“Oh, There be…
crowns for clowns
It was that dynamically ravaged ole man, the prelude to any of our illness. In a world where if you sang meaningful jabber like a fateful dagger you ought to have a symphony. His mettling would meander on his lips, they’d waver actually, and we young ones thought it was sadness. It was really a very composed and aged anger.
Let me sample the forum and build with the weaponry Napoleon unleashed. A Black privilege we can see in ourselves but we blinded by the glare of a supposed light skinned privilege. Scorn the nigga that catch a cab or the spic with the hair Pocahontas loose, the secretarial model strutting for the office. There are levels to disgust the racist deals with. The higher they are, we Gods been saying the 10% whilst gentrifying millenials, copping struggle chips, now call the 1%, know that the coal of capitalism, from the thinking mind to the walking foot, been the Original peoples. But some niggas got be shoveled in the furnace while others get seeped aside. There’s always sports and song, the ciphers were our normal excellence can be an embraced abberation. So lets all sing with Syl Johnson, “if you Black, Brown, or high Yellow, you’re still Black!”
No privilege is given to any Original person; rather, they are fed allowances. And some of them light skinned mufuckas buy alot of toys as they toy with the test of passing. So the coy ploy on toward a foiled joy…
But Napoleon Da Legend is building on a trait of the melanated genetic, the kind that unifies the shades if they see it past the skin, through the melanosomes and carotenoids and through the serotonin Sun powering and the melatonin dream rebuilding into the supreme medulla oblongata. Off the long entrada to the medium of Allah himself. These thoughts, that if they were all and only what word our idea and use it to reveal it, let it love, influence and reach the proper position. That proper one where our own idea reveals ourself, true and living, universally changing all and elevated fulfillment is all around, round and round. We thought it, became it and did it and when they stop, strip it and try to take it or kill it, we got an inherent nature to let it become part of the greatest solution just yet. Watch what these negus do cause when NDL slanged our Black Privilege, niggas is now just potential energy to the Gods, Kingdom of Kinetic Kinfolk. Black hoodies, better fires and righteous rhythms 1,2…
3&4 Napoleon’s “traveled with a wealth of knowledge/language is well polished” (“Biopic“) yet he ain’t in a zone. He ain’t gone anywhere. He’s only learned to slow the world with the speed of his creative telomeres constantly forming. A-Alike ,the problems are concepts, concepts are blocks, blocks are lifted, the lifted are exalted into the patterns of their brethren. And with a sistren of sounds, the wombs for ideas shining. Napoleon wiles the many women, these tracks all around so appealing.
“How long you been singing that diddy, ole man?”
“You disrespectful piece of shit. We said Wu-Tang is for the babies!”
“I meant that song you sing?”
“Well, longer than those trees you’ll like and for most of the physical degrees ya dont know about yet.”
“That’s a long time, I think. But why?”
“You’ll ask for that before ya even know what it is. Just like you asked how long before you wondered when?”
“Damn, I was gonna ask–“
“They used to say the funk is the mystery God. See, you stay in there, the groove, playing into her or just listening and listening. And you love it more and more. Bass crumpling in and never crumbling, booming all hell but never to complete doom. Drums, a banging of the drum, a signal to the 2 when they keep it on the one. We dance cause they dance. We think cause those preachers, JB, Clinton, Sly, told us some life in there.”
This ole brother loved that funk but who be mettling?…
“This is counter-culture put against over-the-counter culture… this is mathematics/back to when the facts mattered…”(“Game Up”), the theme of Napoleon Da Legend and all the man stands for once his words rhyme in collective attempts on selected rhythms, is explored with a looseness and freedom on the Steal This Mixtape series. They let him pound his strongest thoughts in bulk, allow him to explore new techniques and attack tracks that other legends have immortalized prior (“Black Excellence”). The bravado is extremely clever in conversational mastery from STM3 (“The Chances of winning slim like Heidi Klum skinny/The game is coon city half the shit they do silly/I’ll be good, new kicks and that triple goose fit me…” – “Black Rice”) to STM4 (“Cop this product wholesale my soul ain’t for sale/No need to ride any coattails you know the smell/When Lucifer’s ass pops up in the room/Like a Piru wearing blue, I do not approve…” – “Lost Jewelz”). The epitome of original mixtape, the song structures are complete with choruses (“1 shot for Madlib 2 shots for Dilla/Peace to Big L and 2Pac, he was the realest/3 for the heads that bop when the beats dopes/And 4 for the hustlers who set and reach they goals” – “One Shot For Madlib”) and an endless amount of concepts.
The major difference between STM3 & 4 is the development of even stronger concepts on the latter. From stream of conscious questioning (“The corruption is blatant/Got us suffocating blood pressure raising/Need doctors to resuscitate ya/We in a hologram polygraphs and dollar scams/Another scapegoat Isis over Taliban/What’s the difference between Pre-Historic and Modern Man?/Did God make us in his image just to follow man?…” – “Chinese Creatine”) and insights (“Emancipation was a joke and it will test our patience/Kalief Browder is dead another martyr bred/Our time on earth is short like Eric Garner’s breath/Violence in our language is trivialized/The music business rewards the uncivilized/Misunderstanding the complexity of my complexion/In the mirror conflicted when seeing my reflection…” – “Black Privilege 3”) STM3 expands the series as an extended meditation on our current reality.
With STM4, NDL gives his takes on song ideas with his understanding brilliantly. From reversing Ras Kass’ conversation with the mystery God (or better, his inner self), Napoleon masterfully converses with an anthromorphized form of devilishment on“Conversation With Doubt (Devil)” to his sexual version of “Freek n’ You” (“Ultimate beat master petite physique bagger” – “Jodeci”), concepts are even more pronounced. Life stories and portraits (“Exhibit Y,” “Biopic”) the motherland visuals on “African Drums 4,” the challenging questioning (“Questions”) and more battle bars that are more warrior stanzas with profound declarations in all their shrewdness (“This the real talk not that fake woke shit/ Well grounded on earth no Frank Ocean” – “Lost Jewelz”). All of this to be capped by “Black Privilege 4” deepening the mixtape series theme by delving into his own fulfillment of overcoming oppression and all its obstacles. Ultimately volumes 3 & 4 make Steal This Mixtape one of the great mixtape series I’ve ever heard, skill set moments beyond an immediate hype.
So see the understanding, we been on a road to righteousness taking all well meaning niggas as we go. The seats are always warm cause too many get off early. Still, there’s the right food with a lot of Izayaa’s seasoning for everybody. We build, even play and laugh at the empty allowances, those pittances from the rich, savage leechs. When we pass them devils, we always ascend the volume on Po’s volumes, flaunting our Black privilege….
The ole man kept talking. Said we spoiled ourselves with our own privilege. Said we Black, some dark, some light, some pass for–but that ain’t right–but all got a plight. Ole man say, “Yeah, the Black one. That’s the one I’m talking about. The one the Legend named.”
“So spoiled,” he’d go on and on, “that your eyes have gotten strewn, spying inside of our own sickness, Illness.”
“That dynamic disease,” he clamored on, “where these children turned hells into metaphors of fresh.”
He was too right. Exact like I A-ALike, I knew his funk became my funk
Just mine was the pounding of the letters, a locomotive locution yelling demands in sweet cursive, abusing the English in reparative grammar and aphorisms on rhythmic chops off the chakras.
We got ourselves some Black privilege to build. But damn that ole man, I gotta laugh. Cause there really be crowns for clowns mettling with our frowns…
The organization of these principles around a counterculture, an expressive arts of creation that uplifts the ideas and thoughts of an oppressed people, is why I’m an honored builder amongst legends, knighted by heroes of Medina (Rakim Supreme Shabazz Allah/Rudy Lo, Thirstin Howl the 3rd, Bonz Malone) to further create in my element as a Hip Hop Writer (creative author/principled journalist/honoring historian) of #ArtOnArt & #ScienceOnMusic. So the world may find love that locks in with the action of loyalty though they may never find another writer with my kind of grammar…
Living and sharing the pillars of:
Peace, Sunez Allah