Day, glow. The other side of seasonal affective disorder is da inner sound, yall. Well, it depends on what your meaning of the word 'is' is. Defining existence and nonexistence as codependents in direct opposition has always been the move for those of us who, consciously or not, preoccupy ourselves with what's next. Think ahead. Hence, "'If yall stop then Dave stops,' and that wouldn't be the sure shot." De La Soul—and one might argue Hip-Hop—has always operated a larger collective of friends/collaborators making/doing art/science that reflects/refracts popular music/culture. It might blow up but it won't go pop, baby, baby, baby, baby. Their second album has a skit consisting of tea time melodies interrupted repeatedly by thrash metal mayhem. De La Soul take "no biting" to such extremes they rarely ever repeat themselves between projects, to the extent that the most common threads across their catalog are continuing insistences on reinvention and variety. Self-referential motifs recur with flipped meanings and function. Frequent guests arrive with new mixed company.
When I was a kid going to Wantagh Summer Rec, we took regular trips to United Skates in North Massapequa. I can't remember what songs used to play at the roller rink, but I know Boyz II Men and Mariah Carey were in heavy rotation. Between their hits aired a fair helping of what I now know to be freestyle, house, new wave, and new jack swing. Again, I don't recall specific tracks, but instead a feeling of summery joy. Cabin In The Sky has that same energy. And I don't mean genre-y. Seasons change. Mad things rearrange. It's an album of presence from the hitherto for the hereafter.
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