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- Liz F.
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- Stoupe N' Flip
Professional distance. No longer easy. Most hip-hoppers dream of women that will understand them. We just want to play the dope tunes for you to sing over, catch our nuances, as we explore yours. No homo. No sonnet. Though we work on it every day. So does our reluctant maestro Stoupe. A muse he seems to have found in Ms. Liz Fullerton (a sample if you ain’t up on thangs). And we are here in Philly, the place where many dreams start and stop (and stay tuned for your tour stop). Stoupe must know that having a Lady Day is essential, a Diana Ross to a Berry Gordy. It is how sounds and labels are built. And Philly is Motown East and vise-versa. Nah mean.
The intimate vibe of the Kung Fu Necktie is straight-up Lynchian, inescapable swirls of unleashed spirits wash over us, but we showed up for the gig, we know what we’re in for, a tight show. “This shit sounds like a CD,” remarked Planet of Outerspace as I bellied up to the bar. Stoupe is as accomplished a musician as the sound police will allow for a producer/DJ to be. His musical landscapes are dark and eclectic, perfect for a songstress to strut her pain and pleasure around.
This album was recorded in NorCal apparently but it fits so well here tucked under the El, as me and Reef The Lost Cauze share an el out on the street, stage-right (yes, another name-drop). My main Illadelph man Flip, with a mixtape album on the way this week as well, makes the intros, he is more of this rugged domain, I’m just a decade-long visitor, though I have always been here in spirit. Tonight is more about the universal sound that the Dutch project speaks to. Something to soothe the inexplicable hate that claimed the life of young Sabina Rose less than a week ago in this emerging urban experiment of a neighborhood. It’s Always Shady In Philadelphia, or so it might seem. And the tatted chanteuse Liz Fullerton sings the soundtrack. She has it. Clearly. Enough pipes and enough swag to carry Stoupe’s modern-day Beethovenisms.
I only bring the truth to your disposable morning coffee read. You can choose to discredit what makes your insides turn, put another Helen Thomas out to pasture. Watch Treme and think New Orleans’ pain is your vacation. Disregard Vinnie Paz’s test-tube assertions about Obama. Shit, at this point, I think the C-in-C might have been spawned in the Bush/Cheney laboratory (sorry Barack, hard times my G). But the music doesn’t lie. Buy this album, go see Dutch live. Whatever you do, start thinking about the World Cup, think about what it means. It’s bigger than your little worries. Let good music like this guide your way this summer, even while Philly grapples for championship ground versus Chicago. Remember, we can’t all win, but we can all get high, in whatever way works for you.
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