from the new yorker...

I own only one piece of art depicting a musician. It’s a photograph of an m.c. known as Ghostface Killah. He is smoking a cigarette and singing into an old-fashioned ribbon microphone. In his knit cap and sunglasses, he looks a bit like Frank Sinatra crossed with a jewel thief. “Fishscale,” Ghostface’s new album, is his fifth, and it is the most exciting record I’ve heard recently. This is more than a little surprising, because Ghostface is thirty-five, and rappers seldom have long careers, let alone ones in which the quality of the work steadily improves.