God Bless Tiny Tim Cratchit, who first kept the dream of happiness and the hope of a livable income alive through Dickens. And God Bless Shawn Jackson, who keeps the dream of good taste and the hope of listenable Hip-Hop alive in me.
Shawn has always been brick-and-mortar solid in his understanding of the foundations of our favored genre, and he executes with the precision and brutality of a firing squad. Perhaps his toughest struggle is joining his perfect pitch with the progression of a new era. He makes consistent, classic-sounding records that can easily go awash in the squall of young, flash-in-the-pan turdiness that is oh so attractive during the ignorant blaze of summer months.
I’ll always hold a candle for this man, and I think his new album, Brand New Old Me, is worth your time. Especially for you heads that are looking to play something a little closer to the chest.