ON MEMPHIS RAP AND THE SONG OF THE SUMMER

For a complex of obvious reasons, Memphis rap fetishism has long been the province of art degenerates, edgelord punx, and non-racist metalheads, which is why I've always been gun shy about stanning for the venerable likes of DJ Squeeky and M.C. Mack.

What's that you say about the penultimate post? Allow me to remove my clip-on mohawk. Meant nothing, bought it from a costume store. I'll just put on the vintage FUBU jersey I usually wear. Yes, some say it's cyan, others say it's sky blue. You never know until you study color theory!

Post Lamone, you say? Never heard of her. No, mine isn't vintage in that sense, I've been wearing it since '97, it's vintage in the sense of age not provenance.

This FUBU jersey is so comfortable. When I put it on I feel at ease with the world, unlike the semiotically confused palefaces who stand behind their merch tables proffering harsh noise cassettes and Tommy Wright III shirts. Is it any wonder SpaceGhostPurrp can't stand the Yacubian devil? His old MuneyJordan YouTube channel, with its carefully curated underground Memphis playlists, gave birth to the Lil Ugly Manes and Sucide Men of the world. Memphis makes, the world takes and remakes.

Which is why I was surprised to hear Pretty Tony & 38 Slug's "Summer Drama" step away from the gothic and headbussa cliches of so much Memphian random-rap, giving us a summer song encompassing the minor glories and bullshit of a dog day's scene, underscored by the warm piano chords that made the "Player's Ball" reprise/remix so ineffably poignant (no homo).

Perhaps Schopenhauer said it best when he wrote, "The inexpressible depth of all music, by virtue of which it floats past us as a paradise quite familiar and yet eternally remote, and is so easy to understand and yet so inexplicable, is due to the fact that it reproduces all the emotions of our innermost being, but entirely without reality and remote from its pain. And that Pretty Tony & 38 Slug shit? It makes a Krautta like me feel a certain kinda way.

"You know how Shaggy 2 Dope and Violent J are always going on about the 'wicked shit' to describe Esham and whomever? I get it, local pride and all, but it's better applied to the Memphis underground, and 'Summer Drama' somehow weds the wicked shit with cookout music. It's apropos when you consider the whole of summer: you're out grilling schnitzel with your Krauttas as the murder rate rises."

I couldn't have said it better, Art.

SPANISH FLY, HAWAIIAN SHIRTS

"Try Me" was aight, but the real reason it blew up was the dissonance of a small young woman talkin about catching bodies in the context of a shimmering pop-rap single.  Rock bands been usin this tactic forever (e.g. the sizable subgenre of sunshine pop songs with suicidal lyricals), but outside of MS. LOAF and cocksure kiddie-rappers, the juxtaposition of two or more dissimilar, seemingly contradictory, elements is a relatively untapped technique in the world of rap.

"Cement Shoes" is one such exception.  A copacetic DJ SPANISH FLY yawns thru murder threatz and braggadociery, but this ain't the kind of Memphis stomper one comes to expect.  It's hypnotic and warm, more dream than nightmare, the kind of shit that make u wanna catch some Zzzzzs and bound thru the clouds but also drop some stoolies into the river before you take that dreamscape siesta.   Fly repeats "cee-ment shoes, cee-ment shoes, cee-ment shoes!" like a Mansonian mantra, whilst drawing on the phrase's concise evocation of America's urban-industrial underbelly and the nexus of allusions intrinsic to its unique configuration of eight letters: the pop-history of Palisades body dumps, Dick Tracy vs. Flattop Jones, the brute poetry co-written by Edward G. Robinson and Bugs Moran.

A true innovator in the worlds of music and style, Fly pioneered the Hawaiian shirts, clashing patterns, tube socks, and tiny shorts look later favored by TYLER, THE CREATOR.  Style experts may argue the jheri curl amidst all these elements makes the look too busy, but I think of it as the cherry on top of an advanced wardrobe.

BECOME FACEBOOK FRIENDS WITH TOMMY WRIGHT III

 

Sup you dogass hoes?  Real talk, y'all, if there's one thing ya boy can't stand it's fakes; that extends to people as well as True Religions (I hear ya Keef!).  I was at Mangy Moose the other day, pullin bitches and sellin Oxys to some bitchass tourists, when local rap sensation Snow White came in with his Powder Blu Cru.

I used to be kinda tight with Snow White back in the day.  We'd hit the slopes together and rob tourists for their North Faces and what have you - you know, mad gully gangsta shit!  But since he been poppin off on a statewide level, the fame has gotten to his head.  He didn't even hook me up with a moist towelette when I was bossin on some buffalo wings!  Homeboy, my hands wuz dirty!

Snow White, you got a price on yo head, real talk.  But TOMMY WRIGHT III is a real ass dude.  I listen to his music and think, "Man, I bet me and Tommy would have so much in common.  We are both wandering this crazy road we call Thug Life."  Hit him up on Facebook! 

And Tommy, if you readin this, come on man, unblock me!  I know I been spammin and whatnot, but wait till you hear my demo, homey!