Whoever said hip-hop was dead clearly has never been to Burma. In this sweaty stew of political dissidence and reclining Buddhas, baselines and break beats are king. Billboards display hooded MCs striking aggressive alpha poses, radios bump familiar American instrumentals laced with thunderstorms of Burmese lyrics, and fans are so familiar with their favorite artists’ bodies of work that when electricity goes out at concerts—an inevitable event in this power-thirsty country—they rap the rest of the song a capella.
More on the hiphop heads of Rangoon, from the Roads & Kingdoms backfile
I can’t wait to go to Burma.