Carl Kavorkian roams the halogen soaked streets at night as a homeless lion, prowling the twisted landscape as both a war drenched vagabond and an anti-genre wordsmith clinging to Philadelphia hip hop’s crowded, dystopian underbelly. Having survived the codeine-and-lean-fueled apocalypse that left many of his early 2000’s counterparts crushed, ground up and isolated, Kavorkian, in an act of self-preservation, reinvents himself; he is, after all, under that unkempt mane, behind that voice like a distorted rasp calling from a Cybertronian jail, a cyborg, able to download new programs and override the glitches– shifty AnR’s; wishy-washy youth born trap/southern rap pathogens; uninspired and directionless record labels– that sent many of his contemporaries to the scrap heap. It’s on this pile of discarded rapper parts that Kavorkian has erected Manikineter, a project as much an emotional take on minimalism as it is a meditation on encroaching paranoia and a distrust of the meme-led generation.

“MANIKINETER comes on, challenges your notions of hip hop, noise, and society, and then walks away to leave you to think about what just happened.”

“…some of the most ferocious, experimental Noise-Rap music I’ve ever heard…”

“The thing is though, CK been doing it. Having first heard him on records like “Rhythmortis”, a Def Jux-ian piece of dark bombast over warbling synths, it was always clear that Kavorkian was intent on pushing the envelope.”

Alex Smith