Some artists have publicists; some have street teams; B L A C K I E has a rabid cult following such that he’s able to sell out every copy of his self-produced and self-released albums on nothing but word of mouth. Every time Kanye or Death Grips gets mentioned in the press, a forum somewhere online reopens the commission as to how much those artists owe to La Porte’s finest cultural export. The trick of it is, it’s no easy thing describing the actual music Michael LaCour makes, because it’s constantly changing. To call it rap is meaningless, to call it hardcore even more so. He’s forever messing with his own signature, sometimes substituting Alice Coltrane vibes for grime production, other times trading out the noise blasts and hip-hop production with long interludes of progressive sax and transgressive funk. Whether moving forward into abstract realms or doubling down on the performative elements that set a room ablaze, B L A C K I E keeps one hand on the runes and one on the wheel.