Violently vialed on a cracked hill, bases away from infamous pitchers, a lost jibaro in Nueva York sings “Le Lo Lai, Aga-llah!” Legends of this fighting spic born metronomed in the metropolis’s rotting breaks. Known to hit a healing tap of clave to every fatal gunclap–Congas to wrongs, bongos to songs, so they’re longer than the hells. One of them Medina B-Boys decepting the cons of blue enforcement while they uprock to Herc’s transformation of compositions. From Salsa blends of blood, debt and fears to this Hip Hop with pistol pencils and boombox ears, the warring dragon reappears with the waters of old soul…
Agallah needs no thesis where song gentrifiers explain the genius. You don’t know the way lines embed themselves in foreheads in the normality of seemingly cinematic struggles to you. Then “Shark Meat,” the drumless bars of lament, a quick duet of contemplation with an ol’ film’s piano keys you’ll miss. When you don’t understand the ache of muscles when the stimulation of a cinnamon skinned Henny hugs rememberance in voluptuous woes then…Remembered In Perfection Sean Price when Agallah puts Brownsville in context on “Brooklyn Emcee Murderers” (“I’ve even seen Mike Tyson even get manipulated/you ask Sean Price, I never thought that’d I’d make it…if you not a Lo Life listen take the Polo off cause all my Decepts rep…”). The tempos of slow flow sophistication, bars that match strides of premeditated Timbs on rocky curves on these deviously square streets on “Point Break.” Those peaks of illness are supreme on “Monumental” with the stylistic burner, “So fly, you study your aeronautics/ so my woman erotic/and exotic/and melodic/superior-otic/methodical ways of my logic/keep it smooth but it’s silent/the flow is brolic…” The intensity of it all on the digi-wails and big, treble drums of “The Heist,” Agallah is a master conductor of channeling a defiant rebelliousness on BO. It is a swagger rappers today achieve by grafting Ghost Deini and other MC wizards.
With Agallah’s definitive raspiness rapping an articulate intensity effortlessly as on “Ag Season” there is also a classic track revealing the trials of Black/Brown men tormented by talent trapped in tribulations. “Slavery,” suffered by us all and the way out right there, with knowledge of self I may say but for all of us, must include what Ag builds is “fight out here for what is rightfully yours.” So “one more day of Slavery and then I’m free..” “If I was privileged like the other side/tell me would the tables turn?/Supreme Asiatic, some of y’all afraid to learn…,”Agallah’s brilliant build is the sincerity so many of our legendary icons lost…or never had. Ag’s Bo is a power collection of the gritty heart and stylistic approaches he’s mastered and led by a sincerity that is the essence of this Hip Hop, the culture named and exploited but used by us brethren left to rot.
So we wait in vain for dragons to blow up, treasured breaths concentrated in savagery and diluted in the commercial cups of the booth. All to shows us waters to sail in the toughest music ever made. Tough, free from the weak ones selling pathless successes, those with bottomless starts that real brothers don’t know of – For mystery God’s drake! Where in hell are these pitiful Pablo bios from?! Not from my Brooklyn, the coño carajo calles of Gunset Park! Skillastrator pen blots thoroughLO so I hear a score of respect down underground, past the dead birds, out where Brownsville battallions continue to charge. The legend I chiseled on the back of my next plus lesson said Agallah recruited respect just with work and never ordered it from the weak journalists. So the God, staying in his own element, PowerWrites well tonight, as the water dragons feed by the coral reefs.