When you have a friend that’s into hip hop, the chances are that friend will want to rap. This is, in itself, quite innocuous. However, seldom are the gifts of the mic bestowed evenly around the globe, and that friends’ dope desire to be fresh (and the illinest) has little hope of survival.
But you would never tell your friend that their rhymes collapse like a newborn, narcoleptic foal. You would never tell them that they sound not just embarrassing, but incompetent, and that their mental agility may be called into question. Instead, social convention and the robust bonds of friendship would encourage you to tolerate the meandering clumsiness, ill-judged cadence, and downright agonising lyricism fumbling its way from their quivering brain.
Falcoman makes me feel like this. The founder of the ‘Hip – Hope’ Music Project, Falcoman is a fiercely independent artist who insists, it would appear, on doing everything himself. Clearly a percussionist of some ability, his soundcloud contains some of the strangest, most eccentric rap-based material I have ever encountered. Mad, mad as a bag of hats.
His online sounds come into life with Getting Older, a hymn to growing up and the cessation of alcohol consumption. This is very positive, and has some complex latin rhythms thrown in. Falcoman’s delivery sounds as though Busta Rhymes, James Brown, Mad Stuntman(from Reel 2 Real-remember them?) and Kid ‘n Play went into that machine in The Fly and coagulated into something crazed, something impossible. It was a real struggle to get through the flow-free vocals, and the worthy message within lost its power. It is astonishing that a drummer, of some note no less, should have such difficulty understanding where to sing in his own song.
The video that accompanies Getting Older is confrontationally strange. Falcoman exerts himself so much he can barely sing, and having the words on the screen is a grammatically discomforting experience. This is nothing when stacked against the equally withering first-draft festival that is Bend It Without Botox. The message here is simple; plastic surgery is not needed for a healthy life. A particular favourite among his delicate couplets is this pair about the Rolling Stones:
I don’t think they have plastic surgery on their face
If I’m wrong about that, let’s forget their case
Falcoman’s intent is admirable, his percussion able, his commitment genuine. The chorus is catchy, and put across with an appropriate level of vacancy, well matched to the subject matter. Nothing, however, can stop those vocals, crazier than that guy on the night bus.
I can’t imagine who this music is for-that’s the confusing part. Falcoman stands alone in a field of one, a bastion of 90’s chart reggae, samba rhythms and self-belief. There’s no malice in his music, no ulterior motive, it’s solely positive. But Falcoman cannot deliver his lines properly, and in a rap-orientated context, his stilted enunciations are so ill-considered that it was a trial to make it through the three tracks on offer here. Of those presented, props go to the chorus on Bend It Without Botox and the percussive orchestration of Down In The Dump, but nothing can replace vocal ability.
I’m sure that on drugs this is hilarious, but only once.
Watch the video for Getting Older
Follow Falcoman on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/falcoman2