Stop Sleeping

New York City is the mecca of creativity.  Argue if you want, but I’m not listening.  There’s really no craftier city in the world.  Only fitting that one of the illest mc’s I’ve heard all year hails from Brooklyn, NYC.  Mr. Muthafuckin eXquire’s  mixtape, Lost In Translation is a splattered canvas of verbal battery.  It’s a throw back to the heyday of east coast hip hop. 

The sound is eerie and manic like Company Flow, yet oddly accessible as if the RZA was on the boards.  It’s hip hop made for hoodies and heavy boots.  It’s the type of tape you play at three o’clock in the morning when people are tripping over themselves looking for a lighter.   eXquire has an unmistakably gritty mass appeal, and I’m on board like I hopped the turnstyle.

eXquire rhymes about real life in New York.  It’s refreshing to hear a rapper spit about the life he lives, not the life he lives for a morning radio show. No references to coke dealing or gun busting.  No party tracks to make it rain in the club.  Lost In Translation is a collection of New York bangers that are so authentic they tie him to the subway tracks.  It’s a record made for people that are really trying to make it it America.  At times the material is dark and walks the fence between sad and depressing, but there’s nothing here to hide.  It’s simple, if life is a mess and you’re an artist, then the art’s a mess.

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