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Now available on iTunes, Amazon and everywhere else on digital.
BWAN 'Wake The Fuck Up' EP
presented by Denizen Kane, digital release on G4 West
Bwan Wake the Fuck Up EP
Bwan is sitting in a rattan chair, crowned with a fitted cap. The backdrop is the Bay Area, posters of Huey and Bruce, a spiraling murder rate, the muddy wake of Oscar Grant and the Richmond High incident. Blunt smoke and the smell of burning city wafts through the air. Instead of a pimp cup, my man sips master cleanse (lemon juice + cayenne + water) from a plastic bottle. A young man raised in the post-conscious era, checking for Mos Def and Nas, a universalist with the requisite sprinkle of West Coast swag, a Pinoy of the diaspora, a student and teacher, Bwan is rightly wary of anyone trying to corral such a voluminous history into a neatly packaged box. “Just say I’m conscious of life in general,” he says sullenly. Despite his lineage and the influences he name-checks, to this writer’s ears he sounds more like Black Thought—his kinetic, athletic style resembles young Tariq’s protean flow—getting socked by Jim Brown, and then driven to the hospital by Bill Withers. Gritty reportage, revolutionary rage, and the ability to mine the experiences of his people with tenderness. Underrated values in a despondently well-behaved rap market. One-hit wonders treat their disposability like fate and fake gangsters are as hard as Yoplait. No wonder Bwan titled his seething debut EP Wake the Fuck Up. Written in the gloom of Fog City, it is a brief compendium of styles, eclectic in sound, ecumenical in spirit, and utterly inspired in writing and delivery.
A television gurgles in the corner, beaming in the latest news from Babylon across its single eye. A BART cop throws a hapless drunk headfirst through plate glass. The drunk staggers and the cop lays him down on the platform. It’s a scene that’s all too familiar. Bwan shakes his head. I can’t help but recall his impassioned plea on “O.G.”: “What happened to our purity? These pigs are a matter of national security. We need to double-check our system more thoroughly. I’m raising a girl—this ain’t the world I want her to see.” Say word. A string of Bay area police brutality incidents have put another twist on the phrase “swine flu,” and there is no pop-culture vaccination. We may need to dig deeper into the medicine chest to find the proper remedy, and last frontier MCs like Bwan may be one of our few remaining artistic hopes.
Yes, it’s refreshing to hear a young lion speak on what’s really going on, but it’ll have to be more than refreshment the young Gs serve. It’ll have to be enlightenment. As Bwan intones on “Drug Lawz”: “It’s ‘bout the dolla dolla bills that kills our culture, suppressing the mention that threatens the power structure. Our next bet’s like selling an ounce to snuff up until our tax dollars come to cuff us.” An incisive social critique wrapped in a pristine delivery and a barely contained fury. In a cesspool industry, Bwan may be outspent by the majors, but he sure as hell won’t be out-rapped. “Okay, enough,” he says, clicking off the TV, where the BART incident is being replayed a fourth time. “Gotta hit the lab again.” I’m reminded of what Rakim would say about his process—that he lived, observed, and then wrote. It gives me hope that in a time of blatant disconnect between our conditions and pop culture, a new breed of MCs is still speaking truth to power with undeniable skill. Put Bwan at the head of that class. His debut disc is a must-have. “It ain’t the age of Aquarius. The face of America’s scariest, most perilous of eras emerges. Wake the fuck up!” Two times.
- Ezekiel Kane, Fog City, 2009
Backdrop of the Bay Area. A spiraling murder rate, in the wake of Oscar Grant and the Richmond High incident. A young buck rhyming with the focus of a seasoned vet. Already has a mythical mixtape floating around—the Weather Undersound (along with Mandeep and MC Humble), is knee-deep in the struggle, and a father figure. Bwan raps with
A kinetic, athletic style that resembles the protean flow of early Black Thought, drinking Kool-Aid listening to “Shook Ones Pt. II” on a PlaySkool record player. Homie flows like Jim Brown running down hapless tacklers. Jim Brown. Gritty reportage, a revolutionary rage, and the ability to mine the experiences of his people with tenderness. Written in the gloom of Fog City, in the cloud of conditions, It has you wondering what young homie could do with daylight.
Bwan: I’d say my style is more universal – with a little bit of West Coast influence…but nothing that you can box into a category…I’m conscious of life in general…
Three influences: Mos Def, Denizen Kane, Nas
“Wake the F--- Up” –the opening…talks about what the whole album is going to be about…showcases lyrical skills – not as conceptual
“OG” – because of its social and political heaviness and meaning…implications and how much it relates to issues – not just in the bay, but everywhere
“Drug Laws” – last track, grimy old school feel, features two of the homies…
exploring multidimensions of hip hop through the years…ecumenical style and flavor…production and lyrics…
“Golden Years” f/ denizen kane
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Ich liebe ja Metizo's Zeug, hoffe da kommt ein ganzes Album mit Isaiha.
