When I wait for the 453 from Elephant and Castle, I stand around that bit outside the north-side tube station. You've got glorious fucking London on one side stretching out into St George's circus like a chilled cunt waving sandstone around like it was sweating in beige money before reaching south london's grandest station, waterloo, which nearly has a self-explanative name in itself, but it's such a smackhead it can't even do that right Oh but wait, don't run away from all that, keep going over the bridge. Because if you turn around from the velvet gold pavements of north Lambeth, you start meandering through these vaguely greyish bluey brown slabs you could piss clean.
Two junkies run through the air and then realise they were always and only pedalling sideways across the ground.
Pass them.
You get to the bus stop for the 453, that's right, where were we.
All right.
And there's just, just this guy fucking a pigeon.
Really, just, that's not on.
Anyway.
The point of the story is,
You have to listen to these men.
If you don't like it then fuck off, if you like anything old school at all like brand nubian, de la soul, nwa, ice cube or whatever, just listen you fucking swan.
The first two albums are defining. By 1994 they had become as good as you can get, just as old skool ended, you have Organised Konfusion at the height of political and intelligently fast rap provided in a package of sax, bass and drum samples that make two flawless records.
Organised Konfusion (1991)
Stress: The Extinction Agenda (1994)
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