Cesl

I first heard Cesl during what now seems like ancient history. The Lemondrop Kid. He was a brash, artistic and adorable member of the Futurelics. Think Log Cabin Crew only more Silver Lakey before Silver Lakey meant Silver Lakey. The year was 2001, maybe. I bought the tape from the old homie, Dave. The venues were dark and graffiti’ed and beautiful. The times were the best. And the worst. 

Flash forward to a couple of years ago. Cesl was now Stephen Buchanan and, at his behest, I went to see him perform with The Vault Theater Co. in an anti-gentrification play in downtown LA. He was less Lemondrop Kid and more Music Man. It felt great to see his evolution. That us rap fucks could transcend the backpack and sing songs, and dance. I was inspired. I’m mostly writing this because Cesl fucking inspires the fucking shit out of me.  

Just recently, he reached out to me with his new project, Strange Hop. Strange Hop, out June 16th, finds Cesl back to rapping. Sort of. Strange Hop combines crazy weird beats with a measured, almost spoken word flow. Emergency sirens clash with synth bass lines over fuck you, bboy stancematics. Gone is the hyper-syllabic, frenetic, early 2000s cadence. Cesl seems comfortable saying more with less. The beats are given space. The rhymes are gravelly and effected but considerably more melodic, almost sung.  

Strange Hop is eating out late. It’s walking down alleys after the after hours. Fuck it, it’s amazing panoramic sweeping shots of downtown a rooftop. It’s standing on an overpass as the city’s arteries blur beneath your feet. It’s a steep dark staircase to somewhere you’ve always wanted to check out. It’s the bar being demolished to make way for new “luxury” apartments. It’s the soundtrack to hiding, heart pounding, from the hoards of hipster zombies. 

Above all his exploits throughout LA’s creative belly, it’s dope to have Cesl back.