All hail the ruler of Wicked City, King Krafty Kuts!

For years Krafty Kuts represented the great divide between one of my greatest friends and I. He had stolen my friend from the comfortable groove of the classic hip-hop and reggae that formed much of the basis for our friendship and dragged him into (What I perceived to be) the cold, ruthless clutches of electronic music. All I heard about was how great Krafty Kuts was. He stood at the gates of my aural Mordor, along with Stanton Warriors, as the guards to some terrifying hellscape, waiting to pierce me in the ears and take away my great love in life if I dared to venture too close. Also, the guy goes by Krafty Kuts. Read that three times. Think about it and realize what an easy target that is to make fun of. It's nearly impossible to discuss something you're afraid of with such a ridiculous name and not bring attention to it.

(Mixes, tracks and photos abound within.)

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