—GANGSTA RAP BREATHES NEW BREATH INTO GANGSTA RAP—
Formerly Respectable West Coast Rap Label Delicious Vinyl Confounds Faithful Fans By Releasing Gangsta Rap’s The Glockumentary
Every musical genre has one artist that defines it.
Grunge had Nirvana.
Django Reinhardt is synonymous with gypsy jazz.
And gangsta rap will forever be equated with N.W.A.
Big fuggin’ deal. Has there ever a group bold enough to name themselves after their chosen genre?
Get ready busters, because now there is: Gangsta Rap.
Meet Murder Mike, Du-Rag, and DJ Ballistics, three house shoes-wearing cronies from Compton.
Meet Gangsta Rap.
Finger waves, dookie braids, and curl activator are back with a vengeance.
Beatdowns, beepers, and A-K spray are here to stay. And Gangsta Rap’s The Glockumentary is the album of the year. “Well, it would’ve been album of the year in 1988,” says Murder Mike, Gangsta Rap’s jheri-curled giant. “We just couldn’t get it put out until 2008.”
Lead-off single “House Shoes” (peep the video at http://www.youtube.com/deliciousvinyl) directed by notable cinematic also-ran Coke Daniels, offers fans a malt-liquored taste of what they can witness in gut-churning excess with the movie Gangsta Rap: The Glockumentary (due on DVD from Th!nkFilm on out February 5, 2008). And “House Shoes” — a tribute to those cheap-ass faux-corduroy footwear so beloved in the ‘hood — is but one of the eleven songs on The Glockumentary. Consider it a soundtrack that can stand apart from the film that inspired it. It’s kinda like Six-String Samurai that way.
“Bitch Stop Lyin”, “My Mama’s A Bitch” and “N***a N***a N***a” are just three of Gangsta Rap’s belowest common denominator tracks designed to puncture teflon-coated eardrums. The Glockumentary makes Parental Advisory Warning stickers seem as inadequate as sandbags on a New Orleans levee. As Gangsta Rap’s ruthlessest rapper Du-Rag thoughtfully observes: “Our music is not suitable for children, who are sure to love it.”
“I can’t possibly see how this is sort of regressive, profane, been-done-before gangsta rap is going to work,” one L.A. Times journalist said upon heading into a grossly-underattended listening session for The Glockumentary. An hour later the same hack was headed to the emergency ward, his guts having exploded from laughing so hard. “As long as we put ‘em in the hospital,” says Du Rag, “I don’t care how they get there.”
Gangsta Rap was a surprise signing to Delicious Vinyl, the long-respected Los Angeles home to groups like Tone-Loc and The Pharcyde. When asked about the signing, Delicious Vinyl president Michael Ross admitted, “We’re officially hemorrhaging credibility like there’s no tomorrow.” When asked about this dispiriting comment from the head of their label, Du-Rag had this to say: “Hemorrhaging, that means they bleeding right? Cool.” And Murder Mike clarified: “What he mean ‘like no tomorrow’? There is no tomorrow, fool!”
If that’s true, and Gangsta Rap never lives to contribute another opus, well, Du-Rag has but one request:
“When I die put D’s on my hearse.” Gangsta Rap is gangsta rap. And vice versa.
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