MC Paul Barman
I’m sure by now MC Paul Barman is sick of the “jewish Eminem” comparisons, so I’ll take a different approach. Barman is a rapping Tom Lehrer, pointing his searing gaze on things and letting fly with an incredible vocal torrent, easily twisting words around, rhyming in the middle, taking polysyllabic words and chunking them with others — “you make my karma puke, you who refuse to disarm a nuke, and keep printing Marmaduke.” He’s dropping gems like he’s got holes in his pockets, indeed. As if to trump the vocabularian agility, Barman never simply presses words together like strangers with compatible anatomy — everything is in its place. “A porn utopia, a cornucopia of warm fallopia.” When Barman gets filthy, he goes all the way, on tracks like “Cock Mobster” — where he proclaims that his dandy voice makes the most anti-choice granny’s panties moist, right before posing the names of any number of it girls in any number of linguistically compromising positions … “I’d like Tracy Bingham in a lacy thingham” is about as G as it gets. Fucking brilliant.
I’m not the foremost authority on rap, urban, hip-hop, whatever you want to call it. But I can understand MC Paul Barman perfectly, and I’m not just talking about diction. In between the madness lie needle sharp jabs, at things like feminism, capitalism, the educational system. And burping and farting. You have to hear this for yourself.
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