RAVEN MACK is a mystic poet-philosopher-artist of the Greater Appalachian unorthodox tradition who publishes zines & physical books & electronic books & music & photography & digital art & just generally whatever feels necessary to survive this deluded earth thru Rojonekku Word Fighting Arts survival systems (Version 69, establish 14 Feb 1973). Comments encouraged.

Monday, June 11

SONG OF THE DAY: Dem Punk Ya


Me and my man who play dominos (but haven’t played in a while) always talk about how it’s shocking ‘90s dancehall never makes more prominent placement in pata-modern hipster buffet culture. That shit is so fucking sick – hyper patois lyrics over top Jeep Cherokee rattling beats. But then again, must always remember to be thankful for the wonderful cultural things that haven’t been Christopher Columbussed back into mass consciousness, thus sit around listening to Bounty Killer tracks, wondering whatever happened to all those Tony Touch reggae mixtapes I used to have, gotten at Willie’s on Southside at the intersection of Hull and Belt Boulevard, or after they had to stop selling mixtapes, little bit further south down at Angie’s Records, which was mostly just selling crack vials and glass pipes – empty of course – for street marketing purposes. Man, crazy to think back on that shit – a head shop for crack distribution supplies, but also still carried the banging ass mixtape selection up front. That’s true street capitalism that I love, like an economic short and long haircut – you got the wild shit in the back, not necessarily viewable by normal public unless they know what’s up (like secret menu at a for-real Asian restaurant), but up front some really useful shit was going on as well.

I’ve always theorized inside my own cultural anthropological head that the hidden link between dancehall and reggaeton was not just the simple geography of “well Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic really right there one checker jump over Haiti in the Caribbean” but also Tony Toca. You can try to convince me otherwise, but it’s gonna have to be over dominos, in person. Bring batteries for the boombox too, plus a big San Pellegrino’s in the bottle if you stopping at the corner market. Yeah, they got it, in the back cooler, by the orange juice.

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