NONE SHALL PASS OUT AUGUST 28th on DEFINITIVE JUX

Responsible for all but revolutionizing the entire face of underground hip-hop in the early portion of this decade with a slew of potent and influential releases such as 2000's Float LP, 2001's monumental Labor Days LP, and 2003's Bazooka Tooth to his most recent EP/book, 2004's Fast Cars, Danger, Fire and Knives, Aesop Rock (aka Ian Bavitz) has proven that resting on his past laurels is all but forbidden. In the last year alone, Aesop has released a 45-minute workout mix for Nike+, a short story in collaboration with visual artist Jeremy Fish, and scored music for two short films. 2007 finds Aesop delivering his next full length album, the highly anticipated None Shall Pass on Definitive Jux.

Created over a 2 year period following his last release, None Shall Pass documents not only a vast amount of personal change that Aesop experienced over this time, but deftly depicts scenes and stories relative to all ages of life. Production is a vital strong point on this album, with the majority of production duties handled by Aesop's longtime partner Blockhead. El-P and Rob Sonic each make offerings, while Aesop himself confidently produces a large portion of his own tracks as well. The duality of Aesop's hectic stream-of-thought coupled with the complex production on this album makes no exception to Aesop Rock's consistent pedigree, blazing a trail far ahead of his peers with an album that will be followed for years to come.

flash that buttery gold, jittery zeitgeist wither by the watering hole, what a patrol, what are we to heart huckabee art fuckery suddenly? not enough young in his lung for the waterwings? colorfully vulgar poacher outta mulch like "i'm 'a pull the pulse out a soldier and bolt". fine. sign of the time we elapse when a primate climb up a spine and attach. eye for an eye by the bog's life swamps and vines, they get a rise out of frogs and flies, so when a dog fight's hog-tied prize sorta costs a life, the mouths water on a fork and knife, and the allure isnt right. it's gore on a war torn beach where the cash cow's actually beef. blood turns wine when it leak for police like that's not a riot it's a feast, let's eat

and i will remember your name and face on the day you are judged by the funhouse cast
and i will rejoice in your fall from grace with a cane to the sky like 'none shall pass'

if you never had a day a snow cone couldn't fix, you wouldn't relate to the rogue vocoder blitz, how he spoke thru a no-doz motor on the fritz, cuz he wouldn't play roll over fetch like a bitch, and express no regrets, though he isn't worth a homeowner's piss to the jokers who pose by the glitz. fine. sign of the swine in the swarm when a king is a whore who comply and conform. miles outside of the eye of the storm, with a siphon to lure out a prize and award, while avoiding the vile and bazaar that is violence and war, true blue triumph is more, like wait, let it snake up outta the centerfold, let it break the walls of jericho, ready? go. sat where the old cardboard city folk swap tales with heads like every other penny throw.

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ok woke to a grocery list. it goes like this: duty and death. anyone object come stand in the way, you could be my little snake river canyon today, and i ran with a chain of commands and a jet pack strap where the back-stab lands if it can. fine. sign of the vibe in the crowd when i cut a belly open to find what climbs out. what a bit of gusto he muster up, to make a dark horse rush like enough's enough, it musta struck a nerve so they huff and puff, til all the king's men fluster and clusterfuck, and it's a beautiful thing, to my people who keep an impressive wingspan even when the cubicle shrinks, you gotta pull up the intruder by the root of the weed, NY chew thru the machine

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CITRONELLA

i stood before the glittery borders of new radius in search of the fabled city of mud and crushed velvet, what i found was a gutter where the love of entertainment meets the lust for blood and demerits, cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, collar pop jolly roger, die motherfucker die, apache on the ship shape and bristol fashion snuck a jammy through the red tape and tip toe past him. worm teeth grinding feverishly below, as little organic hacksaws eager to feed and grow, so when it's blackhawk over the glass walk, they surface up through the cash crops with clippers for your belly-up mascots, and never dine alone, meanwhile back at sea level it was home by home zone for zone, bloom county's homeless riot for home ownership, i hope you put gas in the motor-home and know the roads, i studied with the finest combs stuck under my thumb as opposed to the loaded nose who pray armageddon is numb and that's unevenly rendered to those who grew up thinking faith was the surrender of reason but not a reason to surrender. catch the liberty fires catalog, 40 torched orchids and citronella for algernon, don and vagabond alike repent, this shit should have gone "beta burns babylon, the end".

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and when the radio stars climbed up out of the floors to murder the medium that shot 'em 30 years before they said...
and when the cutters of the pie throw your summers in the sky, no love lost baby the future is so bright...

nothing says charm like an armored car taking the clone-farm 'tards to the arms bizarre, we were the homemade marker makers born to pour the marsh ink into right guard parts and march through the gauntlet of car alarms, no harps, no delusions of losing with something prettier than ash around the metacarpal still clutching the teddy bears, we can run with scissors through the city fair or situate the nuzzle with the subtle art of splitting hairs, double park the shuttle, some will arc the funneled cutty sark where budding narcs target the gushing heart in the muddy clarks, these are the vices of the p-noid bastards who will chew whatever tablets blur the axioms fastest, crews lose lunches by the hundreds, lose electricity, lose gas, phone, plumbing, humming keep your mouth closed, keep your cows cloned, go, i am the pulse of this fucking town, homes, no. my what a convenient embargo, at least i'll always know which side of the gun i'm supposed to buy the farm from, the too-far-gone kicks still in the box, fix still in the pill in his sock ,chilling, gill in the slop, and a million watch gideon scribes, but once the arc honor pussy and bribes, the animals will divide and that's a win for the garish who keep charity in the parish while profiting off the lack of a marriage amongst the classes.

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the mobile infantry is so postal, coast into the quotient provoking the local pistol pete, choking his liberty and justice quotas and cloaking his folk in smithereens, smokey little pile of bloody pulp and co-dependencies. dopey no surrender bender in effect, sole defenders of the longest night new york had never slept, and there were jumping jacks and whistlers over christmas, like rockets from the crypt spilling the festive morning beverage of your preference, i step in hog heaven, stoney with no weapons, pissing on TelePrompTers, selling megaphones to hecklers, who broadcast 80 million versions of the sermon for that one indisputable masterpiece before the curtains, pale arcadian moon, high definition flat plasma, Imax city-wide transfer, artificial einstein-rosen out the tenement, ease into the xanadu, let it hammer the tension out, i'm talking cool, calm, dominant phenomenal, monitor face to the wall opposite. u.f.o.'s and locusts sing the same old song while the weathermen get retarded as the day is long

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