Yesterday, at the health food spot in my neighborhood, the guy behind the counter making my tuna ceviche wrap complimented me on my shirt. I told him it was an album cover, correctly assuming he’d think it was a metal band. When he asked as much, I told him, no, it’s ROME by Armand Hammer. Oh, the health food dude knows him and heard that one mixtape where he’s sitting on the park bench. Race Music, I say. Yeah, they’re dope, I add, no emphasis on “they’re” though, because what the hell.
Walking home, I realized that since billy woods’ face is perpetually blurred or concealed on film, and since Armand Hammer was indeed a person, it makes sense that someone who’s never really listened to them might get the impression that the group is one guy, specifically the guy whose face isn’t obscured, Elucid. I imagine both he and billy woods would get a kick out of this. I’ve typed over 25,000 words about the two of them, so I’m not really laughing, just reporting on the odd series of events that have helped keep me, like a young Larry Merchant, perched on the balls of my feet since becoming a fan. There was also an insane car wreck outside of my window yesterday evening, and a few hours earlier in a separate incident my co-worker’s wife was involved in one. She’s OK, though; one of the guys in one of the cars outside my window, not so much.
Earlier today, hours before getting the email with a link to this song, I cleaned the apartment, but I used Chlorox, not Dettol. Also, when I started writing this, a record arrived, but it was Lemonade, not Paraffin. That, the internet says, is on its way to a USPS facility. I eagerly anticipate its arrival.
More about: Armand Hammer, billy woods, Elucid, Small Professsor
