I used to spend summers at my Grandma’s house in Glastonbury, Connecticut. I hung out at a playground with one bent rim and a torn net. Talking shit with my summer friends. We’d play tapes. Play one on one. Argue over who was better, Rage Against the Machine or Cypress Hill. Smoke Newports. Flirt with girls. I was alive and nothing else mattered. Certain sounds instantly take me back. Connecticut’s Northern Lights have been on HEAVY rotation since I got my hands on FallenUp a few weeks ago.
Imagine The Pharcyde passing a laced blunt during a rooftop cypher, spacey but strangely grounded. Well versed like they studied 3 Feet High and Rising by blasting it from a giant box that stretched across three laps on a sweaty subway car. This is rhythm, tempo, style and substance. This is entirely fresh. Entirely hip hop.
Today’s most exciting music is being made away from the giant budgets and legendary studios. Masterpieces from tiny corners of our world. Art for arts sake, and that’s when it’s pure. That’s what makes it real. Northern Lights heartbeat comes from that place of honesty. When I put my headphones on and quietly nod along for 45 minutes, it’s because I feel it. I close my eyes and I’m falling up.
Tell them you like it @New9Gs @DonGot @RodFuego.