I wonder about these times saddled on this warring horse, slowing to gallops like the ends of a rippling stream. Upon the refusal of the 30 pieces of silver, forty niners struck gold to feed yellow bellies but 50 cents is a budget of integrity left not the abuse of any means necessary.
See, some of these trails were dangerous enough to learn of all that I loved. If I thought, my wisdom was a turning spoke. When others thought the hurdle was a fable, the wagon inked with the passengers of understanding.
They all know a little something but the capital collateral makes them price it small and bargain the build away. So much game sold and they say never told but its just more telling and sale swelling. A gentrification from our mind to wax and now it’s just dark white people rapping. Sammy Sosa vitamins in the ill box taking the runs from our home straight into the living rooms of collectors of exotica. So I call my works of cultural expressions an #ArtOnArt but it’s really just the perching of grenade launchers on M-Knowledge Equalitys. Savior sixteens inspire like Basquiat to Cyrus.
Damn, my brother Cyrus Malachi, of UK’s Triple Darkness Crew, is an essential MC of this #InvisibleRenaissance, with long and extended missives that better letter the vetters that build brain tethers. A baritone master of the eloquent verse of worth, worth where five words last as long as a novelist’s five paragraphs, wields more diverse toolage here. Under the metaphor of that so embraced Haitiano-Boricua painter out of Medina, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Malachi resides easily. Cyrus Malachi is a methodical pen that strokes with all the colors in this visible locution, evoking a beauty in the destruction of the unprincipled, the towering over the untalented leeching and a constant unfurling of aphoristic insights in the visuals of these battles with oppression. Alotta rewindable shit, saying too much, it stays with you longer than its time of play. Cyrus Malachi is the MC you listen to via his gruff baritone that remains abnormally articulate and nimble and read as the poetry the future minds mine through once transcribed.
See, Cyrus is the brother I would quote to my brother Smo on 45th and 5th in that spic supreme spot in Brooklyn’s Sunset Park if it were 94. An A-Alike that reads to rewind the horrors for clues, we get the results of his dues in realizations. Battle bars of the most vivid kind used as artistic choruses as on “Virtuosity” (“My book of rhymes filled with dead minds and scorched planet/factories, jetlines, forlorn granite/I turn rappers into vegetables, I’m organic/I’ll fucking rip you apart like warm fabric…”). “The technique of a genetic freak” that’ll “knit you a t-shirt with your stomach lining” as a “rhyming hydrogen bomb, a padlock on the planet/knowledge of quantum mechanics/another continent annexed/1 percenters eating placentas…” (“Easel of Espionage”) that is all beautiful brutality. It continues through the cryptic similes that fill “Black Canvas” and the massive missive of historical name tossing from Albert Pike and Rudyard Kipling to Ted Bundy and Shabazz the Disciple all to clever metaphoring (“I’m an articulate carbine with a darker rhyme”) and street snapshots (“smoke filled vistas..no sprinklers in the building..brothers get shanked up for morsels..gun tussles, henchman/drug struggles, redemption/custodials, juvenile detention…” from verse one to two on “The Curator.” The story of the #RespectFAKE persona, “a rich player, Eton bred, white and privileged, only concerned about how his image is…” becomes a centerpiece to the theme ofthe EP, a Basquiat-esque portrait of the worst of mankind.
Musically, Saiid handles four of seven tracks with more professionally muscular Boom Bap that characterizes Cyrus’ catalog. From the tempered pianos of “Black Canvas,” to the thick machine wheeled sandy break of “The Curator.” Of the other three Tony Mahoney, the producer of Cyrus’ exceptional Naked Among Wolves EP, of 2016, handles “Virtuosity,” a sparse intro with the special snaring, airy strings and sirens while The Architek throws bleep and key punctuations through the long spaced drum break of “StreetArt,” and Hey Zeus rocks the mile high treble snare and fluting for“Radiant Child.” All the tracks are expertly addictive, if not massively progressive, until we fall into Cyrus’ spilled notebooks.
See, for this writer, a molder of this element where the creativity is inspired by the coverage of creativity, Malachi’s work is often a poetry of mantras as “spirals, memories, cycles, energies/i want my people to live plentifully/I’m watching myself through vibrational orbs/chakras, points of concentricity/in love with imagery, the power of words, be on the rubicon/we are griots/the urban is our village…” (‘Radiant Child”). Selected quotes are no mere peak but just a random proof that abounds throughout. Because the imagery is a tour of thought as, “when I shed my mortal coil and traverse toward the duat/zoomorphic forms/dead organs on lawns/portraits of paws/beasts with enormous horns/but we were never fearful…”(“Radiant Child”)
Basquiat, the general metaphor titling this illness is ideal in many ways. Malachi’s career is art work that plays on the walls that domicile those of us who war with the most physical of words. And in this essential career, Cyrus Malachi continues to forge himself as a “street philosopher” that constantly focuses his weaponry against these hells and its provocateurs.
I settle on the corner of the paragraph of painters,
Basquiat and Cyrus,
letting my alterated Lo become vintage.
Studying these seals they impress on the boardwalk…
You’d know the realness is engraved deep in the town
#RespectFAKE was only the talk
exiled high falutin’ high binders.
Living here supreme,
the ladies call it
the sweet easel stride
as we ride…
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