Passage is all wrong for me. He’s too young, more doofus than youfus, and from New Hampshire. Which means by law he must live free or die. Which scares me. However, his Beckian folktronic lo-fi histrionics intrigue ‘cuz there is tension and pain (or squirreliness or Ritalin) lurking beneath the pathological logorrhea that comes with the territory of detritus-collecting rap-addict hipsters who paint extra-pale pictures of their fidgety nerdball lives as beat-driven outcasts in love with the def soundz of their youth and who make no apologies for their lack of accreditation from Hard Times High. Dude’s catchiest chorus: “White boys ain’t got no slave song/So we invented radiation.” What the hell? Fucker don’t give a damn if you get it. A man’s gotta eat. Last line of a recent newspaper live-show write-up: “Most of the crowd was white.” White. White. White. That echo just doesn’t mean what it used to. Fifty years from now all the beige babies will be saying: “That Passage was wild, Poppy!” “Yes, Son, he was onto something with that shit.”
Advertising disclosure: We may receive compensation for some of the links in our stories. Thank you for supporting the Village Voice and our advertisers.