These all are in the profiles made. From societies forced into splendor by the thrashing of the Black hand side and the thumping on Bronze feet for crawling investments of mass wealth overrighteously stolen. They whip, we flip, silver or gold, cotton and sugar cane—the paper is a commentary note of our oppression. A promissory plunder redeemed when supply and demand fuck, the bastards fill stock folders. All folded neatly into cracker pockets and charging self-hatred into our sockets, this life is paid with trife.
So, can you spare a moment of oppression?! Sure, a penny out the piggy bank: We keep our hands up, they shoot! Baez to Garner, who’s gotta breath to fight that blue whip that keep us in the same flip? We people who are harkened by swine flu for the race is the fuel, a fuel of infinite indigenous reservoir that must be stocked of fear and ignorance, the illiteracy of self. So in Fox chapel we pray, all praises due to capitalism as we assets are best handled by militarized smurf-coated cowards armed with laws written in the text of old cracker.
Gross poverty, oppression and all the wrong ideas mold into ways of slowly dying, the real MCs pass out scrolls of survival with bonus bars of building. And from the epitome of the worst hell of Detroit, the cinder block bluesman Bronze Nazareth returns. With two supreme solo LPs and a two volumes of Thought For Food that are looser explorations of bars and beats, Thought For Food Vol. 3 merges his LP and mixtape ciphers with only original tracks (half by Bronze) and skill set bars that subtly unify in collective theme. A pure writer MC that has a rare blend of battle bars and the poetic gifts to give ideas visuals, novelize stories and aphorize understanding. An MC with this ever developing skill set who is more renowned as RZA’s last great Wu Element producer and leads The Wisemen, a criminally unknown crew of MCs with A-Alike abilities, the full spectrum of #BronzeNation continues to elude listeners.
The pure artist letting the creating of Art be their sole determination, never selling any stanzas of the soul, is the theme Bronze carries into TFF3. While TFF3 continues to be a highlight of pure wordplay and clever techniques, the three tracks of 2013’s Blenderz EP serve as the guiding theme. These three tracks Bronze declares his artistic fire (“Blenderz”), his persistence in the poetic build (“Malcolm Manuscripts”) and the crafty layering of blues lament that beautifies all of his collections (“Hangin’ On”). These themes merge into the TFF series concept of being a recorded training session of martial bars.
The major theme of Bronze’s stellar career are the first bars of “Blenderz” versing, “Ayo/what’s swag sauce when I’m coughing up jewelry?/The hottest man near the slaughterhouse, surely/With better promo, the fans would know accordingly/I chop the track up and send it to my orderlies/I’m on a beast’s mission/most consistent/ when you hear it/Hip Hop’s dead? I’m at award shows in spirit…” Then “Rusty Revolvers” his cadence reaches a yell over the soul’d humming barring, “freshest mixture when I speak I collect the riches…heart turned cold, heard the block whisper, this year you gon be that nigga…” declaring his drive. A samurai focus on the goal of Art making that must pay is exemplified by “Plan A? Plan B.” On a free form verse the theme trails in abstract references only to ride back in on Woodenchainz’ epic drumrolls and cymbal crashes. “..My mind sailed once to a new zone/ pass his handshake/ he passed the blue phone/Megatron/ smoke cali windstorm/She’s so bottle shaped I’m misplacing my keys…I arrive like a disciple, thirteen in all/never had a plan B/plan A being it all…” With the Good Times’ samples, cinematic strings and violently glorious snare crash, Phillie, Salute and Lord Jessiah exemplify their will to Art on the incredible “JJ Evans.”
With exceptional wordplay guiding punchlines to insight and answering concepts in metaphors, TFF3 displays this creativity over the stanza’d ill set forth from “Hangin’ On” as on “Main Man,” with the artwork of “Arsenic when I’m lit/the pen I grip/letting off flows until it’s told/most eloquent/I let your souls flow into heaven’s grip…” Over a sublimely simple horn riff and stomp track form M.O.P.’s Lil’ Fame, Bronze battle bars with his signature chop phrased flow that layers itself with the cleverest internal rhyming. “Pick your own poison/pull the Rolls Royce in/full of boisenberry smoke straight out the oyster/loiterer/the agitator/the organ levitator/pouring more scorching lines/I orchestrate a crater/cater thought for food neighbor/digest my labor/sooner or later/eating gator/off your amphitheater…” As Bronze has gained due praise for his increased charismatic inflections, his ability to literally write a flow perfectly is still a wax event.
Lyrically there also must be mention of the strong choruses that supplement Bronze’s craftverses. The choruses are standout throughout as perfect word choices dominate from Bronze’s “Cinder Block Blues,” “Get low/ a diamond to coal/ a Wisemen, a fool/ a chisel and my tool/ catch me sizzling this shit/ like water in hot spoons/ pour lyrics out of pyrex/ cinder block blues” or Kevlaar 7 on “ZipGuns,” I gotta chip on my shoulder/the block on my back/my life’s a zipgun/shot prison aftermath/brown bag stash/ boiling in my veins/stress in the crosshairs/keep steady and aim,” or “Octagon Coupes” with “Octagon Coupes/chips off the old block/concrete troops/bricks off a gold block/we from an angle, obtuse/like four o’clock/Ernie Barnes with the pen…” all going back to the thematic core with “Malcolm Manuscripts,” “You know what?/ I did some ill shit!/ I tried to save a black rose from wilting!/ I saw the diamond in the coal/ the true shine of the gold/ so I told her leave that pig alone!!/ You shouldn’t live alone/ read this Malcolm X Manuscript/ until it hits home.”
The latter chorus of “Malcolm Manuscripts” leads the jewels that are the craft’s purpose. With the build woven into the wit of words, the “ZipGuns” chorus leads to Bronze’s overt use of distinct pauses to drop, “Malnutritioned Black Christian/ wishing for a god in the sky/ who’s into listening/ but a slice of the devils pie/ aroma lingering…” From another tale of a would be Queen riding half assed on “First Thing Smokin’” to declaring the second migration on the ill produced bass driving “Ninja Burners,” by Lord Beatjitzu or bombing the biters on “Smokin Barrels,” the principles of music making, a brother’s integrity and the honor in the struggle all are fused in this volume, the best of the three.
The essence of Bronze as an MC is the poetry of Blues, the rugged Boom Bap, sinister shaped rhymed verses of dominant declarations and agonized anguish on this cipher we’re trapped in yet creating. The amazing contradiction of God in hell, learning only with the last ounces of love through every next track more right, right, righter to a little more righteousness for the world. A Thought for Food this Black writer, Brown shade, dirty drums detailing and word reveling brother leaves you with. Bronze’s Thought For Food Volume 3, an original free form set of loosies that seek to sell us an Art of breath in these suffocating times. Close the black hand and move with Bronze feet in the measure of understanding.