Oh word: I would (still) very much like to do a song with Curren$y, please

Beth Gibbons and I are doing a song together. I decided this, daydreaming at work today. Beth and I are going to make a song, or maybe even a whole freaking album together, since we both have hair the color of sunshine and we're both in love with bass. That's enough, right? We should create things together and put those things on the Internet, right? It doesn't matter that one of us was born to make music and one of us is terrible at making music, I hope, because that would really put a damper on things.

6. “Surface to Air” (How Fly)

Wiz:  Not Michael Jackson, I ain't feeling these kids/and you hatin', such a shame that's where your energy is/I'm in a Gfizz flying, leave your bitches with the planes, now she sky diving, hella vibin'/And your hating adds just more steam/More chips, now I'm living more Rothstein.

Lieber and Stoller wrote timeless stories set to melody in 15 minutes, smoking and pacing around the room, tossing out lyrical snippets to each other. Smoke DZA can say RIIIIIIIGHT over a beat and I'll listen to it on a loop in my Civic for at least a half hour. My point is that making songs that please the people is quite a reachable goal when you were obviously born to do it and don't try to force things if you weren't born to do it. Ahem. Thank you.

Logan, outshining Wiz: Mike Jackson raps make me yawn, you're a Boy who's Badly Drawn/I'm sick of you, vamoose, sail the fuckin Dead Sea/I'm hoi polloi, you're a pig who's bourgeoisie/Eat some brie, drink some chablis/Your high times ain't nothin compared to Prodigy in his bucket, flyin on PCP/Your career's over, I heard your label reneged/Your utter lack of substance means you're just an image - JPEG.

Then something about twinkletoes and my heart breaking. My style's derivative - I've obviously been too influenced by Nickatina and Cellski plus a little G Rap and that fucking supa dupa flow that I despise, and overall I need a better grasp of my identity as a narrator in song. Still, I put the lyrical hurting on em and man I'll never quit. The game needs me too badly. I come around and fools' careers are just done - folding in on themselves like the house at the end of Poltergeist. 

Curren$y:  Kicked up sittin' behind a mahogany desk, crumblin erb just as Big Boi and Andre would suggest/Flow sick need a check up, flow sick that's how I got my checks up/Bad bitches gold diggin' lame n---s out a trip to foreign places, or bracelet or necklace/Then slide through the set and fuck the Jets cause she respect us/You think you got a winner, but you don't I bet she let us (lettuce)/Pickles, tomatoes, onions, mayo, mustard, and ketchup...the works.

E-40 set the standard for condiment raps with the claaaaaaassic “Mustard and mayonnaise smokin up at the sky light/You can't touch my Vogues, baby bye-bye.” That one was delicious and left my tummy/heart/soul feeling satisfied. Curren$y's verse is about girls acting wrongly and it's somehow wrapped up in a metaphor about hamburger toppings, but the whole freaking thing works because OutKast works, always. Everyone loves OutKast. My landlady loves em. My mailman too.  Your 4th-grade teacher. David Stern, Alex Trebek. My future husband, my mom. Me and you. Your mom. And your cousin too, of course. Everyone loves OutKast, the kittens/ice cream/pizza/free money of the music world. In case you're reading this, future husband: I'm ending my wedding vows with Power music/electric revival. Also I'd like you to constantly tell me I'm fine as all outdoors. Thanks in advance! I LOVE YOU, BABY. XOXO.

7. “Car Service” (How Fly)

Wiz: Clear the runway, baby/I get money from Sunday to Sunday, lady/Oh behave, I'm young, rich, famous/Grinding, keep my pockets on Schwarzenegger/OG in my Swisher so my blunt taste flavored, don't it?/Ya'll n---s can get if you want it/Tryna catch a flight?/I'm in the back seat playing X Box, car service just chillin'/Burners in the wall, money all through the ceiling.

THIS GUY. These are the words of a professional musician, above - and if you're not outraged, you're not paying attention. Writing composition experts weigh in; regarding style, Toni Morrison said, “The language must not sweat.” (She's talking about effortlessness.) And then there was that time adjunct English professor D. Dumile said most MCs are “rusty like oxidation, in the world's most strangest, most dangerous occupation.” This is just a nicer, though no less correct, description of industry persons' shortcomings that Big L and Kool Keith have revealed to my innocent ears over the years, except don't forget to add that everyone's got AIDS, according to L, and they all want Keith's autograph according to Keith. And I believe it was Logan the Shy Bathing-Suited Sex Kitten Comedian who said, after trying to come up with something nice to say because that's how her mom raised her, “Wiz has a lovely smile. He really does. It is unselfconscious and genuine. But he should take notes from other weed-loving duos who constantly have adventures together - Jay and Silent Bob (Bob stayed silent because he could not rap), and Meth and Red (they both learned how to rap and be charming, understanding that it's not fair for one dude to always be the heavier lyrical Spitta hitta).”

Logan, upsetting Wiz immensely:  Ball til I fall, make that dollar holler/If it don’t make dollars, blah blah stickin up white boys on ball courts/Pockets on stun, consumption on conspicuous/401k on a hundred thousand million jillion/I'm leaving Warner Bros. for good this year, not enough artistic freedom/Just kidding, I'll never leave, they're my meal ticket/Plus I know Warren Buffett - the real Warren Buffett/He owe me a hundred favors. 

See, I can do it too. When it comes to luxury raps, I'm nowhere near Janye's level - but I can certainly outdo a kid from Pittsburgh wearing some Converse, with his language sweating all over the place.

Curren$y: Bitches freeze in the Xenon headlights like a deer/But not out of fear, she looking 'cause it's money over here/Shine from above these land lovers I'm a chandelier/My girl gotta pocket bubbler in her purse/She keep it G and pack the bowl with weed and let me hit it first/Ain't tryna be a hog, doggy - all I want is what I'm worth.

“It's not a guarantee that I will like your songs just because you make a reference to girls being like deer, sweet and gentle forest creatures,” said the lady with eyes that always get commented on (by fucking cops) and give her the appearance of a fawn in the forest, “But it helps.” This is critical bias on the part of the blogger.

8. “Glass House,” with Big K.R.I.T. (Kush & OJ mixtape; produced by ??? - Jerm? Sledgren? K.R.I.T.?)

Wiz:  Just by the smell it's obvious/That my connect come from Cali/I'm good long as the money piling up/All the while I'm just quick lane pimping, big jane twisting/Walking how I talk it, bitch that's Pittsburgh pimping. 

The three things that should bother me most about this affair - the presence of Wiz, the presence of Curtis Mayfield, and the song's theme of girls needing to perform sexually in order to hang out in a fucking incredible car - are blissfully offset by the fact that '09 Wiz was still tolerable, that the Curtis break is used in a pretty fashion, and the fact that I got over gender roles in song lyrics a long time ago and am much happier now that I know that lyric life is not real life (or trife life, for that matter; word life.) Curren$y's verse starts it off, and all is as it should be as we head into the hook. There's a dumb Wiz detour next, and then our Mississippi rep walks in and calls 808 a southern mating call and you know I love that. K.R.I.T.'s an ass guy, clearly, and that's OK with me, because nobody said you can't be an ass guy and also a sensitive guy (my dream combo, duh). What is also OK with me is that K.R.I.T. says he'll push my hand away from the buttons in his Cutty unless I take my dress off, but without his friends around he's pure sweetness. (A man who writes a tribute to riding around in the car and listening to music with his dad? That's a sensitive individual.) Oh and that hook, that hook! It's a sing-along-in-the-Civic beauty! When I first heard it, I thought it was Pimp C asking me if I wanna rest my ass in this glass house. It's not, but man do I wish it was. I wish it was.

Logan:  A re-jacking of Wiz's jacking of Cam's technique (“I take this word and say that same word again 1 bar later and that's my verse, doggy”*), I'd have to start off with  Meth was Mary's Noah; Mary was his wiz/Nipsey Russell played the Tin Man in that movie called “The Wiz.” 

(The song would be called “Divine Mathematics,” obviously. And Wiz should join Dipset, obviously, because he'd fit right in. He's a long-lost cousin of J.R.'s, and he has to box Vado in the backyard before every tour stop to decide who gets to sit next to Jonesy on the bus.) Later in the song, I address Wiz directly with  Don't wanna read your book, won't look at your brochure/I can name 2 terrible rappers named Cameron who should go on the 'Rappers Named Cameron Are Terrible' Tour. I'm planning on performing it at SXSW, and I'm also planning on the crowd loving it. I am planning on opening for Danny Brown as well, and when he does “Monopoly” I'll yell along with him into the mic when he gets to the Fuck you and your tough talk/When I monopolize I throw your ass off the Boardwalk part. (My hair gets all messed up but I don't care.)

* 5 year old reference, but please. I can't imagine he's changed much, flow-wise.

Curren$y: I chill with all that baller fishing/You fucked around and you caught a shark/Cold hard, tear your feelings apart/I'm more focused on getting my rims powder-coated/One of the dopest, I'm Schedule I/You just ibuprofen, what is you smoking?/Them bogus growers, they got you choking.

Some things are boring until you dig a little deeper. “The San Diego Chargers agreed to contract terms with defensive end Corey Liuget today,” a sports site told me a couple weeks ago. Yeah yeah, terrific, so what. Several hours later, however, sports talk radio told me “The San Diego Chargers signed defensive end Corey LEGIT today.” IT’S PRONOUNCED LEGIT! COREY LEGIT. He therefore has the perfect SODMG associate/MMA fighter name, and that is not boring in the slightest. And in this verse Curren$y's talking about ballernomics, rims, narcotics; but dig a little deeper, and you can appreciate that Schedule I mention, and that shark mention (an obvious nod to Nickatina).

9. “Weed Brownies” (that Big Sean mixtape; Big Jerm)

Wiz:  Eat champagne and lobster cause I fucking deserve this shit/N---s say I’ve got an old soul/Well, I tell them that I’m here, muthafucka/And I made it cause my flow cold.

Aw damn, I let things bother me too much. The flows, beat selection, and clothing choices of men who exist in my headphones and on my computer screen - I take it too seriously, like it's a gamble. I do. Sigh. Now that that's been established: NOBODY SAYS WIZ HAS AN OLD SOUL. Has anybody ever said that about Wiz? NO. They have not. In the category of other things I’m supposed to believe that insult my intelligence: Dre drives a Chrysler, Em drives a Chrysler, and Timberlake is a HUGE Leonard Cohen and Mantronix fan.

JT, king of the beats. Elle, August 2011.

I might toss it to one of you guys since I don't have an authoritative voice when it comes to weed high jinks. But if put on the spot, I just go to my old stand-by topics of Doom, making fun of dudes' gear if it's overly fancy, and maybe something from that day's RSS feed about non-rap?  

Logan, easily making Wiz look foolish: I don't know Mary Jane, but I'm told she'd make my heart sing/Wiz, you so skinny, on that steady diet of nothing/Something something, Minor Threat, ... ________ (line that expresses my disappointment about this although really, why should I even care since nothing's sacred)/You're screaming at a wall, you're broke, you got no ends/Your whole style garbage, Wiz you need to make amends/Prepster I'm just playing when I says I likes your Land's Ends/Doomsy and me and Vast, we're super friends. 

All I have are punchlines at this point. Punchlines galore. So many punchlines that I'm ready for my YMCMB contract. (“HOOKS IS EXTRA” - Dumile.) 

Curren$y:  I'm outta here, stratosphere/Paper hella straight, nappy hair/Bitches seem not to care that you were even there/When we pulled up, lit like Times Square/When we pulled up, lit like road flares/When we pulled off, them hoes disappeared/Because they know what we be doing over here/She just wanna be high in her underwear/With her iPhone plugged in the wall, power outlet/Stepping out the shower, threw her a shirt to towel off with.  

I am jealous of Curren$y's girls, who do nothing but lounge around, smoke and take their clothes off, and this is enough to get them mentioned in song. ME ME ME, why can't this be me? I have excellent references and I'm a hard worker and a people person, I said during my interview for the position of “song girl/lyric muse.” It did not go well. I was politely informed I need to gain 10-12 lbs, dumb it down a little bit, and stop cracking jokes (let Curren$y shine).

10. “Super High (remix)” (Smoke Fest mixtape)

Wiz:  From the smell, and by what I paid, you know it's good/Them n---s with me? They from the hood/Now we through parties in the sky, I'm on the 42nd floor, now that's super high/Champagne, more paper planes than you can fly/Them young n---s fell soon as they tried/When the paparazzi flash, I'll be counting all this cash/Plotting a million about how I can build a mountain out of hash.

Good/hood, sky/high/fly/tried, cash/hash. Before WK goes to a writing sesh, he throws on his Chucks and touches a plaque on his wall for good luck, like the Tree of Hope at the Apollo. ALL SEUSS EVERYTHING, it says on that plaque. TALK TO YOUR AUDIENCE LIKE THEY READ AT THE FIRST-GRADE LEVEL.

Logan: Pass; I respectfully decline. (I like the beat too much to denigrate it with my awful flow. JESUS, WHAT A BEAT AND I'M STILL NOT SICK OF IT; EXCELLENT JOB, CLARK KENT). Here's what I'm tossing around for the next song I'm doing with Beth, though:

- She like them boys with the big ol chains/Ridin round town in a big ol Rrrrrange. I still love this, unfortunately. I turn it up every time. Goddamn you, Power 106.

- “Listen, hot shot - 355,000 Californians have medical marijuana cards/And about 1,000 of them are in my family, living in my apartment complex,/Standing behind me in line at Vons, next to me on the freeway,/Delivering my mail, changing the oil in my Civic, and ringing me up at CVS.” It's my ol' “battle raps in the parking lot of my brain” daydream again. (I'll make it rhyme, promise.)

- “Fuck Wiz, I funk with the young prince Abu buck” - Lil B, “Look Like Muhammad.” I need to use this in a song somewhere, or at least make reference to it.

- Danny Brown being the long lost member of Funkdoobiest and his use of Prince iconography. Need to use this somewhere too.

- Google making me smile by suggesting Bobby Hebb when I typed Bobby Heb (on my way to “Hebert,” whose jersey Curren$y is pictured in, above). Google, I like having you around. You’re my boyfriend when my other boyfriend is out of town, and when my girlfriend is busy, and when my other other boyfriend is acting dumb.

Curren$y: Don't front, you in the back of a long line/Trying to get in, cause only members inside/Trees get twisted up like fingers in gang signs/Purple Kushions broke my fall, I fell from a grapevine/Super high, from the free throw line, I'm/Drexler status, glide the espionage/Many a jealous eyes scrutinize the wise/But the Jets in the house like the curtains and the blinds/It hurt to see me shine, that's why they frowning all the time/In they Internet videos, digital CB4s.

“I just found out that Hi-C did Gusto's raps in CB4. Now I feel dumb that I didn't know that! I did know that Drexler was from New Orleans, though, so I feel like I'm still the nerd champ.” - me in the studio with the Jets and the Jet hangers-on and the Jet caterers and the Jet shoe-shiners, about to be kicked out for not taking my shirt off and for talking too much out of nervousness. I'll never achieve “song girl/lyric muse” status. Time for me to start coming to terms with that.

11. “Rollin Up” (How Fly)

Wiz: Me and Spitta, spend a grand at the bar/Buying drinks for my n---s/Hoes selling they souls just to be with us/On the road with winners, champions/Ride smoking weed to myself the only reason they stress/Because I'm on the level you can't be in/And I flick the middle finger to fake friends/We live like when the loyalty is strong you can't bend.

Goodness gracious, Wiz's life has more plots than a graveyard! So many twists and turns! OH WAIT. No. That's not true at all, is it. This is just another verse about his friends and their shoes, getting high and staying that way for as long as possible, and people being upset with them.

Logan:  My shoes are pretty, ooohhh I'm Loubie'd out/I got enough enemies, I need a buddy or three/Time's too expensive, Ice Cube's my cousin/You'll only see me naked if you own a copy of Both Sides of the Brain/Just listened to “Cyberpunks” today; yeah I do that every couple weeks/What a fucking space cadet dreamboat, Jesus Christ I love Del so much. 

No plot, no characterization. I also didn't include any actual rhymes, since I spent less than a minute composing it. But mine has a Del mention- top that, WK. Also, WK: “Fuck outta here”/“You better get a goddamn job” - Rock & Sean P, August 2011. (I could also maybe add “I feel the pain of everyone/Then I feel nothing” - Mascis, earlier today, on stupid ol' pop radio that plays a gem or two sometimes. There now, see? Aren't 10 simple yet effective words better than a hundred useless, braggy ones from Wiz?) 

Curren$y: Yeah, jets n---a, As if I had to say it: Spitta/In the middle of every bad bitches playlist/iTunes banging from my hotel room/Nothing but beats bitch/Fuck it when I die I could sleep bitch/My momma need a bigger crib so I need this money, G/King Kong ain't got shit on me/My face is a coupon - I don't know them but they know me.

Pedestrian compared to some of his best stuff, but this verse is still fresher than those of the last dozen men with microphones I've heard, plus he gets residual credit for the knots n racks n bands lifestyle picture he paints in “Elevator Musik.” It's still haunting/pleasing me (Think I gave my last hundred to the fuckin valet/Good evening, Mr. Jackson/I mean good morning, shit/Dang).

.

Oh word: I am qualified and would very much like to do a song with Curren$y, please.

“How come the things that make us happy make us sad?” asked golden-voiced philosopher Frankie Beverly. His question was in response to unstoppable rap machine Curren$y putting out song after song with Wiz Khalifa. “Well, it seems to me,” Frankie said, “that joy and pain are like sunshine and rain.”

Sigh. Yes, Frankie. YES. It seems that way to me, too. Like every young lady with a computer and a working pair of ears, I love Curren$y. I hate Wiz. They keep doing songs together, and that's a zig-zag-y journey through the joy and pain regions of my brain. (It's also a Zig Zag journey, of course! teehee.) I'm not an MC, but since I can stand upright and speak basic English, I am pleased to announce my impending fame, including but not limited to being on the cover of Smooth! and getting a fake naked girlfriend for promo purposes. I'm told I should also have a likeable personality, which, OK, done, and get close with some cheesy Nordic producers which, oh dear, will take a little bit of work. Have faith, though - in a month or two I'll be skyping Curren$y while Antwerp-bound which sounds dirty but it's not.

1. “Rooftops,” from Rolling Papers (produced by Big Jerm)

Wiz, signed and rich (richer than me, anyway, and to me that's rich): And they say they ballin', but I do it how the pros do/Where we goin' next week I let my hoes choose/No socks and my boat shoes/Guess a n---a eatin' good like Whole Foods.

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Wiz's butter lyrics over, uh, word cloud grits?

Do, choose, shoes, Foods. Seuss raps. When done correctly, in a New York accent (AUDIO TWO) or in a Louisiana accent (White carpet in my Scarface house/No undergarments on my Scarface spouse), it's rap perfection. Rapfection. When not done well, it's Wiz. I simply cannot explain this phenomenon, nor do I care to try, because then I'd sound like a Pitchfork writer and they never post pictures of themselves in bathing suits so they are losers.

Logan, unsigned/poor, Moleskine full of rhymes: Somethingsomething much- ballyhooed/Don't know what I like more - devil's pie or devil's food/Blah blah, Premier's a porn fiend, plus he got hops & barley 'cause it's home brewed/...uhhhh...Tell the driver to fire up that Marley, I wanna hear some “Mellow Mood”-?

I'm sure many of you out there could get loose over the beat, go in a completely different direction than me, use that sad horn as punctuation for a tale of a break-up or a death instead of this lowest-common-denominator drivel I have presented here (porn, beer, cake, A/A rhyme scheme). But this is a copy-Wiz exercise and it therefore needs to be as mindless as possible. Other than the part where I made Premier into a craft-beer specialist, what?, I promise you that no creative juices flowed in the composing of this verse (which took me about 14 seconds). Everybody likes being high? Well then, put it in your verse! Everybody knows fresh-faced mid-'60s Studio One rocksteady Marley was the best Marley? It goes in the fuckin verse! Also, you'll notice that the term “Marley” works in 2 ways here, which just shows that when I really apply myself for 14 seconds I can come up with some lyrical blasts to your freaking head. Oh my lorrrrd, I am absolutely killing it. Wiz, you ain't got no job security.


Curren$y, diminutive rapstar millionaire:  You n---s ain't help us - on second thought, you did/The hatin' was the fuel for this shit.

JETLIFEFOOOOOLLLLAHTEIHIQ#N+*HMM7LLFH9Y%ILEH5NFU*^7WEHR. I get excited and my fingers get all quivery! CAN'T TYPE! TOO EXCITED. Anyway, it's JET LIFE, now, tomorrow, always, goddamn you if you're not on board with this, jet life forever and ever amen, so “fuel” works 2 ways here. His verse is unremarkable, but that's ok; you've heard his voice, right? (This might be a girly thing; forgive me). Plus he's got that accent, the star of every damn one of his songs (even when it's not a song, it sounds like a song 'cause his way of speaking is so sing-songy. Conversationally, he's a musical genius.) He sneaks in a “whoadie,” which he rarely does and that is so weird to me, because if I were from N.O. I'd say it all the time just because I could. The hell do people from Pittsburgh say? NOTHING. They have no slang because nobody cares what they say, or what they do, or the shoes they wear, or how they feel about things.

2. “Dot Dot Dot,” from some upcoming mysterious mixtape creation, with Big Sean (produced by Big Jerm)

Wiz:  King size papers, king size bed/N---s blow money but I'd rather keep mine instead/Roll something n---a, blow something/Say you're ballin out of control/Let a n---a hold something.


Logan, better than Wiz: Earl Stevens calls it gouda, I was raised to call it 'bread'/got so much I retired, hired Doom to read me the phone book, somethingsomething... Rosebud the sled/Butterflies in my tummy, drinking tea, lying in bed/...uhhhhhm, fuck this is rather difficult. You must be outta your head if your system ain't up to the red (?).

I don't know, maybe I'm not as good at this as I thought. I start to plagiarize, my brain just pulling out random lines I remember and love from the rap years '97 or '03, and then Citizen Kane was on AMC the other night. I'm easily influenced. And those drums, so pretty and Black-Milk-esque!, they cloud my thoughts. I can't focus on telling the story. But go easy on me, please. Be nice. I'm just starting. You'll note, however, that even though I'm no good I'm still a heavier hitter, lyrically speaking, than Wiz. I'm also a heavier hitter in literal terms, because even though my hip bones stick out a little, I probably outweigh WK, rap's Skeletor, by about 15 lbs. I thought weed was supposed to be an appetite stimulant.

Curren$y: It has been said I keep one rolled up like LL’s pants leg/Full of life in this bitch, though I may seem half-dead/Trust me, I’m cool/I just ain’t talking to you.  

Critical bias on the part of the blogger: this man's words speak to me. He's looking right at me as he says this. Except for the pant leg part, it's a summary of me interacting with every LAPD officer at Starbucks downtown (2nd and Central; COPS LOVE ME and it is a terrible burden with which I have been saddled). Trust me, officer; I'm cool. I'm way cool. Thanks for holding the door for me but I'm not interested in chatting and I never ever talk like this because I am a lady but I'd just like you to know I don't fuck with pigs, dog (Muslim), you have a great day now.

3. “Flowers” (that mixtape with Big Sean; Big Jerm)

Wiz: How the fuck could you hate this/Half of these people aint real, n---s shape shift/That's why I’m smoking OG til I’m weightless/Yeah and my homies are Taylor Gang/We rolling up papers and yeah of course they gon hate/But fuck what they say, 'cause we gon stay the same.

Logan, making a fool of Wiz like this is the parking lot at Osborn High: “I knew it had went off. I saw the fire, like, come through my jeans/I took a couple more steps and my jeans were like — my jeans are wet/And I looked down. I had some Chuck Taylors on/and they were — the white was all red/I'm in trouble.” 

This isn't my own composition; this is just a quote from Plax regarding shooting himself while in the club. But be honest, wouldn't you rather listen to this description of Chucks over a beat than to Wiz's sad little flow? BE HONEST, I SAID.

Curren$y:  Now pan on them lenses and focus on the dopest/In the Mitchell & Ness Marino, see how far back I done throwed it.

It's a throwback, darling. A throw-back. Marino was a QB (he threw back). This verse coming right after mine is genius, because we're both making reference to the NFL. So for the sake of the song it doesn't really matter that Marino is dullsville, as is the entire Dolphins squad except for the fact that Trick is a fan, but Marino was in Ace Ventura and that was kind of cool and unexpected of him. So now I really really want Curren$y to throw in something Ace Ventura-related, maybe on Verde Terrace? (update, after I just listened to it: nope). Ace Ventura's kind of a stoner movie, right? No? A little? Am I out of touch here? Anyway, the ultimate would be Curren$y coming out with a song called “Laces Out,” a duet about footwear with fellow shoe whore Bun B. Or maybe a mixtape called If I'm Not Back in 5 Minutes, Just Wait Longer.

4. “Fly N---s Do Fly Things” (the How Fly mixtape;  Sledgren)

Wiz: Influenced by the reefer but I'm still positively speaking/Heading down to New Orleans, fuck with Spitta for a weekend/Exotic bitches freakin, minks on the rug/I'm living Clicquot dreams, pouring drinks in the tub/One life to live, so I'ma live it up.

That beat is pretty all right with me but that's probably because I'm a sucker for echo-y handclaps and because I have “Bass Boost” checked off in my laptop's Speaker Enhancements tab (which makes everything sound fantastic). Yeahhh, bitch, Wiz says to start the song, and that's funny because that's exactly what I say to myself every time I hear a Wiz-less Curren$y song. Yayyy and Thank God are also what runs through my head. I don't give a fuck, Wiz says a little later, which describes both his attitude about the world as well as my attitude about Wiz making another song for as long as we both shall live. Heading down to N.O., fuck with Spitta, Wiz adds. I am aware of the transactional nature of rap friendships - the potential to earn revenue trumps all, yes? - but clearly, Curren$y's not being up front with Wiz. Come to my city, hang out with me, Spitta says, but this is only possible because Wiz has a friend named “Chevy,” and Curren$y’s bowtied til he dies.

Logan (my primary goal here is to get the keys to the jet and I will spend my entire verse trying to convince Curren$y to hand them over): Eatin gumbo with a Neville; it's Cyril, he doesn't have a DeVille/So Spitta, I have a request (you don't ask, you don't get)/Don't need your spaceship, your Francesca, your Eldorado, your Corvette/Escort with the paint messed up from that accident at Kohl's/Please lemme get keys to the jet; headed overseas, seein' Dumile n' Dennis Coles. 

Ha, nobody thought I had any NOLA raps. Shame on you. I'm not upset with Wiz for wanting to hang out down there; he and I both have this fantasy about “accidentally” running into Mannie at Winn-Dixie after stalking him for several weeks and getting a feel for his shopping patterns. The air is thick with the spirit of good MCs who've walked the streets of the city, and also thick with suffocating swamp air. Every cab driver looks like Professor Longhair, and I see Chris Paul in the car next to me at every stoplight. We don't even mind the mosquitoes, me and Wiz, since we get it how we live and hug the block, lalalalaaa, les bon temps are rouler-ing left and right, life is wonderful, geaux Saints, I'm IN. Game feels it, too - wanting to join Cash Money and all. Oh, hey, guess what, Game? Me too, Game! ME TOO. Probably not happening for either of us, though. Sorry, Game. We must all know our limitations*. 

*(I can't get away with using “beasting” as a verb in conversations about the performances of NBA players, or the word “jawn” in any context, nor will I ever have the pale-skinned, hip-less steezyness of Leigh Lezark. I'll also never have a name as rad as Jason Goldwatch's. But accepting the things we cannot change allows us to conserve our energy and focus on the things we can.)

This look is foxy and it is just not possible for me. It's not in the cards. Not ever. (Sigh.)

Curren$y: Would it be cliche to start my verse saying something that I always say?/The planes got it, I perfected my roll in the sunset/Aeronautics, I swear on my soul I would never co-sign some nonsense/Muscle car auction, I just cop it and then go ride it/Wait for the night to set, then really pop it and drive it/Bitches run on the side of it like those little Jamaican kids.

META RAPS! Critical bias on the part of the blogger: META RAPS are the alpha and the omega. Take the first letter out of each word in this joint, for example (Mt. Vernon fresh). Verse number 2, do the damn thing (guilty-pleasure/Nitti fresh). Last time on a Khaled remix/Now I'm on the original version (guilty-pleasure/Luda fresh). I know they gonna criticize the hook on this song (“can I live?” fresh). The violin on “Knowledge God” sounded ill (gods-in-the-Wu-pantheon fresh). Also, META GEORGIAN FUNK (50% of James Brown songs - him discussing the song breaking down while it's breaking down. Breakdown fresh), and let's not forget META TEXAN FUNK. “Come on and tighten up that bass,” Archie Bell said, “Oh yeah. Now look here - I want that guitar to fall in on there. Tighten it up now. Oh. Yeah. Now tighten it up, organ. Yeah.” (KCRW with the assist here, for being fresh and playing “Tighten Up” while I was out driving for my government job yesterday morning).

5. “O.T.T.R.” (that mixtape with Big Sean; Big Jerm)

Wiz: I’m moving at top speed, my engine is foreign/I travel across seas where women are gorgeous/And ni---s know it’s us, we make it tough to mistake it/Just let me roll it up and when it’s stuffed, we blaze it/Then we Off To The Races.

Logan, embarrassing Wiz: I'm still working on it, but I do know the hook will be something about how I'm off to my new Caprice/since I'm bowtied til I die (“O.T.M.N.C.S.I.B.T.I.D.”). And it'll embarrass Wiz, of course, yayyyy, because Wiz and I have to keep it theatrical whenever we meet up for a “freestyle skirmish in the parking lot,” AKA my daydream-y brain while I'm at work. It's like that Murs/Eyedea smiley throwdown except I am both Murs and Eyedea, and Wiz isn't qualified to be my adversary - he's just there to give me fresh Aquafina bottles as needed.

Curren$y: And I’ma Pimp, see (C!), leaning in my ride like how Bun be (B!)/Sittin’ tall on my chrome, see, but I’m low in the seat/My girl in the sheet fast asleep, I’m in the street after the cheddar/Peddlin’ melodies, purchasin’ better things/On the road to the riches I done drove over n----s. 

Critical bias on the part of the blogger: UGK raps fill up all the empty places inside me, as do musician-name-pun raps, and this one's so freaking fine, it's like the 2011 version of Andre Ben's I'm so like a pimp, I'm glad it's night. I also devour raps about girls doing nothing, girls lounging, girls sleeping - especially raps that also include the beautiful, surprisingly un-corny phrase “peddling melodies.” Women need more sleep than men (it's science), and I greatly appreciate the kindness of someone who lets me stay curled up in bed, the queen of dreamland, while he goes out and handles it. That's a good man, no two ways about it. (No two ways BOUT IT, neither, since at this point I am an honorary Louisianan). I can't wait til we get married and I get some South infused in my speech and start referring to him as my huzzzbin. When we come to California to visit my family on holidays, we stop in LA to hang out with Nick Dahhhhmond. And at this point I'd like to provide a shout from the bottom of my tender heart to all the ladies out there who, like me, Karen Hill, and Amber Rose, realized long ago they'd never make good cops' or teachers' wives. Sorry, Mom.

Side note: FUCKING LOOK AT THIS QUARTET OF BADASS JEWISH GIRLS FROM QUEENS.

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Terrelle Pryor will make it all OK, says bathing-suited Los Angeles woman with blog.

The Raiders are heartbreak city. It's true and it's been true since I was a little girl.

 But for every Wiz head, there's a Biggie head and a Bishop chest. 

Plus, don't forget, Casual's got a sick ass Raiders jacket.

(Is this a bad omen? It seems like a bad omen.)

And for every Nnamdi trade and every broken keychain that symbolizes the broken hopes of apt. 680 residents on Sundays in the months of September through December, there's a strapping young man with illegal tats to lead the squad's newly-dynamic offense (once Pryor's five-game suspension is done away with, because the NFL players' union will make it so)! He wears cherry Vans! W/KHAKIS!

You wanna get right, stop buying those Nikes.

I love Terrelle just, um, based on this photo and why should that be a problem for anybody. Whyy. You wanna make something of it, or what. This picture alone makes him affection-worthy in apt. 680. Females blush; he brings the California gold rush!

Terrelle retweets the Serenity prayer and freaking LeBron (UGH, even though these are things a young man must do during the come-up; the electronic handshake is crucial when you're trying to establish your brand as a pro athlete), but he likes mob movies, good dinners, and his brother. Ergo: we are in love. Ankle weights aren't my favorite thing and neither is my man saying odd things while trying to appease his sponsors (“Here you go ankle weights. They are Real.”), but we are in luuuuuhhhve, especially when he completes around 60% of his passes and can be counted on to convert on third down most of the time. TP's religious but I don't go to church, and when he says platitudes on our dates or types them on his phone's keyboard during our dates (“One important key to success is self-confidence. Believe in yourself even if odds are against you!”). I will have to open my eyes real wide and ask him Oh hey, can I be QB at Ohio State too? I'm not  6'6" and I can't run a 4.4 40, but I fucking believe in myself. I mean, I really have self-confidence like nobody's business. Also I will make fun of the super feminine way he spells his first name, but all of this is just because I like him. The emotionally-stunted among us (hands up, please) will remember this courting technique from third grade.

Welcome to the Raiders, and to my warm loving heart, Terrelle Pryor. I love your shoes and the way you gave the NCAA a big F U. Throw it to Jacoby Ford a lot. XOXO.

Tower of Power - “Cleo's Back.” EAST BAY, BAY BAY.

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I AM SUCH A GIRL (“album promo brings tears to my eyes” edition)

KEN-DRICK!

Here we go, a little emotion on a Sunday morning flowing through my girly brain, courtesy of RapRadar posting this video of Kendrick Lamar's show last night at the Music Box. Ken's komrade Game showed up for R.E.D. album promo  moral support of course, and proceeded to konvince me that he's a pretty nice guy - which is basically a big manipulation tactic by Game to make me forget about his musical output and that time he seared my eyes with his “acting.” But I'm relaxed. I'm just going with it. It's Sunday and I'm not religious but I do pray for peace, no traffic accidents, lots of ice cream, some freaking tight lyrics - and also for things that remind me of how lovely humanity can be sometimes. On with it, then -

Top 5 emotional girly moments in the video, Cuz! (my set affiliations will likely fluctuate throughout this post, and anyway it doesn't matter because at this point green is the most important color in all our lives, yes?):

1. THAT SUIT. So much hash-tag-ery occurring in the building on Saturday night, of course, but also so many Hundreds shirts, I'm sure of it! SO MANY. And yet look at KL in his nice black jeans and sport coat, dressed as if he's going to a completely different function than everyone else. “It's Saturday night, you'll probably wear that shit to church,” AMG said one time to a young lady in the club. Ken's show was Friday night, plus he seems like a super clean dude who doesn't wear things more than once, I mean he really keeps it tight and right, so he'll probably wear that outfit just for this show alone. Then tomorrow he'll have it cleaned and nicely pressed. Looking good, sir. And I know I keep saying it but Kendrick Lamar is just a really fresh name. You should run for President with that name, young man.  

2. REMINDERS FROM JAYCEON. I know where I live, both because I have an adequate grasp of geography and because I listen to Power 106 for a good 70% of my driving time and that means constant “west coast/Cali/LA” drops are flooding the inside of my Civic, however: Game saying THIS IS THE MOTHERFUCKIN WEST COAST in that nice rasp of his (sorry; I'm a girl, remember?) and continuing with I hate when they say that the west coast ain’t poppin just feels good to a young lady from the greater LA metropolitan area. I know my mom loves me but it's still nice to hear it from her. I know I'm a nice person but it's still nice to hear it from my buddies. On a very similar note: OH MY GOODNESS, GAME! YAY! This IS the west coast! I exclaim. Oh Game, I hate it when they say the west coast ain't poppin too! We agree about some things and that is nice! I like some of your songs even though my blog would tell you otherwise!

(tomorrow morning I'll wake up and be embarrassed I wrote those last 2 things. I like the Scoop DeVille stuff, and I like that “Red Nation” but, I must be honest with myself, that's more because of the Eazy snippet and because of Cool & Dre's dexterity with shuffle-y drum programming than because of anything Game said or did in any of those songs. Ah well.)

3. I LOVE YOUS FROM JAYCEON. “I love you,” Game says to Kendrick, with his arm around him in that way that men do - affectionate but still keeping the body in a guarded position should a scrap occur even though you know a scrap's not going to occur, it's just that men have to make it look that way because of the limits put on them by our culture when they want to express emotion. “Dre, I love you. Snoop, I love you. Jay Rock, Scoop, Kurupt, Roscoe, King Tee, Pooh, Eiht, Tyson Chandler, Venus and Serena. Even if you're from Lynwood or Willowbrook, I love you. Skinny-lady blogs, I love you most of all. Apartment 680, Echo Park, birds in the sky, old records, the NFL about to start, cookies, ice cream, puppies. Logan, I love you. I love you - all of you.” Aww! Hold me! It's promo, all promo, but it's still heartwarming - like when Game volunteered at the animal shelter last week and provided updates about it, remember? “Sparky is a lab mix and has the nicest big brown eyes. ALL ANIMALS deserve good homes! ADOPT!  #REDAlbum.”

4. PUNS FROM JAYCEON. “One thing me and (Ken) got in COMPTON...” Teehee. 

5. SPECIAL APPEARANCE BY DANTE, WHAT IN THE FUCK. Kendrick's a little too preachy at times, dropping some important historical names in verse without any real gravity behind it, criticizing his generation for sippin cough syrup like it's water, blah blah, but he just turned 24 so that's forgivable. (I was a realll pretentious piece of work at that age.) “Who gives a fuck?” Ken also says, “We never do listen unless it comes with an 808.” Not sure if I'm included in the “we” but just for argument's sake, let's say I am - and Kendrick, my dear, what's your point? 808 taught me everything I need to know about car stereos and sex. But holy Christ, fucking hell, Mos Def is at his show in a sharp red button-up and shiny shoes, oh I just realized Mos is the only other dude in the place going to the same fancy function as Ken, I mean they're in those matching sport coats, and people, my affection for these two men in this moment trumps all. (This is the video's second-greatest moment - almost as aww-inducing as the crowd chanting Ken's name at the beginning, but not quite).

Bonus emotion: The part in the video right after it cuts out, when Ken tosses it to Kurupt and he does a version of “Ohh!” that makes everyone in the audience rip their hair out and scream, it's so incredible they can't believe it's actually happening.

Bonus bonus emotion (not really emotion, though - just a funny thing that fits in here): Nobody is apparently down-er than the Los Angeles Almanac, the website on which this map of Compton appears. CITY IN RED BELOW, SOO WOOOO, etc. etc. 

 (No color added for emphasis. Nothing added for emphasis. The LA Almanac just knows).

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Birthday compare n' contrast - Lynott, Parker, Hayes. (Also where is that RZA/Isaac photo by Sue Kwon? PLEASE HELP)

The only thing that can tear me away from making pancakes and listening to that new Danny Brown is a birthday tribute post to some Record Collection Gods of Apt. 680 (born in '49, '65, and '42, respectively).

Photo that makes me giggle:

Parker.

Hayes.

Lynott - N/A, because he looks fresh in every photo.

1- a present from Stax in '71 for his success, it's a metal/sex beast made by Lucifer's minions in a GM plant for the purpose of getting nice, respectable young ladies like me out of their dresses.

2-

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“Money is not the most important thing in the world. Love is. Fortunately, I love money.” - Jackie Mason

“Jigga,” I'd say if I were there as the token fair-haired one, “I don't like it if it don't gleam clean."

The Wall Street Journal wonders if “Otis” will give a boost to the Maybach and its sad little sales record. The video has given the car “new-found hip-hop notoriety,” the article submits, which means that the WSJ has never heard of Rick Ross (LOVE) but also that the WSJ is as out of touch with rap music as say, Kanye West is as out of touch with my life. Anyway, as I've already established, a jerk is a jerk, and that hi-res Lakai intro and lo-res Fatlip video still set the standard for Jonzeian superbness, but I won't lie - I wish on all that is good and holy (Lagerfeld, Murakami, Tisci) that I had been picked for this gig. It's daydream fodder when I'm at work - fast cars, danger, fire and knives, plus that cute part at 1:18 when K looks back at J so they can synchronize their, uh, grippin wood dance. (Am I supposed to pause at this point?)

“Let the Dollar Circulate.” GAMBLE N HUFF. GAMBLE N HUFF. And to a lesser extent, JEEZY JEEZY JEEZY.

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How did I not know that Glen E. Friedman produced that Suicidal Tendencies album?, and other things related to Cypress Hill turning 20 today.

“L. Muggerud - L. Freeze - S. Reyes.” SO TOUGH. Best DMV names in rapdom.

1. I will never not say it: Intelligent Hoodlum is a waaaaay better name than Tragedy Khadafi.




2. The simplicity, functionality and aesthetic appeal of those Source ads from '91 still hold up in '11.  

Was it album art director Stacy Drummond who was responsible? If so: madam, excellent work.

Ms. Valentine taught me about the concept of “Chekhov’s gun” in 12-grade English - a literary technique in which an entity is introduced early in a story, but its significance does not become clear until later. Muggs says they recorded this album in the winter of 1990-1. In March '91, a video came out featuring the LAPD behaving like complete fucking murderous heathens. Ho-hum. Aaaaanyway, track 1 is called “Pigs,” it is about law enforcement officers, and in it - just like in nearly every song that follows it on the album - the boys make brutality (shooting, prison rape) sound fun and sing-song-y. There are all these well-placed la-la-laaaas in the album's stories about putting holes in human flesh, which is terrifying yet charismatic and amusing, like Jack Torrance or every character Joe Pesci plays.




3. Muggs tells Brian Coleman that PE and Ultramag were his favorites and the ones that influenced him most of all.

First of all, ME TOO, LAWRENCE MUGGERUD, even though I don't make beats (yet); second, NO FUCKING WAY, LAWRENCE. What I mean is: yes, upon listening to your compositions, one might be able to infer that you were influenced by the brothers Shocklee and that perhaps every night during the Cypress Hill crafting sessions you slept with one hand on your crate of most breaks-rich funk records. This influence also explains the New York-y feel to the group, which was probably Columbia's doing on some A&R bs - plus it was the Giants over the Bills in the '91 Super Bowl - but the fact remains I have a big problem with the videos being shot in NYC (even though '91 Q-Tip is always nice to see - the presence of Ice Cube in the video doesn't make it all ok, though! You're just throwing LA a bone with that one, gentlemen). PS, Larry: I'm not mad that to make “Something for the Blunted” you basically just let “Future Shock” play and laid some cheeba cuts on top. (Ask me about my feelings regarding Kanye and “Otis” sometime, and you'll understand how much of a compliment that is.) I'd also like to give you a special shout for using that “Tramp” bassline, which provides the whole foundation for the song, and for sampling THREE James Brown records on that same song. THREE. Swoon.



People don't put that creepy stop-motion walking-backwards craze in their videos anymore. I miss it.

Other things people no longer do: call dudes busters or marks; do the lift-up-the-knee stomp-dance;
wear bucket hats (other than DZA; he's the only one these days).

4. That “Phuncky Feel One” breakdown vs. the source of that breakdown (the JB's, “More Peas”): which is superior? This remains a heated debate in apt. 680.

“Phuncky” is a can of ginseng extract with a pinch of coke. I mean it's just pure energy. A party in a bottle, 2 in the morning, still jumpin 'cause your mama ain't home. But then you got the JB's! It's THE JB's! How can I deny them? There's the break at 08:28, takes my breath away, and just before that, James, as usual, chops it up with the song. He asks the song how it's doing, you know - makes suggestions for where the song should go, talks about the geographic areas where the people playing the song are from (Georgia; not DC). “We gave the people some. Can we give the bass some? Bass, you ain’t had none. When we give the bass some, let's take it to F...Can we take it to F?” UM FUCK YES MR. BROWN, AND OH DEAR, WHAT'S THIS, MY DRESS APPEARS TO HAVE FALLEN OFF OF MY BODY.






5. In 1990, there was no such thing as Death Row Records and, just as tragic with regard to my personal life story, no such thing as Starbucks in Los Angeles. Things were different then, that's all I'm saying, and the world was rather inadequate. 

So of course you and your boys are gonna want to make some music. There was nothing else to do. LA was dullsville. “Back in '94 I shoulda signed to Death Row,” today's Power 106 driving-around-in-the-Civic banger said to me. Ooh what a song, I thought to myself after that first verse/hook combo. Then I thought: Oh dear, all the mentions of firearms and ki's and ass; Banner would hate this even though he raps about those things too then he hides behind his master's degree. And then: No, Money Jay--back in nine-one you shoulda signed to Death Row. You want to be ahead of the curve, my friend. Ah well. I still have great fondness for the song, though in concept more than execution. Dudes are so braggy all the time in my ear canal that it's nice to hear some humility and remorse for bad decision-making every once in a while.

6. This is Cypress Avenue in South Gate, where the shit used to go down for our heroic trio - or at least where they would play football in the street until their families called them in for dinner.  

Does it look familiar? It should, because it could also pass for Andre Young's childhood street, or Pooh's or King Tee's or, I don't know, Arabian Prince's? Hell, it looks like Oxnard too - the street upon which Michael and Otis Jackson jr. played. The grassy, pretty, tree-lined-ness of LA neighborhood aesthetics lends itself perfectly to making songs when you are a young man, because it's boring, and there's little else to do. And my ears/heart/body thank the good lord for that.

7. November 3, 1990 – NBA on NBC starts airing. 

John Tesh's epic/corny ass composes the music; it's playing in my head as I write this. Do-do dododoDOdo-dooooo (that's how it goes). I knew this fact before I composed this post, because I have a massive nerd brain inside the head that sits atop my skinny-lady frame. What I didn't know is that this was also the year the flagrant foul was introduced. I'm not sure how all this dovetails with the recording sessions for Cypress Hill (winter '90-1, remember), but it seems important-? And then, 20 years later, Lil B does a song about his chain looking like John Tesh and girls doing things to him with their mouths because he looks like John Tesh, and in his spare time he introduces the term Mary Hart for a groupie. J/K. Lil B has no idea who John Tesh is.




8. Top 5 lines from “How I Could Just Kill a Man”:

1. How do you know where I'm at when you haven't been where I've been? Understand where I'm coming from. This is just skilled writing - specific and universal, like all great sentences.
2. Time for some action, just a fraction of friction/I got the clearance to run the interference. What does this mean/I love it/I've loved it from the first time I heard it.
3. ALL I WANTED WAS A PEPSI. Muggs, I see you. You got alllllll those Parliament and Bar-Kays records on your shelf, plus one precious copy of Suicidal Tendencies hidden in the back.
4. Actin kinda loco, I'm just another local/Kid from the street gettin paid for my vocal. Please see #1 (this one's not so universal, although it kind of is, because in the greater LA area, everyone's got label connects and/or a deal pending).
5. The hummin/comin at ya, how it's always going away then popping back up in the song, is something like perfection only that sounds trite so I won't say it. You can just tell Muggs puts his time in, though - he really fucking cares about the stuff he puts out. I will say that.

Honorable mention: putos. The way they just spit it out, so full of venom.



9. We're supposed to believe “Time 4 Sum Aksion” was produced by Erick Sermon, 

I guess back when he and CH were ‘90s buddies and used to...Ruffhouse together? (No? Teehee?...Groan. Sorry.) However, I know for a fact that “Time 4 Sum Aksion” was crafted by the hands of the basketball gods themselves, with care and love, for the purpose of having every high school team between the years 1992 and ’95 use the song as its warm-up music. And in a comical note, Wikipedia has a collection of “popular culture” instances in which the song appeared—a list of the 259 boxers/wrestlers/MMA dudes who have used the song as their intro theme. Not on the list: me, even though this song is my “getting fucking psyched to conquer the hordes at the DMV” motivation. Let's get ready to ruuumbllllllllle. Mr. Sermon also used it in “Cummin Atcha” from that same time period (I get it, Erick - you liked the first Cypress Hill album); that song's only remarkable for the liggedy-let the nines clap line, which reminds me that it was the height of the 9mm era, and I guess one could argue that we're still in that era, but honestly for the last 10-12 years in lyrics the mighty Desert Eagle has stolen the show.


10. That “Duke of Earl” sample makes no sense within the lyrical context of “Hand on the Pump,” but this is forgivable.

I knowwww I can’t afforrrrrd to stop is what comes into my mind, first thing, when I think of a break that's appropriate to the thematic and lyrical elements of an MC's story. On the opposite end of the appropriateness scale, Squeeze her, don't tease her, never leave her, while beauuuuutifully chopped up and placed in between J and K's stanzas, is a terribly irrelevant and dumb Otis snippet to use in a song about having lunch with Charles Schwab or whatever the fuck those two are yammering on about. If I may, J and K: I would suggest an Otis song about having dreams to remember, or the We don't want nothing but joy, y'all/Nothing but joy from “Cigarettes and Coffee,” in a song about jets and cash and being able to dodge charges in the American legal system just like Dominique Strauss-Kahn. You're welcome, J and K! Really, J and K, it was nothing. But I would like a co-producer credit, please.

So the use of this particular break makes no sense, but Duke duke duke, duke of just sounds really fresh in a rap song about hunters v. hunted and being fucked v. being the one doing the fucking; nothing less than that, but nothing more, either. I guess to justify its use, you could say the narrators are establishing their royal status within their social system - Sen and B are dukes, figuratively speaking? Really, though, it's just a sample that LA guys raised on K-Earth and Art Laboe wanted to use, so they found a place for it on the album. Why I can forgive inappropriateness when Muggs does it but I cannot when Kanye does will go down as one of apt. 680’s eternal mysteries - right up there with “how come some teenage boy actors can grow up and become fine, fine rappers (Mos) and others make me want to kill myself (Drake).”

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