WRATH OF THE LAMB
Broken down to his very last compound. For those initiated into its deeper secrets, hiphop is both sacred resurrection ritual and the latest advances in psychological technology. Bomb and balm. In strictly hiphop terms, Kendrick Lamar’s dismantling of Drake was the Immaculate Ass Whopping. Petty on a thousand trillion. Having won the battle, Kendrick used the occasion of Juneteenth to finish his breakfast. Dot’s swagger is quiet, a scholar’s swagger, concealing a quantum gangster: certified Boogie man: the wrath of the Lamb, cut from them red bandanas.
The Pop Out was a Pow Wow for the algorithm. Centering the city of LA, It was also one of the greatest finishing moves in the history of rhyme war. Yes, a video is on the way, but that is epilogue. Every detail of this metaphoric murder campaign made sure to address any and all slights by the Canadian rapper. “Euphoria” is on the charts and “Not Like Us” is the song of the summer. White Canadians are getting emotional about it. Drake is relegated to cryptic Instagram messages and uninspired guest features. K Dot even went to Compton College (Drake had the unmitigated gall to rock a sweatshirt from the school) to encourage the graduating class on some Black Napoleon shit. (The only remaining issue is The Ring of Tupac, which only adds to the gothic nature of this situation.)
Then he gathered a cross section of Black LA’s past and present in Inglewood. Goonchella, someone called it. North of 18,000 Angelinos gathered at the Forum, the historic home of the Showtime Lakers. They witnessed LA’s underground creators like Tommy the Clown perform West Coast tribal dances, mourned Nipsey Hustle, cripwalk with West Coast hitmakers like Mustard, Roddy Rich and YG and sing repeatedly “Hey, Drake/I hear you like em young” in gleeful unison. Perhaps the most impactful performance outside of the headliner was Tyler the Creator because he too had to pop out and show niggas. The true heir to the experimentation and alternate West Coast sound of Freestyle Fellowship and the Good Life MCs of the 90s, he collected his bonifieds and had the crowd singing every word of his set. Finally the founding father and wicked architect of LA’s rap battle ethos, Dr. Dre, appeared to introduce the song that continued LA’s winning streak and took down the industry giant. When Kendrick mounted the stage to wopwopwopwopwop do his stuff the city buried an opp and claimed its savior. “Not Like Us, now a cultural phenomenon, was played back to back six times. Despite the song being a hater’s anthem (or because of it), the show ended with the warring tribes of LA - its athletes, creators, babies, killers, dancers, rhyme sayers and hustlers unifying on stage for one shining moment. For anyone invested in the art and culture of hiphop, it was a resurrection moment. It was a bookend to Drake’s own “Back to Back” moment in 2015, when he destroyed Meek and, for the first time really, unleashed social media as a weapon in rap battle. It was a corollary to the Lox’s Verzuz victory over Dipset in Madison Square Garden when Jadakiss claimed Biggie’s King of New York crown with a Who Shot Ya freestyle and City anthem. It was also reminiscent of the 1978 One Love Concert when through the sheer power of his music, Bob Marley brought the two leaders of Jamaica’s warring political parties together onstage to join hands.
The pictures of the united ghettos of LA onstage were a irl version of the cover of To Pimp A Butterfly. This was no Artificial Intelligence. This was spirit — Tupac echoing Marcus Garvey urging us to look for them in the whirlwind. This was a corrective for a rap world that had strayed a bit too far from its root purpose. But with this moment, the Culture did some spittin’.
PRELUDE TO A KISS
Even before we watched Joe Biden buffering live during the presidential debate, the Democratic optics were already making us itch. The gaslighting and pandering are non-stop. So when Cadaver Joe and the Genocides decided to throw a Juneteenth party, we braced ourselves for more koonbayah to camouflage their inaction on tangible issues. Still no one prepared us for the shambolic display of tone deaf dumb and blind. Whatever else went down with that profoundly bougie crowd of black and brown sycophants over dancing, it boiled down to a single image: On this day celebrating the end of chattel slavery, Billy Porter, dressed in a sequined caftan looking like a drunken auntie — terrible weave and all — decided to bend the knee to plant his black lips on Biden’s almost dead hand in an appearance that confused serving with servile. Mark it: If Trump somehow wins the black vote in November, it will be because of the racoonery of folk like Mr. Porter. Burn all of Hollywood down if they let this goofy play James Baldwin.
MARCH OF THE UNDEAD
The supporters of Joe Biden, Aubrey Graham and Devin Haney are running neck and neck in the Coping Olympics. Untethered from our consensus reality, they are swarming the internet with their excuses, gaslight and redirects in order to convince themselves and any one fool enough to listen that things are not what they seem. Their zombie takes — the tweets of the undead — attempt to suspend our disbelief with an onslaught of tortured logic and stubborn denial. Until the recent debate made the obvious more obvious, the Democratic machine pretended Biden was not deteriorating right before our lying eyes. Now all of a sudden they are panicking/redirecting/blaming it on a cold. The Devin Haney folks want us to forget that Ryan Garcia made Haney look like an amateur regardless of the slight weight advantage and ostarine found in his system. True, the Boxing authorities restored Devin’s undefeated record after Garcia tested positive for the PED, for the majority of fight fans there is a massive asterisk next to it. Haney had no answers for Garcia’s left hook and found himself kissing the canvas more than once. As for the Drake Stans, they hang on to the 2nd verse of “Family Matters” like their lives depend on it because the entire known world is singing along to Kendrick’s lethal takedowns. As for the Boy himself he strictly doing instagram posts that read like Blues Clues. In one he’s dressed like a man watching Cricket and in another it’s just his customized seat and a poster of John Dillinger. The undead walk among us.
THE TYRANNY OF THE CASUALS
The problem with social media and why we are retreating rushing headlong into our digital WhatsApp circles is the new spam: Fuckboi opinions. The ubiquity of the uninformed, always aggrieved, troglydytes and gaslighters makes it nearly impossible to move through the our digital town squares without being accosted by the pungent smell of shit takes. Oh and bots.
ADVANCED READING (TO FILTH)
Some high tech dialect you ain’t catch yet: When Congress Woman Jasmine Crockett asked the speaker if she could describe a certain other Congress person (*cough Majorie Taylor Greene) as Bleached Blonde Bad Built Butch Body, the Bitch at the end is silent. We approve all such wicked use of alliteration.
BULLETS
Random Thoughts: Davido and Chioma’s billionaire wedding featured his mistress Anita crashing out on the internet. Real transatlantic drama. Is J. Cole is quiet quitting? Keke Palmer jumped the shark after the Usher debacle. The Buju Banton-Beres Hammond synergy from the 90s should be studied in university. A friend told us the Nara Smith vs Onezwa is “a beef between two whispery recipe bitches”. Dj Khaled dancing on yachts while Palestine burns chafes the soul. Nasty fucking work. After making quick work of Frank Martin Tank Davis is the face of boxing. Terrance Crawford is still the most skilled but Gervonte’s knock out power is box office. Everything is a psy-op.
WAVES
Steve Harvey — B.O.B.
Praise Jah in the Moonlight (Remix) feat Burna Boy — YG Marley
Love Me JeJe — Tems
Buckin’ vs Tshwala Bam
Flawda Dance vs Tyla’s Bacardi
Shake Dat Ass - Bossman Dlow
TGIF - Glorilla
How I Do - Res