Featuring MCs Qwazaar, Qwel, and Denizen Kane, producer DJ Natural and media assassin Kid Knish, Typical dropped a self-titled full-length album, Typical Cats, on Galapagos4 Records in 2002, and began a relentless campaign to restore a fallen hip hop world to its former promise and glory. The talent assembled was unmistakable, the sound created was formidable. Firmly planted in tradition, unorthodox in invention and possessed of a strength only earned in the furnace of experience, their sound is the future that hip hop's past would have had if its present weren't held hostage by the uninspired and unrepentant. A flurry of solo projects later, Chicago's prodigal sons return. Hip hoppers rejoice. Suckers duck and cover. Typical Cats come to conquer. Battle champs, hotline legends, poetry circuit kings. Typical cats released their second album titled Civil Service in 2004.
Typical Cats return, the last of the great true school crews—bearers of transformed tradition, innovators par excellence, and heralds of an undying devotion to the science and magic of boom bap music. The latest installment in the TC saga is 3, their third studio full-length. It plays like a message in a bottle from Hip Hop’s timeless present to the bizarre post-physical, digital, viral world in which we live. DJ Natural’s production chops have only deepened with time, and the rugged loops of the self-titled “Orange Album” and the live instrumentation of Civil Service have melded to yield a mélange of soul, jazz, funk, roots, radical politics, and a sly refusal to bend to the dictates of current fashion. Kid Knish reprises his role as hip hop’s all-time greatest unseen crew member (sorry, Jarobi), serving up samples, historical references, and vinyl oddities for Natural to slice and serve as android slabs of production genius.
TC’s trio of MCs—Qwel, Denizen Kane, and Qwazaar—rhyme like men breathing from the soles of their feet. The basis of their legend is in full effect—crackling chemistry, unnerving flow, and true stories. The album plays like a jazz-era cutting session turned confessional booth, a stylistically freewheeling effort threaded together by moments of revelation, underpinned by fiercely focused production and dominated by stories of journey, moments of transformation, and warnings against coming catastrophe. For TC, the MC is a misunderstood figure, a musical seer, a minor prophet, and reluctant hustler, using words to outwit enemies, trump circumstances, and emerge from the belly of the beast with respect and rent money.
Highlights abound—Kane returning to his spoken word roots on “Denizen Walks Away,” Qwel giving his early battle rap classics a run for their money on nickel-plated platters like “My Watch” and “Gordeon Knock,” and Qwazaar flexing uncanny musical intuition, anchoring the record with meditative efforts on “Puzzling Thing” and “Reflections from the Porch” before pummeling tracks like “Better Luck” and “On My Square.” Although the LP is studded with solo shots, crew tracks are the soul of the record. “On My Square” opens with a flurry of horns before exploding into an array of signature styles—multisyllabic combinations from Qwel, laid-back but incisive chatting from Kane, and a classic Qwa verse full of declarations, threats, and witticisms, all cemented by a Qwel chorus imbued with requisite layers of meaning. Natural’s production evolves with each verse, sliding from Meters style guitars with knocking drums to moody keys with ease.
The first single, “The Crown” is a frenetic display of jagged guitars and style-shifting that makes it a perfect complement to the Orange Album’s classic “Reinventing.” The name, however, is something of a misnomer. TC have never been interested in being kings. They’ve been griots shouting from the village limits, stoning the village idiots, interrupting thieves, and solidifying sterling reputations as rappers’ rappers, smokers’ smokers, underground Gs, tribal chiefs. There will never be another Typical Cats. They leave the set like five men exiting a burning building, leaving wrecked stages and a catalog of classics in their wake. With their exodus, we find ourselves suddenly grown, having come of age with the culture, standing, as always, at the crossroads. With the music, we move like Gayle Sayers, howl like Magic Sam, see the city like a kid on the project bench, and mark it all down in a black book that will never close. It is what it is. Forever.
QWAZAAR - A native of Chicago's gritty Low End, Qwazaar strikes from hip hop's essence. Whether the subject matter is inner city or interplanetary, the flow remains untouchable - a percussive yet fluid attack that evokes South Side rain and helicopter blades in a single breath. The content is heavy-a holdover from days when this veteran MC (No Pity/Outerlimitz) had to lyrically slay rivals to earn his sterling rep. "After the dust settles, witness the blood puddles..." Lights out, kids. The Q-W-A is here.
QWEL - You first saw his name dangling a quarter mile up on a suspension bridge from your scratch-bombed window on the Orange line. You first heard that distinctive melodic/abrasive storm of syllables on old Nacro and Scam Artist tapes with inserts printed at the Kinko's. Now the heat's been perfected and this nasty North Side revelation music rebel is out to wake the sleepers. From Ted Turner's devil ass to the so-called competition, everyone and their mama gets dealt with when the kid laces up his boots.
DENIZEN KANE - From the rum and Coke rumble of Chicago's North Side flow spots to the celluloid veneer of Def Poetry Jam's main stage, Denizen Kane rips the party with a poet's heart and an outsider's eye. Journalistic, impressionistic, real-life and drastic, young Kane's late night Red Line revelations turn into heathen hymns on tape, capturing the moody face of the metropolis in color. How long can a lost one roam until he finds his way home? Listen to your city fall apart through the muddy mouth of an immigrant.
What You Thought Hops
Typical Cats Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
Poetry is a form of positive creation
Difficult, isn't it the point? Ya missin it
Rockin's kinda new to me cause my true love is poetry
I don't know what you thought hops but chief I've got tall props see
This be thee rebuttal version
To mister academic who does not believe that my poems would
could should have muscles and bodies like this one
and squash mud under a hard yellow heals wicked gravity
I wish to leave this lab of brains swishing in jars
and write poems that shatter glass with undeniable bodies
I want to be a word that wants to be a sweating brick
so drink that through your pointed teeth and critique it
I want to be the strophe that strokes the ear in salty heaves
a spine that bends and works like the dance you shut the door to be
Listen to me, with your hips
Clutch this line in the fleshy grip of bold thighs
Eat through your ears and drink through your pores
and if you see me splashed across a page
Know that a leaf is a tongue that you wear to make love
to a voice not your own, eat this poem
Floss with the barbed length of a simile
and scrape your tongue across the living verses
bristling skin my I is just my I I promise
I believe in closure but not in hospital corners
the way first principles are real but untraceable see
God is meaning, means becoming, means I knock before I come in
Means I wriggle through the riddle of the flesh to out sweat it
Means I wear my impertinence upon my fluttering lip
My refusal to bow out to some abstract curtain
and exist backstage by the sandbags and pulleys
Hell fucking no! I exist to be seen
to see and be seen, to push my I to the thou
Because the premise of my rhythm is the un-apologetic
emphatic insistence of the declarative sentence
That's right bad boy, I am I is I be, fuck you.
I can speak about myself and rhyme in couplets if I want to
I am I is I be I do I self I delf I solo I dolo is is is is I I I
Am my mother's talk stories from beginning to end.
Listen to this poem with your hips..
Yes it's Denizen an exhalation of breath
and these Typicaaal Cats will make the session start fresh
Yes it's I grip tight the lemon scented mic device
these Typicaaal Cats will make the session start right
See I was born with two tongues but no green card
my skin marked by the immigration narratives of my people drifting a-part
Of the two worlds I reside in the high yellow phantasm, of an undiscovered future
I am to breach the chasm between my mother's memory and my hazy prison I so knew
Languages off the scraps of my hand-me-down clothes
I grip with ten toes the type or types are putting fact in funk
deliver colder than statistics, bubble hot like a Cali trunk
I dwell in the fertile valley between ghosts and history
subvert the dogma lefty-loosy righty-tighty every time I speak
Conjunction junction what's ya function my assumption
that the fearful face of my future would fall and then my punching is in question
Ghosts grip my chest and I can't breathe
panic brings my chinky eyes wide and then I can't read
Roll and I tumble and I cry the whole night long
roll and I tumble and I cry the whole night long
But my creator calls the human out the thinnest of the vapors
I tease the story out the blankness of the paper
I can weave a family out the scarlet of a sin
and write the world in which my seed will be at ease inside his own skin
See Miss Liberty stagger with evictions falling out
I tap with two tongues against the inside of my mouth
Had a date with assimilation, but I stood her ass up
and made love to the multi-color features brimming in my cup
Because the end comes quick, ego says quit
I say work is love let my body be a brick
Because the end comes quick and ego says quit
I say work is love let my body be a brick
Yes it's Denizen an exhalation of breath
and these Typicaaal Cats we make the session start fresh
Yes it's I grip tight the lemon scented mic device
Typicaaal Cats will make the session start right (see uh uh)
The song What You Thought Hops by Typical Cats is a poetic and deeply introspective piece about the power of poetry and the struggle of identity. The first stanza starts with a definition of poetry as the language of imagination and positive creation. The singer then declares that rock music is new to him, emphasizing the importance of poetry to his life. In the second stanza, he challenges an academic who does not believe that poetry can have strength and bodily presence. He wants his poems to be brazen and powerful, to shatter glass and leave mud under their heels.
In the third stanza, the singer addresses the listener directly, urging them to listen to the poem not just with their ears, but with their whole body. He wants his poetry to be felt as well as understood. He presents himself as an unapologetic and emphatic writer, uninterested in closure or neat corners, and driven by the insistent power of declarations. The fourth stanza introduces Denizen, another member of Typical Cats, who continues the theme of identity and cultural inheritance. As an immigrant with a hybrid identity, Denizen feels caught between two worlds and seeks to bridge the gap through his art.
Together, the two rappers explore the complexity of identity and the power of language to express and shape it. They reject assimilation and conformity in favor of creative self-expression and exploration. The song moves between themes of personal struggle and broader social issues, drawing connections between individual experience and collective struggle.
Line by Line Meaning
Poetry is the language of imagination
Poetry allows for the creation of imaginative and creative language
Poetry is a form of positive creation
Poetry is a way to create something positive and meaningful
Difficult, isn't it the point? Ya missin it
The point of something difficult is to challenge oneself and improve
Rockin's kinda new to me cause my true love is poetry
Although he's new to music, the artist's true passion is poetry
I don't know what you thought hops but chief I've got tall props see
Others may have had low expectations for him, but he has garnered a lot of praise and recognition for his work
This be thee rebuttal version
This is the response to someone who has criticized his work
To mister academic who does not believe that my poems would
could should have muscles and bodies like this one
This is directed at an academic who doesn't believe poetry can be powerful and physical
I want my poem to be brazen and long legged
and squash mud under a hard yellow heals wicked gravity
He wants his poetry to be bold, powerful, and capable of crushing obstacles
I wish to leave this lab of brains swishing in jars
and write poems that shatter glass with undeniable bodies
He wants to break out of the confines of intellectualism and create poetry that is more visceral and impactful
I want to be a word that wants to be a sweating brick
so drink that through your pointed teeth and critique it
He wants his words to be strong and powerful, and is inviting criticism of his work
I want to be the strophe that strokes the ear in salty heaves
a spine that bends and works like the dance you shut the door to be
He wants his poetry to elicit an emotional response and evoke physical movement
Listen to me, with your hips
He wants the listener to engage with his poetry in a physical and visceral way
Clutch this line in the fleshy grip of bold thighs
Eat through your ears and drink through your pores
He wants the listener to fully immerse themselves in his poetry through physical and sensory means
and if you see me splashed across a page
Know that a leaf is a tongue that you wear to make love
to a voice not your own, eat this poem
His poetry is meant to be consumed and internalized
Floss with the barbed length of a simile
and scrape your tongue across the living verses
bristling skin my I is just my I I promise
His poetry is dense and complex, and requires careful analysis and attention to detail
I believe in closure but not in hospital corners
the way first principles are real but untraceable see
He believes in a sense of resolution, but not one that is too neat or contrived
God is meaning, means becoming, means I knock before I come in
Means I wriggle through the riddle of the flesh to out sweat it
Means I wear my impertinence upon my fluttering lip
His belief in God is tied to a sense of becoming and transformation, and he is unafraid to be bold or confident
My refusal to bow out to some abstract curtain
and exist backstage by the sandbags and pulleys
Hell fucking no! I exist to be seen
He is unafraid to be himself and demand attention for his work
Because the premise of my rhythm is the un-apologetic
emphatic insistence of the declarative sentence
That's right bad boy, I am I is I be, fuck you.
His poetry is characterized by bold, declarative sentences that demand attention and respect
I can speak about myself and rhyme in couplets if I want to
I am I is I be I do I self I delf I solo I dolo is is is is I I I
He is unafraid to use unconventional word choices and structures in his poetry
Am my mother's talk stories from beginning to end.
Listen to this poem with your hips..
His poetry is influenced by his upbringing and cultural heritage
Yes it's Denizen an exhalation of breath
and these Typicaaal Cats will make the session start fresh
The artist is introducing themselves and their work
See I was born with two tongues but no green card
my skin marked by the immigration narratives of my people drifting a-part
The artist's cultural background and identity are important to their work
Languages off the scraps of my hand-me-down clothes
I grip with ten toes the type or types are putting fact in funk
deliver colder than statistics, bubble hot like a Cali trunk
The artist's language and word choices are influenced by their cultural background
I dwell in the fertile valley between ghosts and history
subvert the dogma lefty-loosy righty-tighty every time I speak
The artist is unafraid to challenge established norms and conventions
Because the end comes quick, ego says quit
I say work is love let my body be a brick
The artist is committed to their work, despite potential setbacks or challenges
Lyrics © O/B/O APRA AMCOS
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