The streets of Luxor are continually flooded with noise. With angry excuses for automobiles horning eachother into an oblivion of rage, with sandelled del boys haggling Hank and Jean into reed paintings of Tutankahmun, with of all manner of cluttered kerfuffle… But somewhere amongst that hive of racket, emanating from the makeshift practice room basement beneath a kebab house, comes a snazzy strut of scratches, beats and rhymes, as Egypt’s leading rap pruveyors hone their craft. And what you ask is the name of this trail-blazing outfit?
Mancunian Post-8-Bit Doss-Wave.
No, no one really gets what it has to do with them or their music.
Egyptian Hip Hop: entombed in nonsensical monikers