"Chameleonic Japanese metal for hipsters" is more or less the party line on this group, but "Statement," happily, is more "punk, noise, and Sunset Strip hair metal screwing in a Yugo during a car crash" than whatever lame-o metal variant they were pimping the last time the New York Times did a feature on 'em.
This Hotlantian/rising T.I. protégé kindly takes time out from ongoing I Am Legend mixtape delineations of his fleet's eye-catching hues to inform us that, no, the flashy accessories he's got—"Japanese Nikes," "ice-cold polos," "exclusive Frankie Bs"—are not presently available for public consumption. When Dro emphasizes that "These ain't out, you don't know what I'm 'bout/Man, I be so fresh I make you go back in the house," he isn't bragging so much as making an unequivocal statement. He may be the first rapper to make this well-worn argument so explicitly, but it's also entirely possible that I'm a herb.
KILLER MIKE "Bad Day Worst Day"
When was the last time you heard a mainstream rapper say something like, "Fuck killin' blacks, I'm down for toe-taggin' Grand Dragon" on aluminum? Killer Mikeshould be Atlanta's '00s answer to Ice Cube—all working-class indignation and disgust—but label red tape has temporarily silenced his outraged voice. Also, interestingly, he shares a birthday with Hitler.
THE OAKS "The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter"
Ryan Costello, did some no-good trollop do you wrong? This sort of metaphorical pondering usually stems from salt-in-the-wounds heartbreak, and the jazzy-yet-mournful stew enveloping lyrics like "The heart is a lonely hunter/Painting its face/Disguising its ways" is a dead giveaway.
These soaring, piping color streams are all vocal, all choral, all celestial, drifting along against and over the breeze like a fraying ghost kite; that breeze itself, meanwhile, is little more than gentle string plucks and considered bow draws.
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