Sifaka Kong (a.k.a. o . o துஈசிதிசி திஇல்டூ)
“freightface dorkstop lovepancake (babydoll eyes)”
With hyper beautiful scenery and samples, the sensory rate Sifaka Kong (a.k.a. o . o துஈசிதிசி திஇல்டூ) reflects upon in the one-minute and 32-second video for “freightface dorkstop lovepancake (babydoll eyes)” is that of a brainwashing video one would see within an asylum or cult. Which makes one question, “What exactly is Quantum Natives?” This question just gets deeper with each release too, as Sifaka Kong (a.k.a. o . o துஈசிதிசி திஇல்டூ) is slated to drop the GPS-/adventure-/digital-label’s four work, The Ballad Of Jankmaster Flexington & Queen Larptifah.
It’s as if DJWWWW, Giant Claw, and D/P/I maximalized all their samples into one, brief track and it was shit out as “freightface dorkstop lovepancake (babydoll eyes).” Yet, the interesting bit is most of these sounds are of timbre or voice-box stature, thus Sifaka Kong (a.k.a. o . o துஈசிதிசி திஇல்டூ) combined a variety of acoustic intonations, restructured them into a post of their already sampled “post,” and surmounted a creation that is more uncontrollable than Dr. Frankenstein’s monster. It’s post-internet. It’s what “modern” seeks to outwit it’s own name. It’s starving ouroboros.
Just imagine what you’ll hear from Sifaka Kong (a.k.a. o . o துஈசிதிசி திஇல்டூ) when The Ballad Of Jankmaster Flexington & Queen Larptifah drops on the cult-pushing label Quantum Natives. Feel the flicker:
Angels falling. Life is getting colder. Cellphone signals dropping. Bodies Dropping. Suicide. The Kids is Dropping. No god. The bodies dropping. Chino Amobi is no longer Diamond Black Hearted Boy.
Amobi’s work is thematically infatuated with the metaphorical fall. As DBHB, the fall was beautifully and often disturbingly depicted as the surreal psychoanalysis of net-located alienation. The character was adorned in shiny bronze armor w/ Lacan quotes etched on it’s breastplate, a plumage of smoke billowing from a mind set ablaze by unknown struggle. The dramatism of the music – chained to the impossible, not wanting the real – spoke on internalized oppression violently through the manipulation of unconscious signification: Virginia, Nymphieta, Swarovski, Audi.
While the motives behind the retirement of his previous moniker are unknown, what’s certain is Amobi’s ferocity has only intensified with “WHITE MÆTAL,” a brooding dirge that cuts deep with slick existentialism. Obviously referencing a certain record (or maybe not), we’re given an ontological drop – no god, bodies dropping, no god, smeared bodies on the concrete, (YEAH). Beneath a swath of laser-sharp auto-tune delivery his voice is as raw as ever, coding a rough cigarette growl into the world gone.
“The silence that followed, as the night suddenly stood still, seemed interminable. I wanted to run and yet didn’t move an inch. I was trembling, I believe from cold and shock. I told myself that I had to be quick and felt an irresistible weakness steal over me. I have forgotten what I thought then. “Too late, too far…” or something of the sort. I was still listening as I stood motionless. Then, slowly, in the rain, I went away.”
• Chino Amobi: https://soundcloud.com/chinoamobi
Brake cleaner, gum cutter, motor oil additive: good luck scrubbing your hands clean. After years, the chemicals become an integral part of your bloodstream and define your complexion. The dust of rust caught in your eyelids becomes a part of your vision. The smell of coolant follows you like a cooking ghost. And that synthetic blend you bath in, well, that’ll take a few decades to carpet clean that out of your rug. Terry Funk would know.
Mike Cooper would know, as he commands, “Breath the gas,” then asks, “Are you smiling?” with a serene vocal delivery to be filed in the scrap metal department of Takoma Records. His voice is the only serene component of “Industrial Hazard.” Grayson Cooke’s Nasty film degradation is matched with Cooper’s nasty lap steel guitar and lyrics. The chemically ruined film is the human body, gasping and boiling, suffering like Job on the ground with his sores.
“Are you smiling?”
Ought to be. Life is a miracle filled with wild days. Sores or no sores; coolant or no coolant: it’s a wonderful life. From a different and wider angle, that lap steel guitar and that degraded film are beautiful, engaged in transformation, a change and fluster of activity that is unavoidable in life, and should be embraced with a smile; gratitude. Hazards, industrial or not, are the spice of life.
It must be Mike Cooper’s serene vocals in the center of the chemical brew that’s making me feel this way - all smiles. He’s got it nailed down here.
Crawling around the cranium you call a third eye, a vision of shape begins to form in a shadow of dust. Like how some people see Jesus in piss, Kepla reveals a tome of information on the meaning of life through sound in “ὄρχησις.” Millions of glass shards shredding a silk sheet, tonally reflecting upon each piece; a ready made pets; beats as a mindset and not just, “Yo, what’s next?” Something real is reflected within the world and your computer. It’s nothing but a torn bit of brawn. Muscles stiff as jellow left in the fridge a day too long. You cover up your face, passing each person on the street, and nobody really gave a shit, ever. That time a bird crapped in your hair and then a man who smelled like bones spit blackish-green on your sleeve, almost simultaneously, and everyone like “Yuck,” while you standing there as if ignorance is bliss. The stain upon your pants that is either guilt or just another spot of mustard, or both, w/e. Can insects intersect minds? Are their languages smaller than the most human constructed common tongue? Do animals have accents per region? It’s about half-past the road’s end and nothing travels as far as it’s willing. Let’s stick around for a bit.
“ὄρχησις” is the new Kepla track that traverses the mental states of being/time and *shrugging*. The vernacular of timbre, dub, and electronic adventurism displayed here is impeccably melted. Listen to it below and keep an eye out for Kepla in the near future. ;)
• Kelpa: https://soundcloud.com/kepla
Ahnnu, barefoot shrubs, Mndsgn, and yuk
Need a vacation? How’s about one from rap? If so, may I suggest the travel agency, Rap Vacation? A few of their agents — Ahnnu, barefoot shrubs, Mndsgn, and yuk — can help out if you’re in need of a lyrical break. And if you’ve got a fear of planes, hate cars, or just don’t trust trains, no need to worry. Their chosen vessel is that of headphones. All you have to do is pop them fuckers over your ears, and you can leave your body, guilt free, for as long you like. Screw an earthly destination; mind jaunt it out. “h” not only takes you places, it keeps you there. Ray guns don’t harm around these parts. They accent the trip. And the drums are so low-key in the mix they almost get lost. But not really.
“A portion of the proceeds from this compilation will directly go to aiding in the clean up of certain pockets of Los Angeles that do not receive street sweeping (or any sort of care for that matter). Help make a difference, it starts with you!”
• Rap Vacation: http://www.rapvacation.com