Consider for a moment that just about every human being knows someone who claims to have the capacity to ‘rap.’ We live for the cringe-worthy moment when this person drinks enough 32oz Smirnoff Ice’s that he (or she, but more likely he) decides to prove it. We feel compelled to encourage the poor bastard, while in our minds and hearts we know that every single misplaced beat and dropped verse is a fucking stab in the face of those who sell their souls to the genre.
Now, consider being utterly blown away by some fair-skinned stranger who could very well have graduated from the Mike Skinner school of Hipster-Hop; and that’s where you’ll discover Cage.
Once you set foot outside of your reclusive plastic bubble of xenophobia and admit that not all new music is shit, you’ll learn to appreciate certain nuances and stop comparing every white rapper to Marshall Mathers, or (for those of you who hate music completely) Vanilla Ice.
The hipster community needs someone like Cage, if only just so they stop asking stupid fucking questions at parties like: “Ever heard of Ghostface Killah?“
Cage‘s music is thoughtful and biting, but most of all, it is entertainingly depraved. There is a sense of real world corruption to Cage‘s lyrics which allows us to embrace a song like Beat Kids and totally forget that Eminem had a pregnant bitch locked in his trunk.
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