![]() ![]() And the true virtuoso makes the very difficult look easy: songs are filled with nonchalant phrases that stick in your skull ("frown like the first time you taste couscous")- and just try to repeat some of those palate-mangling syllables. Doom finds seemingly endless ways to cover it ("MCs is crabs in a barrel pass the Old Bay," "Out of work jerks since they shut down Chippendale's"), lacing almost every line with multiple internal rhymes that place the lyrics halfway between poetry and tongue-twisters ("If I had a dime for every rhymer that bust guns / I'd have a cool mil for my sons in trust funds"). Take a look at how he treats wack rappers, a grade school-level subject worn to threadbare tatters by a generation of MCs. Indeed, in a just world, Dumile would be a poet laureate, officially recognized for his genius-level skill. ![]() ![]() Over his own Lite FM-inspired beats ("Hoe Cakes" loops Anita Baker), Doom muses over topics close to home (girls, weed, friends), always with an eye to absurd and apt detail that places him in the company of the greatest poets. This album is organized around the food "concept," but as always the song titles are simply jumping-off points for Doom's uninhibited imagination. He's hardly been out of sight since 1999's Operation Doomsday, but a new release under the name that seems nearest to his heart is something special. There's a lot of hubbub in the rap cognoscenti around this new release from Daniel Dumile, man of a thousand (well, at least 5) names. Cartridge Headshells / Alignment / Cleaners ![]()
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