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Thread: Roadmanbarty's Top 20 Drills

  1. #1
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    Default Roadmanbarty's Top 20 Drills

    Go on then go on then draw for the choons. 20 goon choons. The illest drill.

    An impassioned defence of a much maligned genre. Why does it matter? Why is it life enhancing? Why should we bother?

    An explanation of what makes it top 20 worthy. Quotables.

    The great lost RA/Fact/Wire article.

    (Motivated by listening to a couple of YouTubers top 10s and thinking they weren't all that really, and certainly made drill look shit compared to grime e.g.)
    Αι ψυχαί οσμώνται καθ΄ Άιδην.

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  3. #2

  4. #3
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    co-sign. I can imagine what some of them might be, but others will be lost gems unaccessible to the casual observer

  5. #4
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    Barty right now

    Αι ψυχαί οσμώνται καθ΄ Άιδην.

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  7. #5
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    I dunno, get the feeling barty, luka and third are cheating on us, run off to some other 20-year old message board. Barty's just trying to cover for them with his entertainment date thread, to throw us off their trail. secession in our midst, a breakaway republic being formed under our very noses. some call them traitors, I won't go that far, at this point.
    Last edited by Leo; 11-01-2020 at 09:20 PM.

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  9. #6
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    They're on some tropical internet island, kicking back with cocktails, chuckling.

    I don't think the word traitor is appropriate, Leo, at the moment.

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  11. #7
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    I heard he had to move to Cyprus cos some boys were at his door
    Αι ψυχαί οσμώνται καθ΄ Άιδην.

  12. #8
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    possibly a mutinous three-way new year's resolution pact, a need for a higher intellectual bar. rumors of something about how we're incapable of holding up our end, stagnant placeholder conversation.

  13. #9
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    Default 1) Harlem Spartans- Call Me A Spartan



    Medusa-head sitars spit and lurch over a jittering bossa nova of hissing high hats, claustrophobic clicks, guttural bass growls and barking brass stabs. Intricate, multisyllabic wordplay zips and zigzags past in every direction, vividly recounting tales of “Spartans” and “shinobi men” equipped with blades, swords and spears inflicting “wounds” in epic tales of “vengeance”. It seems then that it’s not only the brass that stabs in this setting. In fact it’s hard to find much in the song that doesn’t at least tangentially conjure images of bladed weaponry. The percussion clinks, the sitars are tinny and metallic - gliding from note to note like swords swooshing through the air. Even the editing is quick cut; chopping, slicing and swiping to the extent that the screen is occasionally engulfed in a scarlet red filter as though the camera lens has been splattered with blood. We’re presented with a group of shadowy figures, their faces disguised and obscured behind balaclavas and hoods. They’re amassed outside a nondescript convenience store, but that does little to allay their ominous aura. In this context, even the most incidental of background details is sinister. The infantile, heart-shaped Wall’s ice-cream logo that repeatedly appears suddenly feels palpably gory. The word “FOOD” that hangs over the rapper’s heads insinuates that the violence they embody is predatorial and primal. The skeletal park gate they congregate around, with its brittle metal arch, morbidly evokes the “arbeit macht frei” sign above the gates of Auschwitz. A legal disclaimer at the beginning of the video isn’t enough to assuage this sense of malevolence. With its grammatical mishaps and inconsistent capitalization it comes across as disingenuous and subversive. It professes that what is being portrayed is “fictional”. It is not. This is real life. This is London. This is UK drill.

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    Default 2) SMG- Karma



    Raw, palpable agency.

    Imposing your will on the world.

    Blood.

    Sweat.

    Hot-blooded heathens.

    Riots and pandemonium. Prison breaks.

    The implosion of the social contract.

    Explosions. Knocked out teeth flying through the air like shrapnel. Skulls crunching under heels. Tires burning.

    Looting music. Lunatic music.

    The Mehdi Army.

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    Default 3) Zone 2- Wait



    Toxins in the bloodstream. Spreading. Swarming through veins and organs.

    Suffocating you from inside.

    Lung spasms. Cardiac arrest. Seizures.

    The shuddering, ivory whites of the eye as they roll to the back of the head.

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    Default 4) Moscow17- Scoreboard



    Rippling moonlight reflected in water. Night walks through empty dockland. Intimate moments alone. Cityscapes rendered tender by obsidian horizons. Those fleeting hours when metropolises become concrete Edens. The world becomes a dream when London sleeps.

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  21. #13
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    Default 5) C1- Do It Again



    Submerged. The tide muscular and magisterial. Passive but potent. Swaying, not violently but nonetheless inescapable. Poseidon’s grip like a boa constrictor. Still, yet menacingly lethal.

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  23. #14
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    Default 6) Loski- Famlee



    Stadium-scope EDM drillstep.

    A druggy festival girl with blue hair, neon mascara and a skin-tight dress clinging to pasty cellulite. The world becomes a blur; music becomes reverb and all she can see is the cloying arcade lights of elliptic fairground rides.

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  25. #15
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    Default 7) Poky- D Kamp



    Wicca and witchcraft. Little characters made of willow dangling from trees. The disembodied breaths you hear in lonely forests. The silhouettes that manifest in the corner of your eye. Tree branches that become hands tapping on the window in the minds of frightened children.

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