JACQUEES, J'ACCUSE!

 

How this smilin ass motherfucker, draped up like a V.I.M. exploded, make my favorite mixtape of the week? Moreover, am I finally crossing over to Team Look At The Lick o' The Lips after years of Dru Hill related gender confusion? Sisqo was my David Bowie.

Ay butler, where my silk drawers at? IDK if it's wrong, but I feel like I'm finally myself. Finna have "B.E.D." play while a bitch cover me in melted butter. Oh boy, she gon envelop me in dollops of sour cream and drizzle my delicates with scallions and bacon bits! Yes gang, ya boy is an adult baked potato fetishist. Below I've listed songs I've enjoyed this week besides Jacquees's sultry MOOD tape. Consider this the fig leaf on my shriveled credibility.

STRESMATIC - BANGER ON ME

JOSE GUAPO - RUN IT UP (FT. ONE OF THE MIGOS & YFN LUCCI)

TRAVIS PORTER - REYUP (FT. SPODEE)

KODAK BLACK - GOSPEL

PLIES - SHIDD (FT. YO GOTTI)

MOZZY - BLACK BOY

YOUNG GUNZ - NO BETTER LOVE (FT. RELL)

CURREN$Y - MALLORY KNOX

MEEK MILL - PRAY FOR EM

NEF THE PHAROAH - MICHAEL JACKSON

GUCCI MANE - HOLD UP NOW (FT. 4 TRE)

MAINE MUSIK & TEC - FUNDU

MAX B - MAX & SCAR (FT. SCARLETT O'HARLEM)
JEEZY - LOST SOULS
GETO BOYS - YES YES Y'ALL

P-LO, U ALREADY KNO DOE

Outside of some deadbeat dad facetime wit the Kilt tapes, ya boy keep up with HBK like I did Breaking Bad. Every time I'm exposed I'm like, "Yeah, ok, I should check mo of dat out," but then I go about my business pullin credit card scams and mail fraud. Maybe they just too clean cut, you feel? Ya boy an extremely angry and insecure person, and I need to listen to Bay Area slapperonis that's both cock diesel AND aggressively heterosexual, or my brittle identity go splat like it's fuckin dominoes.

I fucks wit P-Lo's low-budget jack of the Bieber video where motherfuckers drew shit all over him. You could even argue he's riding Kendrick's wave with callbacks to the "Alright" video's mobbin-thru-the-streets scenes, but really he's just takin back what's his after K. Dot did Ezale like Madonna did those Paris Is Burning queens in the "Vogue" video. It's refreshing to see P-Lo & co. gettin mainey in the streets of a city that's turning into a litterbox of rich yuppies and old dopefiends with unfashionable beards, even tho his ethnic ambiguity makes me uneasy. Still, Ima blast this from my Toyota Tercel, doors way ajar, as I shed mad tears for the collapse of all meaning in absence of a codified racial system. Chuuuuch.

SPODEE-OTTIE-DOPALISCIOUS

If you hang out around Magic City's orgone accumulator long enough, you bound to hear someone compare Spodee to Neal Cassady sooner or later. After all, most listeners are more familiar with Spodee as a name in Young Thug songs than a rapper in his own right. It's the kind of product placement Don Draper would have kreamed his khakis for (I assume—ya boy only watch One Day At A Time repeats on AntennaTV), but it ain't like Yung Ralph has done anything with the boost he got lending *JuugMan voice* to Young Thug's best commercial single.

To the horny watercooler philosophers of Magic City, I say this: whereas the highlight of Kerouac's kareer was appearing whiteboy wasted on Firing Line, and Cassady was nothing more than a dick to ride, Young Thug and Spodee have each blessed the public with varying quantities of excellent work. Those burdened by the shape of rap to come may delude ourselves into thinking victory was had with the silencing of Rawkus counterrevolutionaries, but the concept of rap as-it-should-be remains as fractured as ever. Spodee is both a bridge between Atlanta's current crop of space oddities and streetcorner vending machines, and a throwback to a humanist sensibility now quaintly out of style.

"Trappin Out Da Partments" bears this schizophrenia well, sounding like Dungeon Family in the days after Jeezy. What Spodee does well is offering more texture than the serial trapists of the day, without plugging his ears to their innovations. Breezy backdrops veil introspective fusillades on "Frozen In Time" and the Turk-assisted "Winning," and Spodee comes off like a Chance The Rapper who didn't succumb to his most precious affectations. Most importantly, he again puts himself in an elite club of surf-n-turfers: Remember when I had to starve for a day? / I'm bout to go eat a lobster and steak / Have you ever needed someone to call / When you were locked up in county or state?

Head over to your favorite mixtape juugman and say, "I want my B.I.D. 2!" Tell 'em the world's biggest Pat Harrington, Jr. fan sent ya!

MUSHMOUTH HAS A POSSE

The difference between real hip-hoppers and the well-adjusted rap enthusiast is simple. Real hip-hoppers prioritize enunciation and elocution above all else. While most fans of this modern urban oral poetic tradition are open minded enough to understand that good rapping is about more than arbitrary stylistic standards, real hip-hoppers would crown George Takei as the next Rakim if he picked up a mic and threw some polysyllables together.

Now I love great enunciators like Cube and KRS-ONE, but I'm biased toward the kind of rapper who sounds like his entire body is melting from the tongue down. With due respect to Erick Sermon, Ma$e is probably the most influential and accomplished marblemouth of the modern era. 50 Cent is next, and he had to get shot in the face to achieve that intoxicating bouquet of insouciance and facial paralysis. Nowadays we got drug casualties like Future and Johnny Cinco, whose gross lean consumption may have resulted in permanently retarded motor skills. These guys are so cool they can't even be bothered to form words clearly.

The next great anti-enunciator coming out of the ATL is 21 Savage. The young man is getting much blog love, and while I ain't completely sold yet, I am optimistic about the way he talks about grimy skreet shit like he's explaining the plot of Kate & Leopold to some hoe that fell asleep during Netflix and chill. In "Dirty K" he appears dressed like a Heinz bottle alongside Lotto Savage, who is the Hydrox to Young Dolph's Oreo (or something). He also got the ill Charlie Manson forehead tattoo. Next time you find yaself hangin with some jagoff in a Mishka windbreaker, scream, "I fux wit 21 Savage, young blood! Stay woke lil woadie!" and Harlem Shake until you die of exhaustion or decide to pursue an accounting degree.

WON'T CATCH PABLO SKYWALKIN AT NO OLIVE GARDEN

I fuck wit Pablo Skywalkin cause the yung lord only has one speed. He always cranked up to 11—maybe even 12! This the kinda music for when you do back-to-back toots with each nostril to take the edge off the Spice you been smokin all day, then you tilt your AKs at the sky and do a lil murder dance cause you think you're Leprechaun In The Hood, but really you're just playing Xbox Mk. 1 in some low-level molly salesman's economy apartment (RIP to the City Inn. I'll never forget you.). Lemmy might be gone, but his spirit lives on in the chemically imbalanced youth of Detroit. Although we are responsible rap analysts here at Rap Music Hysteria, a website given to outlandish analogies might compare the current Detroit scene to a rap game NWOBHM. These guys got pre-workout coursing through their veins, and we need that since Waka been shacked up with Steve Aoki.

Speakin of Rocky's scion, "Ruth [sic] Chris" is the climax of Underdawg Story's obsession with the semiotics of snackin—using, in particular, mid-range/higher-end chain restaurants as the vehicle—tho here he drops Benihana as status marker and rides the fingerlings to steakhouse flavorville. Ayo, someone get this man a Darden Group giftcard! Like a bloomin onion, you know what you're gettin with Pablo, but if you happen to like that flavor—yo, that shit's umami.

LIL DURK ANGLING FOR THAT CHARMIN MONEY!

Wake up in the morning, take a piss and grab a strap / Then I wipe my ass and then I pour a cup of Ac

Ayo, I'm fuckin with this new Durk joint a lot mo' than I thought I would! What changed in the time between 300 Days 300 Nights and the Def Jam brand coaster he dropped last summer? If "My Beyonce" is any indication, it's cause he got some Loaf in his life. I know when I'm gettin TLC and nutting regularly I'm happier and more productive, so good for both of 'em.

So not only does he have the best fingerbang jam since "Let Me Hold You," he also one-ups Future's "When you wake up before you brush your teeth / You grab your strap, nigga" line talkinbout takin a piss and wipin his ass! Not to get too fancypants on ya ass, but this is a major advancement of the culture, not unlike when James Joyce dropped the Ulysses mixtape and devoted a few pages to a character taking a shit and wiping his ass. 300 Days 300 Nights also proves Durk's business savvy. He's goin hardbody for that cheesy grits money on "Waffle House," while "Make It Back" seems like a subtler bid for that toilet paper yaper.

Here's hoping this is the beginning of a new trend, where rappers describe da banal details of their morning routine. Rap values realness, and what's realer than rollin outta bed, wiping the cold out ya eyes, sippin on some Folgers and waitin for the BMs to drop? I can't even consider blasting myself until I've had my coffee.

WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE: THE PERFECTED VERSION!

Why did I think What A Time To Be Alive would be better with the Drake parts removed, when all I really wanted was the album's best part repeated ad nauseam? This 10-minute version will suffice until Esco drops the As Slow As Possible cut for Magic City's orgone accumulator.

GREETINGS FROM THE GUNSHINE STATE: SELECTIONS OF RECENT FLORIDA RAP!

In some interview I half-remember reading, Trick Daddy mentioned consciously eschewing booty music to escape the limited definition available to Miami rappers at that time. Understood historically, Trick's trepidation makes perfect sense. His occasional forays into Miami Bass environs, however, are studies in absence along the lines of Ghostface going in on classic breaks—teasers of great music we missed by fluke of an MC born in the wrong era.

Since then, the city has given rise to everything from the international schlock-pop of late-period Pitbull to the manga-aisle armpit sniffers of Raider Klan. Out of Liberty City and the ashes of Pac Jam, Miami-style rap has spread from Broward to Tampa, St. Pete's to Tallahassee, taking new form in the hands of each scene and expanding the possibilities of what a Florida rapper can be. And while MMG and Khaled's kharpetbaggers have burnished most regional identity from Florida's (inter-)national presence, strong pockets of post-Bass articulation continue thriving: in the melodics of jook, the mania of stickin-n-rollin, and a continuing dialogue with New Orleans bounce.

Presented here is a collection of my favorite records to come out of Florida in the last decade or so, songs that neither deny the past nor live in it. You won't find this on the Internet—but as with everything, you can.

GREETINGS FROM THE GUNSHINE STATE!

1. CRISTOL - ALL UP N THRU THERE
2. STRIZZO - UP DOWN #TWERKTEAM (FT. LIL KEE) 
3. K KUTTA - PULL OUT THE STICK (FT. S.O. CERTIFIED)
4. DJ CHIPMAN - STICK IT AND ROLL IT
5. P.A. TEEZY - BENNIE BIGGLE WIGGLE
6. UNDA SURVEILLANCE - ON DECK
7. BALLGREEZY - SHONE
8. TAMPA TONY - KEEP JUKIN'
9. PICCALO - STICK AND ROLL
10. GRIND MODE - ECSTASY REMIX (FT. TRICK DADDY)
11. TOM G - JUST JUMPED (FT. J CREEK)
12. NMB STUNNAZ - CLAP THEM THIGHS
13. HUSTLE HOLICZ - THROWED OFF
14. MR. MONEY MAN, WYSEMAN, KIDD - NEIGHBORHOOD SUPERSTAR

WAX ON WAX OFF, LIL KODAK!

The world loves Kodak Black. I ain't mad. Hearing "No Flockin" on the radio is a smoke signal of salvation amidst the wall-to-wall Aubreyfest. This generation of rap needs its folk hero; the "FREE _____" tshirt industry needs its golden goose.

And unlike so many young Internet sensations, Kodak has that X-factor that make the Ed McMahons say "Aye!" Paired with Plies, however, it becomes clear that Daniel-san can still stand to peep game from Mr. Miyagi. Although Kodak holds his own, let's postpone the anointment until he authors his own Sweet Pwussy Satday. The voice and presence of Plies are not to be underestimated—gifts from the Rap Gods not yet understood by a gaping public.

What happens when Kodak is no longer a media darling? Here's hoping he does like Plies and makes music for people with Flamin' Hot Cheeto dust on their fingers. Ain't No Mixtape Bih 2 out now!