Them last seven ounces of Baji Chiew lay on the timetable of their fables. Sip carefully for the minute the qi meets the muscle, to the motions of the edict. The nerve of these niggas, popping chantix whilst they smoke the mirrors. So I let butterflies rumble forth through my abs, sharply through loosened frog buttons. Vocables that perforate the claims. The levels breached were perches for droppings and the envelopes they pushed were sealed statements of musical malintent.
Fuck it. They lied and told you the Gods were a fad of esteem not a truth to deem. Nigga, deem in reseam your whole fabric cause being on your dean just a hustler’s check on the man’s list. We really talking the cream of the planet Earth, a really living, really building, caring for the creation we claim to constantly create type of brother. No, it ain’t some weak scheme of portals to princehood.
But today’s songs, the more sincere ones that preserve baps, booms and signifying snaps and homicide claps yet dare that greater insight beyond just sliding subs to consciousness and our folks’ supremacy. I talk further cause I wont care how them rappers pre-crossover or how the other man make them stand at attention when he flicks his melaninless index and thumb in pompous friction. Instead, with a diver’s breath i swim beat deep and get stuck in the coding of old sites, traveling where pirate rar’s wreck ship and holy zips bubble.
When you really know life sounds better, you can rise back to some of these 57, 255,000 square miles with a treasure. One that puts its chest out like a home of thought and band of bandits to this open warfare niggas be deaf to. Look in my fucking hands here, coins of darker realmz and higher sciences.
Most of today’s greatest MCs got some 5% in them, just like when Kool Herc told me the Gods, inventors of the B-Boy stance, lived the spectrum of that pose when brothers got out of hand. Break on the beat but not the jam. Knowledge the wisdom! But what’s the 5%? The ones who the true and living God is and teach that the Almighty true and living God is…?! That’s where most of our illest rappers leave it. They remember we teach that most are blind, deaf and dumb so they leave out the smart, lower the volume of the better samples and dazzle you with the sounds of sights. But I got this one record and the God gives a fuck about you. You ain’t a custie even though he don’t talk nice. Apreme, voice baritoning the builds like Barry White was subbing for Tony Montana and he knew The Skull was right behind him all along. Like he’d crack open The Skull’s skull, that is, your ignorance is dead on the one.
The one, be a living crate where the ingredients to Darker Realmz/Higher Sciences will be the oldest and purest things Apreme knows of. Apreme is a relic of reckoning to today’s felons of fruit flavored fraudulence. His videos are filmed behind dumpsters, in apartment building basements supers won’t even go in, cemeteries, unchecked bodies of water and shit like that. Exactly where you–word! You, the fucking weakling with fanny packs over multi-pigmented fabrics hollering “oh woe, hoe is me!” and using your angst and the post-modern acceptance of trans-real to de-innovate with lack of skill, content and musicianship. And Apreme is more than the frontage of ruggedness but the love of the knowledge of self, the daily search and study of arcane texts and the weaponizing of the oldest beat tools are his qualifying obsessions to a rare realness.
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“ill state spic thug\boxcutter to your grill\ where to get drugs? \ im the nigga leaving clients killed\fluent in cocaine language\ yes i make you famous\obituary and stationary \pronounced brainless.” #apreme #godhop #hardcorehiphop #rabidwolf #lofihiphop #undergroundhiphop #boombap
The battle raps are guided by the drive of the knowledge of self, that the Original man is God and the charlatan and the wack rapper are the same thing. The great elder First Born Prince (#RememberedInPerfection #RIP), who recited many plus lessons and builds of his own on to cassette, is sampled to usher in “Death Coastin.“ While Prince recites, “Who is Allah? Answer: The Black man of Asia. Allah is the Supreme Being.” Then Apreme powers through, “the golden guillotine/God represent/destroying those that’s made and manufactured/victorious through the history and hereafter/those who chose to provoke/I froze/and distill upon the gravity…” The viciousness is rooted in a cleverness towards and an daily living derived insight to the 120 Lessons that make them attainable study not just a holy and enigmatic tablet. From “Warpaint” (“Cremate a night nurse for her foul company/wait for the doctor and vic him for his luxury/impale the minister/with means that be sinister/then I yield the priest a blue steel and then I finish him…”) to “Non-Descript” (“Threshold/the stress of life consuming trees/God, pass the light/go through 120 degrees to gain the insight/revealing what always was and will be/no past lives/the science of the mind/eternity through space and time…”). When I build with the God Apreme, his goal is to reignite the best peak of Hip Hop, where the truth was anthemized into character building scores. And the theme is the life and the life is all over “Jebuz” when he verses in layered brilliance, “tell us how and what the who, what and why/where you at in this/bear witness to the seventh sign/Allah is God operating as one supreme mind/in these last days and times in which is the dead must decide/pick a side/in the wilderness where righteousness is still advised/firearms may be necessary just to stay alive…as I transmit, Asiatic supreme being of the planet…”
Musically, the choice is refreshingly aged, much of it distilled through the SP1200 and all those machines the thickest and most holy lo-fi sounds that have addicted us come from. Darker Realmz are new tokes on this classical aural stimulation. There are the distorted keys to the deep bass thumps of Lord Beatjitzu’s “Death Coastin,” the “no matter” vocals that usher in the deafening cloud of bass rumble where the snare is a sideshot in the distance, “Operation Gullotine” with its guitar string twangs over the smack drums with miles of open space for the warrior chanting, the marching drums and surround sound organ groove bass of “Gray Skies” or the the sharp duh-dump drums of “Hercules and the 23 Scientists.” Darker Realmz/Higher Sciences variegates little from the cryptic but the qualitative compulsion manifested in thick track after thick track bashes Apreme’s theme in all its intensity. An absolute addiction if you tired of #RespectFAKE acquiescing.
Yet, Darker…all builds powerfully not only because the beat tools are so vintage and missed. Or that the ruggedness at these levels is sincere. But because Apreme has the MC tools. With that aforementioned near baritone that drank concrete laced baji chiew, his vocals pierce through this lo-fi wilderness with complete articulation and no screaming necessary. His lyric layering is subtle but evident to the engaged listener working to decode. And his work here on Darker Realmz/Higher Sciences is only furthering a consistent expression of a thematic persona of a redeeming God because…he is the God.
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