Get all 7 MC Frontalot releases available on Bandcamp and save 20%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Net Split or, the Fathomless Heartbreak of Online Itself, Question Bedtime, Solved, Zero Day, Final Boss, Secrets From The Future, and Nerdcore Rising.
1. |
Internet Sucks
02:53
|
|||
|
Sometimes I wish I loved you
Sometimes I donât know what to do
Sometimes I look back on our earliest love affairs:
I had so many hairs, and you were made of everyone everywhere.
Or so I imagined! Actually, just a bunch of me-types,
typing into MUD games, geeking on the weeknights,
hunting drug recipe text files with a Gopher client.
(Youâre supposed to be studying, oh no, but youâre so defiant.)
It was giant Usenet porn, over the dialup,
over the rickety PBX which might go silent.
Internet was precious to me, and it remains so.
But it isnât like in early days. The achy pains grow
ever more insistent, they get inside my melon.
They tell me pretty subtly (I mean, besides the yelling)
that I donât love you any more, internet.
You used to be a safe home for my nerd heart and my intellect.
Now youâve got so much hate that youâve just got to interject.
Now youâve got too many chefs up in your kitchenette.
Sometimes Iâm overjoyed this thing got democratized.
Anybody with a pocket phone can lend a voice against those who talk the lies.
Donât need to know how the packets work or any serverâs status,
just click the big user-friendly button that fills my heart with gladness.
And stop pressing the one that posts your unrelenting wackness.
Yeah, I know how to mute and unfriend (even got some practice),
but how exactly is one supposed to mute the fact that a tenth of our netizens
when offered the chance to shit on anything pull down pants without hesitance,
without any sense of justice, pathos, kindness, or decency?
Now having to listen to assholes is half of what online means to me.
And it seems to be this isnât brand new. Some people have always sucked.
More trolls per capita, probably: 1989 CompuServe. But!
These days, itâs like all the worst people on earth formed a club
just to light ugliness up and take one drag and proceed to stub
it out in my eye by way of my once-beloved internet.
Could a solution lurk that hasnât been discovered in it yet?
|
||||
2. |
||||
|
Memes are dumb
Memes are dumb
Memes are dumb
If youâve got something to say, say something
[MCF]
I say memes are dumb, not like idiots would post them,
but like I experience my own giddiness the most when
fodder for the flowâs penned and then exclaimed out.
When I say dumb, I mean like I could take the same mouth
that I yap with and mute it like a commercial.
None of what I meant to communicate achieves dispersal.
And thatâs what youâve done, every dickbutt that you shitpost,
sewn your own trap shut, a riddle you didnât get close.
Just another echo of an image that youâve seen
in another permutation on that same rectangle screen,
just a little more obscene or droll, according to your self-expression.
And still itâs dumb, affording you this hellish lesson...
[Int80]
int0x80, memes curator, a veteran and seasoned,
but saddened that my rap just happens to be the voice of reason.
"Memes are dumb?" That isn't mute, it's acute act of treason.
Much of us anonymous, and believe it we are legion.
Multiple in content, this "trouble" isn't gone yet,
maybe âcause these references are so cultural in context.
Hey stranger, is your echo chamber commentary laughed off?
Look at the bigger picture of these contemporary snapshots.
Behold the inevitable sentence structure that we muster.
These dank memes change themes, grouping others into clusters.
I thought as someone famous you'd like innovative language.
Sorry to deny your pull request for retroactive changes.
[MCF]
The captioning macro captures every residual stammer.
Maybe youâre busy inventing a new semi-visual grammar.
Maybe Iâm too old to understand how talk works
but Iâve squeezed a living out of it on internet like rock squirts.
And Iâm not sure Iâm ready to surrender
to the crowd-sourced crafting of every cultural fender bender.
Dank is a good descriptor for wet caves and your reefer,
and unattributed, yeah, if youâre going to stay such a griefer.
If the thing of the moment captures your sentiment perfectly
and drawing a moustache on it is enhancing it worthily,
then donât let me tell you exactly how to shut up.
All your internet buddies think that youâre a cutup.
|
||||
3. |
Never Read The Comments
03:38
|
|||
|
You don't want to catalog
all the times you had it all
figured out and sorted in
to its optimal position,
add the optional missive in:
âHere it is, I you hope you like it!
Hope there's somebody listening!â
Then what but your sight alighted
on the side, it said discuss.
Shiny pixels, click the plus.
Many comments, what a fuss!
Youâre nothing but a catalyst
to sage discussion among learned peers, about to find some here.
Peruse a couple and the floor disappears.
You get despised and disparaged. Is this normal? Let it go.
A single toe dipped in the fester-hole subjects to undertow,
as if to know your worth itself became debatable,
as if anything could be wonderful enough to be unhateable.
Never read the comments, never read âem, never
Never read the comments, you donât need âem, never
Never read the comments, never read âem, never
Never read the comments, never read the comments
Original posterâs mom should get AIDS and then kill herself
(If that isnât still enough impact on her bill of health,
poisonous vulgar slurs protruding in and out)
because of whatever original poster posted about,
and also because of how original poster said it,
and who original poster is (letâs just admit that):
a particular type of whatever they are. Setting the bar
as low as we do, they duck it by far.
That anyone smart could suffer a thought that youâre not garbage
is reason enough we donât move on to the harder targets.
Now that youâre tarnished, our point has been made vivid:
weâre the comment section, itâs our internet, youâre in it.
Never read the comments, never read âem, never
Never read the comments, you donât need âem, never
Never read the comments, never read âem, never
Never read the comments, never read the comments
Guess I might have had enough
of these posted fisticuffs
to discuss with the posters
their and my shared neurosis.
Pardon my halitosis of ideology and expression,
but Iâll admit Iâm disgusted a little bit by your aggression.
My confessionâs intangible. Write it instead to memory.
I hold myself to the highest ideals, yet Iâm sometimes settling.
I read them if they write them (I wil). Canât always recommend it.
I hope you donât have a bad batch and you get upended.
Hope you donât vent it back at your dearest of dear-held intimates.
That was just some internet. Donât be inconsiderate.
Donât get in the thick of it. You donât got to read them!
Robots will keep them archived for you but youâll never need them.
Never read the comments, never read âem, never
Never read the comments, you donât need âem, never
Never read the comments, instead delete âem
Never read the comments, never read the comments
|
||||
4. |
Dating Profile
03:33
|
|||
|
Before you look at me like Iâm a neo-Luddite,
all screens point at me at once in a real floodlight.
Ideally sunlight would bathe me more often
between now and a million internets and a coffin.
Canât soften up my viewpoint:
modern love is the realm and computron is the true coin.
And thatâs it for you, boy. Youâre forty-two and the coif fled.
Better find true love immediately, as youâve oft said.
So you figure the thing out, pick out a password,
look in your digital photographs folder over the last third
of your life. Is anything plausibly still hot?
What kind of hope about love have you impossibly still got
lodged in your nerd mind?
Donât you remember biology, all of the sad ones that the herd find
difficult to cope with
left the group and werenât eloped with.
Before you look at me
I could tell, you could be
All that I have ever wanted
Cant trick you perfect. Nevertheless!
Ever since Guttenberg and Rosanna Arquetteâs
mise-en-scĂšne, brandishing the sheaf of dot-matrix,
your belief in top basics got stasis.
You take ways that you might not be forgivable, reveal them.
List your investment in every real un-
shakable truth that youâve ever pondered.
That profile text seems far off. You never wander.
You write what youâve seen people write, like:
you feel extreme nostalgia for Excitebike;
you read this book once and you quite liked it;
screens keep you company bright nights like these.
Thereâs a reply! This thing is pinging at you.
Look at his eyes: both of them singing at you.
Heâs in disguise as you, except beautiful.
Offers his services. Whispers heâs dutiful.
Wait, itâs the dating app. It made a map of your whole identity,
but with all of the things that your soul intends to be
punched up and expressed now unequivocally.
Plus, it fixed your chin, and the whole thingâs riveting.
Itâs leveraging a neural network on your behalf.
Check the projected effectiveness there on the graph.
If you let go, itâll send notes to other romance-seeking persons,
or rather to the prettier, funnier, geekier versions
of those humans that the system surely improved.
Your algorithm is better at flirting than you.
Their algorithms are better at flirting back.
Your virtual face, already out on a date with your top match.
Each of your virtual fleshes intertwine,
and even though youâre not participating, this is fine.
Itâs kind of ideal as your dating endgame:
botâs got your heart simulating on the mainframe,
keeps it beating in your name.
|
||||
5. |
Extremely Online
03:28
|
|||
|
Donât know how to turn the box off
I donât know how to turn it off. I donât know if I want to.
And I donât know if I learned enough to be standing on a
soap box, telling everyone how to live.
Everybodyâs got a critique that theyâve got to give,
and mine is only as regards my own habitual
dissemination of the celebration ritual.
âOnline is so great, letâs all go there!
Weâll be there together, even though itâs nowhere!â
And some scaredy-cats are going to log off
but Iâll tell them: muster bravery, be not soft.
Be not often (nor ever) in absentia,
and if you get in trouble while youâre logged on, do not mention the
rapper who told you to never to touch the power switch.
I eschew all weaknesses such as cowardice
(Iâll evince them often but I donât admit).
If youâre streaming this record then youâre already it
Donât know how to turn the box off
Donât know how to turn, to turn, to turn
Wake up updating feeds and Iâm bleeding followers,
though not for want of politesse. Who is egregious? All of us,
oh. Wander onto the avenue, screen at eye level,
camera in the high bezel. See me seeking my devil.
See me stumble, Iâll mumble a couple of repetitions
of the current obscurities. Hurry, this transmission is
up! Beat those hearts and those thumbs into submission.
âCause Iâm aware of all internet traditions.
Ha. Ha. I laugh in recognition, not joy
(an emotion Iâve outsourced my ability to deploy).
Think my unlimited toy is in need of a feeding.
Venture back home to the bigger displays and plug in as needed.
I figure Iâll stay seated for the rest of the day now.
Thereâs no way to relax. Itâll say how on the forum. Okay, wow.
Thereâs one technique, and nobodyâs verified it:
flick the power switches off. But that wonât work, Iâve tried it.
|
||||
6. |
||||
|
[Quelle Chris]
The system is down. Everythingâs stuck in the internet now. Call the pharmacist Morpheus, hope his prescription is loud. The metal mentalist each move predicted to your interest. Clouds hold our sentiments like nimbus on a journey to the wicked west. Every second I catch another message, MMS, DM, voicemail, email. Too many cooks in the kitchen mixing details. The hotpot is bubbling over and the kettleâs blowing out chemtrails. Itâs a more eat more mentality. Ozy and the wall of a million idiot boxes. Doesnât have the same ring as a chocolate factory. So log in till your brain logs out. Perfect blue on a sanity drought. Cause whatâs a you without a username. The Whoâs Who of whoâs to blame is in my timeline and my mind is going blind trying to peruse the pain. How many op-eds can I gobble, swallow, bottle and shake before my levee breaks under the heavy weight of
D-D-o-S
All heads saturated by internets
Get progressively worse at thought
Imagine it the other way around? Itâs not
D-D-o-S
All heads saturated by internets
Get progressively overwhelmed
Are you the service or are you the clientele?
[MCF]
All sysops on deck. This is an awesome wreck.
This is one of the best âtoo much internetsâ weâve seen yet.
Elect to force-quit deceptive packets talking.
And Iâm bottlenecked by horseshit, the truth canât even login.
My nogginâs under attack, and itâs weak, and itâs fraught.
Chief SRE in charge of me is completely distraught,
muttering, âWhat am I gonna do? I had one job:
keep Frontâs clown lobes from succumbing to the fun mob,
keep the dumb throb of the input
and resultant inaction from gaining the traction it could.â
And Front has withstood a lot of stressers & booters,
but what can you do, itâs a really big mess oâ computers
and Smartbulbs and Fitbits and disinformations.
I fail to figure which is which amidst this inundation.
A topic gets broachable: consider cut lines. (Never!)
Consider negotiable: mission critical uptimes.
D-D-o-S
All heads saturated by internets
Get progressively overwhelmed
And oh yes, weâre nearly over now
D-D-o-S
All heads saturated by internets
Get progressively worse at thinking
Let that thought be the last to sink in
|
||||
7. |
||||
|
[MCF]
Yo
I'm a neckbeard when I donât shave my neck
and you might even catch me vaping in fedoras. Next,
you females expect me to let you on my internets.
Look at me, I'm chivalrous. Step up, lose your innocence.
Get abused into bitterness and log off.
Think Iâm getting piggy? Well, youâre swilling from the wrong trough.
Think Iâve gone soft? My masculinity towers!
I can sit and type shit like this for hours
without a hint of introspection or fatigue.
You can make a sandwich for me, otherwise breed
and incubate my seed. These are your two mainstays.
Suck it up, youâre internetting while having vajayjays.
(And that was your decision,
to show up with those)
Why are you internetting
While youâre female?
Why are you on the line at all
[Starr Busby]
Boy, youâd better get yourself together
It ainât 2007
Your back is up against the wall
[Miss Eaves]
Oh shit, tripped over a dick pic
as I'm skipping through the triple dubs.
Every dude wanna show his little nub
and call me fat and ugly? What the fuck?
Um? Iâm just trying to live.
A femme with opinions: theyâre threatened
so they threaten. These mediocre men!
Theyâre in my biz, always trolling.
And⊠Iâm stuck in a spiderweb
âcause I dared to crawl through the internet.
[âShow us your titsâ] Iâm not impressed,
and I got a bit I want off my chest.
And yes, I donât exist
for your erection âcause all of you is a dick.
Drunk on male tears, donât fuck with me.
Throwing bows, fucking up the patriarchy.
[MCF]
Why are you internetting
While youâre female?
Why are you on the line at all?
[Starr Busby]
Boy, youâre always creeping in my comments
Uninvited, anonymous
Going to get you uninstalled
[Lex the Lexicon Artist]
Once upon a time in 2009
I opened up Premiere Pro, took a couple of lines
from the Scout in TF2 and matched them up to a beat.
I go to sleep and wake up to a thousand subscribers⊠Sweet.
From there it only escalated and I amassed
a vast army of edgelords as fans of my craft.
And they all thought I was a man âcause âthereâs no women on the internet,â
a classic adage started for laughs that led to ignorance.
I made more tracks for mic spammers to use
and YouTube Poops that hit a few million views.
But when I chose to show my true colors, I knew I would lose.
Some fans turned their backs upon me in a whirlwind of sexist abuse.
Yet all those videos remain on the tubes,
and I have superfans who badger me to make something new.
Maybe Iâll do it for the cool people. Maybe. Perhaps.
But if you want some more Enigma, maybe you could listen to me rap.
[E-Turn]
Hey Chad, your ignorance is blatant.
You got a complex and you canât seem to face it.
Instead of trolling on my posts, you should retrace it,
man. Get off Facebook, go to bed, yo hereâs a blanket
statement, opinion, and a fact check from Snopes.
Acting like youâre educated on the matter, but nope.
See you jumping on a thread and steady watching you choke.
Post some politics, you tell me to get back on the boat.
Yo, I cringe knowing they allowed you to vote.
Demeanor grosser than the scum in between your toes.
He-man woman-hater, and your favorite word is âwoke,â
selfie mirror flexing in the cloud of vape smoke.
Quoting Joe Rogan, posting how youâre #blessed,
the next day online talking trash about your ex
getting in your feelings âcause she denied your request.
Blahblahblah bro, bro, bro youâre a mess.
[MCF]
Well, actually! Not all of us act as you say.
Be exact! Youâre sounding irrational. Facts are the way.
Ladies, thanks for sharing all your memoirs
and all your little femme scars that wouldâve been far
likelier ignored if endured by men online.
Simply be us, youâll have an easier time.
Or log off! Why are you here? I wonât follow you.
I get to be worse than any of you, if not all of you.
|
||||
8. |
Bad Nerd (feat. Corn Mo)
03:34
|
|||
|
I remember back in the previous millennium
when, um, nerds were sighted, it was âReady? Get âem!â
Youâd hide it if you could, but none of us were able.
Maybe congregate together and discuss the label.
Maybe form a roundtable of the meek folk,
even chuckle at what we deemed an elite joke:
the elevation of our intellects and our low status
intersecting in sadness. It was so bad, it was
awful, I was there, I remember it.
I was present at the founding of the syndicate,
a pleasant moment of comradery
when we swore weâd shape the world to how it ought to be.
Weâd make everything perfect,
tempt the planet with heavenly circuits,
work it till weâre what the world is in need of.
Thought there was only good nerds at the meet-up.
You donât need to be bad nerd
Step away from the dark side
You donât need to be bad nerd
You can muster some pride
you donât have to be bad
Our conspiracy spread rapidly.
None of the cool kids knew what was happening.
A-list: Peter Jackson, Sam Raimi.
Want your geek satisfactions? Pay Me.
Make it free, then charge them when the bill comes.
Yo, internet, whereâd you get your skills from?
Howâd you hide in every pocket,
every step of the way maintaining an open socket,
worming into their psyches,
giving them weird nerd urges however unlikely,
ever so slightly instilling
nerd rage into the unwilling?
Bad nerds ascending with no ceiling,
kind of like we always did: the opposite of chilling.
Cannot stand a slight, demands a killing.
Itâs bad for that to be fulfilling.
Bad nerds, hacking the election and the top ten,
didnât even stop then.
Make âem gargle on your hot phlegm.
Might even SWAT your friends. Show your raw contempt
for anyone who isnât nerd at all.
Thatâs when you lost the plot, you got enthralled
by power for its own sake.
Up in my geekery tower, seeking my own break
from fucking getting hassled.
Why you got to make nerd mean asshole?
Why you got to make internet cruel?
Turn part of it into a murderous idiot school.
Turn the rest of it into paranoia fuel.
Wreck the normies, theyâre annoying you.
But what youâre wrecking is the clique you represent
You donât need to be bad. Ainât too late to repent.
|
||||
9. |
||||
10. |
||||
|
It was just like a scene in an intrigue film
and Iâm still not convinced that it wasnât for real.
This isnât intended for me, I donât think.
Itâs a missive from the edge of despair, I mean brink
of total desperation. The communication therein
says her hopes for survival are slim,
and sheâs writing to the Front, though weâve yet to meet,
with a confidential matter âcause sheâs heard Iâm discreet.
And the urgency of her request for my aid
is matched by the depth of the trust she displayed.
âDonât betray me like our oil minister did (staged a coup).
And Iâm about to flee Nigeria soon
but Iâll never make it out,â she says, with twenty million
three hundred twenty thousand US dollars that are still in
her possession. She embezzled them, I guess.
Look, I donât really know her so uh... thatâs none of my business.
Sheâs the LADY MARYAM ABACHA, deposed.
These days, canât even get her caps-lock key unfroze.
But yo, something about a widow in distress
(with 20 million dollars hidden in a metal chest)
softened up the Frontalotâs heart, no doubt,
so I hit the reply button, tell her I can help her out.
She writes me back: DEAR FRONTALOT, UNITED STATES...
she acts so thankful. A bank full of money awaits!
And I hate delays so Iâm quick to turn around
with my full name and the number to my checking account
and the scan of my license to drive an automobile
and my passport number, proving Frontalotâs for real!
Then Iâll meet the money in Stockholm. Ainât gonna walk home.
Think Iâll retire to the south of Spain and sip gazpacho.
Not so quick, thereâs a little problem:
LADY A apparently had difficulty running all them
numbers I give her. But look, the fake IDâs my only one,
and thatâs a real passport â I got it off usenet and checked,
Iâm not dumb. Iâm not some idiot
whoâs about to lose your money for you quicker than Iâm getting it.
And of course my bank balance is negative; whose isnât?
Thatâs why I need your 20% money laundering commission.
And Iâm wishing I could talk about this further with you but I canât.
I just got an email from DR. UBUGU of Chad.
Heâs got a hundred and seventy-seven million in a bag.
I feel I got to help him âcause his story is so sad.
|
||||
11. |
||||
|
I hate your blog.
It's incredibly
terrible and bad.
I hate your blog. You own a dog, and you feed it.
You post about it. I get to read it.
Plus: five paragraphs on the socks you bought
and your thoughts on whether Nicole Ritchie's hot or not.
You got no reason to be typing, yet you persist.
Hit each key with your fist till you punch out your top ten list
of all the things that ever happened in your life.
Number one: met Michael Jackson's second wife.
Number two: got Curly on the Which Stooge Are You
Poll, as the GIF proves. Click for the link-through!
Three: saw puppy pictures on a web page,
kittens in a nest egg. The idea gestated:
Why not open up your own?
So you bought the account and yet I hope you don't
put the payments in on it every month like they want,
'cause then you'll disappear off the internet, haunt
just the Wayback Machine like a ghost.
And I won't be like, "How come you don't post??"
I promise I won't.
I hate your blog. Your recipe for vegan eggnog is stupid.
I hissed and I booed it,
and then eschewed it, never made it once. Yes,
your blog roll is a confederacy of dunces.
It abuts less interesting links in your posts.
Hamsters that dance! I'm not engrossed.
I'm not opposed to your collection of All Your Base pics,
but they're longer in the denture than a ninja flipping out doing face kicks.
I'll phrase this nice:
if it's hard to get to bed, your web site will suffice
to entice me to slumber. I mumble impoliticly,
"I tried not to click 'read more' but you tricked me!"
Want to stick the whole computer in the trash can
instead of reading about the constipation lately and your ass plans
that you seem to contemplate.
You thought I would rate your page "awesome" and "great"?
[Quelle Chris]
How could you hate my blog? Itâs got everything. Have you seen the title with free glitter bling? Inspirational quotes about anything? Dank memes and links to the best gaming streams? ZIPs with clips of kick-ass movie scenes? GIFs and riffs, my opinion is super keen. A proud Trump voter, a big gun owner, fake trick blower on my John Deere mower. Iâm real likeable and unforgettable, and if I use your photo Iâll never credit you. I hate Instagram, Snap, and Reddit too. My blogâs got a super loud embedded tune: Stupefied by Disturbed on repeat. I know each word. And thatâs me, come and see, I know youâll love it. Stop being a normie and join the troll republic.
[MCF]
I hate your blog. You ainât logged in in a month and a half,
and I, for one, am aghast.
I mean Iâm fast on the way to removing it from bookmarks.
If I took part in vanity I might be trying to look smart
by not checking eight times a day.
Your blog is so despair-inducing I canât bear to look away.
Oh, well! Got to do what your muse compels.
Guess Iâll try to go despise a blog by someone else.
|
||||
12. |
Pr0n S0ng (Unplugged)
03:47
|
|||
|
Just got hard-pressed underneath my desk.
No jest! Itâs time Frontalot confessed:
at the best of times, got the worst of rhymes.
And I donât think Iâm the first to find
my life devoted less to lyrics
than it is to my struggle for pyrrhic
victory in the race to be
teh intarwebâs number one devotee
of smutty little things that occur onscreen
(risquĂ© to â hey! â quintuple-x obscene):
MILFs who shave themselves so cleanly;
twins in positions unseemly.
My spleen ainât the part that gets vented.
I grabbed a hold and fapped like I meant it.
Distended, probably oughta leave it alone,
spend more time stroking on the microphone.
Got a boatload of midgets and theyâre in command
of a full-grown woman on her knees and hands.
Got a long hard donkey and a farm girl too
and the brayingâs so dismaying when he starts to spoo.
Got to click close, put it away
âcause the internet is f-i-l-t-h-y.
Lurking in #pass chans on the IRC,
got DCCâd unexpectedly
with an 80-minute XviD: Nuns In Heat
Part III: Bad Habits. Iâm so l337
that I had that one already.
Skipped to the part with the fishnet teddy.
Whipped it out, but to my chagrin,
one toss from a win when the boss walked in,
said, âNuh-uh Front, that terminal ainât
for a latex crucifix spanking a taint
in big 32-bit color
while them rosary beads get yanked out the cruller.â
I said, âYou canât fire me; I quit!â
Opened up the case, yanked out the hard disk.
Absconded, all with the data in hand:
thirty-one years of Hustler scans;
plans for how to construct a love swing;
alt.binaries.everything
archived since spring of â92;
receipt for my RealDollâs stripper shoes;
tools for an online poll I ran
(vote once, Tubgirl or Goatse Man);
glands galore, explore for hours;
diaper play and roman showers;
glory hole video, deep as it gets;
MPEGs of an heiress that she ought regret,
capâd on cam from a hijacked feed.
Half a terabyte, so whatcha need?
Got grannies in the front, trannies in the back,
red on brown on blond on black,
ganged up, tied up, all alone:
every delectation to which Iâm prone.
Got the Japanese schoolgirl tentacle love.
Got the furries in a flurry, they been yiffing it up.
Got a Craigâs List poster trading poo for pee.
Got a deep dark dungeon full of hot bi Swedes.
Got to click close, put it away
âcause the internet is f-i-l-t-h-y.
The backslash on my keyboardâs stuck.
Mouse wheel donât turn âcause itâs all gummed up.
|
||||
If you like MC Frontalot, you may also like:
The Department of Darkness
by The Department of Darkness
supported by 86 fans who also own âNet Split or, the Fathomless Heartbreak of Online Itselfâ
Because it's Schaffer and he fucking rocks!
go to album
Sick Passenger
by Schaffer the Darklord
supported by 61 fans who also own âNet Split or, the Fathomless Heartbreak of Online Itselfâ
This is hands down one of my all time favorite albums.From the lyrics to the music to the production. It's meaningful, moving and an essential addition to any collection.
go to album
RNDM
by Mega Ran
supported by 56 fans who also own âNet Split or, the Fathomless Heartbreak of Online Itselfâ
I love this whole album: It just captures a wide range of experiences and affects the listener with a wide range of emotions. I first liked this album because of the nerdcore elements, but I fell in love when I realized that these verses were true poetry, speaking to a deeper truth and beauty unlike most hip-hop I've heard. "A Poet" exemplifies this with its bittersweet message about how poetry is not valued. This is the first hip-hop tune I've ever shed a tear over. Take a bow, Mega Ran.
go to album
MAVERICK HUNTERS
by Noveliss & Mega Ran
featured on Bandcamp Radio May 21, 2021
go to album
Ancient Methods
by Spectacular Diagnostics
featured on Bandcamp Radio Oct 5, 2021
go to album
Of Process and Progression
by Tall Black Guy & Ozay Moore
featured on Bandcamp Radio Oct 5, 2021
go to album
Hold Person
by Schaffer, Riley, and the Double Ice Backfire
supported by 55 fans who also own âNet Split or, the Fathomless Heartbreak of Online Itselfâ
This entire album is pure gold, and I still cant get enough of it 2 1/2 years later. Schaffer, Shael, and Ty have collaborated to create pieces that invoke incredible emotion, thoughtfulness, and self evaluation. From reinventing a Schaffer classic, to telling all-too-relatable stories of recollection and regret- Hold Person speaks to the holding patterns we've all found ourselves repeating against our better instincts.
go to album
