Nod. Your. Head.
That’s the thing, right? When you put on a track, and it’s the rawest you’ve ever heard, you don’t think. You nod.
But it ain’t that simple. See, there’s more than one kind of nod, just like there’s more than one kind of ill beat.
There’s the slow banger, appropriate for the grimiest of blues, say your Black Keys or John Lee Hooker, maybe a little Queens of the Stone Age on the side.
There’s your side nod, the kind you bring out for the vinyl classics: Pete Rock, Nas, that kind of thing.
And then there’s the ultimate. The nod of recognition. Deliberate. The one that your body reserves for songs so hard they don’t need a title, they just need a couple minutes to get on the other side of the play button. It’s the song that you consider rolling down your windows for, then reconsider, because you know you want that beat all for yourself. You know you’re untouchable, you know you can roll into any building, any parking lot, and get exactly what you came for. This is one of those songs. Ghostface Killah. Stroke of Death. Play it.