Should you take anything in Hip Hop seriously right now? On one hand a former correctional officer that borrowed a convicted drug kingpin’s surname is currently running shit. Unemployment is at an all-time high, yet you’re supposed to feel a crime against Hip Hop has been committed if you didn’t buy an authentic copy of Jay-Z and Kanye West’s gold-plated album. And somehow Kno and MarQ Spekt are perceived to be on opposite sides of the spectrum, even though the boasts to “make you bleed on your chain” on Machete Vision are equally unbelievable. With the above in mind, taking anything at face value in Hip Hop seems ludicrous, because rappers rhyming about what they actually do each day (press junkets, festivals, waiting for car services) is about as exciting as watching a ceiling fan rotate.
Within this context, Machete Vision is a beautifully violent, entertaining and surprisingly introspective listen. Each single released thus far has been accompanied by a gory, second-person narrative all with the stated goal of “returning high-minded grime to its rightful place in the pantheon of Rap.” For about one-third of the album both Kno and MarQ offer a mix of 2011 Horrorcore mixed with the grindhouse cinema aesthetic of Robert Rodriguez’s similarly named 2010 Mexploitation flick, Machete. When Action Bronson starts talking about blunt smoking hookers that take checks as payment and slide their panties to the side to piss in public on “Roadhouse,”
it’s not clear if you should put your lighters in the air or reach for some Purell.
The heaviest compliment you can give Machete Vision is that the title and the concept behind it are both a bit refreshingly misleading. The album is sequenced so the threats of decapitation and forcing your mother and/or sister to give fellatio segue as naturally as such jarring subjects possibly can into heavier matters. But if such talk offends you, the singles, accompanying blurbs and album artwork should have been a sufficient warning that this isn’t your kind of party. It turns out that MarQ doesn’t only have beef with dumb ass rappers, but ignorance in general. When he rhymes, “I try to tell em / They ain’t tryin’ to listen yo / Mama still praying to Obama to give her hope” on “Opium Den,” he’s not just admonishing a crop of disappointing rappers, but the disenfranchised society that churns them out. Interestingly enough, none of the transitions into these very real issues that the latter half of the album focuses on feel forced or contrived.
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Anyone who listened to 2010’s Death Is Silent, has proof that Kno can do dark and sinister as well as anyone this side of RZA. But here, he’s lock and step with MarQ in terms of when to replace the grimy stuff with lighter fare featuring strings, horns and a small, rotating cast of vocalists who manipulate the negative space. It’s very likely the owners of Death Is Silent also have MarQ’s prevous work with School Of Sharks in their possession. And while there is some overlap, this is a very, natural and organic pairing that displays the growth both artists have shown since their last outing. There are far too many artists in Hip Hop that long for the Golden Era days of the early-to-mid ’90s, and fall into the trap of either copying their source material or using that inspiration to mask subpar skills under the guise of being conscious. Six bucks provides you further proof that Kno and MarQ Spekt don’t fall into that trap.
