I love that beat fanatics and thump-addicts are congregating in droves upside Your Mum. Thank you for all your e-mails. Excuse the sentimental suckah shit, though I’ve been quite inspired to persist with the blog, share musical wavelength and impart imprudent musings. Fantasticunt takes you to his bosom.
So download links, discussion, heads-ups, praise, adoration, the likeminded, rabid audio obsessives, freaks, geeks, Bloods, Crips, booty, lewd proposals, affable trojan viruses posing as Latvian sluts, jilted lovers, gardening tips and death threats- I welcome it all via ibootleggedyourmum@gmail.com. Offers of matrimony non-applicable.
Now, floodlights on a fine, French export: Onra (also one-half of futurebeat Hip-Hop production duo Byron & Onra). He fiddles solely with vintage Vietnamese pop record samples for this entire beat tape and churns out Orient-eccentric vignettes even the forefather Madlib would be relatively pleased with.
‘The Anthem’ (gaining popularity by featuring on a Coca Cola commercial in the States, which must be major corporate figures by the way) will rouse, ‘Relax In Mui Ne’ will relax, and it’s all a sunny, napalm sodden morning in Saigon smoking skunk with Colonel Kurtz.
[IF YOU WANT THE ABOVE LINK TAKEN DOWN, E-MAIL US DIRECTLY ON ibootleggedyourmum@gmail.com & IT WILL BE DONE AS SOON AS REQUEST IS SEEN.]
1. Introduction 2. The Anthem
3. Chop Your Hands 4. Relax In Mui Ne
5. Naughty Hottie (Interlude)
6. Eat Dog
7. Last Tango In Saigon
8. Apocalypse Now 9. I Wanna Go Back 10. Full Backpack
11. War
12. Lesson With The Master
13. Dark Sea
14. Phuoc Dat (Interlude)
15. Boundless Boundaries
16. What Up Duyet?
17. Welcome To Vietnam
18. Here Come The Flutes 19. The Vallee Of Love 20. Smoking Buddah
21. Clap Clap
22. Bounce (Interlude)
23. Live From Hue
24. Where’s My Longan? 25. Take A Ride
26. Raw 27. The Ritual
28. Cymbal Oelek
29. The Third Sword (Interlude)
30. One Day
31. They Got Breaks Too
32. Hope
My stand-out tracks highlighted in Bold Red above.
Which fool allowed these beats to “collect dust”? You’ve got a substantial percentage of East Coast Hip-Hop output at its most stagnant in the 25+ great years of this art form; years after year of mediocre releases and disposable, uninspired work, yet purportedly our divine-handed lord Preem has these instant classics collecting crusty skin cells.
Jigga should secrete swagger over ‘Sing Like Bilal’, Redman should go exessive and raw over ‘Mysterious’, Nas should go self-retrospective over ‘Dadaa’, Jadakiss should go street-reflective over ‘Dink’, Busta should go animated over ‘Waaaaaa’, Cassidy should go hardbody bar for bar over ‘Droop’. Automatic masterpieces for the people! Who’s fuckin’ with that? I’ll kill you.
Forgive my dogged idealisms, let the blog bastard dream.
Nonetheless, hearing a tape of unreleased Primo percolates through my brain as the epitome of bliss. No one fondles a break to make a head ejaculate like this immortal. G.O.A.T.
On an additional note, I’m sincerely and devotedly hoping the homie Saigon, the boy Termanology and maybe even the kid Corey Gunz can revive NY and with effort and intelligence CRAFT CLASSICS AGAIN LIKE, YES, THE EAST COAST RENAISSANCE OF THE MID-GODDAMN-90S. Sigh, leave us living in the past for you provide us little to live for in the present.
This instrumental selection peeled my eyelids back over my domepiece and had me face the fact that Samiyam is actually a rather incredible Hip-Hop beatsmith.
Now the earliest posted Return EP was very good, yet this in comparison is, well, mighty.
From track 3 onwards I was so ensnared I had to roll up a tiny doobie and boost the skittish ear-engagement that led me to a sore collar (hol’ tight all my neck-snapping sons-of-bitches, we live for this). Whereas a growing number of Sam’s peers are turning slightly adrift in the aural obscurity of glitchy self-indulgence, here we’re yanked back into gutter as if all the space voyaging we’ve been subjected to of late was merely a distraction from the wonders being built back down on the dirt. I mean innovation is key, but I maintain that we should not squander the Soul.
Sam flaunts some fantastically peculiar breaks, daringly chopped and perverted with the underlying electronic audacity (just enough and not too much of it on this finely balanced beat tape) we’ve come to expect of a mushrooming leftcoast futurebeat generation being led by Flying Lotus, Gaslamp Killer and Ras G amongst a fair few others on the allied international front (Glasgow’s Hudson Mohawke and Amsterdam’s Hayzee, FS Green & Sir OJ not overlooked). We can’t deny there is a new movement here with brass balls not seen since the early days of Def Jux and Stones Throw- start paying attention.
Throughout I felt as if I was listening to an embryonic Madlib beat tape with all the raw, restless cutting, chaotic collages, sullen harmonies and subtly instilled but fundamental groove; the inspiration is clearly there and unafraid to germinate… dare I say this, he may even be the second coming.
If you like your rap beats cold yet relentlessly pushing forward, this shit is like the March of the Penguins. All they need now is a great emcee to breathe the equivalent of an Iraqi bonfire over them…
1. Intro 0:09
2. Super Chronizio Bros. 2 1:09 3. 27 0:52
4. 1984 0:54 5. Flotation Device 0:55
6. Flying Slap 1:23
7. Ghost Ride The Bike (Pull Up Hop Out) 1:38
8. It’s Important 0:54 9. Lookin’ 1:14
10. Mental Violence 1:14 11. One Love 1:26
12. Polkabot 1:18
13. Quesadilla 1:20 14. Toad Rage 1:38
15. Segue 1:25 16. Snake Cola 1:14
17. Wrap Up 1:24
18. Carnival Food 1:39
19. Cloudy 1:29
20. Rooftop 1:46
21. Sideways 1:30
22. Sunrise 1:40 23. Untitled Track 1:10
24. Untitled Track 1:41
Just clocked the numbers Your Mum is doing (I intend to rinse this Mum-orientated extended allegory until some uptight turnip takes literal offence): healthy and well beyond initial expectations when I constructed this mini-monolith 1 month and 8 days ago. For that I wish to express gratitude to all of you bandits and beauties.
In turn, you fun(c)kers are obligating me to post more than I have the rassclart daylight savings for- but like the finest follicle on a unicorn’s twat- you’re most cherished in my kingdom.
5.04am in the downcast, semi-ghetto, London morrow and frustratingly not one bosom hath I yet laid upon as I peel back my eyelids and prepare the next drop strictly for you. All your graves will be spat on.
The Gaslamp Killer – I Spit On Your Grave
My being, when once a baby-face, was partially bred on Led Zep and other fuzzy, fantastical, Prog-Rock shit from my Pap’s pre-parental, purple haze’d past life. Now that he’s an old geezer who doesn’t know his Dilla from his Daddy Yankee (sacrilege!), I’ve been left to continue on the demonic legacy… as has GLK markedly from this 60 minute mix of his own mosh-worthy instrumentals (with flips of other artist’s including Flying Lotus, Roots Manuva & DJ Shadow) and the prior material I’ve heard of his (‘Kobwebs’ with Gonjasufi is a stone cold ’07 classic cut). Too fatigued for the pomp of penmanship right now, so can I’ll just say The Gaslamp Killer is ridiculously fucking dope, and you’re about to sustain some serious blows of Avant-Garde-Glitch-Hop: like Jean Jacques Pierre puffin’ a chunky PCP-dipped blunt with King Crimson in Robert Rodriguez’s garage. If you like Fly-Lo, plus axes, plus crashing cymbals, and naked, painted sluts dancing around a giant smouldering wicker man in the desert, this is for you. Just keep listening to it as it hurtles along. The beats are actually absurd. Do you trust me? Of course you do. Then again, as with anything, it’s not for everyone. Goodnight.
[IF YOU WANT THE ABOVE LINK TAKEN DOWN, E-MAIL US DIRECTLY ON ibootleggedyourmum@gmail.com & IT WILL BE DONE AS SOON AS REQUEST IS SEEN.]
(For the record, I fucking hate single-track mixes. I guess I’m a pretentious cunt; I feel my connoisseurship enhanced when I have the individual mp3s. I can’t be the only one who feels this way, surely.)
And she foams at the waist for that next level Hip-Hop shit too. Where snares crunch, spacial symphonies seperate cranium from collar, and there’s an anomalous glitch in the beat-matrix.
Observe a post-Sun-Ra, post-Dilla, post-Madlib, post-apocalyptic generation bursting through the seminal underground like babies with electronic umbilical chords…
I Bootlegged Your Mum 