Podcast
Napoleon Da Legend
Hosted by Napoleon Da Legend · EN
Napoleon Da Legend (NDL), the emcee with the metal helmet, is one of a kind in the Hip Hop scene becoming a symbol of resistance in this dystopian present.
In the span of about 20 years, the cosmopolitan & bilingual emcee built a solid reputation on both sides of the ocean multiplying albums & collaborations with international artists such as Raekwon (Wu-Tang Clan), Capleton, Sean Price & Smif-N-Wessun (Boot Camp Clik), Akhenaton (IAM), Vinnie Paz, Wax Tailor, D-Styles (Beat Junkies), RA the Rugged Man and Amerigo Gazaway.
Born in Paris (France) originally from the Comoros Islands, he grew up in Washington, D.C. before moving to Brooklyn, NY to spread his music. Renowned Hip-Hop journalist Sunez describes Napoleon Da Legend as an absolute essential MC in the modern Hip-Hop landscape coining his unique style as "Poetic Diaries".
22episodes
Episodes
Newest firstAll episodes
Alan Wattage ft. Ghost Machine
Apr 1000:04:03Tap to summarizeThe city doesn't really sleep anymore. It glitches. Power dips without warning. Sirens loop and never resolve. Something is always burning somewhere just past the tree line, and nobody goes to check. The systems that were supposed to hold things together gave out a long time ago — not all at once, but piece by piece, the way old infrastructure does. What replaced them wasn't order. It was improvisation: back channels, word of mouth, informal networks built by people who stopped waiting for someone to fix it. Stories move faster than law now. Survival rewrote the rules. Into that world comes something that doesn't quite belong to it. The helmet appeared without a clear origin story — older than the rubble around it, humming with a kind of intelligence that doesn't map onto any known timeline. It found Napoleon Da Legend, or maybe he found it. The distinction stops mattering pretty quickly. What's documented is what it does: every time it's worn, something leaves with it. Memory. Warmth. Mercy. Time. Cold metal against the skull, equal parts relic and weapon, calibrated to futures that are already coming apart at the seams. Some people call it a gift. The ones paying closer attention tend to reach for a different word — something closer to a sentence, handed down by no court anyone can name. Doom is upon us. No rescue is coming. Just adaptation.
Transcribe →The Beginning ft. BBass
Apr 1000:01:05Tap to summarizeThe city doesn't really sleep anymore. It glitches. Power dips without warning. Sirens loop and never resolve. Something is always burning somewhere just past the tree line, and nobody goes to check. The systems that were supposed to hold things together gave out a long time ago — not all at once, but piece by piece, the way old infrastructure does. What replaced them wasn't order. It was improvisation: back channels, word of mouth, informal networks built by people who stopped waiting for someone to fix it. Stories move faster than law now. Survival rewrote the rules. Into that world comes something that doesn't quite belong to it. The helmet appeared without a clear origin story — older than the rubble around it, humming with a kind of intelligence that doesn't map onto any known timeline. It found Napoleon Da Legend, or maybe he found it. The distinction stops mattering pretty quickly. What's documented is what it does: every time it's worn, something leaves with it. Memory. Warmth. Mercy. Time. Cold metal against the skull, equal parts relic and weapon, calibrated to futures that are already coming apart at the seams. Some people call it a gift. The ones paying closer attention tend to reach for a different word — something closer to a sentence, handed down by no court anyone can name. Doom is upon us. No rescue is coming. Just adaptation.
Transcribe →Spilled Sphinx ft. Nejma Nefertiti
Apr 1000:03:36Tap to summarizeThe city doesn't really sleep anymore. It glitches. Power dips without warning. Sirens loop and never resolve. Something is always burning somewhere just past the tree line, and nobody goes to check. The systems that were supposed to hold things together gave out a long time ago — not all at once, but piece by piece, the way old infrastructure does. What replaced them wasn't order. It was improvisation: back channels, word of mouth, informal networks built by people who stopped waiting for someone to fix it. Stories move faster than law now. Survival rewrote the rules. Into that world comes something that doesn't quite belong to it. The helmet appeared without a clear origin story — older than the rubble around it, humming with a kind of intelligence that doesn't map onto any known timeline. It found Napoleon Da Legend, or maybe he found it. The distinction stops mattering pretty quickly. What's documented is what it does: every time it's worn, something leaves with it. Memory. Warmth. Mercy. Time. Cold metal against the skull, equal parts relic and weapon, calibrated to futures that are already coming apart at the seams. Some people call it a gift. The ones paying closer attention tend to reach for a different word — something closer to a sentence, handed down by no court anyone can name. Doom is upon us. No rescue is coming. Just adaptation.
Transcribe →System Error (interlude)
Apr 1000:00:56Tap to summarizeThe city doesn't really sleep anymore. It glitches. Power dips without warning. Sirens loop and never resolve. Something is always burning somewhere just past the tree line, and nobody goes to check. The systems that were supposed to hold things together gave out a long time ago — not all at once, but piece by piece, the way old infrastructure does. What replaced them wasn't order. It was improvisation: back channels, word of mouth, informal networks built by people who stopped waiting for someone to fix it. Stories move faster than law now. Survival rewrote the rules. Into that world comes something that doesn't quite belong to it. The helmet appeared without a clear origin story — older than the rubble around it, humming with a kind of intelligence that doesn't map onto any known timeline. It found Napoleon Da Legend, or maybe he found it. The distinction stops mattering pretty quickly. What's documented is what it does: every time it's worn, something leaves with it. Memory. Warmth. Mercy. Time. Cold metal against the skull, equal parts relic and weapon, calibrated to futures that are already coming apart at the seams. Some people call it a gift. The ones paying closer attention tend to reach for a different word — something closer to a sentence, handed down by no court anyone can name. Doom is upon us. No rescue is coming. Just adaptation.
Transcribe →Water Seeds (interlude) ft. Eloh Kush
Apr 1000:01:28Tap to summarizeThe city doesn't really sleep anymore. It glitches. Power dips without warning. Sirens loop and never resolve. Something is always burning somewhere just past the tree line, and nobody goes to check. The systems that were supposed to hold things together gave out a long time ago — not all at once, but piece by piece, the way old infrastructure does. What replaced them wasn't order. It was improvisation: back channels, word of mouth, informal networks built by people who stopped waiting for someone to fix it. Stories move faster than law now. Survival rewrote the rules. Into that world comes something that doesn't quite belong to it. The helmet appeared without a clear origin story — older than the rubble around it, humming with a kind of intelligence that doesn't map onto any known timeline. It found Napoleon Da Legend, or maybe he found it. The distinction stops mattering pretty quickly. What's documented is what it does: every time it's worn, something leaves with it. Memory. Warmth. Mercy. Time. Cold metal against the skull, equal parts relic and weapon, calibrated to futures that are already coming apart at the seams. Some people call it a gift. The ones paying closer attention tend to reach for a different word — something closer to a sentence, handed down by no court anyone can name. Doom is upon us. No rescue is coming. Just adaptation.
Transcribe →Sinners and Saints
Apr 1000:03:38Tap to summarizeThe city doesn't really sleep anymore. It glitches. Power dips without warning. Sirens loop and never resolve. Something is always burning somewhere just past the tree line, and nobody goes to check. The systems that were supposed to hold things together gave out a long time ago — not all at once, but piece by piece, the way old infrastructure does. What replaced them wasn't order. It was improvisation: back channels, word of mouth, informal networks built by people who stopped waiting for someone to fix it. Stories move faster than law now. Survival rewrote the rules. Into that world comes something that doesn't quite belong to it. The helmet appeared without a clear origin story — older than the rubble around it, humming with a kind of intelligence that doesn't map onto any known timeline. It found Napoleon Da Legend, or maybe he found it. The distinction stops mattering pretty quickly. What's documented is what it does: every time it's worn, something leaves with it. Memory. Warmth. Mercy. Time. Cold metal against the skull, equal parts relic and weapon, calibrated to futures that are already coming apart at the seams. Some people call it a gift. The ones paying closer attention tend to reach for a different word — something closer to a sentence, handed down by no court anyone can name. Doom is upon us. No rescue is coming. Just adaptation.
Transcribe →Ultimate Power
Apr 1000:03:30Tap to summarizeThe city doesn't really sleep anymore. It glitches. Power dips without warning. Sirens loop and never resolve. Something is always burning somewhere just past the tree line, and nobody goes to check. The systems that were supposed to hold things together gave out a long time ago — not all at once, but piece by piece, the way old infrastructure does. What replaced them wasn't order. It was improvisation: back channels, word of mouth, informal networks built by people who stopped waiting for someone to fix it. Stories move faster than law now. Survival rewrote the rules. Into that world comes something that doesn't quite belong to it. The helmet appeared without a clear origin story — older than the rubble around it, humming with a kind of intelligence that doesn't map onto any known timeline. It found Napoleon Da Legend, or maybe he found it. The distinction stops mattering pretty quickly. What's documented is what it does: every time it's worn, something leaves with it. Memory. Warmth. Mercy. Time. Cold metal against the skull, equal parts relic and weapon, calibrated to futures that are already coming apart at the seams. Some people call it a gift. The ones paying closer attention tend to reach for a different word — something closer to a sentence, handed down by no court anyone can name. Doom is upon us. No rescue is coming. Just adaptation.
Transcribe →Bombardians ft. CF & Dontique
Apr 1000:02:58Tap to summarizeThe city doesn't really sleep anymore. It glitches. Power dips without warning. Sirens loop and never resolve. Something is always burning somewhere just past the tree line, and nobody goes to check. The systems that were supposed to hold things together gave out a long time ago — not all at once, but piece by piece, the way old infrastructure does. What replaced them wasn't order. It was improvisation: back channels, word of mouth, informal networks built by people who stopped waiting for someone to fix it. Stories move faster than law now. Survival rewrote the rules. Into that world comes something that doesn't quite belong to it. The helmet appeared without a clear origin story — older than the rubble around it, humming with a kind of intelligence that doesn't map onto any known timeline. It found Napoleon Da Legend, or maybe he found it. The distinction stops mattering pretty quickly. What's documented is what it does: every time it's worn, something leaves with it. Memory. Warmth. Mercy. Time. Cold metal against the skull, equal parts relic and weapon, calibrated to futures that are already coming apart at the seams. Some people call it a gift. The ones paying closer attention tend to reach for a different word — something closer to a sentence, handed down by no court anyone can name. Doom is upon us. No rescue is coming. Just adaptation.
Transcribe →Break the Chains ft. Gregg Green
Apr 1000:01:06Tap to summarizeThe city doesn't really sleep anymore. It glitches. Power dips without warning. Sirens loop and never resolve. Something is always burning somewhere just past the tree line, and nobody goes to check. The systems that were supposed to hold things together gave out a long time ago — not all at once, but piece by piece, the way old infrastructure does. What replaced them wasn't order. It was improvisation: back channels, word of mouth, informal networks built by people who stopped waiting for someone to fix it. Stories move faster than law now. Survival rewrote the rules. Into that world comes something that doesn't quite belong to it. The helmet appeared without a clear origin story — older than the rubble around it, humming with a kind of intelligence that doesn't map onto any known timeline. It found Napoleon Da Legend, or maybe he found it. The distinction stops mattering pretty quickly. What's documented is what it does: every time it's worn, something leaves with it. Memory. Warmth. Mercy. Time. Cold metal against the skull, equal parts relic and weapon, calibrated to futures that are already coming apart at the seams. Some people call it a gift. The ones paying closer attention tend to reach for a different word — something closer to a sentence, handed down by no court anyone can name. Doom is upon us. No rescue is coming. Just adaptation.
Transcribe →Think Dominant ft. SKAM2, Innocent & Maitre D
Apr 1000:03:07Tap to summarizeThe city doesn't really sleep anymore. It glitches. Power dips without warning. Sirens loop and never resolve. Something is always burning somewhere just past the tree line, and nobody goes to check. The systems that were supposed to hold things together gave out a long time ago — not all at once, but piece by piece, the way old infrastructure does. What replaced them wasn't order. It was improvisation: back channels, word of mouth, informal networks built by people who stopped waiting for someone to fix it. Stories move faster than law now. Survival rewrote the rules. Into that world comes something that doesn't quite belong to it. The helmet appeared without a clear origin story — older than the rubble around it, humming with a kind of intelligence that doesn't map onto any known timeline. It found Napoleon Da Legend, or maybe he found it. The distinction stops mattering pretty quickly. What's documented is what it does: every time it's worn, something leaves with it. Memory. Warmth. Mercy. Time. Cold metal against the skull, equal parts relic and weapon, calibrated to futures that are already coming apart at the seams. Some people call it a gift. The ones paying closer attention tend to reach for a different word — something closer to a sentence, handed down by no court anyone can name. Doom is upon us. No rescue is coming. Just adaptation.
Transcribe →