Evan Nabavian is younger than Willie the Kid, but doesn’t feel the need to brag about it.
The 70s and 80s begat drug dealers. They were ambitious and greedy and impulsive and their connects sold them grams upon grams. And they toasted foreign liqueurs to their success. And they rode coups through the city with hoes that were not their wives. And the hoes answered their every beck and call. And when corners were disputed, they blasted chrome at one another. And at police officers. And at snitches. And their hollow points struck flesh and bone, woman and child and answered the maw of the concrete with gallons of blood. And they went to jail. And they made bail. And they died. And they rapped.
Willie the Kid and friends romanticize petty drug dealing on “Broadway Alley,” or maybe it’s just the strings talking. Havoc would tip his hat. The dramatic beat invites the suited up mafioso approach, but they walk the line between Pyrex pots and black roses. One of the reasons why Willie the Kid hasn’t stood out more is that he avoids the extremes of coke rap – cutthroat desperation and obscene luxury – but he’s good at what he does. No narrative, just carefully chopped and bagged phrases.