Clairmont the Second – Do You Drive?


Anyone that knows what’s up keeps an eye out for the Toronto rap game. Fuck Drake. That mumbling motherfucker’s got third-degree burns from the spotlight. Clairmont the Second, born Clairmont II Humphrey, is a maplesucker to watch out for. He was longlisted for a Polaris and a Juno, which is a Canadian’s equivalent of a Mercury Music Prize and a Grammy.

Get this: Clairmont wrote, produced, mixed, mastered, did the art direction, and cover design all on his own. The only thing he didn’t do was take the goddamn picture. This album is Clairmont through and through. Do you know how unbelievably rare that is? It’s like seeing an albino rhinoceros in a snowstorm. Shit just doesn’t happen. For real, this is like an actor directing, writing, producing, editing, promoting, and staring in their own movie. It’s rare. It’s strange. It’s daring. And, if it’s good, is commendable as all fuck.

Let’s be straight. If some kid comes at you with a cake they made all by themselves, cool cause … you know. Cake. But it’s only impressive because of their age and experience. I ain’t eating shit. This is not the case with Clairmont. His shit is good because it’s just fucking good. The lyrics are jagged and just a bit off in the best of ways. His boasts are unique with choruses like, “Way too pretty to be dealing with this life.” And these beats? Fuck. These beats are dope. On the first track I thought, “Ya, it’s alright” but I wasn’t going to do back flips into wave pools about it. But when that dirty ass synth organ hit on song two. Daaayum! I made a cringe face that only happens when a truly and nasty beat drops hard as fuck. I looked like a lemon that sucked in a vegan’s fart. Shit was that nasty. I actually cringed. You might ask, “How did you know it was a vegan’s fart?” How else? It fucking told me it was.

On this album, there’s a production influence from Flying Lotus and those other talented fucks over there at Brainfeeder. But, and I still can’t believe it, this is only one fucking dude. Like, what the fuck?! There’s gotta be some major beaver hormones going into Clairmont’s water supply because that’s seriously hard working. He might just be the hardest working man in the rap game. So if you ever find yourself turning your eyes north, look for Clairmont. It’s this do-it-yourself kinda shit that’s put Toronto in the game and has kept them there since. With this in mind, Clairmont should be their fucking mascot. It’s either this or some albino rhino in a snowstorm with third degree spotlight burns eating vegan fart-filled lemon cake next to a beaver doing back flips into wave pools.








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