A rude boy sheathed in rodent fur, Jamaica-born dancehall vet Eek-a-Mouse is one strange, er, cat. (That he's named after a losing racehorse chucks yet another—though larger—mammal into the mix.) His helium-spiked nasal twang speeds along at a rapid clip, enhancing a running commentary on the weird—from tracks about steamed greens and ice cream, like the oddly spelled "Modelling Queen," to destitute weed traffickers in "Ganja Smugglers." Then there's his stage presence. With his six-foot-six frame, he cuts a figure as large as Jah, teaching twisted lessons via twisted language. While we wait for a new album, Eek keeps touring, allowing us to bask in the holy glow of the odd. Biddy biddy beng.
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