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I think this cover is really cool. The washed out, hot look, the family van in the poor suburbs, you can practically hear the pavement sizzling, this is a nostalgic picture. The hand-written album title is evocative of scribbles on a poloroid picture, who is this good kid? Is he really good? Why is the city maad? The cracked asphalt speaks out about the state of the city, it’s poor, it’s run-down, what great American dreams were dashed on the hard pavement of reality, cracking it with neglect and apathy? is that his van, or is it his mothers, or is it his dealers? Does he remember pressing into the back of the van with his buds, all hot and squished together on a summer day, as his mother in a sundress, bare arms jiggling on the unkempt road, drive him and his pals to the public pool for chlorine-soaked comfort? Does he have a dealer? Is that what a good kid would have? Does he remember the sticky-sweet trickle of Popsicle-juice running down his chin as he fought the heat with a cherry Popsicle from the 7-11? Who is this good kid? Do his hand-me-down sneakers pound the asphalt as he runs from his problems? Do his shoes squeak as he plays basketballs with has pals, imaging himself as Michael Jordan, or bugs bunny at the height of space-jam? How long will his fantasies last? Ten years from now, when he comes home, will he see his worn-out shoes, faded and hanging from the power cables? Will he see the old basketball court? Will he even care that that good kid is dead and gone, crushed by the oppressive heat of the ghetto? Does he ever just lay in the grass, staring up at the sky and palm trees, high on life and weed, wishing that he could fly forever into that blue void, and swim with the space-whales, never again worrying about the cares of life? Whatever happened to that good kid, anyways? Maybe the city was just to maad for him. Maybe he never left at all.
This whole album cover is great.