Goldkicks

Maestro Fresh Wes - Poetry Is Black

I don't care to tackle the lyrical conceit of the good Maestro's Poetry Is Black, primarily because my appreciation of hip hop has little to do with it as a poetic form, and also because it's dated ("1991, son, and that's how I'm livin'"), de-fanged and cliched enough to provoke nothing more than a smirk, but the quick-clipped pace, rolling bass, and trumpet swells of a song like this, so indigenous to the hip-house era of the early 90s, sounds fresher and fresher after a year or so of being assaulted by the unholy union of French Touch house and blog-friendly hip hop.