Back when Hip Hop was first diagnosed with the disease that would eventually take her life, it was easy, if you listened to the right records, went to the right shows, ran in the right circles, avoided the television, to forget she was sick at all.
If I wanted to forget about her ailments I could escape with my discman and ride the subways dreaming of undiscovered drum breaks and poetry.
I'd wake up, having missed my stop, with my face pressed up against the hard plastic window and that little spot of cold drool on the side of my mouth.
The first time I heard the song "Ink" it instantly brought me back to those groggy, late-night, blunted, train rides of my youth. I woke up three days later in my arm chair in my small ass apartment with the TV on static and that familiar drool on my collar.
This kid Cavalier spits a torrent stream of the illest poem-speak I've heard in a long time. I've seen him perform a couple of times with his crew The Dugout and they smash.
It's beautiful poetry. And it's not the type of poetry that makes you "hush, hush", sit up straight, and not cough. It's the type of poetry that makes you wanna punch a cop in the face or travel to a foreign country and fall in love without the use of the English language.
I also included this Freestyle cause I think it's ill and it sounds like if his boys wouldn't have stopped him he could of kept rhyming all night.
Cavalier: Ink
Cavalier: Cavalier Freestyle
both selections from "The Death-Circus EP"
Also: Here's a video for his song DIONNE:
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