You are a superb critic. There is not that much criticism in music journalism anymore. Just bite sized views - but you give it the full attention. I really appreciate that. You're a really good active listener.
i didn't have an opinion about this album but now i'm feeling a light to decent 8 because this is easily perfume genius' grandest and most ecletic musical statement to date.
"... and a variety of other tingling, tangling, ring-a-ding-ding-ding-ding-a-ling sounds." Truly the most gifted music critic and reviewer of our time. :^)
"Alan" is an intimate goodnight song to his long-term boyfriend (and keyboard player) of the same name, so it makes sense it would sound stripped down ;p
Just when I think, "SAY INSTRUMENTAL ONE MORE TIME" and then he quits. This album is pure ear candy like a lot of Radiohead albums. From the beginning to end, it is an audio garden that Mike has been growing since Too Bright. Pretty flowers and sweet fruits. What's missing is Too Bright's cynicism and menace. Let's face it, the man's in love! (Alan) He's much more confident as an artist this time around which is great because a lot of times when performers find success (artistic, financial, emotional or otherwise) they don't know how to translate that into good art. Only a Robert Smith could write a song and call it "Just like Love" and compare something to love without it being about love...maybe? Then again the title would suggest the double entendre between amorphousness and vulnerability. It would be great to hear a solo piano version of all these songs without the strings and guitar voice settings on the Casio. So far, this is ALBUM OF THE YEAR. However, if you listen closely for the clues, you can hear musical and lyrical references to, perhaps, his inspirations: PJ Harvey's Stories and To Bring you My Love (listen for the sand block), Kate Bush and Prince to point out a few. The latter I hear on the quixotic time signature and funky attitude of Go Ahead and the 80's retro guitar of Sides. Choir ALMOST doesn't fit here, it sounds claustrophobic, like an unfinished song from Too Bright but does add to PG's skewed, David Lynch-like perspective of the world on this record. To take one's sources and tear them apart and rearrange them into new work is the task of any musician, and Hadreas does this splendidly.
This has to be one of the best and most interesting albums I've heard this year. One of the few albums I've heard in awhile that seems to take you to a different place. It also has a little Erasure in it especially with the song "Just Like Love". And songs like "Die 4 You" makes me miss my Mom even more because she was a Sade fan and would have loved that song. This album is well worth listening ...
Honestly, "Otherside" might be the single best opening track to an album I heard in the entirety of 2017. The points where those walls of instrumentation burst in are so beautiful that they actually make me want to weep. The only thing from last year I can really think of that rivals it is "DNA.," and that's not even the opening track on _DAMN._
Otherside and Slip Away are tbe best double punch in a very long while. Pure joy, with musical releases that rival Sigur Ros. Excellent album all the way.
FOR EZRA POUND IL MIGLIOR FABBRO I. The Burial of the Dead April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s, My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? “You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; “They called me the hyacinth girl.” -Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not my ni🅱️🅱️a Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Oed’ und leer das Meer. Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be so careful these days. Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: “Stetson! “You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! “That corpse you planted last year in your garden, “Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? “Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? “Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men, “Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again! “You! hypocrite lecteur!-mon semblable,-mon frère!”
II. A Game of Chess The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines From which a golden Cupidon peeped out (Another hid his eyes behind his wing) Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra Reflecting light upon the table as The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it, From satin cases poured in rich profusion; In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, Unguent, powdered, or liquid-troubled, confused And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air That freshened from the window, these ascended In fattening the prolonged candle-flames, Flung their smoke into the laquearia, Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, In which sad light a carvéd dolphin swam. Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale Filled all the desert with inviolable voice And still she cried, and still the world pursues, “Jug Jug” to dirty ears. And other withered stumps of time Were told upon the walls; staring forms Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footsteps shuffled on the stair. Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. “My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me. “Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. “What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? “I never know what you are thinking. Think.” I think we are in rats’ alley Where the dead men lost their bones. “What is that noise?” The wind under the door. “What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?” Nothing again nothing. “Do “You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember “Nothing?” I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes. “Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?” But O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag- It’s so elegant So intelligent “What shall I do now? What shall I do?” “I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street “With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow? “What shall we ever do?” The hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said- I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself, HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME NI🅱️🅱️A Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart. He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there. You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you. And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert, He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time, And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said. Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said. Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look. HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said. Others can pick and choose if you can’t. But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling. You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique. (And her only thirty-one.) I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face, It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said. (She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.) The chemist said it would be all right, but I’ve never been the same. You are a proper fool, I said. Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said, What you get married for if you don’t want children? HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon, And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot- HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.
III. The Fire Sermon The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . . Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. A rat crept softly through the vegetation Dragging its slimy belly on the bank While I was fishing in the dull canal On a winter evening round behind the gashouse Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck And on the king my father’s death before him. White bodies naked on the low damp ground And bones cast in a little low dry garret, Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year. But at my back from time to time I hear The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring. O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter And on her daughter They wash their feet in soda water Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole! Twit twit twit Jug jug jug jug jug jug So rudely forc’d. Tereu Unreal City Under the brown fog of a winter noon Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants C.i.f. London: documents at sight, Asked me in demotic French To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel Followed by a weekend at the Metropole. At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting, I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives, Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea, The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights Her stove, and lays out food in tins. Out of the window perilously spread Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays, On the divan are piled (at night her bed) Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays. I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest- I too awaited the expected guest. He, the young man carbuncular, arrives, A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare, One of the low on whom assurance sits As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire. The time is now propitious, as he guesses, The meal is ended, she is bored and tired, Endeavours to engage her in caresses Which still are unreproved, if undesired. Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; Exploring hands encounter no defence; His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference. (And I Tiresias have foresuffered all Enacted on this same divan or bed; I who have sat by Thebes below the wall And walked among the lowest of the dead.) Bestows one final patronising kiss, And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . . She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover; Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: “Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.” When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone. “This music crept by me upon the waters” And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street. O City city, I can sometimes hear Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, The pleasant whining of a mandoline And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold. The river sweats Oil and tar The barges drift With the turning tide Red sails Wide To leeward, swing on the heavy spar. The barges wash Drifting logs Down Greenwich reach Past the Isle of Dogs Where dat pussy smells good. Weialala leia Wallala leialala Elizabeth and Leicester Beating oars The stern was formed A gilded shell Red and gold The brisk swell Rippled both shores Southwest wind Carried down stream The peal of bells White towers Weialala leia Wallala leialala “Trams and dusty trees. Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.” “My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart Under my feet. After the event He wept. He promised a ‘new start.’ I made no comment. What should I resent?” “On Margate Sands. I can connect Nothing with nothing. The broken fingernails of dirty hands. My people humble people who expect Nothing.” la la To Carthage then I came Burning burning burning burning O Lord Thou pluckest me out O Lord Thou pluckest burning
V. What the Thunder Said After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying Prison and palace and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water If there were water we should stop and drink Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand If there were only water amongst the rock Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit There is not even silence in the mountains But dry sterile thunder without rain There is not even solitude in the mountains But red sullen faces sneer and snarl From doors of mudcracked houses If there were water And no rock If there were rock And also water And water A spring A pool among the rock If there were the sound of water only Not the cicada And dry grass singing But sound of water over a rock Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop But there is no water Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman -But who is that on the other side of you? What is that sound high in the air Murmur of maternal lamentation Who are those hooded hordes swarming Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth Ringed by the flat horizon only What is the city over the mountains Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air Falling towers Jerusalem Athens Alexandria Vienna London Unreal A woman drew her long black hair out tight And fiddled whisper music on those strings And bats with baby faces in the violet light Whistled, and beat their wings And crawled head downward down a blackened wall And upside down in air were towers Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells. In this decayed hole among the mountains In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home. It has no windows, and the door swings, Dry bones can harm no one. Only a cock stood on the rooftree Co co rico co co rico In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust Bringing rain Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves Waited for rain, while the black clouds Gathered far distant, over Himavant. The jungle crouched, humped in silence. Then spoke the thunder DA Datta: what have we given? My friend, blood shaking my heart The awful daring of a moment’s surrender Which an age of prudence can never retract By this, and this only, we have existed Which is not to be found in our ni🅱️🅱️a's stash Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor In our empty rooms DA Dayadhvam: I have heard the key Turn in the door once and turn once only We think of the key, each in his prison Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus DA Damyata: The boat responded Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar The sea was calm, your heart would have responded Gaily, when invited, beating obedient To controlling hands I sat upon the shore Fishing, with the arid plain behind me Shall I at least set my lands in order? London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina Quando fiam uti chelidon-O swallow swallow Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie These fragments I have shored against my ruins Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe. Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. Shantih shantih shantih
when i first listened to no shape it was about 2am and it kind of scared me in a way just because it was so disorientating; but it has grown on me quite a bit.
I'm feeling a strong 8 to decent 9 on this album. While I can't say I like it more than Too Bright, I do think that Mike has never been more experimental. Fave tracks: Otherside, Slip Away, Just Like Love, Wreath, Die 4 You Least favorite track: Run Me Through Overall, this album is stunning 8.9.
In his interview to pitchfork Mike said that he’s "been obsessed with David Lynch" since he was a kid and that Miles Davis's “Générique” was the inspiration behind “Die 4 You”, so that theory about Sides and Falling is intriguing me
is the Harry Styles review coming? saw your 10 second review on one of those snapchat stories and it seemed like you enjoyed it! curious to hear your thoughts.
it wasn't his personal snapchat it was one of those news-outlet snapchats. I think it was a snapchat story specifically just for peoples reactions to the Harry Styles album. Anthony popped up and I was like "hey I watch him on youtube, cool!".
l'm loving this album. PG - No Shape and The XX - I See You are at the top of my best of 2017 so far. Thanks for reviewing, always enjoy your thoughts on records!
I came across this album and Perfume Genius in general completely by accident walking through St. John's, Newfoundland on a sunny day early on in COVID lockdown with slightly more than a microdose of psilocybin coursing through me. I listened to it start to finish twice. It was perfect.
Thank you so much man! I found a lot of incredible new music throw you. I think you are extremely competent and entertaining as well! thumbs up basically every time!!
I'm sure it's already been established if its happening but I think you should take a gander at paramore's new album After Laughter. I am joyfully surprised at how good it is I think the sound shift was very good for them.
I'll agree with your opinion here. This is a really nice album, but it's lack of a consistent theme or sound kinda bothers me, especially considering how tight Too Bright was.
Hey would you ever do a review or start reviewing bands in the more progressive, 7 string style of metal like Northlane, TesseracT, or The Contortionist? Don't want to pressure you as a fan but just a curious question.
I notice you giving certain albums 7s for technicality and then saying they're actually personal favorites over things that get 8s. I actually respect the heck out of that.
Yeah I get the feeling a lot that while I really like an album it's not a self-contained piece. Critics have done this for a long time, it's pretty bold for a critic to still be that principled in the age of clickbait .
I've seen a few of this guys reviews now (of albums that I have adored) and I have a question for some of you who may have seen more of his videos: does he enjoy anything?
As a special event when you get to 1 mill subs pick one album your (core) audience heavily disagreed with your review of and revisit it and sort of reflect or respond or even re-score your review on the album. I nominate Damn.
Hey someone answer me please Why is the album background, when behind his glasses, surrounded by a black moldure? Even though it's actually not? That bugs me so much I can't pay attention to the video D:
Tosugos probably because of how the glasses bend light, so you see the green screen, but because the whole album cover is already placed, black is put there instead. It's hard to communicate so fast, but I hope you kinda get it! Luv u
*meme review* Why are the type of nigga jokes so funny ? Well I'm gonna try to answer this question the best possible way I can today. The type of nigga jokes are so funny because they're relatable; think about it most of us have experienced someone that exactly does them. One of my favourite type of nigga joke is "the type of nigga that reminds the teacher he has detention". Not only is it funny, but it's also so relatable and giving the reader an instant image of that nigga doing it and immediately burst out laughing. Even if we haven't experienced them in real life, they're still as effective if not better when they are a pop culture reference. This one being a prime example: "the type of nigga that collects all 7 dragon balls and wishes that his ex find a good man". it combines a show we all watched as kids and it's main concept with someone we've all seen on TV or real life, that's silly and too good for his own good, and creates one hilarious joke we can all relate to and easily get the reference. Even if you can't come up with something, you gotta come up with something corny you usually do and low key act like you don't do it. This one ofcourse being a prime example "the type of nigga to moan when a massive shit leaves his ass". Sure.. is it corny ? Yes! is it shitty ? Yes! but it's still relatable. So yea........ When your trying to make a 'type of nigga' joke your main purpose is to influence that person with it. them niggas need to laugh or chuckle when they talking to a friend or sitting in class cause they just remembered that joke and when they ask "why you laughing" ? You gotta say 'nothing just a lil joke I that came to my mind' Conclusion: the type of nigga joke is one powerful weapon that if used for good can be one of the best things ever however when used badly create a dark object of cancer. Imma give it a light to decent 7
I don't understand how memes like this die for 3 years and then come back for no reason. Are there a bunch of 14 year olds out there that rediscover this shit and think it's new? Or do we all just decide to say fuck it and do it all over again.
I don't know why you keep dropping these damn needles, when what you need to be dropping is that After Laughter review!!!! I'll go sit in a corner now.
hey, tell me if he already has and send a link if so, but have you ever reviewed anything from Witt Lowrey, he's an up and coming artist with styles reminescent of Hopsin and Eminem (He doesn't whine about friends doing drugs like Hop) but he's come a long way and really improved over the years.
I feel like arca and perfume genius would make an amazing song together.
J dey bof wear leathr pants
mooshi yes
Throw frank ocean in the mix too
haha he definitely went the experimental route with the new record
You are a superb critic. There is not that much criticism in music journalism anymore. Just bite sized views - but you give it the full attention. I really appreciate that. You're a really good active listener.
i didn't have an opinion about this album but now i'm feeling a light to decent 8 because this is easily perfume genius' grandest and most ecletic musical statement to date.
This album is unbelievably good. I light 9 for me
Glad you liked it. This is one of my favorites of the year so far, such a gorgeous album.
"... and a variety of other tingling, tangling, ring-a-ding-ding-ding-ding-a-ling sounds."
Truly the most gifted music critic and reviewer of our time. :^)
"Alan" is an intimate goodnight song to his long-term boyfriend (and keyboard player) of the same name, so it makes sense it would sound stripped down ;p
love this album. love tnd. forever
anthony is dad
i second this
Holy Sh_t ok ill try harder next time
wow, finally, a comment that actually reflects on the video
os-u i try, i try
Thank you melon for making me aware of this beautiful music.
Just when I think, "SAY INSTRUMENTAL ONE MORE TIME" and then he quits. This album is pure ear candy like a lot of Radiohead albums. From the beginning to end, it is an audio garden that Mike has been growing since Too Bright. Pretty flowers and sweet fruits. What's missing is Too Bright's cynicism and menace. Let's face it, the man's in love! (Alan) He's much more confident as an artist this time around which is great because a lot of times when performers find success (artistic, financial, emotional or otherwise) they don't know how to translate that into good art. Only a Robert Smith could write a song and call it "Just like Love" and compare something to love without it being about love...maybe? Then again the title would suggest the double entendre between amorphousness and vulnerability. It would be great to hear a solo piano version of all these songs without the strings and guitar voice settings on the Casio. So far, this is ALBUM OF THE YEAR. However, if you listen closely for the clues, you can hear musical and lyrical references to, perhaps, his inspirations: PJ Harvey's Stories and To Bring you My Love (listen for the sand block), Kate Bush and Prince to point out a few. The latter I hear on the quixotic time signature and funky attitude of Go Ahead and the 80's retro guitar of Sides. Choir ALMOST doesn't fit here, it sounds claustrophobic, like an unfinished song from Too Bright but does add to PG's skewed, David Lynch-like perspective of the world on this record. To take one's sources and tear them apart and rearrange them into new work is the task of any musician, and Hadreas does this splendidly.
This has to be one of the best and most interesting albums I've heard this year. One of the few albums I've heard in awhile that seems to take you to a different place. It also has a little Erasure in it especially with the song "Just Like Love". And songs like "Die 4 You" makes me miss my Mom even more because she was a Sade fan and would have loved that song. This album is well worth listening ...
Pink Floyd worst to best
This album has some damn transcendently dreamy breaks in it! He did not let me down on this one at all.
Pixies Worst to Best
3D Zelda games worst to best
chur ricardo nice meme
I think he said that Bossanova is his favorite but I'd be curious to see where he ranks Surfer Rosa
1. Doolittle/Surfer Rosa
Pixar's worst to best
This deserved a 10
Honestly, "Otherside" might be the single best opening track to an album I heard in the entirety of 2017. The points where those walls of instrumentation burst in are so beautiful that they actually make me want to weep.
The only thing from last year I can really think of that rivals it is "DNA.," and that's not even the opening track on _DAMN._
Otherside and Slip Away are tbe best double punch in a very long while. Pure joy, with musical releases that rival Sigur Ros. Excellent album all the way.
the first time I listened to otherside I was emotionally damaged on a level few other songs have achieved
FOR EZRA POUND
IL MIGLIOR FABBRO
I. The Burial of the Dead
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
“They called me the hyacinth girl.”
-Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not my ni🅱️🅱️a
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed’ und leer das Meer.
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: “Stetson!
“You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
“That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
“Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
“Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
“Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,
“Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!
“You! hypocrite lecteur!-mon semblable,-mon frère!”
Hey There But why?
why tf did you just copy and paste The Wasteland by TS Eliot as a comment
II. A Game of Chess
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid-troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carvéd dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.
“My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
“Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
“I never know what you are thinking. Think.”
I think we are in rats’ alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.
“What is that noise?”
The wind under the door.
“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”
Nothing again nothing.
“Do
“You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
“Nothing?”
I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”
But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag-
It’s so elegant
So intelligent
“What shall I do now? What shall I do?”
“I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
“With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?
“What shall we ever do?”
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said-
I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME NI🅱️🅱️A
Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said.
Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can’t.
But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
The chemist said it would be all right, but I’ve never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don’t want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot-
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.
III. The Fire Sermon
The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.
A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
On a winter evening round behind the gashouse
Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck
And on the king my father’s death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole!
Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc’d.
Tereu
Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.
At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest-
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows one final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .
She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
“Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.”
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.
“This music crept by me upon the waters”
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
The river sweats
Oil and tar
The barges drift
With the turning tide
Red sails
Wide
To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
The barges wash
Drifting logs
Down Greenwich reach
Past the Isle of Dogs
Where dat pussy smells good.
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
Elizabeth and Leicester
Beating oars
The stern was formed
A gilded shell
Red and gold
The brisk swell
Rippled both shores
Southwest wind
Carried down stream
The peal of bells
White towers
Weialala leia
Wallala leialala
“Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.”
“My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised a ‘new start.’
I made no comment. What should I resent?”
“On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.”
la la
To Carthage then I came
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckest
burning
V. What the Thunder Said
After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and palace and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
With a little patience
Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock
If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And dry grass singing
But sound of water over a rock
Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
But there is no water
Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
-But who is that on the other side of you?
What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal
A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.
In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain
Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
DA
Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment’s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our ni🅱️🅱️a's stash
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
DA
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
DA
Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
The sea was calm, your heart would have responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands
I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam uti chelidon-O swallow swallow
Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie
These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih
Why isn't Die 4 You in your favourite list? The sound is so beautiful and poignant, takes my breath away every time.
when i first listened to no shape it was about 2am and it kind of scared me in a way just because it was so disorientating; but it has grown on me quite a bit.
Anthony review royalty free ukulele music please
Yes please, those shits are lit!
I love this channel. thank you anthony for creating this community for underground music lovers.
Yes Habib!!!!
I'm feeling a strong 8 to decent 9 on this album. While I can't say I like it more than Too Bright, I do think that Mike has never been more experimental.
Fave tracks: Otherside, Slip Away, Just Like Love, Wreath, Die 4 You
Least favorite track: Run Me Through
Overall, this album is stunning
8.9.
In his interview to pitchfork Mike said that he’s "been obsessed with David Lynch" since he was a kid and that Miles Davis's “Générique” was the inspiration behind “Die 4 You”, so that theory about Sides and Falling is intriguing me
Real thicc vegans check the score and dip
is the Harry Styles review coming? saw your 10 second review on one of those snapchat stories and it seemed like you enjoyed it! curious to hear your thoughts.
Nadine what's his Snapchat
it wasn't his personal snapchat it was one of those news-outlet snapchats. I think it was a snapchat story specifically just for peoples reactions to the Harry Styles album. Anthony popped up and I was like "hey I watch him on youtube, cool!".
What magazine
Snapthony Chatano
Seeing him on the Harry Styles snapchat made me think he's on Harry's managements PR payroll... So he'll probably give it 10... Payollathan Bribetano.
loved the new haircut
Alright time to call it, you like music, we understand
Recently relistened and Run Me Through has really grown on me for the end of the album, I enjoy a song that really takes it's time
l'm loving this album. PG - No Shape and The XX - I See You are at the top of my best of 2017 so far. Thanks for reviewing, always enjoy your thoughts on records!
The part where he sings "hold on" on just like love is the best moment on the album
Listening to the twin peaks theme song for the first time and freaking out I can totally hear it. There’s a lot of overlap.
review depression
S3ARCH anD D3STR0Y very good
A light to strong melon/head
light to decent 3 would not recommend
S3ARCH anD D3STR0Y NOT GOOD
Review the same fucking comment you slap onto every Fantano video.
"Sides" Is sooo good!
review my local top 40 radio station
Gt5rocks78 your profile pic: classic/10
review my profile pic Alberto
"Yeah this new Neutral Milk Hotel album....it's NOT GOOD."
And remember G O 4 I T
I came across this album and Perfume Genius in general completely by accident walking through St. John's, Newfoundland on a sunny day early on in COVID lockdown with slightly more than a microdose of psilocybin coursing through me. I listened to it start to finish twice. It was perfect.
Just like love is one of the most beautiful songs i've ever heard
okay but alan and every night are so good??? easily one of the best imo
whoa never listened to this guy before and just listened to queen.... damn I'm hooked
Thank you so much man! I found a lot of incredible new music throw you. I think you are extremely competent and entertaining as well! thumbs up basically every time!!
Thanks for the review! I love this album.
My favourite album of 2017, I saw PG live recently and they blew me away!
I'm sure it's already been established if its happening but I think you should take a gander at paramore's new album After Laughter. I am joyfully surprised at how good it is I think the sound shift was very good for them.
what you think about the new Sevdaliza album ? : D
i mean alan was written for his sig. other so its more personal rather than public
I thought twin peaks immediately on sides, too! love love love
Good review. Thanks
Review Sevdaliza - ISON please
Needledrop Please Review Sevdaliza - Ison
yes and give it a 8 please
I got a notification for this video during my Calc final and the whole class heard...PROBABLY CAL REALLY JUST WANTING EVERYONE TO SEE THIS
Awh yeah!! My favorite record of 2017 up until now.
thanks for reviewing this...reminds me of Patrick Wolfe and various others...now on repeat...so thanks ;)
I'll agree with your opinion here. This is a really nice album, but it's lack of a consistent theme or sound kinda bothers me, especially considering how tight Too Bright was.
Damn it, wrong form of its.
Props for the Substance t-shirt
This could easily make my top 10 by the end of the year
Hey would you ever do a review or start reviewing bands in the more progressive, 7 string style of metal like Northlane, TesseracT, or The Contortionist? Don't want to pressure you as a fan but just a curious question.
Ryan Parente I hope he does. Love all those bands.
Slip Away might be song of the year for me.
Melon pls... the paramore review
Yes, pls :( We'll stop calling you melon if you want.
Ash Hermit No, we won't. You can't change who you are, you can only deny it.
Honestly I never thought that you would hit 1M subs.
could we see an album review of Brother Ali's new album? I personally really dig it but would like to see what others think about it.
I notice you giving certain albums 7s for technicality and then saying they're actually personal favorites over things that get 8s. I actually respect the heck out of that.
Yeah I get the feeling a lot that while I really like an album it's not a self-contained piece. Critics have done this for a long time, it's pretty bold for a critic to still be that principled in the age of clickbait .
I thought sides sounded like the twin peaks theme too
I've seen a few of this guys reviews now (of albums that I have adored) and I have a question for some of you who may have seen more of his videos: does he enjoy anything?
thank god i finally agree on a review for the first time in like three weeks
As a special event when you get to 1 mill subs pick one album your (core) audience heavily disagreed with your review of and revisit it and sort of reflect or respond or even re-score your review on the album. I nominate Damn.
Great review droppy
Hey someone answer me please
Why is the album background, when behind his glasses, surrounded by a black moldure? Even though it's actually not?
That bugs me so much I can't pay attention to the video D:
Tosugos probably because of how the glasses bend light, so you see the green screen, but because the whole album cover is already placed, black is put there instead. It's hard to communicate so fast, but I hope you kinda get it! Luv u
Man, you are really putting off that Harry Styles review, huh.
Such an accurate critique
whattttt alan is one of the best songs!!!!
06:26 That's EXACTLY what I though when I first listened to the track!
review your future candy product The Melon Drop™
I can't believe I had to cancel melon for not liking "Run Me Through"
FINALLY
Wondering if you ever got into Otherside. Took me a while, but I loooove it now.
Prince and Bjork had a musical child.
I only disagree with you on Alan. I though it was beautiful, but I somehow knew you weren't gonna like it that much. GREAT record overall.
Can we see a Brother Ali "All the Beauty in This Whole Life" album review? I could see it scoring high by you and would like to see your take on it.
OOOoooo stoked to listen now.
*meme review*
Why are the type of nigga jokes so funny ? Well I'm gonna try to answer this question the best possible way I can today. The type of nigga jokes are so funny because they're relatable; think about it most of us have experienced someone that exactly does them.
One of my favourite type of nigga joke is "the type of nigga that reminds the teacher he has detention". Not only is it funny, but it's also so relatable and giving the reader an instant image of that nigga doing it and immediately burst out laughing.
Even if we haven't experienced them in real life, they're still as effective if not better when they are a pop culture reference. This one being a prime example:
"the type of nigga that collects all 7 dragon balls and wishes that his ex find a good man". it combines a show we all watched as kids and it's main concept with someone we've all seen on TV or real life, that's silly and too good for his own good, and creates one hilarious joke we can all relate to and easily get the reference.
Even if you can't come up with something, you gotta come up with something corny you usually do and low key act like you don't do it. This one ofcourse being a prime example "the type of nigga to moan when a massive shit leaves his ass". Sure.. is it corny ? Yes! is it shitty ? Yes! but it's still relatable. So yea........
When your trying to make a 'type of nigga' joke your main purpose is to influence that person with it. them niggas need to laugh or chuckle when they talking to a friend or sitting in class cause they just remembered that joke and when they ask "why you laughing" ? You gotta say 'nothing just a lil joke I that came to my mind'
Conclusion: the type of nigga joke is one powerful weapon that if used for good can be one of the best things ever however when used badly create a dark object of cancer. Imma give it a light to decent 7
Somali pirate's second Acc that gives Ls L
W
Ultra W
I don't understand how memes like this die for 3 years and then come back for no reason. Are there a bunch of 14 year olds out there that rediscover this shit and think it's new? Or do we all just decide to say fuck it and do it all over again.
LCD Soundsystem
Least best to most best
When?
dude has like 3 albums lmao
Review of new A Lot Like Birds? Or new Wrekonize?
NICE NEW ORDER SHIRT ANTHONY
I don't know why you keep dropping these damn needles, when what you need to be dropping is that After Laughter review!!!!
I'll go sit in a corner now.
Dear Melonman,
Where is I.L.Y's review?
-The Don
DOWNWARD SPIRAL
DOWNWARD SPIRAL
DOWNWARD SPIRAL
DOWNWARD SPIRAL
Will there be a pond review?
CLASSIC REVIEW - damn Kendrick Lamar
You should review the rapper : KYLE
Not his best album in my opinion, but I really liked it. 8/10
Anthony have listened to The Big Moon's debut album Love in the 4th Dimension, would love to see a review of it!
hi anthony
sorry for bad english
Hey man, you should review Graham Kartna's stuff. He'pretty small, but he makes good stuff.
Baby, twano, best teeth in the got. Damn. Game, what's up bud? How you doing? Pond review? Maybe?
PERFUME GENIUS is ONLINE
Beautiful album
Ah man...wish I liked the album as much as Anthony did, for some reason I just can't click with it emotionally like I did Too Bright
hey, tell me if he already has and send a link if so, but have you ever reviewed anything from Witt Lowrey, he's an up and coming artist with styles reminescent of Hopsin and Eminem (He doesn't whine about friends doing drugs like Hop) but he's come a long way and really improved over the years.
I knew you'd love this.
one of my fav albums oat