Saturday, October 29, 2016


Ding Dong been a reliable source of novelty dance songs (my chief source of happiness these days), but Vybz kilt him on his own shit with this one. No pun intended. Motorcycles are cool, I just prefer songs about fighting and winning and partying to songs about automobiles. They are both good, however, and this time of the year is really about rocking the vote and making yourself heard!

It's this kind of behind-bars productivity that has dancehall pundits calling Varg Vikernes the Vybz Kartel of Norwegian Black Metal. The guy is definitely spooky. Rumor has it he started bleaching to look more vampiric. Whether this was a genuine interest in the supernatural or a crass attempt to cash in on the Twilight craze isn't for me to decide, though murdering and dismembering (allegedly) is a pretty convincing argument for Team Scary. In time for Halloween, here is a beautiful new song he made using werewolves as a metaphor for the fickleness of man. That'z the verzatility of Vybz: he's got songs in his catalog that make you wanna unbutton your shirt and stand screaming in the rain with tears down your cheeks, and you don't have to make some apologetic meme afterwards like a Drake stan would. Vybz knows, Vybz understandz. It's okay.

Wednesday, October 26, 2016


Sometimes a video can make or break a song. You hear a song that's merely a'ight on teh radio or in teh club, but when you dial it up on YouTube you see the rapper in a cool car hanging out with haute womens and you think to yourself, "Maybe if I listen to this song, I too can be as cool as the guy in the video."

Unfortunately, the video for Young Flacs and Big Rome's "Keepin It Lit" is the opposite. What comes across as a perfect hybrid of slap and Chicano gangbanger rap when you're bumpin it on your Pono is marred by grainy cinematography and poor composition in its video form. Big Rome's awkward screen presence is no help. My man looks like Snorlax. Young Flacs on his Mexican Pac swag, but even this is undermined by a bad audio sync.

That said, I applaud their use of homegrown video hoes. Buy local, the personal is political, small economies to combat the globalist conspiracy. As always, a YouTube commenter says it best:

Yo undertaker, put that shit on my tombstone! "Just for a quick releaf that's it nuthin more"


Shout out to this guy @1:45 pourin the Henny in his mouth so he don't lip the bottle with cooties.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016


When the NYC Rap Dynasty started crumblin back 'round the turn of 2K, I couldn't wait to see it fall. I grew up on the shit, but the hubris of New York industry types made it highly entertaining when the music started to suck and the pricks started to sweat (nullus). And even tho they still tryna put fluoride in the water supply w/ not-ready-for-primetime plantz like Troy Ave and Young M.A, it's been long enough that I'm starting to miss the days when New York was the undisputed center of "the culture." I'm gettin old mane, there's a new generation who don't even remember when New York was kang. That ain't a problem, just means I'm making the transition from baby gangsta to old fart; what bothers me is the ppl my age swallowing the "Fuck New York" quarter-water and clinging blindly to the South's bozack, not realizing they're just a reversal of the last hard-heads who turned the 5 Boroughs into a sinking ship.

New York rap in 2016 is weird. It's a vacuum-sealed cottage industry like jazz since the '70s, self-consciously New York (and not self-consciously "hip-hop") in a way the old shit didn't have to be 'cause it was the gold standard. As with every iteration of Old New York's last stand, you can blame it on gentrification I think. And memes. Whatever. All I know is if you asked me about Joell Ortiz in 2007, I would have said he was a desperate symbol of NYC's retrograde rap scene. In 2016, I like a song about iceys he made with Bodega Bamz and Nitty Scott. New York is a lot of things—irritating, self-important, smelly—but it's got some cool shit too. Ima hold off registering with the Conservative Rap Coalition, but they can keep my name on the mailing list.

Saturday, October 15, 2016


Who else but RAP MUSIC HSTYREIA stay givin you the Lil Blood coverage you ain't want, but you know you need? Rap game lima beans. Usalama is a Swahili word that means "posse cut." With almost 20 guests in just under 4 minutes, "Usalama" is true enough to make noted Swahili scholar Tupac Shakur smile from the Thug Villa he presides over beyond the veil, where the bandanas flow like Alizé.

There's already some Saul Bass-inspired cover art floating around on the interwebs, so we the people demand a video. Boom, everyone emerges from a clown car, hoppin out the whip with a hot four bars like Krusty and his krew used to do when the cigars got laced in the wet.

Is the song any good? It's a'ight. But like Jimmy Gestapo used to say, At least dey fuckin tryin! What da fuck have you done?

Monday, October 10, 2016


The rap-dancehall connec has been one of the most fruitful intercultural dialogues of our age. Where would we be witout WA DA DA DANG! or A LICKY BOOM BOOM DOWN! or Mavado applying Gold Bond to Rick Ross' XXXXL jockstrap? In 2014 Busy Signal returned the volley with some wicked man top spin, spittin hot fire and Peebo Bryson references over the rap chestnuts you was listenin to when you touched booty for the first time at the middle school dances deejayed by ya vice principal's nephew with the fresh fade and honeycomb Iversons, who crept on ya side bitches and took breaks to smoke Reginalds on the football field while tryin to figure out who the fuck was botherin him during his set blowing up his Motorola 2-Way.

Inhale da herb's essence and take a journey thru sound back to the glory days of Rap City, when Beenie Man made you cream ya dungarees goin in over the "Grindin" instrumental. All you need is Big Tigger droppin jolly exclamations here and there. If RAP MUSIC HYSTERAIA! becomes the culture-lifestyle vertical we seemed destined to become, we gonna fix that man up with a record deal and a podcast. A series of compilations w/ Tig droppin goofy freestyles with the hottest MCs in the biz - marble vinyl lathe-cut flexi-disc, limited pressing of 7. Chuuuch, my friends—chuuuch.

Thursday, October 6, 2016


Ayo what's good wit yours, ya boy broadcasting live waiting to see if this bitchass Hurricane Matthew is gonna knuck up or just make meaningless noise like a force-of-nature vuvuzela. That's dedication, yo, word to the well-groomed Anderson Cooper, we some real bloggin Gs outchea.

Aight, so as Young Thug continues to devolve from rapper to art project, and until Thug restores his Homie Quan's honorific from Bitch to Rich, Ralo is emerging as the necessary counterpoint. It's kind of like a 'Kast dynamic, where Ralo keeps Young Thug's flakiest Klaus Nomi daydreams tethered to reality, but it might be more like the Pusha-Malice symbiosis in Clipse, where each MC is a slight variation on the other and they sorta bleed together hydra-style.

As with the triumphant "My Boys," they joined by the always welcome Croonin' Trouble. I can't be the only guy who prefers this mk. of Trouble to the Troubaveli-isms of yore.

That's about it. Hopefully we'll be back and bloggin soon, provided my cabeza don't get bonked by a flying coconut or another tropical object. By the way, this post is IN NO WAY a reaction to Ralo "liking" a tweet I made comparing his voice to Magoo doing a Meatwad impression, nor is it affected by my uncertainty as to whether this "like" was benign or menacing. CHUUUUUCH

Tuesday, October 4, 2016


Sup y'all. RMH ain't nann so provincial as as a mere Rappe Blogue. We citizens of the world, yo! On my days off from the box factory, I be hangin out at Whole Foods samplin exotic dishes and asking anyone with the slightest hint of melanin to bless me wit some of their culture's music. Usually they tell me to fuck myself or snitch me out to the white-dreadlocked manager, but sometimes they look at my kufi-keffiyeh kombo and realize I'm an ally.

This was recommended to me by a cat eyein' the chicken marsala in the pre-made food trough. He described em as a mix between Cypress Hill, Vybz Kartel, Kottonmouth Kings, and Beck, "without the gay shit." I said, "Hand me a test tube, 'cause ya boy about to nuuuut!" He walked away with his marsala as I hit a "CHUUUUUUUUCH" for a good 15 minutes.

This was recommended to me by a Mike Pence looking MF coppin some Kashi Good Friends Cereal. He said his name was Fiber Mane, but I don't believe him. Chi Ching Ching back after his "Nacho" and "Roast Or Fry" slam dizzunks with a non-food-themed jawn over some ambient-sounding IDM shit Lil B might have yelled "20 on my dick, I'm a pretty bitch" over back in 2009.

YouTube commenter hungrybruce has this to say: "You should have gave this to Popcaan to dj. Ching work on the flow and delivery next time." Now me and Popcaan done made our peace even tho he a bitch for blocking me on Twitter after I spammed his shit wit my business idea for Jerk and Scotch Bonnet-flavored Popcaan™, but I don't want him too get too Akonian over this shit. Like my momma always said, "Too many Akons and you got a glitch in the Matrix, word to God."