Everyone’s so desperate for a national hero we’ve taken to mimicking Puxtawney Phil. They’ll call today’s 80° high the last gasps of “false spring.” The term “false” perks my ears; “false” implies a deception on the end of Mother Nature, who I’d argue has treated us with a relatively even-keeled disposition considering the circumstances. The blame falls instead entirely on the expectations we levy upon spring: April showers and May flowers imply a pace that is unsustainable to us now. Spring acts much like Fall, the same doomed fate that befalls all transitional seasons in the accelerometer. It’s a palate swap in late March; one solid drop, two weeks long — solid, possum-sized rain in thick outbursts hours long. To steal from the moptops who’ve fallen from my listening but not from my heart, those jolly brothers Gallagher: “F**kin’ mental.”
Or, face the butt and not the barrel. Its aftermath is a fog on some mornings, the kind where you can sit on the stoop and fade in and out as you wish. I’ve embraced this new sense of spring where, in the place of a gradual exit left and enter right, nature seemingly explodes in a puff that lingers for months — I wake up to whirlybirds melting into soft, pink, fog-heavy dawn. If the new symbol for the season became this thick blanket on The Fan forever, I’d live a happier path.
I advocate as well for strong, black coffee. If you’re squeamish, invest in sweetened condensed milk in place of oily flavored creamers, but I cannot emphasize enough the major improvements that come from acquainting yourself with the plain brew. It comes in the form of a lack of options; if you can be excited by its acidic nature, its natural tang and bite, you’ll no longer be at the whim of whatever’s on hand. Office fiascos with powdered creamer, stale plastic cup half-and-half, and Sweet’n’Low all abolished. Commutes no longer need to emphasize a clear and present coffeehouse. Unshackle thyself, I say.
Another accoutrement I’d recommend is hip-hop trios. I’ve had a couple of these rattling around in my head for a while (if you want a jumpstart to summer, as nature may be revving toward based on next week’s projected temps, dive into Little Brother and Dead Prez), but for spring I have two suggestions.
Firstly, a former trio, now duo: By Storm (née Injury Reserve) have left the past behind. What’s rear-view bound? “By The Time I Get to Phoenix,” the kind of dominant masterwork that fully marked the death of their earlier persona as the underground’s foremost producers of hook-heavy bombastic hip-hop. That shed skin hasn’t yet blown away; what marked their original pivot was a shift from rattling bass (heavy, club-raising) to rattling bass (disorienting, hostile). Also added was a choppy and delirious sense of mixing and lyricism that could leave you seasick and which marked as definitive a “then” and “now” for the group as you can get.
But enough about the past: now, here, in 2026, the newly-coined By Storm have cranked the volume and out-weirded the weird to total gonzo. The songs on “My Ghosts Go Ghost” are outright loopy; RiTchie experiments with a croaky singing voice and a heavy flow that is totally his own. There is nobody to my ears who could put this sort of raving performance to tape, only matched in pure freak-power by Parker Corey, who completely severs the cords from any of his early speaker-knocking days. Eerie devil blues on acoustic guitar can appear as RiTchie croons and grieves. Choppy keys swell and fade like sea storms. Listen to this record.
On the other end of things, I’ve been plummeting into De La Soul’s “Buhloone Mindstate,” their third release. True to the shapeshifting nature of the Long Island trio at the time, it forges a new path. At the tail end of their imperial period — which, might I say, is at least one of the best runs in hip-hop, if not the outright greatest — they return not to the buoyant funk of their debut or the hard-hitting bops of follow-up “De La Soul is Dead,” but to a new sound. That sound is punctuated by freeflowing vocal samples which arc and curve into new layers, flooding over vinyl-static laced bass grooves and heavy drums. The Plugs are in top form, as they always are, and always have been. Listen to “Buhloone Mindstate” today, and follow it up with last year’s “Cabin in the Sky.”
Below I’ve attached a playlist with some select tracks and some bonuses that are perfect for stoop mornings or late-night barbecues. Listen to it here: Ink Playlist #61: A cid Raindrops
Graphics: Aisha Virk