A film about Northwest hip-hop from

Fantasmagoría

In their annual year-end critics’ poll, The Seattle Times ranked Fantasmagoría as the very best Seattle album of 2019, saying:

Talk about a record worth the wait. Three years ago (an eternity in streaming-era hip-hop), the real-life Olivia Hatfield, who previously performed as avant-soul singer Aeon Fux, released the well-received Black Trash, White House — wielding bilingual bars and Latin American influences — and became a club-circuit fixture. An experimental current has long coursed through a faction of Seattle’s eclectic hip-hop scene, one Guayaba gravitated toward alongside fellow Seattle favorites DoNormaal and Taylar Elizza Beth. But with this month-old alt-rap opus, the Tacoma-based rapper/singer has become a creative leader among this vibrant left-of-center coterie. A hair-raising uneasiness runs throughout the album, from the spooky cathedral intro that could open a Cradle of Filth album (not a total shocker coming from this former metal singer) to the horror-flick murder screams that dissolve into a Billie Holiday cover. Beguiling string arrangements drift over lurching click-clacks, with Guayaba shifting between bewitched low-register raps and devil’s-choir vocals across this haunted-to-perfection dreamscape. (Or should we say nightmare?) Fantasmagoría is a rabbit hole you absolutely want to fall down.

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A film about Northwest hip-hop from

Black Trash White House

The first track off of Guayaba’s EP, Black Trash White House ends with this beautiful statement of truth: “I promise that I’m honest, and I promise I’m sincere, and I’m fucked up in the head and I am fat and I am queer, and I am poor and black and may even be ugly, but I’m here.” I first discovered her confident, experimental, Latin-flavored hip-hop at a Moksha show in November, and she’s a great live performer with an acrobatic voice. There’s a bit of Nikki Minaj in her multiple personality rapping style, used to full effect on songs like “Brown Recluse.” Commanding production throughout from Luna God. This record concludes with “Paloma,” an unexpectedly sweet, soft Spanish acoustic guitar ballad.

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