Fucked up moldy mushrooms.

I’m going to London for a few weeks. Not sure I’m cut out for it but it’ll be good to see people. Are you free?

If you’re free Wednesday night, in London, then come down to the inaugural Tombola Of Fun. My very great friend, Nathaniel Metcalfe, is putting it on and he rates the headlining comedian as one of the funniest people out, and he knows his shit. It is surely going to be the best thing to happen in Tufnell Park since a kid I knew at Ackland Burley, split his shorts playing basketball at the exact time the fittest girl in the school walked past the court. Good times. I’ll be there stamping hands or pressing sfx buttons or something.

Hopefully I’ll get some new music while in Town. I like new music.

I wanna play some records out too. Hook me up.

I was born, and I was dead.

Poet – All Hell Breakin’ Loose 1987

Feeling my raps at the moment. Today.
Actually I’m always listening to Hiphop, just sometimes it feels like I’m not. I get into more music of more kinds all the time, but Hiphop is skin on me and all that other music is clothes. Like right now, for instance, “Put Ya Filas On” by Schoolly D just came on random and my volume control wasn’t quite ready for it. I’m sat right between my speakers and I’d wager Mr. Weaver just took a couple of years off my earlife, but I’ll be damned if it wasn’t the best thing I’ve heard all day. Listening to music at a reasonable volume is the cousin of death anyway.

I don’t normally put raps up here. Kind of because there are a million Hiphop blogs out there and I don’t have particularly rare shit that no one else is posting. I’m gonna put a few lesser known favourites up this week regardless because, you know, it’s what I’m feeling.

This record came out a couple of years after the aforementioned Schoolly D had kicked the (then) polite world of recorded Hiphop in it’s stomach and paved the way for uncompromising hardcore rap.

Poet went on to work extensively with production legend Molly Moll and form the groups PHd and Screwball but in 1987 he was on the rocks. Rocks and programmed drums, and not that crossover shit that Darryl and Joe had taken up the charts with Steve Tyler. No this is about as threattening and uncommercial as Hiphop got in 87, and all the better for it.

One day I’ll convince my favourite Rock-Only pub to let me play a couple of hours of strictly Rap-that-samples-Rock. It’d be great. I’d go. This would be amongst the prime cuts and all hell would break loose.