Hiphop kids in the mid-late 90's through the mid aughts seemed to be obsessed with real—being it, keeping it, who wasn't it. Real was a block, a gun, a crew to whom your every move and decision was responsible. Nowadays, real is an antiquated qualifier, something hard, like evidence to be used against you, or dusty fossils. To the new hiphop generation, the only thing that really matters is fly. Fly kicks, fly car, fly girl (no Rosie Perez). Flying high in the friendly sky. Fly is about leaving that block, via jet; preferably a charter, where one can be alone. Because fly is an individual pursuit, not a team-building exercise; to point of being fly is to be flyer than the next man or woman. Fly is about being alone, out in space, high and free of earthly fetters; no job, no family, no responsibility. Fly also has at it's hollow core a certain aristocratic melancholy, unlike the joyous, champagne-jet celebration of the jiggy era; Fly guys stand on couches and simply pour liquor on the floor. To the memory of those lost, in the ground or hidden from society because of the pursuit of fly.

Enter Seattle's Eighty4Fly:

Despite the cold—excuse me, cool—feeling that today's fly ethic leaves me with, I like plenty of it (Wiz Khalifa comes to mind), including what this young MC is doing; everything is slick and pro, pure weapons-grade fly. From what I am able to gather from his Facebook (there's nothing fly about Myspace spam, fam) his as-yet untitled debut album is in the works—and he'll be performing tonight at Nectar as part of Jack The Ripper's CD Release.