Brockhampton -- sorry, BROCKHAMPTON -- is some exquisitely inexplicable shit. It's art rap weirdness, sure, but it's also some of the most cold, calculated product hip hop has seen in years.
Just witness the rollout for their latest project, Saturation. A constant artillery barrage of dope singles, all of them backed up with videos, and pixel-perfect consistency on the visuals & branding. Witness the two-month slow burn into an album release date that coincides with the debut of their TV show on VICE.
That's a hell of a lot more impressive than plastering New York with 4:44 posters, then buying a Platinum Plaque from those starving, greaseball hyenas at the RIAA.
Inexplicable, though. This is a recipe with a lot of chefs and it's going to launch ten thousand thinkpieces. They claim Texas but they're all in LA. BROCKHAMPTON is both flagrantly street and flagrantly gay: not in some sitcom stereotype sense, just matter of fact.
They seem like family in every video, thick as thieves, but when you close your eyes it sounds like an open mic. All of these verses come out of nowhere. Some of them aren't even verses. Perhaps the greatest thing about this rap crew is how little sense they make as a rap crew.
The connective tissue is late night cable culture and God Mode beats. The only real imperative is that is has to bang, right? The fact half of these cats can't rap for shit is incidental. They bring some emo little cracker on just to scream "FUCK!! YOU!!" at the camera. Nobody involved with this cares about "bars" too much. It is a nice gesture to have token whites, however.
Now, it's true that Vice money is Murdoch money, but it is also true that Murdoch money is good. I would much rather see it wasted on these guys than documentaries about Syria.
Great video, great beat, and while I didn't enjoy what I heard much, I will never forget it, either. Thus do I award this Four Dickies, a score seldom attained here at RYR. You're welcome, motherfuckers.
No comments:
Post a Comment
NOBODY CARES