Ewok, a two-time Poetry Africa SlamJam champion and a top-five placer at the World Slampionship in Rotterdam in 2005, was born into hiphop culture through a skateboard and a can of paint, rhyming along with groups like De La Soul, Cypress Hill, A Tribe Called Quest and The Fugees while at the same time taking politics and philosophy lessons from KRS-1 and Rage Against The Machine. A jazz playing dad and a theatre professional mom raised him with a feel for the stage and the mic, developing from a young age a mind that was quick to engage with hiphop self-expression.

He's spat Shakespeare for school kids, slammed poetry for students, kicked lyrics for teachers, performed for politicians and poor people, jammed with jazz bands, travelled to other lands with nothing but a pen and pad and a can in his hands, and when he's alone he generally talks to his damn self.

2007 saw his first solo release, staying true to his roots as a Poison City MC with his debut album Higher Flyer For Hire. He followed quick with his first collection of lyrics and poetry Word: Customized Hype (Echoing Green Press). In June 2009, Ewok travelled to Germany for the Literatur Werkstat 10 Poesie Festival and Mozambique for Poetry Africa, Maputo, as well as maintaining an active national performance schedule, from the east coast to the west coast, north and south, spitting fire from his mouth.

Whisper Blister

certainly he spits fire
the latest in a long line of lyricists steering this sinking
ship through the methodical madness of man on
earth.
(worth his weight in salt)
Captain of a new cult: Subliminal soldiers serving the
sole purpose of solving the soul’s purpose.
certainly he spits fi re.
fighting for his right to recite his writing
written with the sole intention of settling his souls
tension
springing into intense action when his pen swings
decapitating the tyrannical heads of his many states
of being human
consuming the chaos of being YOU man to simply be a
new man and stand for old slight of hand tactics
learning to consciously crack bricks with practice till all
the walls of his mind fall and he finds
you react quicker to flame from his lips then words from
his fi nger tips so
he rips rhymes and flips lines
to redefine realms where confusion dwells and reigns
over
the simplicities of silent poetry
(of setting free subconscious scenery)
certainly he spits fire
with a certainty born from the need to feed free will
HE WILL: free the flames of his brain to
form a fl aming frame to
contain a cold heart that
beats against the bars of a prison we all chill in
killing cold concepts of being cool by freeze framing
the flame
revealing the real contained in the ice of his eye
(finding out that the heat of tears is the reason that we cry)
this frosty vision comes from the cost of living in these
streets of fear AND the blaze is born from the rage
of living in the cold cage of fear AND the fear is
formed on the icy breath of death COZ all we doing
is dying to just live SO he’s dying to keep trying to
twist his tongue till all the terror of these tables has
turned
turning his saliva into sparks to spark the hearts of all
concerned COZ
you learn quicker
(once you’ve been burned)
certainly he spits fire
even his whispers blister.