DOOM's passing put the following fragment on this website: "the dollar-bin sample selection that was in constant conversation with itself; the smorgasbord of pop culture references that mined philosophical treatises from Saturday morning cartoons and Saturday afternoon Daikaiju films." Doombot or not, KAD pads the vocab. His crates seem to recall this description of the late villain more than they do his music itself, like a hologram baseball card. I'm not saying the holographic principle is an intelligent design plant intended to get creationist text books into middle-school science classes across the Western world, but I'm also not saying it's not that. It's ALPACA, you herd?
From Glam to Islam to SpitSLAM, and from the Son of Bazerk to the mother of all ladies of Long Island rap team-ups, it's themmmmmmmmmm, as in the royal they. Read that with an echo chamber and hear this through gender affirming circuitry. The least expected five-song EP of the summer just might also be the most refreshing, like a 70-degree day in August while the ocean "still holds the heat" as per my neighbor. Call it community organizing rap, the cement in public service announcement.
Lucidly ill audio-machinations suffuse with skittering light drums. Does the speed of sound remain constant absent an observer? Trees' forests in the plotline take hold. Rap still? I once thought I'd reached my goal of writing liner notes. Then I read William Parker's WEBOsleeve. The experience was like swapping bodies with my 17-year-old would-be rapper self hearing Breeze Brewin for the first time, i.e., transcendent/formative—take your pick. Somebody with editing chops lay his acapella tracks over drill beats. Takers? This might be another one of those be the change you want to see in the world moments. Peace to Eight Immortals.
Floating, I watched a robin soar past just overhead. And I mean just overhead, no-sudden-movements close. Next, it came at me head-on and then back the other way. As I bobbed in place, it repeated its flight pattern over and over like we were stuck in a loop. I thought that robin and I were having a moment. "It was protecting its nest," my wife tells me, "trying to intimidate you." What can I say, birdie? Maybe environmental cues aren't exactly my forte. She stays away from the nest, my wife. But it's on our property. "The bird doesn't respect the government." It believes in squatters' rights, and sure, me too, but then also maybe it was just a keen display of aerial prowess. I'd like to think that. After all, it's not as if I was climbing the tree or even touching it. I was just floating on below, well within dropping range, oblivious to my avian comrades.
