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Batsauce - Starcrossed

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By: Joel Frieders
batsauce, starcrossed, instrumental, hip hop, galapagos4
Album Rating:
9

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Batsauce - Ichiban

I just realized that I now have 65 Batsauce tracks on my fucking computer. Normally, when I don't necessarily care for something, I'll pitch it soon after realizing it's not for me. So far I've kept, and revisited, every Batsauce track I've ever acquired. That might not mean much to most people, mainly because I'm a no-talent-assclown, but when it comes to instro hip hop, it's pretty fucking telling how high I hold Batsauce's talents near my supple loins. Having been introduced to this guy's beats when he was working with one of my favorite emcee's Qwazaar, he started out pretty high to begin with, despite being from Florida. (Subliminal Bleubird dis)

Batsauce's latest album, Starcrossed, is out on Galapagos4, and having known the guys behind G4 for a while now, I'd say it's a perfect fucking fit. Batsauce belongs in good company, because again, despite being from Florida, dude is good peoples bro bro.

So what's the album like bro bro?

Starcrossed has this black and white comic book feel to it, where shit is intense, but not in that "I'm going to get fucking murdered, I can feel it" sort of way. It's kind of like, there's a bunch of goons in trench coats and shadowed faces chasing after you, but by the time you get to the end of the album, when those dudes have converged on you in a brick walled alley corner, all they want to do is hand you a coupon for a free donut bro. Why were you running in the first place? Besides the fact that sometimes it's fun to imagine you're running for your life.

Seriously, the tracks Re-Purpose and Love Notes II are near perfect getaway tracks, but again, without the fear of looming death. They're the chase scene in Ronin, in bumper cars, where the cars explode into poofs of aroma filled pot smoke instead of fatal balls of fire. It's adorable tension, as I would say if I were saying what I just said saying I just said I just said it.

The tracks What Shall I Say into Hallucinations takes the album into a completely different orbit. One where the roast beef is nice and warm no matter how long the sammich sits on your lap. One where the lights never get bright enough to cause you to squint. One where everytime you put your hands behind your head while seated, a fucking ottoman just zooms in place under your relaxing feet. One where, after you warsh the celery it's automatically filled with your choice of cream cheese or peanut butter. Or where your beaded door entry thingy doesn't rattle for too long after you ease throught, so that none of the beads break off. Or where the mere act of looking at an untied shoelace causes them to magically tie, and even though everyone has this power, those not used to it stare at people's feets just waiting to do them a solid and tie they shits just because they can bro bro.

Batsauce takes the shit in a cool, cool out, cool as Fuck direction, and it's worth the energy it takes to buy the album just to ensure all of your beverages stay nice and delish while out on the veranda bro bro.

Batsauce? Tits.

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