Nothing says, “Good morning” or “Reminder: 2014 is going to be totally tite” than “Too da loo, mother fuckahhhlalalalalalalalalalala.” Flying down the LIE. Bass subbing off at Friday morning hungover woofs. Kool Keith lickin’ lyrics like a stiff-ass blunt ‘bout to be lit-dried and smoked to a nub. The “Strip Club Husband” relights his roaches with TNT. Shellin’ out wampum like it’s still a legit currency. “Just my tip cummin’ in the door was all your rent… my slacks got ya slime on em.” Going to work in five minutes, but sparking the end of current memory is way more an M.O. than writing twelve pages of webcontent that could be done via software.
Kool Keith is admirable, you know? There’s nothing more defining than having rapped in three decades and still be able to spend duckets like an ATM machine on the straight fritz. Never forget your heroes. Cultural or professional, your heroes get you through what your dreams cannot. Samuel D-lingus told me once that Kool Keith just has stacks and stacks of unreleased recordings just laying around, which makes me think, since going solo in 1997, he’s merely just getting started. “Strip Club Husband” is hardly the beginning.