Aesop Rock
The Impossible Kid

Introspection as a cure. This is not about abstraction. It is not about an undefined cloud hovering above someone's head in search of meaning. It is not about randomness, above all. In the mind of Ian Matthias Bavitz, there is a name that draws him into the darkest recesses of his thoughts: Camu Tao. Camu Tao is, or rather was, Tero Smith. A friend who in 2008 would die after two years battling cancer. Ian aka Aesop Rock already remembers him in Skelethon in 2012. Eight years have flown by since his death, yet it is a worm that slowly gnaws away at Ian's clarity. It makes him reflect, perhaps too much. The theme of death and earthly life is cyclical in his crystalline ability to write, write, write pages of stories to tell in the form of rap. A cure, as I mentioned at the beginning. It is Camu that pushes him once again to reflect on himself in the mirror, stripped of everything, in his most fragile dimension. A mental and physical isolation that would take Ian for a year into the warmth of the American woods, among wild animals staring at you and the quiet of the night under the moon. A world so far from the suburban chaos of New York City. Aesop is alone in the rooms of memory that play with him, overwhelm him, and lull him. The heart beats strong, the agitation is to be chased away and kept at bay. An endless routine that, among medical treatments, brings out an insatiable urge to look up and say: okay, I'm fine. A goal that, however, seems impossible to achieve, impossible to balance in a hypothetical inner equilibrium. The Impossible Kid is me. The Impossible Kid is Ian Matthias Bavitz. And four years after Skelethon, the MC is once again ready to spit out his demons.

I let my fears materialize. I let my skills deteriorize.

Do you know what the curious thing is? I'm trying to write a review about a character like Aesop Rock, who has an intimate relationship with words, a visceral synchronization, and with impressive flow overwhelms you with his stream of consciousness. There is no denying that I am finding immense difficulty in finding the words to describe the textual complexity that supports a scaffolding of beats as refined as they are restless. The Impossible Kid manages to open the treasury of his mind. Or rather, Ian lets the listener in through the labyrinthine and twisted streets that lead him to tell you everything he continues to struggle with. Life es death, life es life. The beats are obsessive, imprinting on your skull and taking their rightful time to circulate. A minimal, yet icy electronic. Martial. A noir atmosphere that embraces the dark humor and the confusing visions of a past that chases our Ian at great strides. Becoming aware of one's insecurities and difficulties is the first step for Aesop Rock to build the molecular plot of "The Impossible Kid". Ian struggles to get back on his feet and doesn't hide it; instead, he wonders: If I died in my apartment like a rat in a cage, Would the neighbors smell the corpse before the cat ate my face? Aesop's symbolism leaves little room for much mental speculation at this stage in his life. The incision is straightforward. Raw, but more motivated than ever not to disappear like a ghost.

Just in case of rough waters, I want to put one up for my brothers.

The faded corridors of family memories, the alleyways of San Francisco where you dream of a better place, all the endless hours in a psychiatrist’s waiting room trying to channel your personality into schematic lines take shape and substance. Aesop has experienced many things on his skin, but what, musically speaking, still surprises after two decades of activity is the extreme sensitivity with which he manages to touch certain chords of his soul. Rap is a personal matter for him, it is a conversation with himself. We can only try to understand the theater that composes his personality. The Impossible Kid is neurotically necessary. It is yet another chapter of an artist who sincerely transforms his ideas into a regenerating narrative journey.