The Koreatown Oddity Pities The Fool

If you want to understand The Koreatown Oddity, like really get intimately nestled into the profound mindset of one of independent hip-hop's most enigmatic artists, you're going to need to start with Mr. T.

Whether you know him best as gruff ex-mercenary B.A. Baracus from The A-Team, pugilistic menace Clubber Lang from Rocky III, or an erstwhile presence in the world of professional wrestling, the former bodyguard turned pop cultural personage became a highly visible, seminal figure in the 1980s. But Dominique Purdy, the rapper/producer behind that T.K.O. moniker, found a deep connection with the Chicago-born Laurence Tureaud in a truly unlikely place.

Published as a merchandising tie-in with his namesake mid-80s animated series, the Mr. T Coloring And Activity Book is but one of several pieces of Mr. T ephemera to be found in Purdy's home. "It's one of those old school ones from when he was really on fire," he says. "He's helping out kids in there; they're picking apples from trees. There's counting, games to see which Mr. T looks wrong, all these types of games."

What really struck Purdy about this 20th century artifact during the making of his eponymous new album for longtime label partner Stones Throw Records was something hiding in plain sight. "In the very back of the book, there's a picture of him sitting in nature, just having the moment by himself," he says of this unexpectedly meditative portrait found in an object marketed by design to distract and, ideally, pacify children. "I got chills a little bit, because I was like, this is me right here. This is how I feel."

Seen–y'know, truly seen–with the benefit of adult eyes, Purdy's exegetical reading of this capitalist marginalia miraculously transformed it into a kind of existential self-identification. And while his life in the Los Angeles area doesn't exactly afford him many opportunities to commune in the verdant forest like Mr. T, he finds his bliss in the urban everyday. "I do have those types of moments just in the world, without a river around," he says. "I'll be in a grocery store with my eyes open."

Purdy fittingly recreated/reconceived the picture as the cover photo for the album Purdy (available on cassette as well as vinyl), with himself planted atop a toadstool-esque seat or stump, a subtle smile gracing his resting peace face and a fashionably floppy hat on his head. In the background, a graffiti-styled rendering of himself, inspired in part by an old Looney Tunes gangster, strikes a similar pose. Much like his use of a wolf mask earlier in his career, or his faux-unmasking on 2022's ISTHISFORREAL? as an Englishman adeptly masquerading as a native Angeleno ("It was a little too weird for some people," he concedes), it's just the sort of bit that The Koreatown Oddity excels at, a layered meta-joke meant to go over the heads of most.

This fairly rarified sense of humor comes through on "Great Weekends," a Purdy highlight. In conversations with a tailor at Gallery Department's L.A. atelier, where Purdy spins records a couple times a week, he came to an observational realization about courteous pleasantries. "I was like, why people be saying have a great weekend when it's Friday?," he recalls, recognizing that many people in retail or otherwise don't have a conventional M-F, 9-5 type work week. "So every time I would peace him out during the week–it'd be Tuesday–I'd be like, yo, have a great weekend, bro."

That winking interpersonal exchange prompted Purdy to create a song that used it as a jumping off point. Yet "Great Weekends" goes beyond some Seinfeldian what's-the-deal x slap bass combo, its lyrics exploratory and low key profound as he gets entangled in logical, at times morbid digressions that add a unsettling meaning to the hooky notion that, in essence, any day could be the day that the week ends. "We're rightfully so disconnected from it, because we don't do things that are life and death every single day," he says. "That's what ['Great Weekends'] is: a reminder, a little party but also with a cloud of darkness."

Again, that's just how Purdy rolls.

"If you listen to all my work, there's a certain spirit that's connected throughout all of it, because that's me," he says. "Whatever's going on, I'm always going to have something new for you, because life is new. You wake up every day, do the exact same routine, it's still not even going to be the same type of day. It's impossible."

For those who've followed Purdy's journey, parlaying his stand-up comedian sensibilities into a critically acclaimed if somewhat under-heralded rap catalog, this record feels an awful lot like a successor to Little Dominique's Nosebleed, an idiosyncratic yet altogether engaging full-length from 2020 that mixed confessional anecdotes with esoteric punchlines. Even though that album raised his profile considerably, he was disinclined to attempt a proper sequel.