Ovrkast is an accomplished producer and rapper who has laced tracks for everyone from Drake to Earl Sweatshirt. But his calm demeanor belies his place in an indie rap scene that’s currently holding hip-hop on its back. When I speak with him at the Rolling Stone office, he’s getting ready to hit the road with Saba on The Big Picture tour, which is currently stretching across the country. The Bay Area-born, New York-based artist is also on the heels of releasing his latest album, While The Iron Is Hot. The 13-song project was first ideated to capitalize on the buzz of his “Red Button” and “The Shoe Fits” beats made the deluxe version of Drake’s For All The Dogs album in 2023.
“It was supposed to be While The Iron Is Hot right after the Drake shit,” he says. “The goal was to do Kast Got Wings which is a turnt album…While The Iron Is Hot is a more rap album. But Kast Got Wings turned into a bunch of different shit.” He realized the project with producer Cardo “held some weight,” which encouraged him to take his time with his next solo album. And by last October he got the urge to start recording “nonstop,” crediting the solitude of the New York winter for his creative flurry. “I was just in the studio every day,” he says.
The result is a cathartic project where he delves into his creative journey on warm songs like “Truth” and “Stumblin,’” as well as collaborations like “Strange Ways” with Vince Staples, “Small Talk” with No Filller alum Samara Cyn, and “MAVKAST,” with his friend Mavi, who he’s known since they were both teens exploring their craft in Kik groupchats. Ovrkast says that his placement on Mavi and Earl Sweatshirt’s “El Toro Combo Meal” is what encouraged him to take his music career seriously and drop his 2020 debut Try Again.
Five projects later, Ovrkast says his latest work is the result of a more intentional writing process. But even though it’s a vulnerable glimpse of his life and times, he says it’s also a reflection of an alternate, supernatural universe. “[It’s me] as a character who moves to New York,” he says. “I do metalworking as a job and I also rap, but I’m not famous. And then I get struck by lightning. I get powers and I got this Thor hammer, and now I’m powerful.”
He says the supernatural storyline is “kind of a metaphor” for his real-life move across the country. “I’m moving to New York and all this cool shit is happening and then [I’m] struck with inspiration and acting on it.” He says, adding, “the story is me dealing with the ups and downs of this newfound success, dealing with people and staying true to the sound.”
He paired the project with several music videos including “I’m On,” where he dons white face while satirizing the life cycle of flavor-of-the-month white rappers. The videos came together alongside Mitch Ritter, who he appreciates for their kindred desire to control their entire operation.
“I wanted one person to shoot the whole thing. I didn’t want to have to keep changing the visual landscape,” he says. “I wanted niggas to get familiar with that style of imagery: the blue, the cool tones, the way Mitch’s camera shakes and the way he zooms in on shit, the way he chops it up. Mitch shoots it, he directs it, he edits it, he does everything.I mix my own shit, produce my own shit, write to my own shit. I’m involved in everything. So it was cool to meet Mitch and we were able to cook.”
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How are you feeling so far about the reception to the project?
It feels good, bro. I’ll be reading certain blog posts or certain tweets and niggas pick up on shit that I didn’t expect them to. But I think that’s the thing with artists, you think you slick and then niggas is like, “Nah, I seen that.” And it’s kind of cool, but I’m really surprised.
What kind of things are they picking up on?
Really all of it. I saw a blog post today and they were just saying that every feature is there on purpose, which is true. I made sure the features were carefully picked and everybody had their spot. And just touching on topics of how I structured it and how it’s cinematic. [It’s] stuff that I didn’t think people would pick up on. People nowadays go to their favorite track or a certain track. But people actually sitting and listening to it…I’m like, damn, that’s fire. My boy Sage told it’s easy to just play. He said he played three or four times. It’s 28 minutes, but it’s a lot of shit.
How did you go about adding the tags, vocal clips, and other elements to the project?
That’s [being a] producer, literally. If you listen to a lot of the Beat Konducta Madlib shit, the whole tape flows. Like one second it’s a random intro. Then the beat comes in and it plays for 45 seconds and cuts to some other shit. There’s shit happening every 30 seconds, but it all makes sense.
You’ve said your first album Try Again was your third time attempting to make an album.
Yeah, the first album I had, I hadn’t even made it. I was just like, yeah, I’m about to make an album. Then the second one was like, “Alright, I’m actually trying to make this thing,” but I didn’t have it in me yet. Try Again was literally me [making] a bunch of songs and then got the Earl placement and I was like, “Alright, it’s time,” and then that shit just went up. This is kind of the same thing, even though [the Drake placement] was a little while ago, it’s another one of the things where it’s like I got about keep going crazy. And I think that might be a recurring theme in my career.
Beyond the visibility, what do you think it was that you were missing that you gained in order to Try Again?
I just started seeing niggas tap in, bro. It was like Earl tapped in, Sage tapped in. I had been cool with Mavi for a little bit…we’ve been friends since kids, so it was like, why the fuck not? I know all these niggas personally, I might as well. And also I was getting better at my craft. I was really focused. I had a job at the library, my shift was seven hours, but I would spend 500 hours bullshitting, doing nothing. So I had my computer just making music and shit. Then I’d get off, go to the studio. I remember it was days where Earl would come to Oakland on some random shit and me and my homie Deja would be like, “I’ll text him. You want to go to the studio?” We going to get off work, run into the studio with all my shit and be there until 2:00 AM [or] later than that. That was how shit was, I think that was my first attempt at being serious. And even though it wasn’t fully like how this album is, it was my first time giving niggas a whole album.
How did you meet Mavi?
Bro, [we] met through a Kik group chat. I was like 17 years old making beats for the first time. This is my second month making beats and this nigga was just rapping. He hadn’t recorded a song ever. This nigga Mavi had bread. Everybody was trying to buy beats, but nobody had bread. This nigga Mavi was like, “How much you want?” I was like, “$100.” He was like, “Alright bro.” He paid for the beat, he rapped to it and from there he just always had a connection to my music and same with his. We never broke that bond.
Were you very active in the online beat making community?
Hell yeah. I grew up on Knxwledge, Ohbliv, all that shit so it’s in my DNA. My [previous] goal was to be like Madlib, be mysterious and put out vinyl releases every two years. But eventually I was like, you know what, I’m just gonna do this rap shit because I fuck with it. And by that time it was 2017 or ‘18, the beat scene was now Lo-fi. The traces of it were kind of gone. Even Low End Theory stopped. It was like, all right, now niggas is rapping. MIKE came out, Mavi was turned up, the tide was shifting to rap so I’m like, fuck it, I might as well just keep rapping.
At what point did you start taking rap more seriously?
I had songs on SoundCloud that were blowin’ up in like 2016. My beats were already circulating, so it was easy for me to put a rap in there and niggas not know who it was. So I had some rap songs, [with] 10-15,000 plays where I snuck ’em in, but no one knew who Ovrkast was. It was very underground. And then I took it seriously around 2019 when shit was getting serious. I was around real rappers like Earl Sweatshirt, so it made me take it more seriously.
How did being in Kinfolk and Lo-Fiction sharpen your craft as well?
It’s imperative if you make music at a young age, you got to collaborate no matter what the corny ass group name is. Not to say [our] name [was] corny [but] you have to do that shit. I know everybody got videos and clips of them rapping with their homies back in the day. That’s a ritual I feel like for a young nigga. You got to collaborate. That really showed me collaboration and also it sharpened my skills because there’s other people rapping and producing next to me and it was a good motivation having that camaraderie.
What was recording this project like?
It was wintertime. It was slow over there. Nobody really was coming in, so I had a lot of studio time and also I had a schedule. I had to write, I had to play beats, make beats, write this shit, listen to it and wait until I got the studio to record it. That helped me want to deliver on everything.
So how do you feel about East Coast winters being from the bay?
It’s a bitch. That shit not fun, bro. That’s how I stayed alive was making the music. If I didn’t do that, I was going crazy. You have to have something bro. You got to be doing something in the wintertime. You going to go insane [otherwise]. I think this winter was one of the worst ones too. The terrain getting around everything is just much harder. But it’s like I had more motivation to actually complete my [album]. Also I was having fun, [the] studio’s warm and shit. I’m chillin’.
As a rapper-producer, how do you differentiate when a beat is for you as opposed to just a general beat?
It’s kind like having a closet full of clothes, right? You collect fire shit over time, right? But let’s say something you thought you was going to wear, you, you don’t wear it and your cousin pull up like, “Oh, that’s hard, you can take it.” That’s how I feel it. I be having fired beats that I’m like, “Actually I’m not going to do this. You can have it.” I think about it first though, every single time I’m like, unless I’m making a beat for somebody, then I’m like, all right, I can cook in that mind state. But most of the time I’m cooking, I want to impress myself first. Right now it’s all just scrapbooking, really. I take this from here and put this from here. I’m like, okay, I can use this sample and these drums between these two different beats and mix ’em together and make that song for that person.
If somebody hit you and you’re like, “Let me piece something together,” how far back would you go in your vault?
I don’t know because niggas say they want something but they don’t really want [it]. They want the idea of an Ovrkast beat. It’s like you just wanted the name, but maybe you’re not the nigga for this beat. It depends, bro.
How do artists come to you when they ask you for a beat? How descriptive do they get?
The only nigga to ever give me an in-depth [request] was Vince Staples. He sent me some music to hear first. Then I sent him a beat and he was like, “Yeah, this is hard.” And this nigga recorded a full verse on his iPhone and was like, “This is where I’m going with this.” And I went back in and I restructured, and he was like, “Okay, that’s cool, let’s make this two bars instead of four.” It was the most collaborative thing I’ve ever did with anybody. That was really crazy for sure. But most of the time it’s like, “I need some beats. What you got?” I hate when niggas is like, “Oh, so-and-so need a beat.” I’m like, where the nigga at?! Tell the nigga hit me.
How resourceful are you when it comes to samples?
Right now I know how to find something a nigga not going to find. Probably the past three years I’ve been able to find shit that niggas don’t know where it is at, super tucked. There’s one sample I can’t even say. But now I avoid that, I try my best. I have people I work with…Angelo Leroy and Fly Williams and this guy named Charlie P Production who make samples and I can be like, “Yo, can you do this for me?” Because actual musicians know what I like and that’s the name of the game. I think nowadays you got to have people who know your sound and are willing to work with you. Everything that I’ve done with the guys that I’ve worked with has done some crazy shit. Each one of them have a placement with somebody big. So it’s pretty cool.
So how often do you rap? Are you the rapper who writes a lot of bars or are you more intentional about your songs?
This album is when I became more writing-heavy. I can sit down and do a good 16 bars, but for the longest time it was hard because it was just difficult for me to focus and dig deep. Also, making the beat, it was hard for me to deliver on that for myself. Also, I don’t wanna have filler. I don’t want to say nothing that’s just saying shit for saying shit. I hate that. I would deadass stop rapping if I can’t think of nothing. And I was doing that for so long, but now I be thinking of more shit to say.
You said you felt like, process-wise, While The Iron Is Hot is similar to Try Again. In what ways do you feel like it thematically or otherwise differentiates?
Try Again was a little more shooting from the hip. I was just making music. I didn’t have a name for the album, I had no cover art, I had no theme. Then the Earl placement happened and I was like, all right, I should think of this shit right now. So I spent a month to make cover art and sequence. I made this album a little bit different.
How did you think of Samara Cyn for “Small Talk?”
Everybody who heard this song was like, “[Get] Samara.” I sent it to her and she was like, “I’m going to get on this.” And then she was busy as hell, [so] I had the homegirl come on and do a hook, but then Samara was like, “I’mma hop on it still.” I had to swap out the homegirl, put her on ”Stumble Ma,” and then I met Samara in LA. She knocked it out super fast and it was easy.
It’s easy to hear her on that. It’s just very floaty. It’s real. It has that feeling to it. My beats are sometimes a playground for rappers. It is an open book for a skilled rapper to go crazy and I love that shit. I want niggas to go fucking crazy. Niggas was like, “Man, Samara stole the show,” I’m like, good! That’s fucking hard. Niggas are saying the features on album is better than him. I’m like, good nigga, these niggas are crazy. Why would I want you niggas to be trash? Imagine if all the features was lackluster niggas.
It was a line you said on one of the tracks, just the phrase, “I still ain’t done shit.” What do you think would make you feel fulfilled?
I want two or three more albums.
So once you get to five or six albums.
Yeah. I want to be able to tour on my own album. I look up to Vince Staples and Saba, they have careers where they can put an album out [and] go. I want to be able to at least do that one time. I feel like I’m still putting my time in. I was reading the blog post reviewing the album, [and] it was naming all this stuff I did in the past year. I did so much shit in the past two years but I feel like I haven’t done anything yet. I made some noise with this one, but I haven’t done my big one yet. This is right next to it for sure.
Can you take me into ideating and crafting the “I’m On” video? It seemed like a lot of fun.
At the beginning of the song I said, “I’m on, I’m I’m on.” He thought I was mocking Jorjiana’s “Uh huh, uh huh,” and I was like, “Nah.” He’s like, “You should play into that.” I’m like, “Do white face?” He’s like, “Yeah.” And I’m like, “Fuck it, I’m going to do white face.” And he like, “Yeah, you should do the Atlanta YWA (Young White Avatar) thing.” So we sat down and scripted it out and wrote the shit. It was fun, bro. I like to be goofy for a few hours. I grew up in the era of Tyler and Childish Gambino and these niggas who do goofy shit just for the fuck of it. I like humor and I hate when it’s all serious. And also niggas will sign white people left and right. If you white and you got an ounce of street or “Black,” whatever, they’ll sign you in a heartbeat.
The album sounded cohesive, but then there were also different vibes, kind of more uptempo, more mellow. How intentional were you about that balance?
It took a little while to figure out how to sequence it because I hadn’t made my cast yet. I had “Stumblin’,” “Spike Lee” and “Six A,” and those are all slower songs. So I’m like, how do I break this up to where it’s not slow in the middle? Then I made “MAVKAST.” I was like, all right, “MAVKAST’s” got to go in the middle, like the focal point of the album. But I had to figure out how the songs related to each other. How does this song answer this song? I had to put “6AM” after Spike Lee. [“Spike Lee’s”] prayer is really emotional, and the song after that opens you back up.
I had to focus on how I felt playing the music and [what fit while] listening to the track list. One day I was rearranging it and I put “Stumblin’,” “Skit,” “MAVKAST,” “Spike Lee,” [and thought] “that’s perfect.” It flies by, and you’re at the end in two seconds. I was like, Vince song come on at the end, “It’s like damn what the fuck happened?” But that was the goal.
Did “MAVKAST” come after the bulk of the album?
The last two features were “MAVKAST” and Vince Staples. That was the fourth quarter. MAVKAST,” was one of the ones. He was in New York. I wanted him to be on the album. He wanted to be on the album. He pulled up to the studio, cut the loop on, started rapping. We did the song in 30 minutes. I went back later and added some shit, but it was pretty much finished.
How therapeutic is writing for you? I mean just listening to some of the things and some of the bars on the album, it seemed real cathartic.
It felt good, bro. I think it is different when you move from a far place and you still have connections to people…I moved here and I didn’t really have nobody. knew niggas like no niggas. And then I’m too busy to [speak with] people I know back home. So it was like a lot of the bars with me venting just about how difficult that was. But also [telling] niggas like, “Yo niggas thriving. You could do it too,” on “On Time!” I said I still made it relative to the film. I’m still famous. It’s like they don’t really know what I’m doing.
Even on “truth?,” I said if they didn’t want you in the end / they didn’t want you to turn shit out.” Sometimes I think you feel like people not supporting you is the end of the road and it’s not. People have their own lives, number one, and two, people don’t know what’s going on until a lot of noise [is] being made. I think waiting your turn and being humble and staying true to yourself is a lot of the message I was trying get across back home. Even on “Spike Lee,” “it’s hard in my city to make a scene,” and I was just shouting out callbacks to my hometown and people there.
Do you grapple with feeling supported or feeling like people aren’t seeing what you’re doing?
Yeah. I want people just to be inspired, bro. I think I just saw a post recently that showed all the Bay Area up and coming artists and it was cool because they were like, damn, this is them. It was an accurate list, but niggas don’t really do an accurate list because there are a lot of fire Bay Area artists who are really good at music, but they don’t get enough shine because they’re in the bay. They got to go to LA for a little bit and come back, go to NY and then come back. I got lucky to be in the Bay and still blow up, but that’s rare. What I did you haven’t seen since Hieroglyphics and Souls of Mischief, where niggas stay in the hometown and still blow up. But I just wanted to encourage people to just do whatever. No, especially nowadays, bro. You don’t have to do one thing. You don’t got to just be a bad rapper. You ain’t got to just be or whatever rapper. You can do a bunch of different things.
How do you feel about the Bay Area hip-hop scene?
Right now it’s starting to become homogeneous in a sense where different sounds are melting from each other. You got almost inspirational Hyphy music or positive Hyphy, or even the street soulful…the worlds are starting to merge. Yu got 1100 himself. You got me, Snee, you got a bunch of rappers, you got my boy Nimsims who make shit. The Bay Area is becoming a place where you have the Bay sound, but it has different versions of it and that’s what I think niggas need. We needed it to be like, this is our sound, but there’s different [branches of it]. LA has a sound, but you can also give variety to that sound.
There was another bar on the record, something like, “niggas mad I didn’t say shit about the Drake beef.” Were people tagging you on Twitter?
Yeah. Whenever I mentioned something about the beef, niggas just tried to bait me. You know how niggas is, bro. I think I mentioned one of the GNX bars and somebody was like, “You going to burn your bridge, bro.” I’m like, “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know these people. I don’t know these people. Y’all niggas are on the internet, bro.” I think niggas was taking this too seriously with me, bro. I haven’t even met this nigga in person. I just made gang a beat.
Nigga was coming up to me like, “What do you think about the beef bro?” And I’m like, “[The] shit’s funny. I don’t know.” Niggas think I had an OVO tat. I don’t even know what’s going on really. Shit just dropping [and] I was there with y’all. I was seeing the shit play out.
How are you handling higher visibility and more annoying fans, more good fans, just being famous in general?
Niggas are just dumb. People lack knowledge. Not even in a battle…people just don’t know what things are. They have no context sometimes. So they judge very quickly and harshly when it’s like, “Y’all don’t even know what anything is.” The worst thing I get is like, “The nigga think he Outkast.” It’s like, “No, bro. I wasn’t even thinking about Outkast.” Mad Niggas do that shit. They read Ovrkast [as] Outkast. They’re like, oh my God, I thought they said Outkast. And it’s like, it don’t, so…
New albums to check out
Bruiser Wolf, Potluck
Hip-hop is in a comedy deficit. There are plenty of memable rappers (and unintentionally hilarious artists) but fewer who make it a point to have fun with their craft; too many artists take themselves a little too seriously. That’s not the case with Bruiser Wolf, the Detroit rapper with a one-of-one penmanship and penchant for side-splitting bars. Bruiser Wolf is funny, but his skills are no joke. From his advanced diction to his technical precision, the Bruiser Wolf experience permeates his new album Potluck.
The 14-track project shows Bruiser exploring a variety of vocal approaches and beats, but still sounding like himself throughout. He rhymes with a vocal inflection and cadence that feels somewhere in between preacher, pimp, and standup comedian; his lyrical content feels like a mesh of all three. Assonant jokes roll off the beat and float into the atmos, pondered by listeners until we’re hit with the next couplet. On “Write or Wrong,” he raps, “Bought Ritalin for my white-chocolate and vanilla friends/Bucket hat like Gilligan, fuck cancer, stay away from carcinogens,” and on “Air Fryer,’ he rhymes, “My bitch ignoring me/I told her to do the same thing if questioned by the authorities.” He’s in such mastery of his craft that he’s able to get slippery with his flow on “Fancy”: “I asked my bookie what’s the odds if I bеt on myself?/’Cause my past is dark, gothic/Everything I say sound good, it’s melodic,” pausing on “everything” to connect ideas.
Seven*
For all of the superlatives and labels pervading rap discourse, Bruiser embodies one of the most special as the kind of MC you could listen to all day. But the proceedings aren’t all random musings. “Offer I Couldn’t Refuse” is a reflection on his past in the streets, while “Confusing,” is all about his travails about where he and his women “bump heads like puberty.” From the “Pee-wee Herman,” where he samples the classic show theme, to the beat switching on “Air Fryer” and “Baby you,” Bruiser Wolf reaffirms that there’s no kind of beat he can’t get his bars — and jokes — off on.
McKinley Dixon, Magic, Alive!
McKinley Dixon’s latest album is an excavation of magic’s inarticulable vastness, as evident in the wonder of a disappearing trick as the static presence of the sky, which Dixon references on album standout “We’re Outside, Rejoice.” The project is based on the story of three friends mourning their deceased friend and pondering how to bring him back to life. Throughout the album, Dixon posits the magic all around us in community, resilience, and our environment. By the time he reaches the eponymous penultimate track, he theorizes death as the ultimate omnipresence. He belts, “I’ll make it so my niggas never die Maybe escape if we take to skies and fly” on the sunny track.
“It’s the ending of the record while in some ways serving as the beginning for the character,” he’s said about “Magic, Alive!,” adding, “Just because that tale is over, the sun is still there. At the end of the day, at the end of your story, do you feel the love? Do you feel the magic?” It’s hard not to feel it throughout Magic, Alive, which is all happening on a soundbed crafted by instrumentalists who embody the magic of mastery. It’s an album that begs to be played over big speakers (or better yet, heard live), exemplified by “Recitatif’s” shift from a lush, sullen canvas into a surging production fusing rock and hip-hop elements.
Dennis Larance*
The project is shaped by so many disparate sounds, tones and lead instruments that it doesn’t feel native to a particular region, feeding Dixon’s fantastic vision. But as imaginative as things get, they don’t veer too far from our current reality, with Dixon telling a range of stories about magic and joy as a balm for all-too-common grieving for Black communities. “It’s so easy to write about death when none of y’all niggas is really alive,” he offers on album intro “Watch My Hands,” while also surmisng, “Be as strong as the concrete/But as fragile as when it and ya knees kiss.”
Dixon rhymes with a poetic flourish that requires multiple listens to unravel, but his engaging mic presence keeps you. Along the way, he’s. You never knew how warm an ode to a mother’s fighting skills could be until you hear IceColdBishop on “All The Loved Ones (What Would We Do???),” which also features Pink Siifu. And on the Outro, LA rapper Blu lauds Dixon by rapping, “you showed me the importance of self-belief.” There are likely thousands of Dixon fans who co-sign that admission.
Rocky Snyda, 10/10 Would Recommend
Rocky Snyda’s latest project has been out since April, but as the adage goes, there’s no new or old music, just music you have and haven’t heard. Unfamiliar listeners should consider tapping in with the up-and-coming artist, who’s been rapping since at least 2020. Her Facebook page notes, “I’m a musical theatre nerd who has always had a secret love for rap and the music industry.” That passion is no longer private, as she’s steadily built a buzz in her native New York as a confident, charismatic rapper who’s trained to go over any kind of beat. That’s the vibe throughout 10/10 Would Recommend, an electronic-tinged album where she self-proclaimed “Princess of Flatbush” serves a little something for everybody.
Skylar Rochon*
The project is a manifestation of her desire to display her musical versatility; she told Grownup Magazine that, “I’ve got my rocker side, my hip-hop side, my femme side,” which are all reflected on an album cover depicting her with five disparate looks. True to theme, she begins the album offering those different sides of her artistry on a song called, “Who Am I,” which primes the listener for the breadth of what to expect. The track starts with a haunting, synth-laden production where she switches her tone and inflection, rhyming in double-time before belting out her boasts in a more emphatic tone. The beat then switches to a more traditional house production where she crowns herself, “Ms. bodacious, Ms. don’t take shit in all the right places.” The winding track sets the tone for the rest of 10/10 Would Recommend.
On “Gimme My 10s,” she gets busy over a clever flip of Cheryl Lynn’s “Encore,” where producer LLC4 masters the balance of homage vs. laziness. It’s apparent enough to be recognizable, but not leaned on as a crutch. Tracks like “Superstar,” “Weekender,” and “Rockyverse” follow similar sonic vibes, with an overt house influence and danceable drum programming. But on “Sneaky” she slows things down and delves into harmony, while she’s “flippin my hair, shakin’ my ass” on “Target Practice’s” sparse, bassheavy beat. No matter the beat she rhymes (or croons) over, Rocky’s lyrical skill and Brooklyn charm is apparent throughout 10/10.
Loosies: New songs to hear now
Grea8Gawd, “Sins of the Father”
Mozzy, YFN Lucci, “23 and 1”
Pink Siifu, Wifigawd, Flow Clark, “FlexMan’!”
Reason, PJ Morton, “Reason”
$ilkMoney, “THE JURY DUTY SEAFOOD BOIL BAG FROM THE LYFE JENNINGS PAPERWORK PARTY”
No Filler is an indie-rap column by Andre Gee running monthly on RollingStone.com. You can check out the No Filler playlist right here.
