*Between 5-6AM, Saturday
To every playlist, there is a purpose; a reason for its being, however philosophical, nostalgic, or casual.
It may even be practical.
The one at hand, blaring ‘One Beer’ from ‘MM… FOOD’, just so happens to remind me to eat breakfast. Especially on days when I open, and I am up earlier than the sun itself.
Nevermind that the track paints a picture more so of practically stumbling into one’s abode at some ungodly hour of night, and in feeling on the verge of untethering, you plow through a case of ale until you’re heady and slightly ill at the very last can. Instead, upon hearing the first few seconds, I’m sure to get off at the right stop at Washington, just so I may utilize their tiny but mighty Dunkin Donuts for a Brown Sugar Espresso – heavy on both the ice and the cold foam.
The immaculate sampling from ‘Huit octobre 1971’ takes the reins, and I ascend from the underground tunnel and out into the all but vacant streets of downtown, still going in and out of slumber. The calling card to this very track by MF DOOM, consistently deemed one of his more superior tracks, befits the blue-tinted sky; not yet morning and still shedding itself of the shade of midnight.
His lyrics, all the while, put stamina in my step.
But not too fast.
Just ongoing, and easy.
“Eat up all the emcees and drink ‘em under the table,
Like, “It’s on me, put it in my tab, kid…”
- ‘One Beer’
In fact, I dare advise that if one ever wants to go on a stroll (no need to copy me and do it at the crack of dawn), time your pacing to that of the flow of DOOM himself. Rather than being stochastic or elongated, he is conversational, like someone keeping up a somewhat mindless yet filling discussion with you so that you stay awake on your journey.
To wherever it is that you’re heading to.
About three minutes and some change is my favorite part, as I keep away from the main street, and instead follow the loop and its elevated trains for the morning. The sudden break from the established fabric of the track, alongside the incoming rattle and whistling breaks of the orange line. It always sounded like someone turning on a television set, and right as it switches to life, what comes up is the Saturday morning cartoons.
As it happens, it is indeed Saturday, and like a child engrossed in an episode of ‘The Fantastic Four’ over a bowl of cereal, I envelop myself in the comfort of my surroundings.
Dr. Doom goes over his dastardly plan, while I’m slowly crawling up Wabash and passing the Jewelry District.
By the time I get to the store and make for my key, we’ve left ‘MM… FOOD’ in exchange for ‘Madvillainy’. I open the gate and race for the alarm that mocks the feeble three minutes I have to disarm it. The trip and stumble intro to ‘Figaro’ only gives further soundtrack to it, as I run to the back door, type in the code to unlock it, throw my things on to the already messy community table, and finally reach the infernal white beeping box that now beeps faster; almost as if at the sight of me just getting there in the knick of time.
I input the numbers, the alarm ceasing.
DOOM has already broken into his verse, which, as an avid listener to this track alone, means one thing:
I managed to do that all in 15 seconds, which is how long it takes before he actually comes in.
A personal triumph, I declare it. But I decide to waste no more time. I pause the track, stash my headphones, then bring the album back up to hit ‘Money Folder’.
Not so much conversational, but a good thick beat to join the ‘CLANK-CLANK’ of the coins, and the ‘SWISH-SWISH’ of the weathered bills as I count them. Between numbers, I rap alongside.
“Beware, do not touch mic, be careful;
And just like he said, I coulda told ya –
MF, the holder of a boulder, Money Folder…”
- ‘Money Folder’
The track itself is 3:02. I count five minutes for the drawer to be counted, so I’m still a little slow.
‘Or perhaps not’, I assure myself, as I head out to the sales floor and begin flicking on the lights, and waking up the registers. ‘In fact, not so much slow, as you are actually thorough’.
I’ll take that, I suppose.
I pause the track once more, and move for the second gate, letting in the assault of what is now bridging on full-fledged morning sunlight. After unlocking the door, and turning on the sign, I forgot that the silence can be chilly. I head behind the counter and bring out the store iPad, already signed into the designated YT Music account.
The theme of ‘Madvillainy’ felt fitting, so I filed through its tracklist, and settled on the great one:
‘All Caps’.
“And he won’t stop till he got the masses,
And show ‘em what they know not through flows of hot molasses…”
- ‘All Caps’
The first two hours are always abysmally dormant, therefore leaving all the more room for me to nurse my Espresso and people-watch. Rather than the even pacing from before with the very first track of the morning, DOOM is much more assertive in ‘All Caps’, establishing the temperament of a gradually built-up character who is lyrically lethal as well as containing an undercurrent of no good.
Nevertheless, he blends into the waking of the day. I myself couldn’t probably make him out in the ever-growing flow that begins to form steadily outside our doors.
Retail workers with their IDs dangling. Flight attendants and pilots are hauling their luggage and the bags under their eyes. Cars flank them on the left side, where the street lies, and I pity the ones behind the wheel who dare to continue believing that driving downtown is ever a good idea.
We’ve trains for the morning.
Trains, buses, and walks to the beat of a villain; “The Worst Guy”, in fact, who, without his chrome mask, and now an earthly vessel (RIP), can very well be anywhere amongst the civilians.
However, as long as he puts verse to my venture and keeps me productive rather than the usual groggy mess, I’ll not mind his supposedly evil deeds.
Every rap legend has a part to play in the epic of their genre, and he plays his – the mad wordsmith, who indeed has words to menacingly destroy the monotony of any time of day.
No antithesis of a hero is necessary while he spits.
After all, one should much rather conquer the day than merely save it.
And have a villainous theme song all throughout.
About The Author
Viviana Ramirez
Viviana Ramirez - the real name behind several writing and artistic pseudonyms - was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois. From an early age, she was a music admirer of many genres and artists ahead of her time, and such drove her to at first pursue a career in music, then performing arts, film, and media thereafter, and then ultimately in professional writing, wherein she currently resides. With all the experience she has in the latter to support, she has been published several times in both independent and academic publications, spanning from genres as sprawling as creative fiction to creative non-fiction, respectively.
- Viviana Ramirez#molongui-disabled-link
- Viviana Ramirez#molongui-disabled-link
- Viviana Ramirez#molongui-disabled-link
- Viviana Ramirez#molongui-disabled-link
