​"There's no place on the earth for the righteous." -KAB, being insightful

"I'll put a prize on your head; I'll raffle you." -KAB, being clever

KAB, budding rapper and occasional criminal, released his Bully On Tha Beat tape. Here it is. Download it. It deserves to be in your iPod. It is a proper debut outing, full of harangued energy and, at times, monkey sounds (seriously).

Now, KAB is clearly a talented rapper, that seems an obvious point to make (see the blustery "Jungle" if you need to be convinced). What's less clear, though, is why.

Because he isn't who your brain is telling you that he is.

Listen to "Jungle" by KAB

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​It's fun to think about O.N.E.'s music because (it seems like) O.N.E. finds it fun to think about his music.

How else to explain references to socioeconomic constructs, agathist paradigms, obvious sporting metaphors that subtly aren't really sporting metaphors at all, parables and heavy satire on his new project, The Starting Five?

The tape, serving as a temporary expedient/precursor to his proper album to release later this year, is a hearty effort; 25 songs + DJ drops + scratches + etc. And one can easily get lost in the twisty-turns, possibly even losing the narrative amid the wolves*, assigning it no real meaning or value at all.

*The wolves, in this instance, would be a tool shed of beats made famous by other artists.

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​"Bad boy, no Will Smith. I wear these big ass jeans 'cause I'm trying to steal shit. Bitch." --Propain, "The Bad Guy"

Propain is a calculus.

Propain is an oak tree.

Propain is an ornery, pinch-mouthed menace.

Propain is not smiling.

Propain is FUCK YOU.

Propain is hard screen set by a power forward with jagged knees and elbows.

And his brand new tape, Dangerous Minds, is every bit as good as everyone actively rooting for underground rappers in Houston hoped it would be.

The atmospherics are aggressive and broad and ambitious and (mostly) original, thanks in large part to emerging production force G. Luck and B. Don. And Propain, who appears to possess an inherent understanding of the rap cosmos, is deft enough to navigate his way through all the pieces.

When the tape opens, he raps in a tempered manner for all of 15 seconds before he becomes belligerent (which is when he's most effective), shouting to himself, "FUCK THESE NIGGAS, PRO, FOCUS!" It's a clever bit, and might me dismissed as unsubstantial in a grander consideration of the album, but that's a mistake. It's an important moment, because it unintentionally firms up that no person in Houston is better at openly wrestling with their existential dread than Propain is. And that gasoline powers the entire tape.

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​"Niggas making rap lists. And I ain't ever on 'em." - Young Sensation

Maybe it was a ruse, a misdirection of sorts? Maybe he's like the drunk villager in the kung-fu movies, fumbling around, moving in an only seemingly incoherent manner?

Ignore that he decided to call himself Young Sensation. Ignore that he decided to call his tape C.H.I.L.L. (Cool High Intellectual Loving Life). He and has tape are both better, both more creative, both more dexterous than their names imply.

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​A declaration, resolute and firm and unassailable: Jett I. Masstyr is a better producer than hasHBrown is a rapper. If Break Something, the year's second offering from hasH, serves no other purpose, it crystallizes that.

For mostly all of the album, (or all of hasH's discography, for that matter) his staccato flow jumps in and out unchecked, bullying pace and timing as it pleases, jabbing horns and Montell Jordan in the nose without regard.

You say there's only room for 16 syllables at the end of that particular rhyming pattern? Well, how about here's 23 and fuck you, his psyche seems to say.

It's can be effective in its chunky compartmentalization of words, but it only ever rates higher than "serviceable" when paired with production that yields entirely to its indirect intent (see: "Forgive Me Not," where he sounded like a goddamn savant inside the plyometrics of agapism).

The star of Break Something, big and bold and beautiful, is the production.

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​"I gotta stay paid 'cause I like fly shit." -- Le$, "Gangsta"

There was this time where, on Twitter, Le$ remarked that someone -- a street tough, presumably- had told him that his shoes were ugly.

He Instagramed the right one. It was an Ice Cream sneaker, an explosion of colors and ideas from producer Pharrell's clothing line. Also viewable in the picture was a tall, striped sock and the beginnings of the right leg from a pair of cargo shorts. And that really felt like just about an excellent and easy condensation of his existence.

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Houston's history is dotted with albums that, fairly or not, have been swept aside. We'll examine them here. Have an album that you think nobody knows about but should? Email sheaserrano@gmail.com.

​Strut
(Self-released, 2010)

Strut, created by the enigmatic musician/photographer/beard enthusiast Third World, is either a beat tape or simply an instrumental. Either way, it is an elegant, dazzling bit of musicianship, and one of the most underappreciated music projects of 2010. It's not entirely devoid of words; there are occasional samples from sound banks, but they are auxiliary components, supplementing the music rather than overtaking it.

Yallmustaforgotability: 100 percent

True story: We've probably listened to this tape 65 times since last year, listened to it front to back, front to back over and over again. We couldn't tell you the name of one single song on there. That's probably one of the drawbacks of not have any words.

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Houston's history is dotted with albums that, fairly or not, have been swept aside. We'll examine them here. Have an album that you think nobody knows about but should? Email sheaserrano@gmail.com.

​Mookie Jones
P.A.N. (Self-released, 2011)

Mookie Jones, as it were, is perfectly quixotic. He floats through the troposphere, helium-light, seemingly nary a concern held in his brain more pressing than existing as, in the case of this album, a playa-ass nigga.

He makes sounding (being?) ephemeral feel important, barely raising his voice past a whisper or his heart rate above 40 BPM. He'd eat 50 hard-boiled eggs just because 50 is a nice, round number. He is Cool Hand Luke cool.

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Houston's history is dotted with albums that, fairly or not, have been swept aside. We'll examine them here. Have an album that you think nobody knows about but should? Email sheaserrano@gmail.com.

Chane via Facebook

​Chane
Samplified Successor (Self-released, 2011)

There are new rappers in Houston, and there are new, new rappers in Houston. Chane is a new, new rapper. He made his first proper footprint in May with "Feet Don't Fail Me," an exceptionally cathartic song about life after his father's death that came packaged with a devastating, unforgiving music video.

Samplified Successor, named such because his father, Kendall Mosely Sr., was called Samplified Stro, is his first album.

Yallmustaforgotability: 98 percent

Read What Yallmustaforgotability means.

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​Houston's history is dotted with albums that, fairly or not, have been swept aside. We'll examine them here. Have an album that you think nobody knows about but should? Email sheaserrano@gmail.com.

(Self-released, 2011)
CQ & t.h.e. MisFit Crazy-8

Note: Heretofore, whenever t.h.e. MisFit Crazy-8 is mentioned here, he will be referred to as "8," because fuck, man, "t.h.e. MisFit Crazy-8" is just a little too much.

The Sunday Soapbox is a duo album. It was made by 8 and the previously unknown CQ, a brisk, pinhole-voiced emcee. In its best, most auspicious moments (when the twosome volley ideas and kinetic energy back and forth), it squints your eyes with effervescence. They are inspired and in control. In its worst moments, everything is reversed.

Yallmustaforgotability: 99 percent

Read what Yallmustaforgotability means.

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