Sole and anyone outside the outsider-hip-hop clubhouse'd probably seem
strange bedfellows, but a beautiful congress between the fuzziest bear
in wigged-out rap and dream-pop-dreamin' tweelectro Germans Morr Music
is hardly a predictable marriage. Of course, like all pairs of lovers,
whether others understand the essence of their cultivated enclave really
matters little, with their combined weight invariably rated by the
fruits of their union. And, whilst we'd hate to go all media-cliché and
set this up as some battle (as, you've gotta keep it in the battle,
right?), I'm taking this electro-Sole over the fruity prog-hop currently
cramming cones in the wake of that Anticon aura any day. Under the
nom-de-guerre Man'sbestfriend, Sole's out to divorce this fired missive
from his hip-hopper's past, hoping — like so many of his homies — to
now
be known for making "music" rather than rapping. And whilst the
elecktro-zaps and twee keys and dissonant digital tone of The New Human
Is Illegal show Sole's clean pair of artistic heels, as much as he runs
from his battlin' past he'll never overcome it, kicking at the kick-me
signs stuck to his back as he battles back with verbal viciousness aimed
squarely at targeted targets. Meaning, as much as he rails against
captains-of-industry and the Americkn government and the monoculture of
cancerous celebrity, all these politickal broadsides are less about the
world than about his world. Sole's still hip-hop enough to stick it to
a sole party, "Little Bawk Anthem"'s opening takeover going from the
personally specific — "I gave you your first dictionary/ I showed you
Orson Welles/ When Trackmasters were dissing you/ I said 'give that kid a
chance'/ And this is how you repay my kindness?/ You fucking communist!" — to
how that personal reflects large when refracted through the prism of the-globe-at-large;
hip-hop's small world spins out in concentric
circles as Sole turns lyrical tricks like "Edgar Allan Poe told
me/ There's no b-boys left on MTV/ Let's hold a benefit battle/ And give
the money to Palestinian refugees/ There's a war going on 7,000 miles from
where you're holding your nuts." Y'know, so, like: The more men change,
the more they got the same old rage. |
