The Understated OG: Kano -‘Hoodies All Summer’ Album Review
It’s easy to forget that Kano is nearly 20 years deep in this thing. Easy to forget because compared to many of his peers, he’s something of a recluse. He’ll seldom release music, he’ll show up on Top Boy playing a character as aggravating as he is endearing, but beyond that he shows very little appetite for the limelight. He’ll do few interviews and even fewer features. Only artists with Kano’s longevity and skillset have the luxury of not having to worry about the adage — out of sight, out of mind. With Hoodies All Summer his fifth album releaseed in August of last year, he shows why he’s afforded this luxury; when you’ve spent years being amongst the most proficient, your prominence will take care of itself. For enduring a three year hiatus since Made In The Manor, KA blessed us with one of, if not the most stellar UK releases of 2019.
The album’s opener Free Years Later is a statement of intent, with Kano beginning how he means to go on. He sets the table in earnest; the first bars he touch on breaking bread with the bredrins, his success allowing him to take care of his mum, his view that his cup is ‘half empty’ despite this success and even throws in some sick wordplay afflicted flexes, typical of the East Ham legend; “ Big S class, leather chairs, I’m in the rear/ Driver don’t stop at all, but Buju blares”. Few rappers would attempt to cram all this into a few bars and even fewer would manage it without it coming off sounding scattered and messy. On Free Years Later it rings finely polished and masterfully crafted, with Kano switching his intonation from soft to grizzly and aggressive, all over sombre violins and a Sade sample that gives the energy of the song a sort of ebb and flow.
“15 with a dream, 20 with a gold disk/21, second crib before I got my own whip/27, 28 and 9 was my lowest/30 reupped again, 32, more checks”. Kano lays bare the ups and downs of his journey on Trouble, following up by asking “So why would I throw away life for some jokers?”. Trouble sees the East London MC implore kids that are on the roads, living lives in which they are prone to be either the perpetrator or victim of violence, to realise their own potential. Coming from the streets of Newham and been in and around the roads, Kano knows about conflict and confrontation in the ends. He uses his background and his journey to bear testament to the greatness that can flourish in these same environments if we can prevent youngsters from being shackled by a crabs in a bucket mentality, or as he puts it in his own words: “Concrete roses, they really grow shit, you see my whole set”. The fact that the voice of the late great Darcus Howe, one of the most powerful voices in Black-British history, is the first one to be heard on Trouble shows Kano’s intentions with the track. Speaking not just for his community, but more importantly to his community, the song aligns with the spirit of Howe’s lifelong work; it’s an internal redressing of our young people’s attitudes towards one another and their perception of themselves. Of all the bars addressing the young bucks, perhaps the one most direct in its delivery is this: “Any beef can be squashed if hands could be shaken/Any hand can be shaken when the blood dries”.
Kano pays homage to his musical inspirations by using their classics as foundations for some of the most important tracks on the album. Whether it’s Sade’s Pearls vocal, chopped to create atmosphere on Free Years Later or Capleton’s Everybody Needs Somebody on Can’t Hold We Down, a track on which Kano and Popcaan display a effortless chemistry, the type that can only result from two artists of kindred spirit collaborating. I can’t help but envision hearing this riddim booming out of some speakers this summer, the sun on my back and good vibes in the air (God-willing lockdown will have ended by then so we can experience this). The album’s producers Blue May and Jodi Miller flip another dancehall classic: Sizzla’s Just One Of Those Days on the album’s next song, Teardrops. The sample is used as the backbone to what might be the project’s premier lyrical performance. Teardrops is a whirlwind, showcasing that when it comes to the art of flowing Kano is still in a league of his own. There’s a point on the second verse where he blacks out and leaves the listener behind, name-dropping people and places of his past in a flow that requires an ear well-adjusted to KA’s rhyme patterns just to keep up.
The next track Bang Your Doors acts as an interlude; a brief moment of reprieve from the density and intensity of the six song prior. A short and heartfelt letter to a childhood friend that’s been locked up for the duration of Kano’s career flows smoothly into the heartbreak of Got My Brandy, Got My Beats. The ballad-like piano chords under the garage-like drums reflect Kano’s trying to rave his way through the end of a long-term relationship. It’s almost as if the song tries not to draw attention to itself; given its understated, spacey production and where it’s placed on the album, such a personal moment might sink into the background of the general scope of the album. I get the feeling though that Kano, the private individual that he is, doesn’t mind this so much.
And then there’s Class of Deja. From when you hear D Double E deliver his classic adlib over the first few seconds of that beat, the beat that sounds like it has the explosive potential of a kilo of dynamite, you straight away know a madness imminent. KA’s introduction on the first verse almost steadies the energy of the track until D Double comes back with the hook and lights the fuse on that dynamite. Actually more than merely lighting a fuse, he more throws a molotov at it. Trying to find an analogy that captures the essence of Kano and Ghetts dovetailing on the second verse is a challenge that’s beyond me in all honesty. I’m not sure where else such skill, grace and obnoxious levels of gas have all occupied the same space. All I know is if you tell Siri to “define instant classic” she’ll start spitting Class Of Deja lyrics to you herself.
Hoodies All Summer ranges from the personal to the political, from party vibes to pensive reflections and the last song SYM is such a fitting closer. SYM is really a celebration, a middle finger to the stuctures that have caused Black Britain hardship in the past until now, and simultaneously a reminder of the greatness we’ve exhibited to overcome it all. The album abruptly ends with the choir harmonising one last call to ‘hold each other down’, leaving you expecting and wanting more. But that’s part of the brilliance of Hoodies All Summer; so much is said, so many topics and feelings are explored in the span of only 10 songs. Because of it’s concise build and even it’s production (sampling the artist’s personal favourites to form the backbone of the project) I can’t help but draw comparisons to Jay-Z’s 4:44. That’s not a lazy comparison of the quality of the projects, but more a comment on the similarities in the construction of the albums, especially when you consider how both artists aim to speak to their own communities from the standpoint of an OG. When it comes to the OGs in the UK scene, they are entering a new phase in which they will have to face the challenge of remaining inspired and innovative, having been tenured in the game for years already. Some will find the transition difficult, some will adjust comfortably and add to their legacy. I’ll be shocked if any of them add to their legacy as much as Kano did with Hoodies All Summer.
P.S: Kano still has the best Fire In The Booth, if you disagree go and argue with your cat.
