I'm not exaggerating – this really is the baddest, most absolutely
fucking flagrant gangster rap moment of 2012, and perhaps since Mr.
Lif's “I Heard It Today.” If anybody has a comparable new video
that so speaks to the soul of poor America – or that rings such
loud alarms about the menacing thugs who have terrorized us – then
please send it over.
no idea exactly when or where it was that I met Jesse Wolfe. It was
probably sometime in 2005, when we were both burgeoning members of a
Boston rap community that was on the brink of nothingness. At the
time, Hub hip-hop had graduated cats like Edan and Akrobatik, but had
yet to fully nurture talents like Slaine and Dre Robinson.
initially crying about how the loving and enlightened MC Exposition
exited this weekend, I couldn't help but to also water for the lesser
artists who remain, and who use their platforms to echo the nonsense
that he eschewed through his final verse. More specifically, I thought
about how those cats might learn from Expo's example.
I'm a few weeks overdue for writing about the new Viceversah and Aztech projects, which are unrelated in every way other than that they've both been aggravating my neighbors for a minute now. It's not the first time that these two have hit me off - they've both been sending over mixtapes since before the Bean rap scene got taken over by MCs in flip-flops.
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I've been listening to the official Click Animosity disc, Feeders of the Flamez, like mad. There's a certain kind of filthy rugged hip-hop that I'll never grow out of, and this scratches that itch like an opiate fix.
I didn't necessarily believe the Click Animosity cats when they said they'd be releasing a follow-up EP packed with discarded tracks; after all, it took them long enough to get the album out.
Last time I checked up on Mattapan native Singapore Kane, the Big Shug affiliate and underground slugger told us that – unlike most of his exalted peers in Bay State hip-hop – he's hardly content with subterranean acclaim. You can't blame him; in addition to clocking tour props in Europe with the Snowgoons and a rep among the game's top street cats, Singapore has an accessible cadence fit to tap mainstream demographics.
When she’s not drawing blood at Mass General,
Lady Repo is pouring her own out onto paper. Born Ami Nata — or Queen
Mother in Senegalese — the rapper-turned-nursing-aid is as real as they
come. Repo cuts into her past like a surgeon with an honesty akin to
that of Beanie Sigel. “I don’t know how to water myself down.
If Sarah Palin is a bulldog with lipstick — or
whatever that moron called herself — Sheek is a rottweiler in heels
posing as a poodle. The girl’s girl from Dorchester may giggle between
songs, but when she barks, she barks big. Marking her territory all over
Boston, Sheek has performed in most of the major venues and earned
radio burn on all the local hip-hop stations.
It’s 6 am on a Sunday morning when Serge Didenko
picks me up for a photo shoot, and he’s as bright-eyed as Homer Simpson
at a pancake breakfast. At the shoot, he’s jumping over fences and
bouncing around the Belmont High School football field. “I’m kind of
crazy,” he says, cracking a smile. He’s not kidding.
When Young Don rocked the Fletcher Middle School
in Cambridge in eighth grade, his best friend, Chris, soon to become
Chief C, wasn’t about to let him get all the attention. The two have
been rapping together ever since. Their first mixtape as Certified G’z, Fly
Boyz, was “about a whole lot of nothing,” says Don, who recently
finished a one-year prison sentence.
It’s a slow, hot Sunday afternoon in Jamaica
Plain when I meet the Urban Nerdz by the Stony Brook station. Bouffard
Malory keeps jumping up and screaming at the sight of every passing
bumble bee; Kay Special alternates between sitting and standing every
few minutes; Ace BooGie casually places one leg in the air.
Concep sits in the corner of the Orleans bar and
restaurant in Somerville (where I’ve been a waitress for more than two
years) on nights when his brother Derrick works the door. Mostly, he’s
soft-spoken and keeps to himself, and when he said he rapped, I wasn’t
sure what to expect, since he doesn’t sport the arrogant swag that most
MCs wear like fur-collar coats.
In the modern entertainment industry, Bay Holla
is a Renaissance woman. Rapper, model, actress, philanthropist, street
worker, manager, community organizer, and comedian, the Roxbury native
is like an urban Rubik’s Cube. “I’m looking to make music,” she says,
“but at the end of the day, I do everything.
Before rap came along, Millyz was a singer in his
class chorus. “I just wanted to be a singer,” he says, sipping Hennessy
at Riverside Pizza in Cambridge, “but I would always try to memorize
what rappers said, so I could say it with them when I listened.” Growing
up near Central Square, “with all the bums and crackheads and crazies,”
Millyz was a white minority.