[ #SkillastratorLO ] [ #PowerWrite ]
Salute ye, Oh, Crown Wonder,
thy of the must mattered life,
once who bestowed the ultimate of blessings of edict in song.
The stitched rhythm of all enlightenment,
stapled into the cross stitches of the garment of actions,
and stored as the builder’s blood congregated in the chest.
An amulet worn deep behind the breath with gorgeous influence,
it’s culture has always been my power,
it’s power ever more it’s equality I position to see,
it’s rejuvenation my greatest reaffirmation of I,
Arm, Leg, Leg, Arm, supreme Head.
my only intended stone of salvation
stored behind these angered pectorals.
Babies, Queen and all familial piety kept here under the most dangerous conditions.
And enemies abound!…
From the blue boar to the walling trump
across the whistling dogs’ pastures
Snapchat the hillary beaked vulture and IG them many two fanged animals,
those ignorant and self-hating teeth of our own brethren
that only make a must matter of all lives that aren’t their own.
deformed into feelings miles below understanding’s path.
So this mandate of Wonder
is reawakened and realigned.
In the scripts of gung fu or breakbeat verse,
hard martial work and hardcore Hip Hop,
sailed in winds east to west.
From the mountains high where Tao ways heavy,
yang of love and yin living its love,
to the corners of chaos,
and contradictions communing…
Artillery loaded unlike Blackwater but A-Alike the Blackest water
into careening mic words of love
and sixteen shades of Black drum matters into live matter again.
Winds whisk and wonders whirl
as we Wisemen wake
willing to war the worst…
The decree: Stanza these forms.
Protect them in Kevlaar for transport in safe keep as honorably as the God lived.
That they be recited in morose moments of mystery,
the illogical instances when we miss
his Beautiful Soul too much.
May they always be sung by others,
sword in hand,
child in mind
Love in heart…
Remembered In Perfection
Kevlaar died ageless steeped in a sophisticated movement, a wisemen approaching the people. Struggling like a child of a lesser god, I used to build with him and we knew we was the Gods, supreme beings in terrible times of our own responsibility. Insurmountable odds, mysterious hoping and rap pop hopping all around, we strutted on our verges of supreme ideas for a righter world manifest. I left lessons in the God’s digital dresser and I knew he’d bloom and blossom. To continue 120 in his memory and interplay supreme mathematics so his sunshine played a major part in the the universe. These was all deeper things the commercial niggas poly past and molly flee from. But Kevlaar 7 was bullet proof in time. He fulfilled it all in that finite shell of lyrical charisma and if we just be A-Alike him and share the arts and stories of him he’ll master the cipher he was born for–all of time’s future…
Kevlaar’s Wisemen released Children of a Lesser God and I was back in my element. Great Migration put me in the lab again and when Wisemen’s sophomore LP released I leaked my experiments. These great artists have survived the Dark Ages, the 2000’s, and they needed #ScienceOnMusic and as an element, it was gon be #ArtOnArt. And #ArtOnArt for the Wisemen was like beautifying family photos with borders and captions. Kevlaar was the archetype lyricist rapping the problems of the world translated into bopping booklets, the most select words landscaped his revolutionary leanings and his solutions carved into a knowledge of self. Musically, the hardness of the drum was the core fuel and the funk was an obsession he intended to delve profounder in one day. He had a Miles Davis ear for diverse talents as every MC he ever introduced me too from Mavimarx to G Huff, whether Woodenchainz or Waze, from Crown Vic to Zagnif or whomever he picked to project upon always was and/or became as ill as he said. PremiereHipHop.COM exists because he brought two Afro-Arawaks from another mother, your writer SkillastratorLO here and Paragone, together. His MCing never reached its peak but it never would because it was based on the contemplation of life, the plight of our people and the supremacy of our creativity. Kevlaar would never end that beautiful journey of perfection, itself. So, A Beautiful Soul is only the last piece of his contemplating we’ll hear in this cipher…
There wasn’t a lot of material for his physical brother, Bronze Nazareth, to work with on A Beautiful Soul as its ending title reflects how we will always know him. It once had a working title of KVLR the NGS (Kevlaar the King) that Kevlaar was exciting to share with me back in early 2014. With the fragments left and logical cover art quickly made, Bronze erects an aural statue that personifies the 150 plus Kevlaar works that he laced lyrically and beat banged in his lifetime. With audio snippets, strong choruses (“It’s hard to fuck around when you dealing with science/this life is fucked up/ heaven or hell am I in?/ the iron or the iron/ one blasts/ and one slams/ one choice/ behind it or inside it…” – “Thoughts In·ter·rupt·ed”) that would’ve led to complete tracks and guest verses that really were Kevlaar’s earliest intentions from Roc Marciano to one of my earliest students in the knowledge of self, Infinite7Mind, who gives a dynamically charged verse to name “Skeletons Playing Pianos” (“I see skeletons playing pianos in the darkest of shadows/as we battle with devils shooting poisonous arrows…”). The other Wisemen from Jessiah’s layered viciousness ever increasing to Illah Dayz’ chopped capsules of hype to June Mega’s stomping clip phrases to Phillie’s stylistic brilliance all are here as they must be in supreme form.
Kevlaar described the Wisemen music as Hip Hop Blues and I saw it, wrote it and had to historize it that way. Kevlaar’s blues are abstract, phrases of references and word stylings that relay insights and cement thematic sentiments as an artist trapped in capitalism’s grip inside racism’s grand cipher charging with revolution anthems and spiritual enlightenment. So “No Explaining,” he bars,
“I write a manifest on death/ staring out my moon roof/
Liberating my breath/Toast to the absence of proof/
Evidence/ so evident/ it’s no precedent/ slept in my own bed/
That very night of the incident/ lies told in increments/
Slang changing/ in the game when/ the benefits to me is banging/
Disappeared/ chilling in a villa/ toasted a drink with Pac & Mumia/
We discussed the current plight of our people/
nigga bring the reaper/ I got the reefer/ and a heater/
currently awaiting this mythological creature/
my lonely mic is featured/ the trial I was impeached in/
threw chairs at the judge/ dead presidents/ believed in/
weaken your stature/ after my death/ lives a statue/
in the holiest city/ I scold the worship committee/
told the old bittie/ with the gavel/ and 12 fake friendlies/
enslave me/ if you want / it’s the American grizzly…”
Much of the layering genius with Kevlaar was his ability to say so much with so few words. Phrases as “I’ll die ageless/ the movement need a facelift/In these days when/ death is where the days went…” (“Calculating the Bitterness”) would leave one pondering how we have failed as a people one personal squandered act at a time. The brink of violence to make peace and fighting fire with fire are the torment here from taking it to the man on “Heartache Karma” (“King Equality Victory Love Allah, A & R perfect/home slice the serpent/certain survival of me these streets are vital/holy matrimony, God, help me rob these phonies/9000 S types so I could feed my son right/Hell or Right, two faces justify the gun fight…”) to the frustration at our own demise with the poignant opening verse of “Boulevard Article III” building,
“Can I save me? / I’m aiming/ claiming/ these mean streets/
My peeps /can’t sleep/A wink/ on Elm street scenes/
Invasion/ my daughter getting braided/ in the shade/
I’m ashamed/ the way dope is weighed/ in front of our face/
This a game of charades/ for the suicide brigade/
Paradise is hell/ heal my bloody blade/
These blocks is just a way/ to trap us in the game/
Naïve/ keep your summer’s eve/ the whole scene is staged.”
Kevlaar wrote a prose that never lost its intangible cleverness even in battle bars as his word choices stayed exceptional and still ingrained commentary into the verses (“Thematic ignorance/ emphatic on spending it/ needless/Point blank period/ serious lavishness/ hit the salsa/ All the Puerto rock broads batting they lashes…”). On “Capos (Bronzed)” with two of Hip Hop’s most idiosyncratic dynamic stylists, Roc Marciano and Dom Pachino, Kevlaar lays out a rolling flow with, “unpredictable angle/like Bishop as an angel/Black Day scene pull a heist/the whole team’s unnamable…”
The Bronze productions are filled with the type of heavy bass drum/snare smashing style that Kevlaar fiended for. Bronze’s ideal victorious horns cut through the rhythm signatures on “Glorious Chemist” holding Kevlaar’s braggadocio. The Soul wailing Bronze injects into “Capos” still proves him the best at using the longer portion of the sample for nesting a vibe via intro and capturing a select wild portion for the energy that will roar throughout. Knowledge the science, the magic of a breakbeat in Hip Hop is its ability to match the ever growing intensity of an MC. An MC as Kevlaar 7 constantly re-punctuated and reloaded by shouting one distinct phrase after another from one to the next bar. The great producers as Bronze then master the making of the break to keep looping the intensity of the attack, that immediate impact of the drum, horn, piano or powerfullest aspect. “Scalata” makes a breakbeat of the attack with the piano loop ringing us into each line whereas the bass horn stamps and the cut drumroll works it for “Brother.”
A Beautiful Soul is a powerful homage, not in a somber way, but in a celebratory attacking style because Kevlaar returned fighting. His sword was literally still swinging, his punches now in the timeless pose of connecting on foes as his words were left warm on the composition trenches. The real work Bronze Nazareth, the younger brother of Kevlaar 7 who must be seen as two of the greatest siblings to make Hip Hop ever, fuses the LP with quoted films, the outro’s somber condolence call and the Kevlaar audio clips of him joking, proclaiming himself, his laughter that all resonates to a memorable farewell to replay.
I will never forget the moment our brother returned to the essence, that confirming call I had with Bronze, the sad dignity he spoke with and the immediate awareness myself, Paragone, Waze, Huff, Mavimarx, Crown Vic, Woodenchainz, the Wisemen, his family and all those who loved him had that this cipher was truly privy to a King. A King, a righteous supreme being who worked to master the greatest thing, himself, and in doing so, embraced the responsibility of representing, caring and guiding all those around him he sincerely could. It is A-Alike the knowledge of self and the knowledge of others all gave him the wisdom to reason, rep and rhyme on our truth. And we loved our brother King Kevlaar 7 when he was here. So A Beautiful Soul will mix with all the God’s art pieces and he’ll always be lovingly remembered in perfection.