Siblings and Shizzle

My sister Fizzle, (named for one of her heroes, Snoop Do double gg, obviously), is my automatic go-to in times of hip hop or R’n’B need. Her hourly slot on her university radio station aptly titled “Hip Hop Honeyz”, was a personal weekly highlight, serving up the latest in iced out joints and anything Westwood would give his bingo winged left arm to play gunshots over. I’ve lost count of the immense tunes which spilled out over the airwaves and revolutionised my Ipod.

It's hard not to love the kind of music which can transform a dingy student dive and feeble arm waves into an Atlanta crunk club hollering for some mass booty bouncing across a spotlit dancefloor. Everyone’s got a soft spot for pimping out their playlists, and I hope Fizzle will appreciate the few tunes I’ve corralled here for both her and your delectation

Where better to start than the namesake himself? It’s only Snoop Dogg himself with a brand spanking new wriggler of a song splattered with the kind of ice cold freshness only a collaboration with go-to zeitgeist Kid Cudi can bring to the table. Extracted from Snoop’s imminent re-release of “Malice N Wonderland”, “That Tree” ably mixes pumping beats and the tasty juxtaposition of the two so-relaxed-they’re-horizontal vocal stylings.



This spot necessitates the inclusion of this joke: Why does Snoop Dogg carry an umbrella?
………..
Fo’ drizzle ma nizzle
Immense.

Let’s take it back to the old school. Gorillaz are finally, beautifully back, with new album “Plastic Beach” due to drop March 8th, featuring this big bassy number which, fingers crossed, shows that there’s great things to come off this record. Oozing style and just begging to accompany ice rimmed cocktails in blazing sunshine, I’m going to renew that mid Noughties fan membership.




Ey up, it’s an electro take on the standard aerobics work out promoted by all self respecting rappers; a hip hop night out generally means better thigh toning and core strength posturing than you’ll find at your nearest Fitness First with the continual demands to get low (Lil’ John , I’m talking about you). For once, the addition of tinny chipmunk vocals aren’t as annoying as John Terry’s face and Luda manages to show some shred of dignity despite his recent jump onto the Justin Bieber bandwagon. The Filth remix soups it up with some vivid electro builds and an almost Justice-esque organ soundbite meaning sheer exhaustion after six solid minutes of hovering with your bum scraping the floor.



© Miranda Thompson 2010
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