deadverse recordings

Discography

For The Ones

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ITUNES Bandcamp
  • Label: deadverse recordings
  • Release: 25 Sep, 2011
  • Catalog No: DV003
  • Long Haul

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    • Lyrics

      I carry my world on these shoulders like Atlas.
      It's the return of this angry brown bastard.
      I've had it! Wack crews out flanked by the Massive.
      Last thing you say bout Deadverse is we passive.
      Proactive in snapping jawbones
      Rearranging tht facial
      Tearin' out tht larynx "cause you vocals too nasal!" (am vox)
      Powder puff nigga!
      How the fuck nigga?!?
      Cant even finish my thought!?
      sold to highest bidders.
      M-P-Cs don't make you J- Dilla.
      How you twisting tht grill don't make you mo realer.
      Peace to HouseShoes. My Nigga knows truth.
      Regroup for the ones. These acts got me souped.
      I've trooped for decades wit mud-caked Timbs. Ain't here to make friends, forgave my own sins.
      Why pretend we breaking bread when you hate my every fiber?
      recognize these liar, offering hands soaked in blood of my kin
      Below 20 hertz is where my anger begins

      Sub sonic rage no rational thought ... Involved.
      Invade the sub conscious....problem solved
      It all stems from yesses and yalls. Heads tht are still here
      We here for long hauls.

      Trial and error, Spike we can't do Mo' Better and these Blues are now midnight like Snipes. Might sound contrite, but it ain't black and white no more. More like who vegan? Who eating Green?
      Its Way beyond C.R.E.A.M. cause there's no in between.
      Circumstance, got me wildin' like Sheen.
      Crushed under crumbling American Dream
      These pop stars don't speak unless they spoken to..
      Subject matter ranges from mansions to bentley coupes.
      What's left to recoup if they just downloading you? It ain't about what this world is owing you.
      Mindstate exposed the hoe in you.
      I more concerned wit how I'm flowin' duke.
      Time to show and prove.
      Ruthless on the mic,
      Incite riots in mere seconds
      nice wit these weapons.
      You left Disease stricken.
      Vindictive voice of those trampled by progress.
      Here to sabotage you so called authors. Journalist held on short leash by governments.
      As the Masses kept dormant.
      They Fed more shit than spit by them Mormons.

      Sub sonic rage no rational thought ... Involved.
      Invade the sub conscious....problem solved
      It all stems from yesses and yalls. Heads that are still here
      We here for long hauls.

      Sub sonic rage no rational thought ... Involved.
      Invade the sub conscious....problem solved
      It all stems from yesses and yalls. Heads that are still here
      We here for long hauls.

      I Wont shuck and jive for the quick buck.
      I erupt for endurance.
      Enduring decades defined by music malnourished.
      Bought by the rich but this meant for the poorest.
      Spent half my life persecuted by so called rap purists.
      Perhaps I'm too boorish
      Hard headed Honduran
      IconAclasstic disease NO Way you can cure this.
      Malignant mind contagious
      spread through words on lined pages.
      Content Outrageous
      We talk wit crossfaders.
      see you can't gauge us,
      There'll be no friendly wagers.
      Before the dice drop. Already snatched your paper.
      Hit up Ace of Fades and got my wig shaped up.
      This occurs before you form the words,
      "I just got stuck"
      Read your retinal response and just called your bluff.
      Son i was raised in the days when jewels were truck,
      Rings were 4 fingered and our music thumped!
      And If you didn't do work?
      you Kept mouth shut!

      Sub sonic rage no rational thought ... Involved.
      Invade the sub conscious....problem solved
      It all stems from yesses and yalls. Heads that are still here
      We here for long haul.

  • Built Hood

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    • Lyrics

      Wit Defiant delivery devise these rhymes
      For as much as times change corners still push dimes.
      Like those who came before, first instinct to climb.
      Eyes raised to new heights, played gods ,thoughts Devine.
      Hip hop our shrine.
      Combine raw talent wit knowledge once hidden.
      A New millennia but free synapse forbidden.
      Bang beats on tabletops synced to life's rhythm.
      Hidden idioms reveal that true wisdom.
      Assumptions all crash along wit whole system.
      Rebirth reverts to classic con-dition.
      "so listen, to what we say, cause this type of shit happens every day"
      So what? Now we paid?
      ...Feels like the craft got neutered and spayed.
      Whos true to this game?
      ... IconAclass smashing grills on these lames.
      Pretty niggas keep screaming bout fashion and fame.
      While My gutter-bred-goons get set to take aim.

      All my niggas Built hood.
      And up to no good.
      Wild out!
      Cause we ain't understood.

      All my niggas Built hood.
      And up to no good.
      Wild out!
      Cause we ain't understood.

      Circumstance supplants the mission
      Obscene convenience leads to sloppy tacticians.
      Where you end up is rarely envisioned
      The trick is to constantly change your positions.
      Staggered attack when we blackout,
      fronts get smashed out.
      Three rocks drop 4,5,6 and I cash out.
      Devout drunken monk set to pass out.
      Still Prepared for a 12 round bout.
      Y'all got no clue what we all about.
      Its Deadverse Muthafukas... bump this loud!

      All my niggas Built hood.
      And up to no good.
      Wild out!
      Cause we ain't understood.

      All my niggas Built hood.
      And up to no good.
      Wild out!
      Cause we ain't understood.(x4)

      Wild out!
      Cause we ain't understood

      Permeate that straight gutter,
      Gifted griot
      verbalized the pains of my peoples
      Topple your state structured steeples...
      Most your vocals need mutes, fuck an eq
      ... agendas mad see- thru
      Modern day Madmen ain't actin
      They evil!
      Light a match and play Nero.
      Scorched earth tactics perhaps they might hear you.
      wit Sonny on this, prefer when they fear you.
      Macheté type shit, I'll be Danny Trejo.
      And this time...
      Te metiste en un lio!

      All my niggas Built hood.
      And up to no good.
      Wild out!
      Cause we ain't understood.

      All my niggas Built hood.
      And up to no good.
      Wild out!
      Cause we ain't understood. (x4)

  • Problems ft. Oddateee

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    • Lyrics

      When you hear them gunshots
      It's a problem
      When you see the flashing lights it's a problem
      When the spot clear out
      That's a problem.
      If you the only nonwhite? You got problems!

      Far from a criminal, live where there's criminal behavior.
      Everybody out here searching for their savior.
      they snatched your Jesus piece?consider it a favor.
      Superstitions won't save ya
      Blades alter appearances like el Chacho: my tailor.
      Murders occur wit machetes on the regular.
      Me? I stay secular.
      can dig wanting to pray this all away. Problem is you just prey for predatory proteges.
      While you await the end of days,
      The wealthy done built their pearly gates.
      Out here evil takes so many shapes.
      We tend to meet early fates.
      Trust too many fakes.
      Idolize those who imitate.
      Bastardize all who create.
      These Problems aggravate.
      The starving salivate
      The complex incarcerates
      And we just took their bait.

      When you hear them gunshots
      It's a problem
      When you see the flashing lights it's a problem
      When the spot clear out
      That's a problem.
      If you the only nonwhite? You got problems!

  • No Frills

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    • Lyrics

      Display of restraint when speaking to heads that just ain't
      On par.
      We, Feathered and tarred
      worn scars from battles where opponents left broken and charred.
      Don't wanna breathe in a world where every rappers a star.
      smirk a little recollect puzzles I dissect correct grammars not an issue to the MC
      Bastard child, Grip a mic, Born a lefty.
      Forgotten legend like my nigga Shawn Kemp be.
      Now how the fuck did ignorant become trendy?
      Million muthafukas rhyme, most of those empty.
      Just gettin heated now nigga don't stress me
      rapper hold a heater down?
      ...Nigga don't tempt
      Babyboy finally teething now, think he can spit?
      Breaths daily drama, rely on villain's karma...
      Control the mic like a snake charmer.
      Bum like them Dharmas. Flesh? my first and last Armor.

      No-Frills

      The message instilled
      Some forgot
      What it means to be real.
      You know the deal.
      Back,spun boom,bap, that feel
      Spit cause you gotta spit.
      ill ly-ric
      MC Come equipt BX to the Bricks x2

      Classic core, modern day malcontent
      Vent frustration on wax for those with Timbs on neck.
      Catch me on the block, I'm most probably bent.
      If there are strings to pull they most definitely hemp.
      95% of my crew go to stores to cash checks.
      99% leave vexed
      4 out 9 love the new York Mets
      2 my nigga get ill on them Technics decks.
      got rowdy muthafukas born to cave your chest
      quite a few'll break you down wit straight intellect.
      A working class hero is something to be
      Parlayed my situation to become an MC.
      Got that 9 to 5 paradigm and still do work.
      misconstrue books you view, put your head to the dirt.

      The message instilled
      Some forgot
      What it means to be real.
      You know the deal.
      Back,spun boom,bap, that feel
      Spit cause you gotta spit.
      ill ly-ric
      MC Come equipt BX to the Bricks X3

  • Crushed

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    • Lyrics

      All these lightweight niggas wit they skinny jeans on... They get CRUSHED
      Talk shit on this block you
      Get CRUSHED
      Anything we touch it gets crushed!
      You get crushed!

      I kept the concept compact
      I mc, you rap
      I breath spit truth, you paid to act.
      Talk slick young blood, you will get slapped
      Ain't nothing round here but tht ol boom-bap.
      Y'all trendhoppers ...we straight hip hoppers
      Fuck yo youtube vids on how to Spit proper
      drop an ill verse to crack your brow's chakra.
      U straight imposter
      Even your child's foster!
      Old English i speak Chaucer.
      I Bet that lost ya.
      ignorance will cost ya.
      Motiv on the Techs
      Big G's the enforcer.

      All these lightweight niggas wit they skinny jeans on... They get CRUSHED
      Talk shit on this block you
      Get CRUSHED
      Anything we touch it gets crushed!
      You get crushed!

      Such, animosity amongst mere men.
      I hear your words but me can't fear them.
      That type of nigga sent to buck your trend.
      Plastic muthafukas playing Barbie and Ken.
      Playtime is over I'm here to offend.
      The Muslim, the Jew, and all them Christians.
      Abort control systems. Spark original thought.
      hunt wack rappers for sport.
      Peace to my heads from North Newark. The Minority Report.
      Rabs Riconatti grimy from the start
      Embark on missions
      with them Mudslingas,
      Komplx injects Labtek genetics
      Detect the frauds
      in an instant they deaded.
      Call me Bill Collector,
      avoid my calls
      I'll crush your credit.

      All these lightweight niggas wit they skinny jeans on... They get CRUSHED
      Talk shit on this block you
      Get CRUSHED
      Anything we touch it get crushed!
      You get crushed! x4

  • Roots

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    • Lyrics

      Back to my roots
      Back to the truth
      Back to the mic
      On stage or the booth. x4

      This all built on syllables systematically added and subtracted.
      You can feel the type quality verse I've crafted. Wide array of styles I've done mastered. I've roamed the stage straight, I've rocked that shit plastered. Tossing Monitors on Avenue A,
      Way back in the day. Beneath the Sheer Terror of Noise boils that pure anger wit poise that left them toys awestruck. Left of center , but my core is that raw stuff. Paragraphs potent pack the blast of a sawed-off.
      Keep that guard up... before you get caught off.

      Back to my roots
      Back to the truth
      Back to the mic
      On stage or the booth. x2

      It's a jungle sometime, it make you wonder what creates this hunger? What makes a muthafucka give up so much of self?
      It can't just be wealth. Intangible angles, they definitely felt.
      Can my, peoples forgive times traded for backstages?
      ...blood spilt on blank pages
      20+ in ... I still ain't jaded.
      I won't front tho... There's days I hate it.
      The instability of life that keeps me stable.
      Blind passion for the mic and turntables.
      The irrational love of milkcrates
      ..The need touch an MPC, on every beat I make.
      These ain't recessive traits.
      They well placed like selected breaks.
      And when it's broken down,
      it comes down to taste.
      Every breath analog, off of two- inch tape.
      Rare when dialog don't match my tongue's weight.

      Back to my roots
      Back to the truth
      Back to the mic
      On stage or the booth. x2

      I've heard applause and boo's
      Yeah my ego's BEEN bruised.
      Travelled solemn paths in aftermath of disasters.
      Pain produces laughter.
      Find solace in old tapes by the Blastmaster.
      Never been gases up.
      A realist on the mic.
      Surrealist when I write.
      Perhaps my honesty got a couple niggas feelin tight.
      My mental feelin nice.
      Mind evolving.
      Gathered strength from every moment I'm involved in.
      Im the Answer and the problem
      The past and the prospect.
      iconAclass...So vast you can't stop this.

      Back to my roots
      Back to the truth
      Back to the mic
      On stage or the booth. x4

  • Out of Patience

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    • Lyrics

      Unobstructed by these primitive optics.
      ...Grew up where even our basic thoughts were toxic.
      Remedies prescribed by street corner doctors.
      Scrolls written down by the filthiest hands of realest authors.
      breath becomes torture.
      Struggle ingrained in this culture.
      Seeds to revolt contained deep within this rhyme Structure
      Your confusing a myriad of myths. Twisted into half truths.
      You get the gist?
      So many said tht I ain't shit.
      well I ain't fond of y'all neither.
      Elitist bitch niggas never meant to be receivers.
      Grew up on DJ Run when he was getting skeezed by skeezers
      ...way before he found Jesus.
      Styles pass from flat tops to Ceasars.
      Roots remain planted...
      I'll make all of y'all believers.
      Duet wit GaGa if you a diamond caked diva...
      Never sip... I straight neck that chivas.
      Never got the chance to rock at the Fever.
      Never did backspins at the Roxy either.
      Just tht spic sippin quarter-waters bought at bodegas,
      u called me "mida-mida"?
      Be happy I chose to grip a microphone and not that heater.
      Hip hop my life, can't take no breathers.
      noise just a frequency of anger tht seethe up,
      Between you and me? All this smiling hurts my chest,
      real talk. Y'all penthouse niggas keep flaunting that shit.
      Got, armies starving on the ground-floor and We calling next! this verse is a hieroglyph.
      95% of populous turn corporate tricks.
      only True grit left, in Coen brothers flicks.

      Chorus:
      Lint filled pockets only buy inspiration
      a nation of millions subdued by corporations.
      Original thought clicked off like broadcast stations.
      ....I'm out of patience. x2

      we compassionate now? Go ask the Haitians.
      Most yall.. act rappers Act like junior Reagans.
      Yeah real smart, like Sarah Palins
      Unemployment rates rise while the middle class' Failing.
      How many generations before we all Sieg heiling?
      Thought Melle Mel spoke the Message back in the '82?
      It took Kanye West to tell America the truth.
      Even WITH a Black president.
      We #2 when born with melanin
      #3 if you booked as a felon.
      #4 if u short on cash for What they selling.
      ...Hope you peep how deep their evil's dwelling.
      Knowledge runs deeper, you want it? Delve in.
      Ever wonder why d's down wit the Melvins?
      I associate myself wit heads that never gave in!
      Only thing I'm saving is my sanity
      This my therapy.
      How many more would listen if I said that this What God is telling me?
      y'all portray a heaven wit platinum stacks
      When in truth you suck the Gold-man's sack.
      All I got is words and they bound to take that.
      This the...Land of the free where we've all been trapped.
      Feel blessed to alive to watch it all collapse.

      Chorus:
      Lint filled pockets only buy inspiration
      a nation of millions subdued by corporations.
      Original thought clicked off like broadcast stations.
      ....I'm out of patience. x2

  • Therapy ft. Komplx

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    • Lyrics

      Diabolical in nature
      5'6" in stature
      Delusions of grandeur
      Can't wait for the rapture
      take all these Christ yappin bastards.
      The meek inherit mere crumbs from their Masters.
      Populous taught by illiterate pastors.
      Scrolls decompose under paws of a sphinx.
      While heads still think investments are watches and links?
      Enough to keep us sick. wit no healthcare.
      These economics demand a class on Welfare.
      servitude aint like Mr belvedere
      See thats a sit-com
      But I won't sit calm while Tea baggers get armed.
      Racism lost all it's charm
      now institutional norm
      Irrational like chest strapped to bomb
      Talk like this make the pundits swarm.
      Bobby Fisher of this shit
      Checkmate wit mere pawn

      They bound to ask What we on, see this my therapy,
      I don't really perform.
      Just spit enough truth watch pysches get torn.
      There is no song! Word is born x2

      Ingested rhymes like acid
      A tad bit asthmatic
      Connect to basslines through divine mathematics
      Find me adjusting rabbit ears just to get more static.
      Still guzzle malt liquor
      another Bad habit.
      idiosyncratic
      I ain't mad, muthafuka I'm rabid.
      Reduce populations to panic.
      Horizon holds havoc
      Chaos seems like we planned it
      Some doubt the eagle ever landed.
      thought seems random
      truth held for ransom.
      Hold mics in tandem.
      The choir sings hymns
      shits for children
      Content too thin
      New worlds we building.
      Blanks get filled in
      mouths get smashed
      Like glass ceilings
      Yo son, Fuck your bitch feelins!
      Forget every last fact you thought you ever knew now Swallow more Riddlin.
      We ain't done living!

      They bound to ask What we on, see this my therapy,
      I don't really perform.
      Just spit enough truth watch pysches get torn.
      There is no song! Word is born x2

      There is no song! Word is born

  • Reintroducing That Raw Sound

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    • Lyrics

      Prose written in poetic form
      informs and infuriates
      The Color and shape of sound to come...
      Succumbs to ignorant mindscapes.
      No time for these lightweights,
      Debates have a magic garden feel.
      ... beg your pardon but I'm chuckling with the chuckle-patch
      Don't try to match synapse
      My mental runs laps backwards.
      Conversations turn awkward. your verses are backed with tracked laughter.
      You can backtrack to my first chapter
      ... you think it really helps?
      You Thought I was shelved?
      I resurrected myself!
      Played the hand dealt and best believe got aces up sleeves.
      iconAclass lifts the world off it's knees.
      connect at base level give or take a degree.
      Still walk wit that confident bop,
      Earth caked wit dirt and debris
      Hip hop? It balances chi.
      Struggle wit them voices
      subtle to background.
      got crowds holding they breath like each ones profound.

      Chorus:
      Ain't fucking around...
      Reintroduce that raw sound.
      That thump like a migraine
      Welcome to my brain.
      It's rugged terrain.
      advance to next plain. x2

      Persistent inquisitive persona
      It Ain't no misnomer.
      Reluctant performer.
      Precise wordsmith,
      assassinates with verbs and pronouns.
      The stage is hallowed ground. rituals and rites involve
      58 mics. 5 basic elements.
      The rest is irrelevant.
      Verses packed tight like them tenements.
      Competition sound sweet like Entenamann's
      Better yet weak like your sentiments.
      rhymes spit, better pay my rent.
      Trust the god it's more than steam that I vent!
      I'll Charlie Sheen this shit!
      you ain't seen my best!
      catch the back of my spoon across your flapping lips.
      If your yapping persists
      Did it happen to quick?
      While you rapping, I spit.
      Reading scrolls, swigging ol' gold, and grabbing my dick!

      Chorus:
      Ain't fucking around...
      Reintroduce that raw sound.
      That thump like a migraine
      Welcome to my brain.
      It's rugged terrain.
      advance to next plain. x4

  • Clap Your Hands

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    • Lyrics

      If you ain't got a job clap yo hands
      If you living outside clap your hands
      If you ain't got heat clap your hands
      If you livin' on streets clap your hands x2

      This the party of the century none of us invited.
      They living in a fantasy, this here reality.
      Close to losing sanity, when I really break down What Maddoff done did.
      Fuck him and his dead kid.
      You see how greed work?
      reaction ain't knee jerk.
      The rich collect fees first,
      don't give a fuck about your Child's thirst. Even if they owned a river.
      We slave for minimum wage, they wipe their ass wit 6 figures.
      And Add to life's rigors.
      Liquidate a stock,
      50,000 pull triggers.

      If you ain't got a job clap yo hands
      If you living outside clap your hands
      If you ain't got heat clap your hands
      If you livin' on streets clap your hands x2

      I Don't know shit about a G6 nigga we fly coach
      Can't afford a 20 bag? Betta smoke that roach
      Modern day landscape straight up cutthroat.
      A New world design on these worthless banknotes.
      Yeah, Times trife but it got me amped though
      We making Grown folk music, we Huff and Gamble.
      it sets you free but Truth's Hard to handle
      Lead life by example.
      Make moves to break ankles.
      This talent take mad skills
      But still got more respect
      for blue collars pullin 9to5 checks.

      If you ain't got a job clap yo hands
      If you living outside clap your hands
      If you ain't got heat clap your hands
      If you livin' on streets clap your hands x2

iconAclass – For the Ones

IconAclass is the newest solo  project from producer/MC, Will Brooks, who is best known for his work in dälek (Ipecac Recordings). As MC and co-producer in dälek,  he explored the left of center/ wall of noise world ala My Bloody Valentine meets Public Enemy on six studio albums. IconAclass sees him maintaining the gritty view of boom-bap he is know for, while returning to his roots.

For the Ones is pure hip-hop, hypnotic heavy beats serve as more than just a backdrop for this MC. They focus a spotlight squarely on the lyrics, and iconAclass has a lot on his mind!  From race relations to religion to corporate greed,  IconAclass holds nothing back.

Pushing forward into the new millennia with DJ Motiv providing the cuts, iconAclass is the next chapter for this ever evolving musician.

 

Album Reviews

Even the most devoted fan of Dälek must admit that rapper Will Brooks’s vocals often get drowned out by the industrial haze more than their eloquence deserves. As iconAclass, Brooks takes the juggernaut aesthetic of Dälek and bares it back to that classic hip-hop minimum: rhymes over beats. The cuts from DJ Motiv strike a perfect balance between old school boom-bap and bleak dystopian sci-fi, with just enough spacey psychedelia to stay this side of trip-hop.

Brooks pulls off the impressive feat of retaining the vicious hunger of an underground rapper this far into his career, and his drawling authority over incisive and precise lyrics summon more than enough gravitas to satisfy those longing for the sensory overload of Dälek. This stripped back combination make iconAclass a vital album for those who can’t wait to see if the recent Company Flow reunion will result in a follow up to Funcrusher Plus.

-Ali Maloney (the Skinny)

 

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