to go. Into space.

But what Burroughs and Priest both understand is, we’re not gonna get there in a spaceship (fuck you, Elon). Between the eye socket is where I build my sky rocket. We get there through heavy mentals.

1998’s Heavy Mental was a hidden scroll that leapt hip-hop leagues forward, a pan-ghetto Wu-futurist syncretism of Bible, Middle Passage and exodus. Priest put his sword in the stone on it, and walked away to deliver many years’ worth of Heavy Me-not-al records (though in the past few has re-invigorated on joints like Psychic World of Walter Reed and Don’t Sit on the Speakers) — those were midrash and footnotes to the Total Overstanding Raging Against Heaven. But I wasn’t expecting this, a bookending new testament, another light year jump.

There are no drums on this record. He mighta just sampled and looped John Cage’s organ piece which has been playing since 2001 and will finish in 2640. There’s only the hint of ambient, meditative music — bare piano loops, shimmering chimes — behind what is, in fact, twenty chapters of poetry. There must be something like 15,000 words of crafted verses on this record.

The amount and level of writing is just sublime, even when it’s also gloriously ridiculous. I mean, if you break down ‘Magnificent Interview’ — it’s two minutes of K-Pax samples; nostalgia for imagined landscapes that honestly tear me up every time; nostalgia for quieter times, Quiet Storm jams and quiet storms; vegan dishes described in great detail; Lucifer’s bibliography (which includes Brief History on Time Travel and Theology of Star Wars); angels ordering even more vegan food in great detail; Priest and a waitress turning into pillars of salt and a prism. Then there’s two more minutes of K-Pax samples. No one has ever made a rap album like this.

This record is everything. The sun and the moon are there. The planets and the pyramids are there. It reaches back to the ancient and forwards to a future where we escape this prison planet. It’s a journey both in time and space — because they are the same. Andromeda, Atlantis; aliens, angels; ghosts, faces; mental, physical — they’re the same.

Heavy Mental leaned heavier on the Killah, the inner space invader, the prophet warrior bearing Basic Instructions written in black fire on white fire. Nebula is the older, wiser, Priest. It’s like he spent 22 years meditating under a Jovian bodhi with Ghidorah for an umbrella, and came back with this — a UFO pyramid to take 143,999 of us to the promised land. Mental was the training and the launchpad; Nebula is the flight: on ‘Almost There,’ he launched to Saturn and on ‘In Secret Anticipation,’ he brings us a seven minute imagining of an ancient planet Eden.

What gives the record its power is how wistful and nostalgically mourning it is for places and planets and people that only exist in his imagination

This was a hopeless year. This record reminds us not to be so tempocentric — these things shall pass. There’s vastness and mystery, grace and power, far beyond all this. Also, if you watch 2001: A Space Odyssey backwards while playing this record, it perfectly lines up.

It was pretty much worth watching Westworld for the one episode where homie realizes he’s an immortal Lakota robot trapped in an endlessly recurring cycle of violent death. What does he learn? This is the wrong world. That was some Killah Priest shit too.

(Priest also put out two perfectly good records with Jordan River Banks in 2020, which are slightly more accessible, or if you don’t have any gallons of mescaline around the house.)

 

Amani + King Vision Ultra – An Unknown Infinite

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There’s a tradition and a throughpoint of New York albums that capture their time, that’s a raw talent jumping out the box, that’s popping with singular voice, that gives the sound a huge shove forward. Autobiographies that capture a year in time, forever — legacy records. It goes something like Illmatic, The Infamous, Cold Vein, So It Goes. And now, Unknown Infinite. What El-P once wrote is ouroboros apropos here:

Illmatic is one of the last great rap records attached directly to the lineage of the history of rap culture in our city. It was inhabited by the spirits of a just passed era and a radiant, moody and raw signifier of the next one.

This record is microwave weaponry for culture wars. King Vision Ultra & co’s beats are like a Terminator stepping on a human skull, forever. ATAB. It’s a viral fever dream with CNN on a loop. Verses and samples weave in and out over blurs and booms — reaching back and embedding the album into history. It seethes, broods, grinds; pops and envelops like a ‘less lethal’ tear gas round to the face. It’s the glitter of broken glass in Molotov cocktail firelight, the fire in which we burn. So hot, so hot, so hot, so what. Song of the Not So Law Abiding Citizen, word to June Jordan. But it’s a cold world out there. That droning is idling refrigerated morgue trucks, full of covid dead.

The record is a commentary and a manifesto. If post-structuralism says that the truth of events is tied to the language describing them, this is an album for the year where truths were battles. Truths were a matter of life and death. This is encoded quantum language for dark time movement signals. The tongue ain’t a toy.

Armand Hammer – SHRINES

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JOHNNY AND LUTHER HTOO HAVE LEFT THE BUILDING.

Listening to Armand Hammer is watching a tag team who know each other’s moves, playing off and pushing each other higher. They run the game, set the bar for everyone else. 2020 was the dumpster fire of history, but they already built ROME in a day and fiddled while it burned. I mean, they already made a song about disinfectant, ffs. They built the temple and then they smashed the moneylenders’ tables.

They might travel fifty years back and only move the pen six inches, and have a time machine that won’t go backwards, but that’s the Kali Yuga for you: cycles within cycles. The Tarot card for death doesn’t mean dying, it just means things change and start over. Shook the hourglass like a snowglobe. Flavor Flav used to say he wore the clock because he knows what time it is.  Homeboy is always a day late and a dollar short. That clock spins centrifugal.

SHRINES is a new chapter, which still blows up graceful as third-generation bomb makers, but also takes times to celebrate and smell the flowers. Five cigarettes still says the revolution won’t change shit, but there are moments of beauty along the way.

For your sides, Elucid got his Bad Brains on for Don’t Play It Straight, taking it back to the Police & Thieves days. woods dropped the brain bomb with Moor Mother for BRASS—this one got a steppin’ razor under the obi strip. It’s some Move bombing 1985 vs. exterminating the brute Leopold III in 1885. It's Ganja & Hess Redux. It’s the last scene of Zardoz, blackwards.

 

Talk of the Town

When I was growing up, we didn’t have the Bible in the house, we had The New Yorker. So it’s cool (but also weird) how there’s the occasional rap article in the New Yorker now, but it’s also kind of like…finding out late in life there’s a verse in Ephesians about Ice Cube? It’s also weird (but maybe cool?) they haven’t covered Armand Hammer, or Open Mike Eagle, or any of these cats. (I mean a full-on profile, not just the little box in Goings On and on the blog. It’s still weird to me that the New Yorker has blogs.) 

I mean, it’s the fucking New Yorker! For smart people who like smart people shit.

Anyway, what’s my point? These were the really unique joints that pushed the artform into new territories.

 

Moor Mother – Circuit City / Waiting Time/BRASS/Who Sent You

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THE BUTLER* COMIN’!

I been aware of Moor Mother for a while, but this was the first year I really got it. She’s one of the most multi-talented, urgent and accomplished artists working today in the medium of sound. She can kick it on some rapping, on some poetry, some straight up jazz, sound collage, and she can drop a remix of drone metal. If she doesn’t get a Macarthur Genius Grant, what the fuck are those even for?

That Watchmen show ended with Angela Abar galaxybraining Dr Manhattan powers, becoming Kali herself, and Damon Lentilhoof was all, well, I don’t know how to take this story forward, the show’s over.  Moor Mother was like, *cocks one eyebrow*.

 

*Octavia

 

The Koreatown Oddity – Little Dominiques Nosebleed

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There were so many hugely ambitious, idiosyncratic, highly personal records this year, you could easily have a list of just those—the rap autofictions, the bildungsrappons. It’s become its own subgenre. Innocent Country 2, Anime Trauma & Divorce, Dump YOD, Gandhi Loves Children: any and all of these are worth your ears. (Plus, the jangly anxiety of Serengeti’s AJAI deserves mention.)

TKO’s Nosebleed takes it for me for its controlled chaos, its sheer audacity, the layers and range it packs in. The two car accidents framing the story caused “ripples from the impact spread out as wide as free jazz concepts.” It’s a portrait of place and time — the Koreatown he grew up in — a jubilant, complex mainlining of Saturday morning cartoons and neighbourhood drama. You can feel the bright, slanting LA sun. You can smell the corn on the cob with parmesan, and the car crash blood and motor oil.

 

R.A.P. Ferreira – purple moonlight pages

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I been big on fka milo since back when he was that young cat who raps about Kierkegaard. He coulda eaten off that forever, but he keeps trying out new things. (I mean, 2020 had perfectly solid, advanced art type shit that wasn’t in my top 20 because it was the same sonically unique stuff they’ve already done—the Shabazz Palaces record was TOO SHABAZZ PALACESY.)

pages works off a Jefferson Park Boys and Kenny Segal beatscape that's looser and funkier than what Ferreira usually pops on, and this after-hours basement boogie woogie vibe gets him freer but no less thoughtful and incisive. It’s good to grow and good to get down. It's the first time I've heard a rapper sound like he's playing off the band, in a jazz sense. Also, rapping about laundry! Laundry as metaphor! Let rap leave no part of life unrapped about.

 

The Usual Suspects

Roc Marciano — Mt Marci

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As good as the records between Marcberg and Marcielago are, to be honest I fuck with Marci’s Collected Loosies & Guest Features: 2010-19 more — he pulls out more stops on other people’s joints. But like Marcielago, this is a solid-state Marci album. (I mean yeah, it has the weird Kool-Keith-gave-me-some-bad-acid-with-BBQ-sauce-stains swerve after track 11, but let’s just forget that happened.)

Roc's progression reminds me of two things. First, the master of condensed writing, Isaac Babel, who shrank novels into three page short stories: I start by cutting all the words it can do without. You have to keep your eye on the job because words are very sly, the rubbishy ones go into hiding and you have to dig them out.

The other was a book on Mondrian I saw once. He started out painting normal-ass churches and trees. Then he started taking things out — elements, colors. Curves. Shapes. How much could you take out and still have the essence of the thing? Eventually he got down to just black lines, red, yellow and blue blocks.

It’s fascinating to go back to the beginning, the UN days but even Marcberg, and see how Roc’s continually compressed his lyrics — he started out writing sentences, cohesive verses, but keeps stripping out what’s unnecessary, to the point where he goes well below haiku to drop five-syllable poems like:

Yayo

Scott Baio

…and that’s it. That’s all he needs to say. It’s pure essence of pimp. Mondrianberg.

 

Ka — Descendants of Cain

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I’ve spoken on Ka so many times now, that I’ve said mostly all I got to say. He doesn’t have a discography, he has a bibliography. Cain is a callback/victory lap to Grief and another finely wrought, carefully rendered work. There are lots of rappers who can paint bleak, grey portraits, but none have Ka’s quiet strength and humanity. Also it samples John Huston’s crazy 1960s Bible movie and The Robe, what could be better.

Cain and Abel? Jealous brothers. That’s the story. That’s the record. That’s Stringer and Avon too. It’s the oldest story. The deed of Cain was multiplied a thousand times. The apple wasn’t the original sin. It was that brother-on-brother murder.

I think a lot about Abraham on Mount Moriah, ready to sacrifice his son. What kind of God asks for this? What kind of God lets us stumble through Sodom and Gomorrah? What kind of strength to you need to rise up to that?

When Ka started theming his albums — chess, samurai, Greek tragic myth — the Old Testament was an obvious endpoint. The book of original sin, the exodus, Jacob and Esau. Power. Respect. Juice. How far will you go to get it? Thus sayeth the Lord.

 

Conway — From A King To A God / LULU / No One Mourns the Wicked

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Of the Griselda triumvirate, Conway had the best year. Westside Gunn’s joints were workmanlike product but instantly forgettable; Benny turned in one of the year’s many ‘major talent makes a stab at mainstream record’ — Black Thought and Nas did this too — sparkly and shiny like spilled aspartame and tasting about the same.

There’s a good amount of the classic Machine — “Raw Oysters” alone is another masterclass in his ice grill, thousand yard stare repertoire, but King To A God and Wicked swap out Daringer’s smoked out Buffalo north winds for squelchier beats which highlight his heaviness. 

That weight was always there. When he says, ‘Look what I became,’ it puts the hook in me every time. Every. Single. Time. It’s Grendel. It’s the Hulk. It’s the Judge from Blood Meridian. It’s that dude in 30 Days of Night who shoots up vampire blood and punches his fist straight through the boss vampire’s head. God don’t make mistakes, see — I’m ‘bout to have Paul robbing Peter to pay me.

 

Pillow Talk

Because you slept.

Tokyo Cigar x odd nosdam – External Magnetic

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You may remember odd nosdam from such films as cLOUDDEAD, Anticon and his 20 years’ worth of instrumentals which I’ve sprinkled on probably every other mixtape on this site since 2007. You may remember Tokyo Cigar from 2009’s underground rap duo Black Tobacco, if you’re me and have been saying ‘I wonder what Tokyo Cigar from 2009’s Black Tobacco is up to.’ (His then-partner in crime, Iceberg Theory, put out a gang of good work this year too.)

This joint is one of those alchemical miracles where one rapper and one producer exponentially amplify each other’s talents to create a chain reaction that just keeps on blowing up. It’s an off-kilter boom bap (a bam boop), hard in the paint record—don’t let the pedigree throw you off. You could slap on External Magnetic after Ultramagnetics and it would flow like Bruce Lee’s water.

 

General Back Pain x Body Bag Ben – Holy Hands II

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I think a lot about two essential qualities in hip hop: voice, and character. The actual timbre and tones, of a rapper’s voice for me is the third leg of flow and writing. Take a cat like Guilty Simpson—just a great, rich voice. Guru, Rakim are gods behind this. For me, Jay vs. Nas was never going to be a serious question behind Nas’ brandy-and-blunts pitch.

Character is harder to define. There’s a kind of—not exactly suspension of disbelief (in the outlandish braggadocio of what rappers, by definition, say), but buying into their created character, who they posit they are. It’s like, take Bruce Willis: is he a tough guy? No, he’s some barback from New Jersey, but something he does, or some quality he has, convinces us he’s this badass jumping out of buildings, running from explosions type of guy. Redman is a classic character rapper.

So these next two cats I dig from the voice and character angles.

 

Co-signed by every chiropractor in your area, General Back Pain’s got both the voice and the character—a laid back drawl, but also ready to throw down. The down-low flow makes it easy to miss what a good writer he is. He’s got a good ear for beats, kills it on all the guest verses he pops up on, and his Home Team crew’s been putting out a stream of quality all year. Plus, he’s called GENERAL BACK PAIN, for Christ’s sake—I admit it. I checked him behind the name alone.

 

Daniel Son x Finn – Dirty Dishes / Daniel Son, Asun Eastwood & Futurewave – Bite The Bullet

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I came on to this cat early in the year, and would’ve put 2019’s Yenaldooshi on as a last year pick if I’d heard it earlier. I like the Norf Norf Canadian Griselda thing he does. He also has a good ear for beats, with both Finn and regular collaborator Futurewave hooking it up nice. The character aspect comes in strong here. He’s got this vibe of that dude with the pet duck from The Wire, if he wised up, or of Christopher from The Sopranos, if he didn’t keep fucking up. Check the kid out.

 

Controller 7 – exhale01

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Turn of the century was a golden era for beat tapes and instrumental producers, and Left Handed Straw was a ripe apple in that cornucopia.  Twenty years later, exhale01 is not just a masterclass of a sample-based record. You’re listening to a cat with honed skills enjoy the hell out of making some jubilant, funky and crafted beats.

 

Rest of the Best

Wrecking Crew - The Complete Wreck

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Part of what makes rap so unique and unprecedented is its reinterpretation, inter-referentiality, and re-interpolation. The only things that are similar are Shakespeare, where for centuries the same plays are re-presented but recontextualized; the setting or genders or timestamp or just sets and costumes are always different, but the lyrics are the same. The other one is comic books, where hundreds of writers and artists have taken the same characters and re-interpreted them, looked at new facets of who they are, added and erased adventures and backstory. Batman can be a goofball with a rocket car, a fascist, a tortured orphan; Spider-man can be a Black teenager, apparently a pig, a washed up middle-aged man, a tycoon, a clone; the X-men are a metaphor for teenage hormones; for LGTBQ people; for refugees, etc.

I forget where I was going with this.

It was something about how the Wrecking Crew put out an entire Disney+ slate, all-the-MCU-movies level of output and quality control this year.

Remember when the Juice Crew and the Flavor Unit and Native Tongues all hopped on each others’ albums? These cats are bringing that back. And they all got superpowers. Flaming eyeball, laserface, rockfist, cosmic eyeball, technotronic bionic arm powers. It’s tempting to start action-figuring them up with counterparts, but Castro and PremRock are cooler than Falcon and Winter Soldier, and if Zilla is Moon Knight doesn’t Moon Knight look like Batman on crack? And is Alaska Home Depot Dr. Octopus? Who’s Small Pro, Dr. Strange? Yeah, forget it.

But DAMN you could not really choose between these records. ShrapKnel is maaayyyyyyybe the best. But Raheem’s Lament, Cargo Cults, Small Pro’s Selected Instros, Midnight Sons, Bluu Edwards, Rowhouse Whispers — these are all just freestyle combat, tag-team body-rocking, rappity-rap rapping-ass records.

So was this year their Endgame? Nah, it was more like their Start…game. WOW, that’s shockingly stupid. 

Uh…hmmm. I got nothing else. Dammit. Go listen to some Wrecking Crew.

 

Preservation – Eastern Medicine, Western Illness

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There are only a handful of classic compilation rap records—Lyricist Lounge, Soundbombing II—and even fewer classic one-producer compilation records. To me, the high water mark is DJ Muggs’ Soul Assassins Vol 1, when he was at the height of his powers and roped in the 1999 best of the best for mortal combat. (Prince Among Thieves is not a Top 5 compilation album because it’s a Top 1 concept album.)

Preservation’s been the best kept secret among producers, the knife-in-the-boot silent secret weapon. I mean, he produced Days With Dr Yen Lo, which is probably my favorite Ka record and definitely a top 3 for the last decade record.  And on this, he draws heavy from a unique well of Hong Kong digging for the best comp we’ve had in years.

I mean, woods! Mach! Marci! Ka! Tree! Nickelus F! Quelle! Navy Blue! It’s every underground heavyweight in the game today, and the beats are some of his best work yet.

 

Enemy Radio – Loud Is Not Enough

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Look peoples, I was born* a Public Enemy fan, and I’ll die a Public Enemy fan. Work with it.

The ‘actual’ PE record on Def Jam, What You Gonna Do When There’s Another Long-Ass Public Enemy Album Title In The Form Of A Rhetorical Question, was…fine.  But this Enemy Radio joint just fucking goes.  Nobody whips tighter, banging slammers better than Mr Chuck D. He hasn’t lost a second off his time and still brings that Black steel for the current hour of chaos.

*in a rap sense

 

Is There Something Wrong With Your Dishwasher?

is what somebody said when they came over and I was playing one of these records.  The instrumental stuff I like is industrial enlightenment. It crushes derelict buildings but also takes you to the White Room, that place on the edge of consciousness between waking and sleep, where the other worlds are.  It’s dead city radio broadcasting lower frequencies from tomorrow’s apocalypse. Is there a German word that combines brutalist with turntablist? Brütürntablistsche? But when I recently took a two-dozen-album dive into drone metal, what I was looking for was that exact moment at 1:50 on ‘What Is Lost’ where God’s face moves over the surface of the whirlwind.

Anyway, that’s the shit I like. These aren’t no beat tapes. They’re beating your ass with an iron pipe tapes.

Saint Abdullah – Where Do We Go, Now?

Dalek – Meditations 2

Tenshun – Exploration of Sound / Skrapez – Rusty Nails

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I FEEL ALL RIGHT

The Stooges – 1970: The Complete Fun House Sessions

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This album got me through high school, and this year its 50th anniversary re-issue got me through quarantine. This is not old man classic rock radio bullshit. This is one of the grimest, sludgiest, illest, skankiest, bangingest records of all time. It’s the bridge between Link Wray and the Doors and punk rock and Sonic Youth. It’s got something red smeared on its mouth, could be blood, could be lipstick. It’s rolling around in broken glass. It will make you break all the things.

The re-issue takes the complete studio sessions for what’s a 7 song, 36 minute album and turns it into almost 8 hours, with every take they recorded, plus the superb deleted cut ‘Lost In The Future.’ (OK fine, the actual 2020 re-issue is a 1,970 copy super-duper vinyl boxset for rich rock nerds like Henry Rollins. What’s on Spotify is the 2005 studio sessions re-issue. But the rediscovered Live At Goose Lake did come out this year.)

I listened to it straight through for ten days running—like almost every waking moment. All eight hours. For ten days. I listened to it, according to computers, 57 times this year total. (To be fair, a bunch of times I hadda throw it on during long quarantine hikes as respite from slogging through the audiobook of To The Lighthouse, because it would be like, “Mr. Ramsay was thinking ‘can you believe this motherfucker asking for another plate of soup!!! What the hell, dude!’ and Mrs. Ramsay was eyeballing him all, ‘don’t you do it dude! Don’t you say a fucking word!’” and I’d be all, I can’t even with this hundred year old modernist classic bullshit, I need some Stooges Big Manson Family Energy, and I need it right. The fuck. Now.)

I couldn’t get enough of it, the power was wearing off like a drug, so I even had to see what all nine takes of ‘1970’ sounded like if you played them at once.  It turns into such a firestorm shitshow of noise it still hasn’t been DMCA’d.

So ordinarily I’d stick to a rap record that came out this year, but this year hit different.  I am deck of cards years old. This album is a half century old. But I FEEL ALL RIGHT. I FEEL ALL RIGHT. I FEEL ALL RIGHT. *howls in Iggy Pop*

 

Thanks for playing everyone! Tune in next year for another episode of What Is He Even Talking About, Jesus, Just Tell Us The List.

ghanaian pallbearers

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It's the Best of MMXX part 2--just the flaming bangers.  Stay at home or dance with us.  Stay at home and dance with us?  And/or dance with us?  Endor dance?  Whatever.

Born Woke - Enemy Radio / Nobody - The Leonard Simpson Duo (Guilty Simpson x Leonard Charles)Holy Calamafuck - Run The Jewels / The Blinding - Jay Electronica (feat. Travis Scott) / Pirouette - Shirt / War Stories - Armand Hammer / Charles Barkley - Tha God Fahim x Your Old Droog x Preservation / Bolo Vs Van Damme (International Crime) - Tokyo Cigar x Odd Nosdam / Jansport - DJ Muggs x Al.Divino / E.K.N.Y. (Ed Koch New York) - R.A. The Rugged Man (feat. Inspectah Deck & Timbo King) / Guzman Escapes - The Opioid Era / Armament - ShrapKnel (feat. Zilla Rocca) / Ginkabiloba - The Koreatown Oddity (feat. Taz Arnold) / New Classic - GeneralBackPain x BodyBagBen / Pimps Don't Wear Rabbits - Roc Marciano / Pour House - Mach-Hommy (feat. Your Old Droog) / Fly Decorum - Daniel Son x Finn / Rammellzee - Cargo Cults / Chocolate Souffle - Shabazz Palaces / Fear Of God - Conway (feat. Dej Loaf)

 

b-bop for b-boys (take 10)

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So was gonna sit on this for a bit, but since all but two are 2020 joints, why not--it's a stealth Best of MMXX too.

Bubba Chuck - Westside Gunn (feat. Stove God Cooks) / Bullets & Predicaments - Killy Shoot x Onaje Jordan (feat. General Back Pain, Lupus Dei & Chuck Chan) / Noncipher (dub) - Kenny Segal / Laundry - R.A.P. Ferreira / The Monk Is Infinite - Small Professor / Red Herring (August Fanon Alternate Take) - ShrapKnel / Fuck WW3 Freestyle - AM x Akari / Landline - Kassa Overall (feat. Carlos Overall) / Orko Freestyle #3 - K-The-I??? x Orko Eloheim / 1024 - Haircut Ambiance (August Fanon x Tokyo Cigar) (feat. Iceberg Theory) / Mystic Music - Small Professor b/w We Real Cool - Gwendolyn Brooks / Accordion - Neneh Cherry x The Thing / Act 4—No More Wires - Moor Mother b/w Song of the Law Abiding Citizen - June Jordan / Battlefield Culture - Saint Abdullah (feat. Travis Laplante)

 

Previously...

 

portrait of a year on fire

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Don't need to tell you how the year went.  But music-wise, another amazing one.  This is the first half of the Best of MMXX: Portrait of a Year on Fire.  Portrait of a World on Fire.

AKA Tentin Quarantino's Once Upon A Time...In My House.

Lost In The Future - The Stooges / Hell Up In Harlem Intro - Swave Sevah x Parallel Thought / Repulsion - Bonzo / When It Happens (Don't Mind Me) - NIN / Sloth - Skrapez / Guillotine - AMANI x KING VISION ULTRA / The carnal soul - Saint Abdullah / 1492 - AZOMALI / 56 - Crimeapple x MichaelAngelo / Spurs 3 - Conway (feat. Benny The Butcher & Westside Gunn) / Power - Killy Shoot x Tone Beatz (feat. General Back Pain) / Once Upon A Time In Somnath - FRKSE / if kane battled ra, kool g rap would win - Small Professor / Parables - Armand Hammer (feat. Akai Solo) / Risk - The Alchemist / the edge of new clothes - Open Mike Eagle / Children Of Never - Preservation (feat. AG) / Where Do I Begin? - Controller 7 x Buck 65 / exhausted - serengeti / OMENS & TOTEMS - R.A.P. Ferreira / P.R.A.Y. - Ka / wading for the hour - BLACK QUANTUM FUTURISM / What is Lost, We Will Win - dälek / Now You Sit Alone - 24-Carat Black / Magnificent Interview - Killah Priest

 

 

b-bop for b-boys (take 9)

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You can play a shoestring if you're sincere.

-John Coltrane

Mrs. Cloutfire - Your Old Droog (feat. Mach-Hommy) / The Headcracker - Double XX Posse / Now You're Mine - Gang Starr / Popcorn - KMD / Scooby Doo -  Cypress Hill / Visible Plus Invisible - Elucid / Burnt Spoons (vs Mingus Shoots) - Roc Marciano (feat. Charles Mingus) / Nothingness Of Space (PT03) - PSY/OPSogist / Mission Statement - Blueprint / p9 33 - Odd Nosdam / Turntable Jazz 2 - Rob Swift / And All You Can Do Is Laugh (2) - cLOUDDEADHolidisk Inn - DJ Disk aka PhonopsychographDISK / Reality Sandwich - Busdriver / Haitian Fight Song [interlude] - Charles Mingus / Got It Goin' On - DJ Mark the 45 KingWarmachines - billy woods / Net Gala, Threepeat - Sadhugold / Bomb Shelter - Roc Marciano (feat. Willie The Kid) / B7 - Tha God Fahim x Mach-Hommy / Blackwater - Tha God Fahim x Mach-Hommy / Wild Minks - Quelle Chris (feat. Mach Hommy) / Dump You In A RVA - Nickelus F / camera - Nostrum Grocers / Special Blend - Henry Canyons (feat. Homeboy Sandman & Zoe Rose Palladino) / Haitian Fight Song [interlude 2] - Charles Mingus / Jazz Origins Interview - KRS x Rakim

Previous takes

decade :: the mmx

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El Anatsui, 'Man's Cloth,' 2002

(So over the decade on my annual reports I’ve written 35 pages of ranting and ravings, and I’ma repurpose some of that here, because I already said a lot of the shit I got to say.)

Hip hop changed and grew a lot this decade, and if anything streaming did two things: it released artists from needing to have that R&B crossover single or superstar guest feature, allowing them to do whatever the fuck they wanted.  It also meant people are discovering, tasting and liking omnivorally, just vibing with what they vibe to.  No more gatekeepers.  No more tastemakers.  No more label saying you can’t call your song ‘Camouflage Unicorns’ or ‘Salisbury Steak Sweater.’  So rap could get broader, more nuanced, more artful, more mature—and there was enough for every appetite.

Maybe we're in a short sweet spot where Spotify isn't quite yet choked at the gate by corporations making sure you hear their heavy investments. Algorithm 'curated' playlists and robot-made ambient chillout will soon enough bring us full circle to spoon-fed tastes--that is, back to radio days.

To paraphrase Harry Allen’s ‘Miuzi Weighs A Ton’ video concept, I am not interested in work that fulfills rap’s FUNCTION (move the dancefloor, sell records, fill stadiums, for strippers to twerk to, for the kids, the same old vanilla trap gangsta tales).  I am interested in how it progresses as a FORM: which asks what hip-hop is, what it can do—musically, culturally, politically, personally, artistically.

The shit I like is the multi-layered, the don't-know-what-he-said book, the Genius-annotators-don't-have-the-PhDs-to-handle-these-lyrics-son. To quote a Busdriver tweet: some of the best American writing is locked in these dense rap songs that no one likes.

10 Best of the Decade

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billy woods

The first thing woods drops on his 2004 debut Camouflage is him reading from James Baldwin’s "Letter from a Region in My Mind:" One would never defeat one's circumstances by working and saving one's pennies; one would never, by working, acquire that many pennies, and, besides, the social treatment accorded even the most successful Negroes proved that one needed, in order to be free, something more than a bank account.

In other words, shorty can't eat no book, what I told Ta-Nehesi Coates.

You know woods is my favorite working rapper, in my all-time top 10--I been TELLING you since 2008.  More than that, he's my favorite living writer: more than anything else, woods is a writer, and a great one.  He has a smart, sardonic, bitter and funny voice, and uses rap's power of capturing small moments of life in sharp, tight sketches.  A lotta times I wonder: this is a dude who isn't in it for the money or the ego trip, why isn't he just publishing novels or poetry collections? Because, again: shorty can't eat no book, what I told Ta-Nehesi Coates?  Maybe he'd be too constrained by a formal narrative, or the loss of his actual acid voice would rob the words, but tell me you wouldn't want a Library of Amerikkka edition of his complete lyrics.  That hasbeen Richard Price wishes he could write this fucking well:

Life is just two quarters in the machine

But, either you got it or don't that's the thing

I was still hitting the buttons, "Game Over" on the screen

Dollar movie theater, dingy foyer, little kid, not a penny to my name

Fucking with the joystick, pretending I was really playing

Pretending I was really playing

Pretending I was really playing

 

But that’s an easy one.  What motherfucker today was writing like this 15 years ago, let alone today:

Back in front the bodega, I’ll wager

With weed in sock, 31 Flavors, and a broke pager

Still broke many a hater

Rather laugh now and laugh later

He who last laughs probably had a razor

Got the shaft of life’s elevators like them boys out Decatur

Good fences make good neighbors

Ask ‘em on the West Bank—that extra clip can be a lifesaver

Woods is not a technical rapper—there’s no complex rhyme schemes, no punchlines.  He’s a storyteller, sometimes in whole narratives and sometimes in brilliant portraits and vignettes on some No Exit From Brooklyn tip.  His shit takes multiple re-listens to catch the jokes, unpack the footnotes.  He’ll pack in references to Things Fall Apart, Andy Capp, Sanford & Son, Wu-Tang, and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy all in the same damn song.  In another, Jenny Holzer, Killah Priest and Rumsfeld quotes. Every joint is full of fragments, namechecks, history lessons, cynicism and wisdom.

One of woods’ favorite writers, Dambudzo Marechera, called his writing a kind of "literary shock treatment."  His work was a process of "discarding grammar, throwing syntax out, subverting images from within, beating the drum and cymbals of rhythm, developing torture chambers of irony and sarcasm, gas ovens of limitless black resonance".  That’s the kind of dour candy woods likes to chew on.

He brings down Rap Game Blood Meridian, Rap Game Manhattan Transfer, it’s late night news broadcasts on dead city radio.  He writes with the eye of Joseph Conrad—observing his adopted land, the weaknesses and violence of colonial adventures.  He goes hard like Old Testament God, pimping where the water ain’t fit for drinking. The Metrocard machine asks you one question: what do you want to do?  Do you want to add value?  Or add time?  You can't have both.

Woods is that dude sitting on his stoop in a tank-top and Army surplus pants, sipping alternately from a Clamato and a Heineken for his hangover, reading the paper and getting pissed off about it. Spits with intelligence and aggravation, his records are like the OST for "An HBO Original Movie: Inside The Mind of the DC Sniper." Political rap has mostly been about rousing sloganeering, not usually turning its cynicism on the struggle itself. In 1989 P.E. told us to Fight The Power. woods wagers five cigarettes says the revolution won't change shit.

It’s cool he finally got props in Time fucking Magazine’s Albums of 2019 list, but you know damn well he’s also on the list of Rappers Most Likely To Be Sanctioned By Drone Strike.

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Ka

As far as classic albums of the decade that will last for all time, it’s Grief Pedigree, Marcberg, and everything else.  Grief is up there with Illmatic and Cold Vein of timeless, definitive rap bildungsromans.  He reduces rap to its most natural elements: stripped down loops, couplets of street pain at their barest, all delivered with economy and exacting precision—entire epics, compressed.  It’s elevating rap to a level of concrete abstraction--no logos, no skits, no gun sounds, no swagger, bare bones of stories--that he paints with pointed syllables.  Blood, blood, blood with the pen flow.  His beats are ghosts of fat beats for the man who plied his trade outside the ghost of Fat Beats, unravelled off that same damn ‘Lo sweater from ’93 to infinity.

Scorcese called the overhead shots in Taxi Driver 'sacramental perspective.'  Ka does those, moving down from on high with virtuouso tracking shots through subways into elevators crazy wet with piss.  I need more prayer to stay out the crosshair. He slices down to the bone until the words glisten with lapidary brilliance. He’s taken rap’s entire history of street tales and boiled it down to a rust-dark sea that fits in a 40 oz. bottle.

The level of artistry though!  Pedigree was a Dubliners--a collection of linked semi-autobiographical stories about a young man, written when he was older, and can look back not only with a sense of loss and regret, but also a pervasive sense of mortality.  But then—four albums that play with concepts and themes without losing their grounding in chainlink and streetlight.

The Night’s Gambit took on chess--the 6th element of hip-hop since the Wu era, but for Ka it becomes not only another mode of self-mastery, and the view of us as pawns in the game, but also a call of resistance—that the knight can champion, move sideways and attack.  There's other thematics—about luck, about chance, about destiny, and the search for grace.

Dr Yen Lo is the record I return to most, as Preservation brings a richer beat palette.  Using The Manchurian Candidate as a jumping off point, it’s a fever dream, a delirium.  Ka alludes to indoctrination, brainwashing, cultural hypnosis, programmed violence, and state-sponsored terror, but it's a motif but not a concept.  When you're raised around rage and vengeance / you can change, but in your veins remains major remnants.

Honor Killed The Samurai carried on his sword-sharp writing, an a deeper take than we usually get on hattori hanzos: Ka knows that Zen includes the tea ceremony, sword fighting and calligraphy--the art and meditation practice of writing just one letter, just one thought, after long and careful clearing of the mind, with one chance only to get it right.  It's street-level frescoes carved on grains of rice.

Finally, Orpheus vs The Sirens with Animoss.  Calling himself Orpheus isn't hubris: the name comes from the roots of slave, rebel, darkness, orphan.  Like Roc Marci, Ka knows street rap is the crafting of epics, of legends--honor and betrayal, heroes and monsters, journeys and battles.  So homie went Homeric, reached back to the Greek myths to infuse the struggles, and makes a whole album of contrast, metaphor, allusion and comparison.  That golden fleece was North Face.  That cyclops, a crooked cop.  That weight on your shoulders?  We're all Atlas out here son.  He's the poet, prophet and musician who went to hell and made it back. Jinxed to be the man deciphers life riddle or get killed by the Sphinx.

The Greeks had two words for time: kronos, for quantitative time--hours, days, years--and kairos, meaning the right time.  The right moment to convey the right message, with symmetry and balance--the moment to release the arrow so it'll hit the target.  That's what Ka does.  He knows that just because strippers know all the words to your song, it's just money on the clock.  He writes for the ages.

Ghost Dog didn't die at the end of The Way of the Samurai.  He lives in a Brownsville basement, waking at 3am from PTSD nightmares and digging in the crates for the dustiest loops.  Another way: Illmatic never got released, Nas lost an arm, and spent 20 years refining and compressing his craft for a wintertime debut.

Of all the rituals performed at Egyptian funerals, the most important was the Opening of the Mouth.  Symbolically cutting open the corpse's mouth.  It enabled the dead to pass into the afterlife seeing, hearing and breathing, and able to eat to sustain the Ka--that part of the soul that distinguishes the living from the dead.  Ka is the essence breathed into us at the moment of birth, and the only reliable guide through the Land of the Dead.  You here in the spirit? You only brung flesh / I keep it primal 'til it's final, who wanna come test?

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Roc Marciano

C’mon son.  It’s Marcberg.

*deep sigh* OK then. Let me break it down like this.

It’s not that Marcberg set the stage for the entire decade’s East Coast rap, it’s how he did that.  Musically, Marcberg is a cohesive set of perfect, ice-bright beats—like all the best albums, it’s one entire, unique sound.  Lyrically and musically, he took hip hop’s formative elements—funk, pimpin’, ballin’, fly shit, gangstaism, braggadocio, violence—and cut them paper-thin like the prison garlic scene in Goodfellas.  Then he built a body of work using these small, sharp shards, carving with that essence, so every line could be an end-to-end burner or carved on a tombstone (yours, not his).

It's Japanese calligraphy, each track a single character that says "Across 110th Street," painted with a musk-ox hair brush in blood (yours, not his) on Fendi mulberry paper while he's wearing a tangerine silk kimono and a bad bitch rubs his shoulders and makes him rare jasmine tea.  It's velvet draped on concrete. It's a hand-tooled Mexican leather holster for a gold-plated .45 with mother-of-pearl inlaid handles.  It's Marcberg Aurelius' Meditations on Pimpstaism.  It’s that time Raekwon starred in the kabuki play Yotsuya Kaidan—it’s g shit stylized, it’s reduced to its very ritual aspects. 

There's an intense simplicity, a harmony and focus that charges every joint—and the complete and total authority of his delivery.  Go back to 2004’s Strength & Honor—he’s rushing himself a bit, riding on mediocre beats, writing whole lines. It’s on Marcberg when he gets that superego and tiger claw, move-like-water flow. There's this thing he does where he switches up his rhyme scheme mid-verse, where he rolls syllables around like dice.  The chopped-up string of nearly unrelated bars, each cut finely. I'm in the Sahara with Arabs too arrogant for Donna Karan.

Comparisons with those he's influenced are pointless and spurious: you can't compare a goldfish to Moby Dick. He simply runs the fucking game, and we're living in the Marcazoic Era where every new MC is carbon-dated against his 2001-monolith shadow.

Marcberg is the stone-cold, all-time classic—there will never be another, that’s some Louvre shit. I probably liked Volumes I-IX of the loosies and guest shots a bit more than most of the followup albums--when he hops on someone else's beat, he picks a great one--but 2018’s KAOS with Muggs is a tie for second.  2019’s Marcielago is a perfection, a distillation, of a decade's work.  It's got his signature blend of smooth and ruthless, of threats and indulgence...it's got the funk and the thousand yard stare.  It's got brunch and cars and what his bitch is like today. 

Forget it, Jake. It’s Marcberg.

 

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Elucid

Curly Castro said Elucid’s music is like a séance.  This is true: he’s the gypsy and the ghost, the medium and the message, the Ouija and the Weegee.

Across the decade, Elucid created a sprawling Oort Cloud of cold rocks, breaking fast where the angels laugh: on his own, with Concrete Sound System (S&M washing machine porn) with A.M. Breakups as Cult Favorite (temple sermons somewhere between Manson and Stokely Carmichael), with Dumhi (no snakes allowed, with those Romare Bearden beats), with milo as Nostrum Grocers (a jazz cookout, free association masters in a cipher behind the cellar door), and with woods as the mighty, mighty Armand Hammer (where Statler & Waldorf meet Chomsky & Fanon).

There's cacophony, doom, prophecy, world-weariness, irony and resistance…but there’s also grace and peace here, shelter in the pervading menace of 2K Amerikkka.  Knowledge of all the Babylon A.D. tricks that RZA taught him in the vampire bar.  He's the cat who can sneak you past the checkpoints, but a hero ain't nothing but a chopped cheese.  Chuck D wrote his messages billboard-and-protest-sign ready; Elucid twists 'em up cryptic, slips them into fortune cookies made of sandpaper and dark syrup.  His own beats are cooked up from formaldehyde, dirty pigeon wings and ultraviolet light.  It's fractured blues and St. Augustine visions. Sipping on Flint water in ruined tabernacles.  Catch him breaking fast where the angels laugh.

 

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Shabazz Palaces

From that rat-a-tat-tat of drums and piano that opens 2009’s Of Light, I was hooked on what Palaceer and his galactic funk warriors were doing.  Battle of the Planets with a Prince soundtrack.  Black Panther by way of the '80s Flash Gordon. Flow my beats, the timecop said.  Rammellzee is the equation.  These are exactly the records we should have in a future we didn’t get, that we should’ve expected two decades after Reachin’ but didn’t.  It's like wearing intergalactic plushpluvial Dapper Dan underpants. It tastes like purple. But it still has street weight, still has depth, still transcendent.

The music silver surfs the tip of the quantum wave between confounding, demanding and deeply funky.  It's totally discordant yet addictively compelling--seeking, chasing, laying back in the swirl.  It creates its own world and trades in backpacks for Octavia Butler paperbacks. Like in The Terminator, it came across time to love you. 

By a hair I’d say 2011’s Black Up takes the prize, but Lese Majesty, double LP Quazarz and totally slept on side project Knife Knights (Did it not show up in your goddamn Spotify algorithm?  I bet it didn't show up in your fucking algorithm.) go Afrofuturist Space Disco Praxis Metastasis in the best way.  I'm always looking for the future.  I'm always looking for what the streets of the future will sound like.  This is it.  This isn't music for now.

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Mach-Hommy

A lot of what defines a rapper is persona, and Mach’s is his cool, removed aura of mystery—the bandana and fisherman hat as iconic and obscuring as DOOM’s.  If DOOM is the supervillain from ‘60s FF, Mach is the Haitian Shadow—who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?  The Dumpmeister knows. It’s also his total remove and almost disdain for the listeners—his shit is hard to find, at best collated on his Soundcloud—what he’s most bitter about is anyone’s guess.  There’s no official bio.  Search Wikipedia and you get ‘Did you mean Mack Holly?’  But that aura, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it scattershot output, and level of craft gripped those who know.

It’s easy to forget he dropped the excellent F.Y.I. in 2013 (and was sampling Burroughs and Marilyn Monroe on random mixtapes) before blowing minds with his still-unbeaten 2017 H.B.O.  Across 2018-19 he became practically the host of the Soul Assassins joints, closing out this year exec producing/featuring on Your Old Droog’s best album to date, Jewelry. He has dropped so much shit though, and not all of it hits me right on the beats, but his Selected Works is pretty unparalleled.

Mach has a crisp, shot-pellet cadence and never-ending flow, with Jenga-stacked lyrics on lyrics on lyrics that never unravel, and a good ear for lofi beats to ride on. He clips out lines one after another, with the precision and skilled relentlessness of John Wick popping head shots. His compressed density stacks like quantum microchips rather than loops from here to there in the more associative freewheels of other MCs; there's no variation in voice or tone, just a GZA-level science.

At this point worship at the Temple of Mach is getting a bit ridiculously fervent, but at least the $1,000 albums are discounted down to uh…$150.  Be interesting to see if he stays out there in the shadows, dipping out to bless us, or comes out with some definitive masterpiece a bit longer than his Muggs EPs.

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Griselda Gang

Griselda is a franchise, has been since 2015, and its members are not only highly conscious of that, it's part of their plan.  You don't tune in to the new episode for anything but Conway doing his Buffalo Marlon Brando Godfather growling, Gunn's gritty Joker-style reboot of Frank Gorshin's Riddler, and Benny's...butchering.  Plus Alc and Daringer beats with so much hiss and crackle it seems like part of the drums. I don't expect artistic expression or risks or variation, just good reliable gangsta shit on some Chris Paltrow and Snoop in the SUV regretting their violent life choices.

Maybe they’re spread a bit thin—like Mach, they’re Selected Works not Collected Works contenders.  Until 2019’s WWCD there’s not really been a definitive classic--no 36 Griseldas, just more and more Really? Still With The Hitler Thing?  Maybe that's just how we roll now, but you can only imagine what this crew coulda done with a RZA plan of staggered, tight releases.  What we get is extensive world building--and it's a cold, brutal world.

When it works it’s golden ice grill, pure essence of street rap. Conway's regretful warrior with the thousand-mile stare, Gunn's Jimmy Jump devil-trickster, and Daringer's static crackle, haunted Cadillac beats--they've created their own sound. Out of all the Marci Begats, these cats cemented a new wave of East Coast gangsta shit better than all the others.

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milo

Aka Ruby Yacht aka Scallops Hotel aka Boyle and Piles aka Nostrum Grocers aka RAP Ferreira, the Rap Teju Cole, the Fried Rice Nietzsche, the PhD-Nice.  There were a lot of dudes this decade who did low-key rapping over lush off-kilter beats, but none who wore their big hearts and big brains on their sleeves as well as milo.

There’s a syllabus level of references and name-checking ranging from Kierkegaard to X-Clan to Mamet to Mobb Deep, an intense love of wordplay, humor and quotables. The meandering, the laidback-on-the-futon flow creates an intimacy but also hides the level of work that’s gone in—not a throwaway line in sight.  There was a point mid-decade when he could have settled into a comfortable groove of campus touring, Moleskine-rap, Portlandia guest star, Rap Game Trader Joe’s Wasabi Peas.  But he didn’t.  He pushed himself forward between so the flies don’t come and who told you to think?!!?!?!?!, asking more questions than he can answer and creating another journal for the bibliography.  The lyrics are still well-compressed and laced with references to Camus and the Hagakure and the Voynich Manuscript and Tekken and stuff like that. But there's also a barely-suppressed anger and reconsideration of milo's place in rap and Amerikkka in general.

He's still doing his own thing like no one else's thing.  Splitting the difference between the Golden Rectangle and 3/5ths of a man and Schopenhauer's maxim that we forfeit 3/4s of ourselves to be like other people.  He's still running the math.

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Open Mike Eagle

Basehead’s 1992 Play With Toys was a revolutionary and instantly forgotten about hip hop record with unique funk/blues beats and rapping halfway between singing and rapping, wry and dry, about being depressed, relationships, being an idiot, and being Black in Amerikkka, totally subverting everything about hip hop.  Basehead did two more records and then hung it up.

18 years later, Open Mike Eagle stepped on the scene with Unapologetic Art Rap doing something so similar (e.g. ‘Pissy Transmission’) I was really surprised when he told me he’d never heard of Basehead.  He pressed ahead with an incredible string of smart, funny, playful and honest records—on top of podcasting, wrestling, housing people at Connect 4, and snagging his own comedy show.

As his popularity has grown, he hasn’t compromised one bit—hasn’t played the clown, hasn’t dumbed it down, has kept breaking down the financial crisis while also celebrating school picture day while also crafting a bittersweet elegy to a housing project.  His work is Invisible Man by way of Paul Beatty by way of The Jungle by way of Sorry To Bother You.  He’s whittled his wit to a sharp point to poke us with and continues to build a unique, excellent brick body of daydreaming work.

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Danny Brown

The journey of the Tigger of Rap from 2010's Detroit State of Mind 4 and The Hybrid--the triumphal jump from his earlier mixtapes—across the ‘10s was really something to watch.  The progression to Black & Brown to the mix of introspection/entertainment on XXX and OLD, to the wild experiment of Atrocity Exhibition unfortunately ended with the massive faceplant of uknowwhatimsayin.  But he kept killing it, kept putting more of his raw self out there, kept experimenting. Did Tina Turner have some kinda prancing, devilish, shabby court jester in Beyond Thunderdome? I forget. She shoulda.

For half the decade he hands down snatched the crown.  The waterfall hair and jumble-of-chiclets teeth goes with his intense, nervous slanging.  He's the Constant Consonant Eater.  Revanchist of the Gangster Duck Flow.  Amazing storyteller--'Gremlins,' 'Grown Up,' 'Scrap or Die'.  He can do the party-out-of-control of 'Smokin & Drinkin' as well as the deeply heartfelt 'Thank God' to the tortured emotion of '30.'  Brown takes the overboard getting-high-and-eating-pussy of Ol' Dirty but combines it with a paranoid sense of mortality, and gives us flashes that his crazed behaviour emerges from the ruins of Detroit, still waiting for Robocop's redemption.

 

Honorable Mentions

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Soul Assassins, Vol. 3 :: The Series 

Those that know, know that 1997's Soul Assassins, Chapter 1 is one of the greatest compilations of all time, with Muggs at the height of his production and a grip of that era's greats bringing some real fire.  There was a Chapter 2, and in the early ‘00s begat the Muggs x series, including the ill Muggs x GZA Grandmasters.  But these were just pilots for the past two years of output—starting with Dia Del Asesinato and following up with x Marci, Crimeapple, Eto, Mach, Meyhem Lauren and Fahim.

There's that thing where movie franchises have a couple good ones at the beginning, then they reboot the whole thing and shitcan all the crappy sequels, like Halloween and hopefully Terminator.  Actually Terminator Halloween is a pretty good description of what Muggs came back with.  The dubstep record, the last bad Cypress Hill records--let's say they never happened.  Muggs came back with some of his strongest, heaviest, ponderous and slamming beats across all these—dark cathedrals, rave-beside-the-Ganges-at-midnight, armies of dead homies on the march.  He brought out the best in some of today’s newest talents, elevated them to a higher level while high. I'm up for another season, greenlight that shit.

Ratking :: So It Goes / 700 Fill

El-P once said: “Illmatic is one of the last great rap records attached directly to the lineage of the history of rap culture in our city. It was inhabited by the spirits of a just passed era and a radiant, moody and raw signifier of the next one.”

So It Goes was that too, exactly twenty years later—shifting up the eras.  It’d been a long time since I heard a record that took me back to eating purple mescaline at the NYC Halloween parade. It's anthemic, it's Beat Street meets Kids, it's an episode of Welcome Back Kotter where Special Guest Star Rammellzee on some Kazoo shit time-jumps them to make it rain bitcoins in that Blade Runner club with the robot stripper with the robot snake.  It's The Basketball Diaries via Jamel Shabazz Tik Toks. It's smoking hash on an autumn afternoon and watching Herculoids with a girl you can't quite figure out. It's one of those records that distills and jumps off. 

Their music pulses with the pure vibrancy of youth, and they build a bridge from hip-hop's solidly NY past to its global future...you could poplock on cardboard to 700 Fill's 'Steep Tech' and 'Makeitwork' would rock the Wild Style bandshell or a Panther Moderns oculus rave. It's not a revival or a resurrection. It's new blood, flowing. They brought back the classic triumvirate of main/secondary rapper + DJ, an atomic structure cutting across eras via Run-DMC, Cypress Hill and Company Flow.

Wiki’s solo career has been been up and down.  Lil Me was a pretty great record on some bodega coffee and late night stoop confessions shit.  He decompressed his lyrics from the Naked Lunch-level street abstraction for a much more heartfelt, personal paean on No Mountains in Manhattan, and his 2k Meth & Red record with Your Old Droog, What Happened To Fire, was some hardbody microphone joyful noise, two youngbloods flexing their muscles.  (2019's Oofie was hit or miss for me.) I appreciate the kid is trying to explore, grow and mature as an artist, but nothing since then has reached the shimmering transcendence of Ratking-proper, the fractured concrete-and-fiber-optics verbal playgrounds.

 

10 Most Overlooked of the Decade

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SHIRT

SHIRT's got that big heart, that hunger, that love for the game, the world.  His joints are diamonds as big as the Ritz.  Baldessari's 'Pure Beauty' is text on canvas; SHIRT's text is written on pure energy.  He's taken Baldessari's 'TERMS MOST USEFUL IN DESCRIBING CREATIVE WORKS OF ART' and infused his music with--all of them. Do-rag in the MOMA--it's his time.

SHIRT brings a sandpaper flow and hunger for the mic that's compelling--it's raw ambition, it's ego triumphant ripping through the speakers. Then there's the art. He throws up his dot-Mickey in Brownsville.  He quotes Brion Gysin: 'Writing is 50 years behind painting.' Gysin meant collage and abstraction.  Burroughs flipped that in 1959 with cut-ups. But music was 20 years behind writing until '79 when Herc stepped on the scene.  SHIRT does the first silent rap performance during lunch at the Seagram building, and then he calls it ‘The Hardest Verse You Ever Heard.’

But SHIRT doesn't actually rhyme hardly about art; there's the odd reference to Guggenheim grants or 'Top of the Whitney.'  He raps pretty much about...rap shit.  Polo robes and fly whips, Timbs and herb. It's all good.

I'll wait for 'the modern art rapper,' who drops bars like 'Coke so white, Robert Ryman' or 'Box in hand like my name was Cornell' or 'Dick hard as a Richard Serra / bitch reconsidered her perception of public space' and finally lets me know what rhymes with Kandinsky.  SHIRT is not that rapper. Maybe he will be. Maybe we don't need that rapper though. SHIRT's too real to get pretentious, too much doing his own thing.

Thing is, when he did drop "THEORY"--spitting Kenneth Goldsmith--it doesn't quite work as well as, say "NY TAP WATER." It's interesting, but it's not engaging, aesthetically crafted, honest, raw or heartfelt--all of which are exactly what I love about SHIRT's shit. It's got heart.

On the flipside, he's bringing in the yacht-level swagger of Koons and the gangsta threats of Dada.  He knows about art as repurposing, art as re-appropriation, art as statement--what the fuck you think rap music is?  Jenny Holzer is just Chuck D on postcards and Richard Prince is just Puffy on Wooster Street.

Look peoples, SHIRT is too hungry to fizz out. He really raps the fuck out of rapping. Pay attention and get with him before you gotta pay Sotheby's prices. This king was raised to go for the crown. He's standing on top of the Whitney watching for the blimp that says BE FEARFUL OF MEDIOCRITY. Get with the kid. I think it's time, I think it's time.

 

Yikes The Zero

An amazingly accomplished lyricist and producer, Philly’s Yikes really came into his own on 2016’s The Animal Box.  There’s a sinister cartoon mood, a kinda Earl Steampunk vibe.  Ever watch a junkie’s head so so slowly dip down as they slide into paradise, then snap up back to the razor-strewn concrete jungle they have to navigate?  This is that.

Doctor Molotov’s Gallery of Portals alternates his whispery butter-mumble rhymes with instrumental joints which are sometimes like Herb Alpert high on lean on the deck of the Pequod and sometimes Godspeed Whoops You! Dropped The Boston Philharmonic Down The Stairs In 4x Slow Motion.  This year’s An Echo Storm Howling is like Shabazz Shitty Studio Rental. There's a Melle Mel x Moor Mother thing happening, there's a Doors thing going on, there's an afropunk anime thing going on, there's a broken fairy tale thing going on.

Are these concept albums?  Not really.  It’s an art.  They have allusions, facets, considerations, intimations.  He brings afrofuturist Tom Waits joints from collapsed galaxies, Sudafed overdose comas when there’s some disturbing stop-motion kids’ film on (like that one where Santa is a huge Russian who beats the fuck out of people).  What I like about Yikes is how he changes it up from eerie pulsar drone to lysergic circus to the straight-up, rapping-their-entire-asses-off posse cut of ‘Razor Opera.’ Like I said, it's an art.

 

Skipp Coon

I was psyched to see this cat get some love on the Call Out Culture podcast, because Skipp is a mad talent almost everyone slept on.  He put out an incredible trilogy this decade--women revolution tennis shoes and Sophomore Slump with producer Mr. Nick, and then Miles Garvey in 2014.  It's halfway between Outkast and Paris; soulful and heartfelt but angry and defiant too.

Political rap can be polemic, didactic, oversimplistic and reductive; more than anything, it can be all rage and no soul, all political and no personal. Skipp Coon overstands and overcomes all that. He's a prophet of rage, sure, with coals in the belly but also an ox-sized heart. It's a father's anger, not a collegiate rebellion, closer to late The Coup LPs than early P.E. Rebellion Assemble!  I wish he'd bring us some more.

 

Nickelus F :: STUCK

This dude's been around a while, with some quality shit in the back catalog to dive into, but I didn't get into him before what I still is his best, 2018's STUCK.

It's on some crusty, heartfelt, spit-out-the-side-your-mouth, sipping cough syrup in the parking lot, one sweatpant leg rolled up, Parliaments tucked in the top of the tube sock.  It's growly South, it's scrub brush and dirt weed, cracked pavements and yo open the window, that AC ain't working.  There's something really wonky and weird about it I love, what the fuck kinda drugs they got down there fam? It comes from a place where you're sweaty and tired and the Devil is trying to hustle you into a new phone plan.  It's a deep dive into personal struggle but with a fuck it, let's get down too, let's tag up on the moon.

 

The Diabolical Doctor Strange & Friends aka Guerilla Godz

Across the self-titled LP, The Friday Night Philosopher, Unmask The Phantom these mysterious cats brought some peerless throwback shit to '97 by way of ’87 by way of DOOM by way of 2087 (AD and BC). Alternating between old school Tims/bean pies/street raps and early Jedi Mind-type interludes with the spooky beats (really, really excellent beats) and sci fi/UFO/Atlantis/MK Ultra samples, it's proudly un-2010s in a really unique way. It’s exactly the dusty, echoing sound of the inside of my head in the mid-'90s when I used to chase the dragon and listen to Red Alert.

 

dälek

Couple things I never can understand.  First, why do rappers have such unbelievably shitty, cheesy bad taste in rock music?  It's the 94th Element of Hip Hop or something.  Premier will sample the soundtrack from a 1924 silent movie, Puffy will sample 'Carmina Burana,' but when it comes to anything with guitars we get...'Walk This Way?' And the Judgement. Night. Soundtrack.  All that cratedigging, you cats never once picked up a Minor Threat record?  Bambaataa made a record with Johnny Rotten and nobody ever sampled the Sex Pistols?  My Make-A-Wish Foundation was always that that one time Chuck D ad libbed on a Sonic Youth joint had become a whole collabo LP.  A lot of people listened to Godspeed You! Black Emperor and thought, I should start a band. I thought, somebody should rap over this.

This is the other thing I don't understand: why don't dälek get their props?  I mean, this decade everyone got ridiculously amped about Death Grips and I was all, this is just Shouty Dälek. Maybe it's the umlaut?  You cats like your clpping and all that and you still don't ride for dälek? And kids who're into My Bloody Valentine wanna hear them sing about...whatever it is they're singing about, sexy girls with dirty feet and cigarette breath?--not the broken-glass-everywhere-people-pissing-on-the-station rhymes, I guess.

Catch. The fuck. Up.

From 1998's Negro Necro Nekros on, dälek took the multi-layered density of the Bomb Squad and swapped out James Brown samples for Einstürzende Neubauten.  They kept Chuck D's political intensity and lyrical density but broke it like bottles and pushed it into a Liam-Neeson-right-before-he-fucks-your-shit-up growl.  All the angry noise of Jedi Mind Tricks but without the WWE theatrics, and all the orbital uplift of Daydream Nation--God in the whirlwind, beauty in the car crash.

dälek were mainlining in the cold vein three years before oxes went cannibal. Their three records this decade—Asphalt for Eden, Endangered Philosophies and Respect to the Authors--still merks the murk and stretch long gobs of hellfire drone, still on the strength, filthy tongues speaking abandoned language.

 

The Difference Machine

Across the decade from 2013’s The Psychedelic Sounds Of The Difference Machine through to 2017’s remix record, Triangle Schemes, this Atlanta collective has brought a huge, funky live sound with on-point cosmic, literate and political rhymes. It's like if Zach de la Rocha had been more into Fishbone, Bad Brains, Parliament and Heavy Mental than Anthrax and Minor Threat…or if he'd cofounded Shabazz Palaces. Joints like 'Bruce Willises' got more props and stunts than lemonade, and the remix of 'Another Tomorrow' takes an already psychedelic joint out to Nibiru's orbit.  (If I hadda pick one of their records, it'd be hands down 4th Side of the Eternal Triangle.)

 

Killah Priest

My faith in the Priest is resolute and unquestionable, but since Heavy Mental he's rarely able to find the beats to rock upon which to found that church. On Planet of the Gods, he brought down Godz Wrath to provide the right 70mm backdrop of flutes and chants and samples--finally befitting his epic of Mac 10s, sandals, eagles, pyramids, flying saucers, wise elders, Biblical computers, convicts, evil ancient scientists, galactic thrones and chakra points, and that's just the intro track. 2013’s Psychic World of Walter Reed similarly comes through.

2017 saw the crazy headspin drop with 4th Disciple of Don’t Sit on the Speakers--Priest plus Wu guests like Ghost and Rae flip and flow over heavy old, old school beats--1980s beats, block rocking, power-from-the-streetlight beats. It's some time travel shit of the Wu 10 years early, when they would've been Prince Rakeem & The Ninjafied Nine or some shit. What could you not fucking love about this?!

 

B Dolan :: Fallen House Sunken City

Dolan's second record from back in 2010 comes mad strong, with mad muscularity--the late great Alias gave him a post-Jux boom bap of beats to ride on and he gets bloody.  It's informed by his slam poet start in its particular way of creating allusions rather than punchlines, but definitely painting within the frame of rap.  I mean he CROWNED BIGGIE SMALLS THE KING OF ATLANTIS.  Like Jus' Machines, no one was trying to hear this level of noise and resistance to power in those pre-Trump days, whereas now we're firmly ticking off the Reptilian Agenda.

 

Bigg Jus :: Machines That Make Civilization Fun  

First decade of the ‘00s saw El-P make his grip of classic solos, do his Jux and produce Can Ox, while Jus put out some great records (plus Nephilim Modulation), and Len do a few joints. Second decade, we got C4C and the massive blow up of fratronica of Run The Jewels, just this one record from Jus and Len doing…whatever Len does now.

I wish this record got 10% the love C4C did. The intensity, density, dire predictions, fire predilections…cats are ready for this now in a way they weren’t prepared in 2012. Worth a revisit if you slept.

Best Instrumentalists of the Decade

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3:33That brooding, quantum pulse shit from the edge of consciousness, but with good drums. Nobody knows who they are — complete ghosts lurking out there. But between 2009 and 2015 they put out eight records of the highest order, before disappearing back into the dark. They seem to be unavailable now, which is fucking criminal.

A.M. BreakupsProbably the best kept secret in underground hip hop beatmaking, carrying the torch on from El-P before his right turn into stadium rap.  Don't sleep on WE ARE NOT FOR THEM or Cult Favorite either.

DDay One:Taking on the dusty analog sound of old jazz records, weaving together jazz’ ability to move you and also mourn, DDay One doesn’t just move the soul but the body too. DDay lays down recognizable hip-hop loops, African layers, ambient noise…but I would say through it all runs an obvious primary influence of be-bop jazz, on which he’s both building and commenting.

Gone Beyond & Mumbles :: Notes From The Underground: Legendary beatmaker Mumbles (A Book of Human Language) and Gone Beyond took hundreds of classical recordings of composers who lived under Stalin and created this incredible record.  Their drumwork is complex and multilayered and they've taken the art of sampling to a new height, painting in winter watercolors with this bleak Soviet pallette.

PSY/OPSogist: From 2007 to 2014 this cat made some of the most unique, intriguing instrumental music I've ever heard.  We semi-collaboed on 2013's ZAR/DOZogist tape but a few years ago he hung it up.  The back catalog is worth a deep dive.

odd nosdamAnticon OG nosdam's work goes back 20 years, but across the '10s he kept the squelch squelching across a grip of joints and re-releases.

Tenshun: San Diego's illest noisemaker finally made his original glitch-hop available digitally this decade, and while it'd be great to have his '00s catalog out there, he kept on making some extremely interesting experiments.

2019, after the fall of new york

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At this point it's become pretty much the same picks every year...there's just so many great, prolific artists, and I don't have the time to dig up unknown gems like I used to.  Was 2019 kinda an extension of 2018, or did I just like the next batch of work by the same artists?  Or is that the same thing?  IS TIME EVEN REAL, MAN?

billy woods :: Throne of Blood

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billy woods :: Hiding Places / Terror Management 

You know woods is my favorite working rapper, in my all-time top 10--I been TELLING you since 2008.  Of his six solos this decade PLUS five Armand Hammer joints--the dude put in serious fucking work, with really no drop in quality--I'd have to say Hiding Places is the capstone. 

Hiding Places, thanks to Kenny Segal's production, is more cohesive--something like a modern blues album in feel, with lots of guitar squelch and deep-gut sound, and it pulls together as a novel, in a way some of the others have been short story collections.  And woods is still that dude who packs in references to Things Fall Apart, Andy Capp, Sanford & Son, Wu-Tang, and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy all in the same damn song.  Terror Management is icy and glittering where Hiding is dark and muddy; it's a victory lap around the decade, playing around with vibing Love Boat beats ("Western Education")--probably the only potential radio crossover single ever about Boko Haram; Magnificent Seven type beats ("Myth"); postpunk ("dead birds"); glitch-hop ("gas leak"); some kinda Hitchcock soundtrack type deal ("FNU LNU")...you get the idea.

My favorite thing this year was how many people were writing about woods so I can stop killing myself trying to explain to y'all.  I don't really get the whole woods on a best-of list with Nick Cave and Lana Del Rey, that shit is mad weird, but OK cool.  Now the man's made Time fucking Magazine's list though, I can probably retire.

 

DJ Muggs :: Soul Assassins Redux 

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DJ Muggs x Mach-Hommy :: Tuez-Les Tous & Kill Em All / DJ Muggs x Crimeapple :: Medallo / DJ Muggs x Meyhem Lauren :: Members Only / DJ Muggs x Tha God Fahim :: Dump Assassins

Carrying on from last year's KAOS and Dia Del Asesinato, the Muggsaissance continued with five EPs where, as always, Rap's Carl Carlson brought out the best shinings from this generation of army-jacket-wearing spitters. Talking longitude and latitude bitch. Those that know, know that 1997's Soul Assassins, Chapter 1 is one of the greatest compilations of all time, with Muggs at the height of his production and a grip of that era's greats bringing some real fire.  Fact is, with this output and the different rappers jumping on and off each other's guest spots, this year's set is more like one long Soul Assassins, Vol. 3...or Soul Assassins: The Series.  Muggs x Netflix.  I'm up for another season, greenlight that shit.

 

Yikes The Zero :: An Echo Storm Howling

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So this jumps off with ‘We, The Morlocks’…the Morlocks, in case you skipped 7th grade, were the underground mutant future people in The Time Machine, who only came out of the sewers to capture and eat the fey, um, pale-skinned Eloi.  Because mankind had devolved into two separate, unequal races.  Yeah, 1895 was on some shit.  Is this a concept album?  Not really.  It’s an art.  It has allusions, facets, considerations, intimations.  It’s a whole mood, that’s for sure.

The production is just superb; there’s a lotta avant garde art rap I can’t fuck with because it’s too discordant.  I guess you could say Yikes’ butter-mumble rap is like a depressed Homeboy Sandman, but it’s just a vocal resemblance.  (You can’t also compare him to Earl since he’s been around longer.)  And I mean ‘Broken Sun’ is more like an afrofuturist Tom Waits joint from a collapsed galaxy…and ‘Moonchild Exile’ comes off like crashed on the couch, Sudafed overdose coma with some disturbing stop-motion kids’ film on (like that one where Santa is a huge Russian who beats the fuck out of people). What I like about Yikes is how he changes it up from eerie pulsar drone to lysergic circus to the straight-up, rapping-their-entire-asses-off posse cut of ‘Razor Opera.’

The record pairs right up with 2017’s amazing Dr Molotov; this dude really has hit his lane.  If that one was like Godspeed Whoops You! Dropped The Boston Philharmonic Down The Stairs In 4x Slow Motion, this one is like Shabazz Shitty Studio Rental, It Smells Like Weed In Here, Jesus Christ Open A Window. Maybe it's not like that. There's a Melle Mel x Moor Mother thing happening, there's a Doors thing going on, there's an afropunk anime thing going on, there's a broken fairy tale thing going on.  Like I said, it's an art.

 

Roc Marciano :: Marcielago

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Son. It's Roc Marci.

For me Marcberg is a stone-cold classic, and it set the stage for all East Coast rap this decade.  I probably liked Volumes I-IX of the loosies and guest shots a bit more than most of the followup albums--when he hops on someone else's beat, he picks a great one--but also last year's KAOS with Muggs was a close third.  Marcielago is a perfection, a distillation, of a decade's work.  His production is tighter than ever, with Animoss and Alc also gifting two of their best.  It's got his signature blend of smooth and ruthless, of threats and indulgence...it's got the funk and the thousand yard stare.  It's got brunch and cars and what his bitch is like today.  It's got Willie The Kid and Ka.  

 

Griselda, Season Five

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Griselda :: WWCD / WestSide Gunn :: HWH7Conway :: Everybody is F.O.O.D. 3 / Look What I Became / Benny the Butcher :: The Plugs I Met

Griselda is a franchise, has been since 2015, and its members are not only highly conscious of that, it's part of their plan.  I don't expect artistic expression or risks or variation, just good reliable gangsta shit on some Chris Paltrow and Snoop in the SUV regretting their violent life choices.  I do prefer when they avoid the Mantovani, Starring Ava Gardner, warbly-ass syrup beats.  So this season had some damn solid episodes, and Eminem didn't fuck up their Shady debut by forcing them into crap R&B crossover singles or bad Not Dre beats.  He even settled for his terrible guest verse to basically be an aftercredit scene.  He's aged terribly though, they shouldn't have put him on the cover.  

 

Memento Mori aka Hologram Tupac Live In Las Vegas aka Digitally De-Aged DeNiro

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Sean Price & Small Professor :: 86 Witness / Gang Starr :: One of the Best Yet / Nas :: Lost Tapes 2 

The loss of Sean Price hit hard because he was such a vibrant, alive, loud-ass, larger-than-life dude. He hopped on so many tracks for verses it was like the dude who shows up to all the parties and snaps--and for a couple years after he passed, those (feat. Sean Price) joints just kept coming.  Small Pro really did his thing on the boom, the bap, the Carhartt stitchery and the guest spots.  It's a great P! record and a great towering monument to a beast of the microphone.

It took me a while to get through even one listen of the Gang Starr: trying not to hear where Guru was punched in and where the beat was just slightly off, and just the kinda creepy aspect of the whole procedure.  But you know what, Premier is his brother, and he did it justice.  We'll just pretend the J Cole track doesn't exist, and therefore we got one more solid Gang Starr album.

Usually posthumous records feel Frankensteined together, shameless, ghoulish and slick cash grabs.  Both of these came correct, respectful--but also celebratory and banging rather than mournful and bathetic.

OK, I know Nas isn't dead...but the rapper he once was sure seems to be.  The hype around Lost Tapes 2 spoiled within a day or two of its drop, fouled by its many shitty tracks.  Also, just one more time: WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK IS THE DEAL WITH THAT "WHAT IF NAS, BUT A WEREWOLF" SONG.  But once you strip it down to its 5 good joints ('Vernon Family,' 'Highly Favored,' 'It Never Ends,' 'QueensBridge Politics,' and 'Beautiful Life') you get a tight EP of the old Nas.

 

Those are my tops, but how many is that?  Because I'm not really saying all the Muggs totally hit or even that more than 33% of the Nas is all that.  I don't know man.  It doesn't have to be fucking math.  You wanna impose round number structure on music?  Sure, you do that, and I'll tell you what this algebraic equation tastes like.  This was the year when the Top 50 List was scientifically demonstrated as being the most fucktarded, pointless and maddening exercise in music history.

Other Records I Liked In Alphabetical Order

A.M. Breakups :: Soldier / Architecture 3 & 4

Bloodmoney Perez :: About Fucking Time

Choosey & Exile :: Black Beans

dälek :: Respect To The Authors

Elucid :: Every Egg I Cracked Today Was Double Yolked

Grift Company :: Too Many Secrets

Jel/Odd Nosdam :: GLASS CUTTERS

Jumbled :: August Heat

Massimo e Massimo :: s/t

MAUP9000 :: Smoke City III

Preservation :: SePtember 1200

Quelle Chris :: Guns

Roughneck Jihad & Solomon Strange :: The Adventures of Dr Voodun

Ruby Yacht :: 37 Gems

ShrapKnel :: Cobalt

Tenshun :: Cat Nap

Tree :: The Wild EndWe Grown Now

W.A.S.T.E.L.A.N.D.S. :: BBQ & Chaos

Wiki :: OOFIE

Your Old Droog :: It Wasn't Even Close / Transportation 

Zilla Rocca :: 96 Mentality

 

Anyway, here's your annual report mix of the hottest joints:

SUPANOVA - Odd Nosdam / Speak Gently - billy woods (feat. Self Jupiter) / L.D.T. - Mestizo & Meaty Ogre (feat. Quangou) / ELO Style - Grift Company (feat ALASKA & iAlive) / Double DD's - Tree & Parallel Thought / Refrigerator P - Sean Price & Small Professor (feat. Rock & DJ Revolution) / Lights Out - Gang Starr (feat. M.O.P.) / Pistol Smoke - Ghostface Killah (feat. Solomon Childs) / Wavy - DJ Muggs x Meyhem Lauren / Titanium White - DJ Muggs x Mach-Hommy x The God Fahim / Bloodtype - DJ Muggs x CRIMEAPPLE / 900K - DJ Muggs x Mach-Hommy / FCK Boy! - Mr. Muthafuckin' eXquire / Dominate - DJ Muggs x Eto / NYOPxTONY - Wiki / Devil Springs - Your Old Droog / Blizzard (Gusty Winds Graceful Mix) - Damu The Fudgemunk x Roc Marciano / Rain On Snow - DJ Shadow (feat. Inspectah Deck, Ghostface Killah & Raekwon) / Colony - Elucid / Cat Nap 1 - Tenshun / We, The Morlocks - Yikes the Zero / Broadway Joes - Westside Gunn / No Women No Kids - Conway / Shots Fired - Knowledge The Pirate (feat. Roc Marciano) / Highly Favored - Nas / Combat - Danny Brown

best of mmxvii :: learn the basics, then go disco

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It's funny to me how cats are putting out 'best of the year lists' right after Thanksgiving...the fuck are you, a supermarket shifting your holiday decorations stock?  The year is 12 months long fam.  It's also funny how anyone can claim their best of the year list is objective, because ain't no way you listened to ALL the records that came out this year, unless you're a brain in a jar or some shit.

Finally, it's funny to me, but also great, that Armand Hammer's Paraffin is making so many year-end lists, because I've been shouting about those cats literally all decade and no one was listening.  Also because a lot of lists put them up next to Cardi B. (I'm still trying to parse what this means, but I don't wanna listen to Cardi B.)

I see a lot of these youngbloods firing off with no knowledge or respect for where hip hop came from, and that's fine, but they don't last. They come and go.  You can't have light coming from everywhere.  You need to learn the shadows.  The gods who earn respect are those who master the basics, then go disco.

This year wasn't about best albums anyways.  I like how y'all argue about what's an album, what's an EP, what's a mixtape--as if these things still existed.  The best of this year was groups of projects, flexing musical range; and also projects that were whole, like an egg, perfect and cohesive from start to finish.

1. The Elucid Globular Cluster

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Armand Hammer :: ParaffinElucid x Haj of Dumhi :: No Edge Ups In Uganda / Elucid :: Shit Don't Rhyme No More / Nostrum Grocers :: Nostrum Grocers

There were cats that released 31 albums this year; cats who dropped 300 songs.  That's not range, that's industry.  Elucid wins the year because of his range, the stretch of his output, and the growth in his art.  There's cacophony, doom, prophecy, world-weariness, irony and resistance.  Knowledge of all the Babylon A.D. tricks that RZA taught him in the vampire bar.  He's the cat who can get you past the checkpoints, but a hero ain't nothing but a chopped cheese.  Solo and teamed up with high calibre MCs and producers, these four releases were different powerful stones loaded into one iron mic.  Chuck D wrote his messages billboard-and-protest-sign ready; Elucid, along with billy woods and milo, twist 'em up cryptic and secret, slip them into fortune cookies made of sandpaper and dark syrup.  If I can make you really feel it, I won’t have to explain shit.

In the cold vein of February he dropped Shit Don't Rhyme No More, with the glimmer of hope in "Hyssop" and the O Superman, Blade Is On Drugs of "All of a Sudden We Were in a Vampire Bar."  In June we got his collabo with Dumhi, no snakes allowed, with those Romare Bearden type beats.  Hurricane summer brought the team up with milo for Nostrum Grocers: illuminated, a jazz cookout, two free-association masters in a cipher behind the cellar door.  There's grace and peace here, shelter in the pervading menace of 2018 Amerikkka.

Last year's ROME saw Elucid and billy woods burn the empire; Paraffin throws more fuel on the fire.  Only came back to tell 'em 'bout them fuckin' flames.  As always, darker than midnight, deeper than Mariana, Finnegan-deep with the references--they'll drop Jenny Holzer, Killah Priest and Rumsfeld quotes all up in the same track ("Black Garlic").  'No such thing as halfway crooks' be the mantra.  '100 Miles & Running' be the treatise.  I nominate 'Nature of the Threat' as the new Black national anthem.  Woods' verses on "No Days Off," "Dettol" and "Fuhrman Tapes" are some of his best--service weapon in my face, all I could see was his lips chapped: that's some Richard Price shit right there.  The beats picked from their deck of producers groan, corrode, wheeze, kick, vibrate, snap, fill the unframed sky. It's rightly tipped for album of the year all over. At some undisclosed location woods and Elucid have been anointed Rappers Most Likely To Be Sanctioned By Drone Strike.

The Metrocard machine asks you the big life question: what do you want to do?  Do you want to add value?  Or add time?  You can't have both.  The veil has been lifted, are you listening?  You can only ride those rolling pages after you make that choice.  Spare change for drugstore sushi?  

2. DJ Muggs :: Return of the Dark Star

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Soul Assassins :: Dia Del Asesinato / DJ Muggs x Roc Marciano :: KAOS / Cypress Hill :: Elephants on Acid

There's that thing where movie franchises have a couple good ones at the beginning, then they reboot the whole thing and shitcan all the crappy sequels, like Halloween and hopefully Terminator.  Actually Terminator Halloween is a pretty good description of what Muggs came back with this year.  The dubstep record, the last bad Cypress Hill records--let's say they never happened.  Muggs came back with some of his strongest, heaviest, ponderous and slamming beats across all three projects.  Soul Assassins built G. Rap, Raekwon and DOOM dark cathedrals to preach in.  You know that scene in Fear & Loathing where they're in the Circus Circus and can't get off the merry go round because they're too high?  That's the lysergic big top Muggs Barnum'd up for Elephants.  No one expected in 2018 to get a Cypress Hill record that's a true followup to IV, but there it is.  Last but best, Kaos was Marci's best of his 2018 suite, rolling his whip down a dark road on the edge of town.  Taking Marciano away from the cool, minimalist blaxploitation loops into Muggs' rave-beside-the-Ganges gave his rhymes a larger and sweeping quality, rallying the armies of dead homies.

Oh yeah, there was that exactly-two-songs Muggs x DOOM thing too, which was...released.

3. Roc Marci :: Quartet in G Major

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Rosebudd's Revenge 2 / Behold A Pale Horse / Pimpstrumentals / assorted loosies

What Marci does is to reduce that old style gangsta/pimp shit to its essential elements and build it back up in small, sharp shards, carving with that essence, so every line could be an end-to-end burner or carved on a tombstone (yours, not his).  It's Japanese calligraphy, each track a single character that says "Across 110th Street," painted with a musk-ox hair brush in blood (yours, not his) on Fendi mulberry paper while he's wearing a tangerine silk kimono and a bad bitch rubs his shoulders and makes him rare jasmine tea.  There's an intense simplicity, a harmony and focus that charges every joint.  It's velvet draped on concrete. It's a hand-tooled Mexican leather holster for a gold-plated .45 with mother-of-pearl inlaid handles.  Cutting the garlic paper thin with a razor for those jailhouse meals type beats.  It's Meditations on Pimpstaism.  He slides into guest verses, drops bodies and slides out, assassin style.  Comparisons with those he's influenced are pointless and spurious: "you can't compare a goldfish to Moby Dick."

4. Knife Knights :: 1 Time Mirage

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I can't grasp why the fuck this was so slept on.  It's a Shabazz Palaces side project that sounds like another dope-ass laser beam, electrogalacticfunk, zoned out neon glide Shabazz Palaces record.  Everybody likes Shabazz Palaces, so what the fuck?  Did the name confuse you idiots?  Did it not show up in your goddamn Spotify algorithm?  I bet it didn't show up in your fucking algorithm.  Y'all got They Live'd up by that thing fam.  I mean, I could understand if it sucked, if it was Ishmael Butler reading from his Big Book of Aliases over the sound of, I don't know, ketchup bottles emptying, but this record went Afrofuturist Space Disco Praxis Metastasis in the best way.

5. Nickelus F :: STUCK

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This one came outta nowhere on some crusty, heartfelt, spit-out-the-side-your-mouth, sipping cough syrup in the parking lot, one sweatpant leg rolled up, Parliaments tucked in the top of the tube sock.  It's growly South, it's scrub brush and dirt weed, cracked pavements and yo open the window, that AC ain't working.  There's something really wonky and weird about it I love, what the fuck kinda drugs they got down there fam? It comes from a place where you're sweaty and tired and the Devil is trying to hustle you into a new phone plan.  It's a deep dive into personal struggle but with a fuck it, let's get down too, let's tag up on the moon.

6. SHIRT :: Pure Beauty

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Oh so now y'all down with Armand Hammer, that's cool and all, maybe you should check out another cat I been hyping for a few years that you still sleep on.  SHIRT's still got that big heart, that hunger, that love for the game, the court, the gallery, the world.  Baldessari's 'Pure Beauty' is text on canvas.  SHIRT's text is written on pure energy.  He's taken Baldessari's 'TERMS MOST USEFUL IN DESCRIBING CREATIVE WORKS OF ART' and infused his album with--all of them.  Keeps on playing with the dreams. Do-rag in the MOMA--it's his time.

7. Henry Canyons :: Cool Side of the Pillow

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Canyons' album is light on its feet but not frothy; mellow but not narcoleptic; harmonic but not soft; it's got a Tribe/Native Tongues/Digable vibe but much more...French.  It's introspective and imperturbably chill, but you and your girl could cut a rug to it.  It has that old-wood, buttery tone.  It's a record for that bar with the good pool table and live jazz and the bartender who knows what kind of scotch you like. It vibes.  An accomplished, polished and complete work.

8. Hermit & the Recluse :: Orpheus Vs The Sirens

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Ka once again cements his rep as the best writer in rap--and a great writer in any format.  Calling himself Orpheus on this one isn't hubris: the name comes from the roots of slave, rebel, darkness, orphan.  Like Roc Marciano, Ka knows street rap is the crafting of epics, of legends--honor and betrayal, heroes and monsters, journeys and battles.  So the homie went Homeric, reached back to the Greek myths to infuse the struggles, and makes a whole album of contrast, metaphor, allusion and comparison.  That golden fleece was North Face.  That cyclops, a crooked cop.  That weight on your shoulders?  We're all Atlas out here son.  Animoss' beats maybe don't grab me as much as Preservation's on Yen Lo or Ka's own on other joints, but they're lighter and bring the Harryhausen and Dionysus panpipes.  It's another volume in Ka's discography that rewards close study and multiple listens.  He's the poet, prophet and musician who went to hell and made it back. "Jinxed to be the man deciphers life riddle or get killed by the Sphinx."

The Greeks had two words for time: kronos, for quantitative time--hours, days, years--and kairos, meaning the right time.  The right moment to convey the right message, with symmetry and balance--the moment to release the arrow so it'll hit the target.  That's what Ka does.  He knows that just because strippers know all the words to your song, it's just money on the clock.  He writes for the ages.

9. The Griselda/Kuiper Belt

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Once again, a swirl of cold ice rocks was way out there in the dark.  The ratio of output-to-quality was down; bound to happen given the output, with WSG losing on Supreme Blah-intele and Really? Still With The Hitler Thing? Part 71.  But there was a grip of loose bullets in all calibers; Conway stayed solid on Everybody is F.O.O.D. 1 & 2, Death By Misadventure with Sonny Jim and Untitled Drums with Imported Goodz.  He's got the best luck or ear for beats in Griselda, and the world-weariness is one of the most earned ever--listen to him intone "cocaine paid my mama's bills" for thirty seconds straight on "Cocaine Paid"...it's not an adlib or a hook.  It's a celebration, a hard fact, a regret, a disbelief in our wack economics. 

I didn't ride for Benny's Tana Talk 3 as hard as everybody, but joints like "Rubber Bands & Weight" definitely brought that '94 Raekwon feel.  Mach-Hommy kept putting in work with random asteroids peeling in from all directions...you can't possibly keep up with it, there's a vigilante mystique to that I like.  Juju Gotti hooked up Dump Towers, a best-of his relentless output with Tha God Fahim that also goes for the unprecedented-for-those-guys low price of $11.11--definitely worth copping before they move the decimal point.

10. Gone Beyond & Mumbles :: Notes From The Underground

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Legendary beatmaker Mumbles (A Book of Human Language) and Gone Beyond took hundreds of classical recordings of composers who lived under Stalin and created this incredible instrumental album.  Their drumwork is complex and multilayered and they've taken the art of sampling to a new height, painting in winter watercolors with this bleak Soviet pallette.  You gotta trust me on this.  It's a work of beauty.

 

I know I said I retired and shit, whatever.  This mix is a selection of some of the best joints of the year, the ones that go hardest, hottest stars in the firmament, where the light is coming from everywhere, all over the dogs, that fucking go disco.

The Diss Co. - Odd Nosdam (feat. the Dannemora School of Painting) / Put Em in the Ground - Cypress Hill / Blue Horseshoes - DJ Muggs (feat. Mach-Hommy) / White Dirt - DJ Muggs x Roc Marciano / Bundles - Royalz (feat. Conway) / 42nd Street - A.M. Breakups / Oyahytt - The Coup (feat. Lakeith Stanfield) / Corrupt Novelist (SP's Revenge Mix) - Career CrooksNo Edge Ups In Uganda - Elucid x Haj of Dumhi / No Days Off - Armand Hammer / Hands - Nickelus F / Quiet Tongues - Henry Canyons / My Dreams Never Sleep - Knife Knights (feat. OCnotes, Marquetta Miller & Shabazz Palaces) / Snowbeach - SHIRT / Constant Struggle - Ghostface Killah (feat. Killah Priest & Bishop Lamont) / Gnashing Of The Teeth - Tha God Fahim / Companion of Artemis - Hermit and the Recluse / sanssouci palace (4 years later) - milo

preparation for the next life

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The Long Goodbye, Part 3 of 3.

And that's it. I did everything I set out to do. Time to do something else. All y'all got your weekly Spotify playlists now, and I can't rock no Joe Pesci samples behind those.

Cats used to ask me, 'how long you going to do this?'  Until I'm finished.  Like Skeme, I didn't start doing this to be on the radio or DJ a club or work for Complex, I came here to bomb.

Eleven years is enough.  There's 120 mixes up on this site, give or take--I lost count.  It's staying up until I can move it all over to elmattic.com.

I gave you what I gave you.  I made you sway.  I gave you noise.  Lots of noise.

For 11 years, I've clattered by, but this old steel skeleton's outlived its usefulness.  So the El is being torn down.  I dappled the streets with shadows.  I nearly touched the buildings and blotted out the sun.  Things change, and the El is at the end of the line.

Destroy All Lines - Skeme / Thug's Prayer - Roc Marciano / You're Nobody Till Somebody Kills You (Original Version) - Notorious B.I.G. / The Game (You're Nobody Til' Somebody Kills You) - Nas / Heaven & Hell - Raekwon / Five Arch Angels (Instrumental) - 4th Disciple / Allah Sees Everything - Killarmy / Paradise - C-Rayz Walz / I'm Dead - Scarface / Final Count Of The Collision Between Us And The Damned - Public Enemy / The Final Call - Black Market Militia (feat. Abiodun Oyemole of The Last Poets) / Outro Beat - Super DJ Signify & Six Vicious / Kiss Of Death / Blink - Sonic Youth / Spiegel Im Spiegel (Dälek's Reflection Remix) - My Education / Great Day (Four Tet Remix) - DOOM / Dances With Death - Gone Beyond & Mumbles / Something I Can Never Have - Vitamin String Quartet / Friday Afternoons, Op. 7: Old Abram Brown - Choir of Downside School, Purley, Viola Tunnard & Benjamin Britten / SISTERS (OG drum version) - Odd Nosdam / Ghosts I/1 - NIN / White Room - 3:33 / Almost There - Killah Priest / The Bhagvad Gita / Years - Ka & Preservation / God Of Grace - Howard Hanger Trio / Good Night - billy woods / The End of The El / The 900 Number - DJ Mark The 45 King

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beats & breaks & breaks & beats

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Lost mix from 2008 I made exclusively for some mixtape website in Amsterdam.  Like all independent mix sites, it's long gone,* and this one's a good one, so as we roll to the end of the road I thought I'd throw it out there. 

It's from the early days so the mixing could be better, but I'll leave posthumous remixing to my heirs.  Anyway what the fuck do y'all care, you only listen to Spotify playlists now.

I Need A Beat - LL Cool J / Beats & Pieces - Coldcut / Strong Beats From A Strong Man - DJ Mark the 45 King / The Perfect Beat - Talib Kweli (feat. KRS-One) / Jimmy's Bonus Beat - Jungle Brothers / Just A Beat - Eric B. / Master's Bonus Beats - Master O.C. & Krazy Eddie / Beats - DJ Shadow & DJ Krush / Bonus Beat - DJ Premier / Bonus Beat - RJD2 / Bonus Beats - Odd Nosdam / Beats Within - Spectre / Beataholic Reformatory - Ryu (feat. The Beat Knuckles) / Mary Break - Disrupt / Break - Saul Williams / Cowbell Break - Boiler Room Collective / Break That Break - Wu-Tang Clan / Break - Cut Chemist / Breaks - Rob Swift / The Break Witch Project - DJ Junk

 

*Still on the Mixcloud though, where you can find another lost mix of mine: An Antique Fork, How Long Will It Last?  The whole point of that one was all the tracks had strange names, but I don't have the tracklist anymore, so now it's just a mix of weird shit.

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