Tuesday, October 13, 2015


The bulk of Lil Herb's music is unwelcoming by design: cold and cacophonous, with dense word cascades growled by the agitated son of Tone Loc. It don't make no concessions to the casual listener. The term street rap gets thrown around a lot these days, but it's treated more as a straightforward descriptor than a genre with its own unique characteristics. What differentiates street rap from the gangsta rap of yore is the absence of the broad-stroke blockbusterisms and mythologizing of the latter. It's an attempt at no-frills realism - they makin The French Connection, not Scarface.

As a rapper Herb is one of the most conventional drillmen. Whereas Keef came hot out the gate with a viral song and vid, Herb has built his reputation by delivering goods of consistent and dependable quality. With the possible exception of Mozzy, no one of Herb's generation or kind is writing with as much depth and intensity of detail.

Shy Glizzy gets by more on strength of personality. There ain't much redeeming about his music, which is kind of the point. He plays the villain, Lil Zé rappin about shootin up blocks in an absurd Jerry Lewis voice like the dude about to yell, "Laaady!" any minute. The voice can be a dealbreaker, but it's also his greatest strength. You can rap about atrocities if you sound like a caustic munchkin, and Ima still be waitin with the noogie like, "Come over here you little rascal!"

Not to get all Migos > Beatles on yo' ass, but Zaytoven's name is looking less like bravado than fact with the passing of each year.

Straight up homer, if you want me you can find me down in Dade! My starry eyes might be blind to clumsy raps and cornball lines like "My last name ain't Dumpty, I will never fall off!" but I still believe Carol City Mafia made an overlooked banger. In a city flush with rap money, it's a travesty that there's almost no interest in developing local artists. Sad when Jim Jones is doin more for the city than any of the natives, even if Miami Vampin is stuffed with more doodoo than a septic tank. Carpetbaggers watch ya chains. Rozay, keep ya fat ass in Boca. It's 2015 and Rap Music Hysteria is goin for the gusto.

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