DOWNLOAD & REVIEW: The Broken Time Machine – Carl Roe
Click album cover to D/L.
MC Carl Roe is an interesting entrant to the Seattle rap scene. A native of Elgin, Illinois, a conflicted youth in the Midwest followed by an enlistment and tour of duty in Iraq as a U.S. Army Infantryman is the path Roe followed before his arrival in Seattle, where he is now a hopeful and hustling artist in the local hip-hop scene.
206UP.COM became familiar with Roe back in January in the second edition of The TrackMeet (click here for that post). His winning entry, “Lock it Down, Sew it Up,” was a frantic double-time composition paired with boasts by the MC of his superior rap skills. After getting past the beat, which had a fairly dated feel, a hungry rapper with a very natural flow and knack for maneuvering complicated rhyme patterns was revealed.
The Broken Time Machine is Carl Roe’s official entry into the Seattle hip-hop landscape. It’s eight tracks long and has an old-school feel, with big beats and breaks, a few overwrought rock flourishes and Roe’s signature double-time. “Stuntman” (the previously-released single featuring J. Bre, another up-and-coming Town MC) is the best track, a commanding declaration of the two rapper’s dominance over their lesser competition, or “stuntmen” as they call them.
“The voice of the Army Infantry in hip-hop,” as Roe claims in his bio, his stint in the Army informs the lyrical foundation of TBTM. Deeply affected by his Iraq war experience, the MC is unashamed of allowing his music to act as an outlet for his anguish, especially on the emotive “We Own the Night” which has an Evanescence-like quality (for better or worse).
It’s a safe bet Carl Roe’s style will not resonate with everyone. His flow and beat choice operate at-odds with contemporary hip-hop, and of course there will be the requisite criticisms centered around his skin color. No matter. What Seattle has in this artist is an MC focused intently on the craft and how his particular life experience fits in to it. In hip-hop, that’s all you can really ask for.
REVIEW: Relax – Das Racist
The primary goal of those truly astute comedians who center their acts around observations on on race and racism is to extract some degree of deeper understanding from their audiences. For them, there is no greater offense than crowd ambivalence. The disappointment in audiences’ failings is the reason Dave Chappelle divorced a fifty million dollar contract and fled to Africa to save his sanity. It’s the reason Chris Rock’s early stand-up routines were philosophically based in a contemptuous rage for the world and many of the people sitting before him. And it’s the same reason Das Racist (composed of three well-educated men of color) allow themselves to fall into lackadaisical stage performances at shows where, it’s important to add, the audience is typically composed of white, college-aged males who are all too eager to repeatedly chant the chorus to “Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell” but not consider why the song is so devastatingly funny. If Das Racist concerts were frequented in the majority by folks of color, it’s certain you would see an entirely different display of the trio’s very substantial rap skills rather than the lampooning they derive from the attendant status quo.
REVIEW: NoYork! – Blu
As far as underground rappers go, Blu represents near perfection. Ever since Below The Heavens, his 2007 collaboration with producer Exile, West Coast kids rocking Jansports and Vans have used the MC’s albums like warm blankets, Golden Era-type soundscapes perfect for draping over themselves during chilly winter nights on the Pacific Ocean. Blu has been at the center of the next wave of the underground Cali rap tradition, the same one that celebrated crews like The Pharcyde and Hieroglyphics have carried since the early 1990s…
VIDEO & REVIEW: SEALAB 2012 – La
Click album cover for Bandcamp link.
Check the preview video for SEALAB 2012 (officially dropping tomorrow). This album marks La’s third time out with his third different producer. Jester gets behind the boards for a full 12 tracks this time, lacing the MC with sample-heavy joints that are less aggressive than Roll With the Winners but more contemporary than Gravity. The title of the album references the eponymous cartoon series from the early 1970′s and the Adult Swim redux from 2000.
La is still a problem on the mic, his metaphors and boasts sticking to the beats like darts on corkboard, but LAB is definitely the weakest of his three LP’s. It’s become clear that La can outpace the majority of Town rappers and it’s this blogger’s belief that dude can rhyme about anything and make it sound interesting. For the duration of LAB, however, La concerns himself mostly with two things: weed and sex. And, while this may have been the point, it doesn’t mean it’s as engaging as his previous albums.
The other issue is with Jester’s production. What made Winners such a dynamic listen was the jab-hook-uppercut combination of La’s all-out rhyming-like-his-life-depended-on-it steez and Blu-Ray’s throwback sample slap. Jester’s beats often lack the same authority. Not to say there aren’t highlights: “Dutches” and “Magnums” feature heady, hazy synth and both tracks refreshingly stand apart from anything found in La’s back catalog. And “Goods” is the most radio-ready the MC has ever sounded with a track that pops along in the same mode as Biggie’s “Juicy.”
The other notable aspect of LAB is the presence of some fairly heavy-hitting cameos. I won’t ruin the surprise in advance of the album’s release, but I will say “Diamonds” is a triumphant posse cut that features two of La’s prominent brothers in both rhyme and ethnicity. It’s dope to see accomplished MC’s co-sign for La on his own album, but the greater testament is the fact that their presence isn’t (and never was) necessary to affirm his skills. On his way to local rap stardom, La has held his own consistently. With a few adjustments on the next go-round, his star will grow even brighter.
REVIEW: Watch The Throne – Jay-Z & Kanye West
The danger in scribbling down a hasty review of Jay-Z and Kanye West’s Watch The Throne, especially for a writer who is quick to react to the bellow of so-called “significant” pop music projects like this album (tentative raised hand), is that said writer might immediately be taken by the triumphal calls of a track like “Lift Off” which, upon first listen, glistens with an orchestral rap radiance befitting such a pair of pop icons, when, in reality, the track is just a jumble of overwrought synth bloat, a wasted Beyonce cameo and lame half-sung half-rapped auto-tuned nonsense. On the other hand, the danger in waiting for the gold and platinum dust to settle before writing about the album is that one could be swayed by the reviews that came before, especially the negative ones accusing Jay and West of recklessly indulging themselves in their fame and excess, thereby further diluting hip-hop’s greater meaning within the mainstream context. So what’s a writer to do? I suppose some comfort can be taken in the old proverb about history ultimately determining the legacy of its people, places and things. It’s impossible to tell now if Pop Music will canonize Watch The Throne, but if there’s one thing this critic has gleaned from listening to the record at least a dozen times in succession, it’s that it’s much more fun to deliberate over the question than it is to actually listen to the music. And that alone should tell you something about this project…
REVIEW: Love is a Business – The Physics
The Physics’ long-awaited second LP, Love is a Business, is that rare collection of music that isn’t even a week old but already feels comfortably familiar. It’s a lot like that well-worn paperback copy of your favorite novel you stuff into your carry-on before every vacation; or one of the few remaining CD’s you’ve chosen to leave displayed on your bookshelf, a tangible reminder of how carefully we used to curate the music that meant something to us, standing in defiant opposition to the daily haphazard sprawl of un-zipped files littering our computer desktops. Love is a Business is, at the risk of sounding jadedly cantankerous, a throwback to when hip-hop mattered. The fact that the online method of this album’s delivery won’t vary from every other release today is not a lost irony. Still, this is a record that feels like it should first be held in your hands, read over carefully with your eyes, and then discovered with your ears, song-by-song, in the comfort of your ride or living room. You know, the way discerning heads used to distinguish the hip-hop that mattered most.
Given The Physics’ deliberate musical track record, this isn’t a surprising notion. The trio of producer (and sometime MC) Just D’Amato, and MC’s Thig Natural and Monk Wordsmith run a musical storehouse much like the celebrated local micro-brews referenced in their lyrics. Since the group’s 2007 debut album, Future Talk, their goal has always been to develop artisanal rap for well-paletted listeners using carefully concocted musical recipes with no disposable ingredients. That promise of quality was realized in subsequent EP releases, 2009’s High Society and last year’s Three Piece. Love is a Business is a further distillation and refinement of The Physics’ formula that relies heavily on layered compositions and soulful R&B progressions. It’s a richer listening experience than that of the crew’s past work, with subtle nuances and off-beat affections that suggest an act at the height of its maturity and creative zenith.
The first thing to note about LIAB’s vibe is how every one of its 13 tracks is given greater significance within the context of the album as a whole, a characteristic the majority of contemporary hip-hop records sadly lack. The first two songs on the album (the title track and “These Moments”) are exercises in quiet restraint. They lack hip-hop’s standard propulsive rhythms and instead rely on richly-layered vocal textures and interspersed live instrumentation to provide distinction and balance to Business’ wide spectrum of flavors. Even “Coronas on Madrona,” one third of last year’s brief Three Piece EP (and perhaps the best Seattle hip-hop track of 2010), seems more fully realized within the confines of LIAB. That’s not to say the album doesn’t feature tracks that can’t stand on their own. The best of these is the Native Tongues-channeling, “Cheers,” where Justo executes a familiar dusty knock and easy bass groove with enough skillful tribute to stand up to even the most stubborn Golden Era revivalist’s skeptical ears. Similarly, album closer “Babble” demands its own attention with commanding horn blasts and an industry-affirming cameo from Phonte (of Little Brother and The Foreign Exchange). Both are excellent examples of hip-hop song making at its finest, but, unlike these tracks, most of the album’s other components would have difficulty existing independently of the whole. That’s meant as a compliment rather than a knock. LIAB is a linear, holistic listening experience, not something that can be broken down easily into separate elements.
Obvious attention was paid to the high grade production value of this record, but as any head will tell you, a hip-hop album ultimately travels only as far as its lyricism will allow. “Love” is in the title of this album and Thig Natural and Monk Wordsmith make sure it remains a prevalent theme throughout, giving careful consideration to what the love of their musical hustle means in relation to daily lives consisting of nine-to-five grinds and romantic matters of the heart. The slow roll of “Red Eye” is a familiar story of a lovesick traveler looking forward to coming home to the physical comforts of his woman. It’s a sophisticated outlook on domestic love that portrays a mature monogamy refreshingly devoid of pretense or prudishness. On the other hand, the playful bounce of “Clubhouse” is less about the strictures of commitment and more about f*cking for the sake of f*cking. The lesson here is that both types of relationships have their time and place, but careful regard for the consequences of each is not a mutually exclusive act from engaging in either.
The other important lady in the life of this crew is the physical environment responsible for nurturing the trio since childhood. Namely, the group’s home base of Seattle, Washington. There’s a deep love and necessity for their town that goes beyond a simple regard for a few favorite local restaurants and coffee shops. Tracks named for actual locations in the city (“Seward Park,” “Coronas on Madrona”) give the impression that this album couldn’t have been made without the influence of the group’s native area code. Thig Nat’s easygoing, composed flow is derived straight from a definitive West Coast nonchalance, especially of the type found in the Pacific Northwest. On “Cheers” Monk Wordsmith recounts an interaction with people from another city who wonder aloud if there are black folks in Seattle. Indeed there are, and Monk shows he is one of many highly skilled underground rappers with a hustle steeped in the city’s rich, albeit lesser-known, hip-hop tradition. Love is a Business is an important entry into that heritage, an album that should be cataloged and archived as a moment when Seattle rap officially entered adulthood.
REVIEW: Black Up – Shabazz Palaces
Click album cover to purchase at Sub Pop Records.
Two years ago…
An unsolicited email from a stranger. An exchange of contact information. The arrival of a mysterious package containing two enigmatic CD’s, the contents of which were bafflingly abstruse then, and continue to be now. This is one story, in brief, of how Shabazz Palaces came to exist in this writer’s musical conscious. There are other stories, too, but they are immaterial to the individual experience. As Palaceer Lazaro, the lead creative voice of SP says explicitly on Black Up, the group’s debut full-length album: “It’s a feeling.” These are words worth paying attention to. Do you remember how you felt the first time you heard Shabazz Palaces? If so, put all of your questions about the music and perceived answers to the side, for feeling Black Up is really all that matters.
REVIEW: Cinemetropolis – Blue Scholars
Click album cover for Bandcamp link.
Amidst the massive amount of success Blue Scholars has experienced since its formation in 2002, MC Geo (aka. Prometheus Brown) and DJ/producer Sabzi have remained stubbornly — defiantly even — proletariat in their musical aims. It’s a testament to the duo’s acute devotion to the rank-and-file they prefer to serve that there have been no Clear Channel radio-ready singles, no flirtations with major labels and their “fucked-up” (as Geo once put it) three-sixty deals, no appearances on late night television, and no wavering from the Socialist underpinnings that have provided the ballast for the group’s lyrical content since its inception.
In fact, in support of the crew’s third LP, Cinemetropolis, Geo and Sabzi asked “the people” to subsidize the album’s production via the Kickstarter platform, a move that could have been dismissed as rap hubris run amok if it had been made by any other group without a history as communally-oriented as this one. Fans replied to the tune of about $62,000 in donations in 45 days, a response that indicates Blue Scholars has become a sort of mini-movement in addition to just being a rap group. This particular album cycle is literally being powered by a loyal fan base that asks for little in return other than the group’s best efforts at dopeness on wax, which is exactly what Cinemetropolis represents thus far in Blue Scholars’ discography.
The group was unofficially knighted the de facto leader of Seattle’s underground hip-hop movement in the mid aughts, all of it due to the crew’s self-titled debut album, an accessible collection of Golden Era-styled boom-bap with a revolutionary spirit and anti-establishment bent. The group’s sophomore LP, Bayani, featured complex layers of rhythm and dense sonic textures that were darker in comparison. It was a dynamic listen on the headphones but didn’t translate nearly as well live. The album felt a little like growing pains with respect to the group’s sound, with fewer samples at the forefront of the production and more distinct musicality that provided unique description for the group’s identity.
With Cinemetropolis, Geo and Sabzi have separated themselves musically from every hip-hop group in Seattle’s now bustling scene and arguably from most acts nationally. Sabzi’s evolution as a producer over the last year or so has seen him shed the sample-heavy boom-bap skin of the group’s prior work in favor of more colorful compositions comprised of heavy synth and deep reverberating drum and bass that often sounds tropical. Tracks like the rolling, low end-heavy “Slick Watts” and “Seijun Suzuki” fall in line with the producer’s ride-friendly work for Das Racist (“All Tan Everything” and “Who’s That Brown?”), while the beautiful, sweeping synth waves of the epic “George Jackson” is akin to the arrangements of Made In Heights, his electro-pop side project with singer Kelsey Bulkin (who also lends vocals on Cinemetropolis’ title track).
It’s impossible to determine whether Blue Scholars has officially found its particular “sound” or if this is just one paragraph in the group’s musical narrative, which seems more likely. It’s unlikely, however, that a similar lyrical concept will ever pervade future albums. Cinemetropolis was intentionally engineered as a “reverse soundtrack,” whereby each of the album’s fifteen tracks will inspire accompanying short films and/or music videos. The group is interested in how film informs our perception of real life and vice versa, a conceit that generally holds the LP’s wide spectrum of subject matter together. The idea is especially interesting when you factor in the group’s reputation as a socially conscious outfit, a regard that has made both group members shift uncomfortably in their seats during interviews. Blue Scholars has appealed equally to rap heads that keep themselves in-the-political-know, and those less informed folks who might find themselves Googling Geo’s many references to revolutionary factions in colonized locations across the globe. Many of Cinemetropolis’ song titles are great fodder for the Wikipedia machine and there’s much to be learned strictly from that search button exercise.
Listen more intently to the lyrics, however, and a greater depth is revealed. Geo is one of the best lyricists at extrapolating big ideas from simple concepts. “Fou Lee” is named after a Vietnamese grocery store on Beacon Hill where Blue Scholars and other members of their team would stock up on food during the Bayani recording sessions, thus the track becomes an emblem for both creative and physical sustenance. “Hussein” may or may not be a specific reference to the 44th President of the United States, but it’s definitely about the MC’s desire for change much greater than what has occurred in the last three and a half years. Even a track like “Slick Watts,” which isn’t much more than a glorified interlude, might contain a reference to gentrification when, after a comprehensive Seattle neighborhood roll-call, Geo says, “Got some folks leavin’ / Got other folks comin’ / Somebody had to go and say somethin’.” The analysis might be a stretch but it’s not out of bounds given the MC’s point of view.
Certainly less ambiguous is “Oskar Barnack ∞ Oscar Grant,” a track that encourages the public documentation of police brutality in order to maintain some semblance of accountability of the boys in blue. It’s a far cry from “Fuck Tha Police” but far more militant than any other Blue Scholars track that exists in public. The choral chant of, “Shoot the cops / Shoot the cops / Shoot the cops / Take your cameras out your pocket people,” is blatant enough to be incendiary and enigmatic enough to remain halcyon. It’s a noble attempt at reminding the public of how powerful we are when maintaining a united front against injustice. It also perfectly captures the ethos of this group. The men of Blue Scholars have an amiability that immediately places them on a level relatable to most. It’s a combination of focused ire and off-the-charts creative acumen, however, that allows them to craft a hip-hop auteur’s monument like Cinemetropolis.
REVIEW: Goblin – Tyler, The Creator
Comparing the music of Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All to that of its hip-hop forebears has become quite fashionable. At this point in the group’s existence, critics have deconstructed the music in terms of rap sub-genre (“It’s horrorcore!”), hip-hop artists that have covered similar lyrical ground (“They’re like Eminem!”), and even through alignment with other genres that may not share rap’s musical aesthetic but find commonality in anarchic spirit (“A new version of punk!”). Comparatives are part and parcel of music journalism, but when they’re relied upon so heavily, as has been the case with Odd Future, the dreaded final analysis is usually that the subject is so derivative that nothing original can possibly be said.
REVIEW & DOWNLOAD: Kids in the Back 2 – Rockwell Powers & Ill Pill
Click album cover for D/L link.
Tacoma’s Rockwell Powers is an MC who knows how to posture in a different way than most rappers. In a genre where ninety percent of lyrical content is based on finding creative ways to self-aggrandize, and astute critical analysis of artists is fundamentally rooted in their ability to convince listeners of an often false legend, an MC who finds comfortable space in admission of uncertainty is a rare and welcome participant in the game.
Kids in the Back 2, the second full-length offering from South Sound duo Rockwell Powers and producer Ill Pill, is a fierce sixteen track declaration of independence. One of the biggest steps toward true self-realization is the ability to admit the existence of the unknown; Rockwell spends a lot of time doing just that on tracks like the soulful “Life” (featuring Sol) and Jazz-inflected “Doubt” (featuring live instrumentation from the MC’s side project, 10th & Commerce). Powers raises substantive questions about love, religion, art, and life’s purpose. To his poetic credit, for such heavy-handed subject matter his raps rarely sound preach-y or holier-than-thou, a testament to lyrics that have an explorative, conversational tone.
While this is an MC clearly feeling his way through life’s uncertainties, it’s not to suggest dude lacks confidence in his music. On the contrary, of all the things in his life, microphone prowess seems to be the one he has most figured out. “I Got This” is straight-up battle rap, an assertion of dopeness with grand percussion and horn licks suitable for nobility. Rockwell keeps his flow steady and even, for the most part, but he sounds more emotive than in the past. Likewise, Ill Pill’s well-conceived production is further advanced than on the duo’s first album, 2009’s Kids in the Back. While that LP emphasized more traditional straight-forward boom-bap, KITB 2’s compositions feature greater complexity in both rhythm and melody. The thick, expertly sampled thump of “These Songs” and the industrial beauty of “Head Up” are highlights of 2011 Pacific Northwest hip-hop.
Experienced listeners of rap music know that aggression and amiability in lyrics are not mutually exclusive. The best artists allow those dualities, and others, to be revealed without pretense or apology — those MC’s are by far the most believable because, in the end, we’re all rooted together in a human condition composed of opposite natures and experiences. Kids in the Back 2 is an album that allows more room for exploring all of that. Some in hip-hop might call that a weakness. The irony is that those who would call it such, don’t understand what it takes to be strong.
REVIEW: Lasers – Lupe Fiasco
Click album cover to continue reading at SSG Music.
Dear Lasers: Who are you and what have you done with the real Lupe Fiasco?
Many listeners unfamiliar with the major label drama that has swirled around the Chicago emcee (like the eponymous winds the city is nicknamed for) may pose this exact missive to the man born Wasalu Muhammed Jaco. And it would be a fair question. Fans who have devotedly tracked the ascent of Lupe Fiasco from his early success as a small (but well-connected) fish in a big pond to the quasi-underground rap savior who would single-handedly save commercial rap from itself will find themselves puzzled as they listen to Lasers.
DOWNLOAD & REVIEW: Late – The Good Sin & 10.4 Rog
Click album cover for D/L link.
After a week of listening to far too much Odd Future than is healthy for one human’s conscience to bear, it was incredibly mollifying on the dome to come across this gem, the 10.4 Rog and The Good Sin collaboration, Late.
Renton’s 10.4 Rog has built a steady rep for creating a diverse array of soundscapes that are influenced in equal parts by J. Dilla’s complex boom-bap and the electronic wanderings of Radiohead. The result of Rog’s genre amalgam trips are progressive, visceral renderings of hip-hop that feel more instinctual than intentionally crafted. Very few producers possess this aptitude which, in the end, isn’t about how nice someone is with Fruity Loops. Folks like 10.4 Rog and oc Notes do this sh-t based on hunches and less on the basis of study.
If Rog’s nine tracks on Late are the result of a naturally occurring head-in-the-hip-hop-clouds faculty, then emcee The Good Sin’s rich baritone is the anchor that keeps the songs tethered to the ground. There’s a brilliant dualism at work here: while the stark contrast in tone between Rog’s atmospheric instrumentals and Sin’s heavy voice is readily apparent, the two also work in perfect unison when Sin occasionally lets his mind and words wander inside the producer’s compositions.
For the most part, Sin is a cat still trying to find his voice, at least contextually. Dude can rap on most anything as his past drops and mixtape (Ready or Not) have shown, but listeners still don’t really know who he is. Late reveals the emcee to be a true poet who is equally comfortable exploring spoken-word’s ambiguous nebula (the album’s opening and closing, “Wake Up” and “Endpiece”) as he is rapping on concrete subjects like getting money and getting over (“Pages & Wages”). The Stranger’s Charles Mudede recently compared Sin’s rap ethos to that of Geo of Blue Scholars because of their similar working-class bearings. The comparison is appropriate in that vein, but Sin also possess a certain poetic now-ness to his style; a lyrical method that blends the esoteric and the concrete. It’s exciting to find that type of complexity in The Good Sin, who was previously most notable for his strong delivery.
Hip-hop is not typically something I listen to when laying in bed trying to go to sleep. While it’s by far my preferred musical genre, most of it is too immediate and glaring to be relaxing. Late is something much different, however. The album can be explored with a full ear attuned to the beats and rhymes, or it can be put on in the background and allowed to seep in little by little. It’s one of those rare pieces of music where my mind didn’t have to make the conscious decision to LIKE or DISLIKE. It just knew from the moment it filtered through.
Late is available for FREE download. Click on the album cover above or the Bandcamp link below.
206UP.COM’s Top 10 SEA Hip-Hop Albums of 2010
As a hip-hop and baseball obsessed youth, I constantly formulated Top 10 Lists. Athletes, shoes, songs, movies — if it was rate-able, I was Top 10′in it, practically weekly. This is probably why 206UP.COM’s year-end list is my favorite post to write. Last year I waxed not-so-poetically on how, in 2005, Seattle’s underground rap scene single-handedly renewed my faith in the music. This year my affinity for Town rap became even tighter knit.
The albums, songs, free downloads, and videos that originated strictly in Seattle were enough to keep my hip-hop appetite satisfied through the whole year. Not to say excellent new albums by nationally known artists (Big Boi, The Roots, Kanye West, etc.) weren’t heavy on my playlist, or that the underground movements in other cities weren’t relevant. It’s just that hip-hop in the 2-0-6 is so grown now, more than it’s ever been, and the voices, perspectives and spectrum of sounds in our Town are talented and diverse enough to keep my ears fully attuned.
While there were some glaring omissions in 2010 (the new Physics LP being the most significant, for me), there were some other big advancements and unexpected surprises:
The emergence of La (formerly known as Language Arts) as a force to be reckoned with (at least on wax). This cat blew through like a Northeaster on his two LP’s, Gravity and Roll With The Winners, spitting outlandish braggadocio unlike any other rapper in town.
Two career-defining performances by Blue Scholars. The first was at the Bowery Ballroom in New York City, which I wrote about, here. At this show, the Scholars proved to the hip-hop world that they could hang in the Mecca, legitimizing their voice on a whole new level. (Macklemore’s opening performance was definitely notable, too.) The other show folks were buzzing about was the City Arts music festival performance at The Paramount, the first time a local hip-hop group rocked the venerable theater’s stage. Blue Scholars made history, nationally and locally, with these two shows.
This year also saw artists better known for their previously established collaborative endeavors break out with successful new excursions. JFK and Onry Ozzborn both dropped excellent LP’s independent of their legendary Grayskul partnership — JFK on the straight-up solo tip and Onry Ozzborn in collaboration with Chi-town producer Zavala. RA Scion reinvented himself with his Victor Shade project with producer MTK. And Gabriel Teodros and Amos Miller connected in Brooklyn, forming the impromptu collab Air 2 A Bird after being rebuffed in London on the eve of their world tour.
But enough with the recap. The following list represents what 206UP.COM sees as the best Seattle hip-hop albums of the year. There was no real science to compiling the list and, when it comes down to it, these things are matters of pure conjecture, subject to debate and relentless criticism of the people who made them (which this blog always welcomes, by the way). Enjoy the list and Happy New Year!
Honorable mentions:
JFK – Building Wings on the Way Down
LaRue – Saturn Returns
Avatar Young Blaze – Russian Revolution Mixtape
10. State of the Artist – SeattleCaliFragilisticExtraHellaDopeness
The album equivalent of a 2-0-6 hip-hop houseparty, by design SeattleCal wasn’t exactly an official debut LP for State of the Artist, but a showcase for much of the talent in the city. The three SOTA emcees were consistently outshone by their guests and a lot of times the lyrics didn’t seem to make any sense. As strictly a party album, however, there wasn’t one better.
9. Victor Shade – Victor Shade
The re-birth of RA Scion as the rap superhero Victor Shade saw a major shift in musical tone, but not a dramatic change in delivery or aesthetic. RA’s lyrics are still dense as hell and require close examination on paper in order to understand their meaning. It all sounded great, however, over MTK’s knocking production. RA Scion (aka. Victor Shade) remains the most professorial battle rapper in Seattle.
8. Air 2 A Bird – Crow Hill
A soaring achievement considering the bare-bones tools Air 2 A Bird (Gabriel Teodros and Amos Miller) had to work with when making this album in Brooklyn. In its creation, Crow Hill captured the very essence of hip-hop: eloquent poetics, masterful improvisation and a revolutionary spirit (albeit on a quieter and more reserved scale). This album proves that hip-hop executed with class and panache can be just as effective as the bombastic variety.
7. La – Roll With The Winners
This “debut” album from the emcee formerly known as “Language Arts” featured expert throwback production by an unknown producer named Blu-Ray, whose heavy soul sampling sounds like The Alchemist on his most nostalgic day. The highlight, though, was La’s take-no-prisoners lyrical work. Hearing raw talent like this is akin to watching Allen Iverson play basketball for the first time. At this stage in his career La is still all fearless potential, but on paper he might already be the most technically sound rapper in the city.
6. Helladope – Helladope (aka Return to Planet Rock)
Helladope’s Tay Sean is far too young a cat to be making music with this much soul and expert tribute to the R&B and funk of yesteryear. Still, he accomplished the feat with ease. Along with emcee/vocalist Jerm, Helladope’s debut album offers a fresh take on the P-funk/G-funk rap amalgamation that originated in Southern California in the early 90’s. The sound is updated here with extraterrestrial gimmickry that amuses but isn’t essential to the album’s vibe.
5. J. Pinder – Code Red EP
This star-studded EP by Seattle ex-pat J. Pinder had a professional sheen equal to most major label releases. And it was free, to boot. Unsurprisingly, the folks who built the foundation of Code Red are either consummate hip-hop professionals or quickly on their way: Vitamin D, Jake One and Kuddie Fresh, among others. Pinder’s easy flow and accessible subject matter made this album easy to ride for.
4. Dark Time Sunshine – Vessel
Vessel exists in the same category as the number two album on this list, The Stimulus Package. The lyrical work is quintessential Onry Ozzborn (here reborn as Cape Cowen) but the production is a masterful concoction of headphone-oriented beats that only a cold soul from Chicago could assemble. Producer Zavala cultivates a terrain of rich electronica that feels organic, as if grown and harvested with the precision of robot farmers. The most sonically progressive SEA hip-hop album this side of Shabazz Palaces’ 2009 masterpiece.
3. Jake One & Freeway – The Stimulus Package
At first consideration it seemed strange to include this release featuring an emcee so deeply associated with the city of Philadelphia. Fifty percent of the album artist credit is from Seattle though so how could it be excluded? The obvious truth is Jake One had as much (if not more) to do with the quality of The Stimulus Package as Freeway. Jake has a knack for creating fresh ideas while staying inside the bounds of traditional boom-bap. Stimulus is his best and most cohesive collection of beats, ever.
2. Candidt – Sweatsuit & Churchshoes
Candidt’s long-delayed Sweatsuit & Churchshoes is a refreshing and dynamic package of West Coast B-boy rap. Every local young buck in the game should take this album as the new hip-hop gospel for the way it connects Old School and New. Candidt doesn’t sound like anyone else in the city and his willingness to experiment with new sounds while keeping strict West Coast principles earns SS&CS major props.
1. Def Dee & La (fka. Language Arts) – Gravity
Producer Def Dee caught lightning in a bottle with his masterful production work on this album. Gravity pays direct tribute to NYC Golden Era boom-bap and is unapologetic in its revivalist ideology. It also manages to sound fresh and timeless, however, and is the most musically cohesive album of these ten. Emcee La officially established himself as one of the best rappers in the city. He plays it cooler than on his proper solo debut, Roll With The Winners, but that’s because the music requires him to. Gravity stands firmly to the side of Seattle’s so-called “Third Wave hip-hop,” a position that’s especially important to the purist set. All the current innovation in local rap is a great thing, but so is the creation of more traditional forms like Gravity. It reminds everyone that hip-hop made in our isolated corner of the map is inextricably linked to the region of its genesis.
REVIEW: “The Youth Die Young” – Mad Rad
Mad Rad has evolved into Seattle’s most disruptive force in live music. Ask anyone who has worked security at the six Capitol Hill clubs from which the crew was temporarily banned in January of last year–or local multimedia authority Chase Jarvis, whose dinner spread the foursome nearly ruined during its performance turn at his Songs for Eating and Drinking event. At some point in the last two years, every major music venue in the city has been knocked on its ear as a result of Mad Rad’s antics, welcomed or not. The group has evolved into the easiest band to love or hate, depending on your tolerance level for the asinine. On its way to becoming King of Disruption, Mad Rad has also burgeoned a local following that borders on the rabid and created some of the most dynamic pop music Seattle has ever seen.
REVIEW: “Sweatsuit & Churchshoes” (Candidt)
The two best Seattle hip-hop albums of 2010 are region-specific. Def Dee and Language Arts’ Gravity is cloned from the DNA of mid-90’s New York City boom-bap. It’s a perfectly-penned love note to a definitive sound and era when millions of hip-hop heads came of age. The second album, Candidt’s Sweatsuit & Churchshoes, is a refreshing exercise in West Coast b-boy funk. The main complaint with Gravity may be it doesn’t bring innovation to its source material, yet the same can’t be said about Sweatsuit & Churchshoes. Candidt’s sprawling 21-track workout manages to find fresh ideas within a variety of West Coast sounds that came before it. It has one foot in Old School History Class and one foot in the New School hallway; its breadth of modification and manner in which the two schools are bridged are the album’s greatest attributes.
DOWNLOAD & REVIEW: “The Blackest Brown EP” (D. Black & B. Brown)
Sportn’ Life’s D. Black partners with producer B. Brown for The Blackest Brown EP, the follow-up to 2009′s transformative Ali’Yah. Click the album cover below for the FREE download link.
Most of the recent talk surrounding D. Black has been about his metamorphosis from a gangsta-oriented street hustler (as embodied on his debut LP, The Cause and Effect) to a yarmulke-wearing holy man (as revealed on last year’s Ali’Yah). His “re-birth” is further documented on The Blackest Brown EP, a short nine-track affair that deals strongly in God and religion.
Black’s Jewish faith is even more pronounced now on tracks like “My Mitzvot” where we find Black not rapping, but singing (as he does on a number of tracks) over a simple acoustic guitar progression. And “Shabbat Table Cloth” might be the only hip-hop party track to be about, well, a Shabbat table cloth. The production is disappointingly bland and derivative but the track stands out because of the unlikely subject matter.
Black collaborates with other Town emcees on about half of the album. We hear about God from some artists who don’t normally speak on religion or faith. Grynch and SK expose their spiritual sides on the angelic “The Light.” The best track is “Special,” a soulful, rolling hip-hop gospel exercise, blessed by a commanding Fatal Lucciauno. Rap music about God is rarely effective when thinly woven, lyrically or compositionally, and “Special” benefits from two emcees who demand attention based on their voices alone.
When the elements are right, rap as gospel can stir the soul like a good church service. On The Blackest Brown EP, D. Black moves his congregation more than he puts them to sleep, which is a good thing. The Seattle hip-hop movement is benefiting from his new unique voice.
Click image for D/L link
REVIEW: “Building Wings on the Way Down” (JFK)
JFK is an emcee who seems like he’s perpetually on the verge of becoming unhinged. It’s a self-inflicted condition caused by the combination of his frantic, usually rapid-paced flow and his penchant for spitting about all the bad sh-t that happens in life (or death, as is often the case when he’s traversing the spiritual world’s subsurface as one half of Grayskul, the rapper’s well-established collaborative endeavor with fellow Oldominion cohort Onry Ozzborn). On JFK’s solo debut, Building Wings on the Way Down, the man also known as Ninjaface settles into a comfortable space (at least for him) composed of personal reflection, adept societal observations, and relatable relationship anecdotes. Based on JFK’s subject matter, and despite the album’s title, the rapper seems grounded here–in a good way.
REVIEW: Seattlecalifragilisticextrahelladopeness (State of the Artist)
Seattle hip-hop still hasn’t found its definitive “sound.” Artists over the last two years have, for the most part, taken a get-in-where-ya-fit-in attitude toward determining their particular place in the 2-0-6 hip-hop sphere. The closest Seattle has come to forming its own unique rap persona was the so-called “conscious boom-bap” stylings of Blue Scholars, Common Market and Abyssinian Creole way back in the mid-aughts. (And yes, I say “way back” with tongue planted firmly in-cheek. The South Bronx, Seattle is not.)
REVIEW: “Gravity” (Def Dee & Language Arts)
“No idea’s original/There’s nothin’ new under the sun/It’s never what you do/But how it’s done.” — Nas
This fairly dubious assessment on the state of hip-hop progression was proffered by Nas in his song, “No Idea’s Original.” The statement, however, is generally recognized as a universal truth among musicians of any type of music — and artists of any medium, really. Everything in a genre’s canon, even up to its most current iteration, is built upon something from its past. In an odd contradictory sense, modern practitioners depend upon clinging to their art’s long-buried roots in order to move their agenda forward. There would be no progression without that fond nostalgic echo.
And nostalgia is something not in short supply when it comes to memories of hip-hop as it existed in the early to mid 90′s. The Golden Era, as it’s lovingly called, is when hip-hop came of age. And fans of the music who were old enough to appreciate that evolution as it occurred cling to the artists of that time period the same way a hungry rapper clings to a mic; for them, it’s an impossible separation. The sounds and styles of that time provide a point-of-reference for those fans’ identities as lovers of the music and influence their critiques of hip-hop as it exists today; perhaps even sometimes to the detriment of a contemporary artist’s deserved appreciation. (Philosophical debates — even well-written ones — have been posited on this very subject.)
The fact that local duo Def Dee and Language Arts (LA for short) have created Gravity in 2010, an album that clearly owes its existence to the Golden Era (especially as manifested in New York City), is not something to be taken lightly. Hip-hop music was certainly being made in Seattle in the mid-90′s but, save for the antics of Sir-Mix-a-Lot, the scene was confined strictly to the underground. The closest thing Seattle had to NYC Golden Era hip-hop was Tribal’s seminal 1996 compilation, Do The Math, a formative and well-known album for local emcees now in their late 20′s to early 30′s, but not a particularly familiar one to the average fan of the same age. New York’s influential boom-bap of the time was loud enough to ring from coast to coast and Do The Math is evidence of that reverberation in Seattle. That the majority of the city’s impressionable youth were too busy shopping for plaid and flannel, however, is not Tribal’s fault.
The local hip-hop scene as it exists today is interesting. The Golden Era was hip-hop’s officially recognized renaissance, but Seattle seems to currently be experiencing its own unique version. The mid-90′s hip-hop genome has already been mapped and well-documented, but perhaps never fully evolved locally until now. Gravity shares the same musical genes as Pete Rock, Jay Dilla and Mobb Deep of the Golden Era. Listening to the album’s sixteen tracks is like following a trail of Timberland boot-prints through that time period. All of the usual production suspects are present: scarce melodies; tightly-wound kicks and snares; the satisfying discord of crackle, pop and hiss behind the samples; chopped-up keyboard licks; and, perhaps most fundamental of all, bass acting as percussion which creates the thick atmosphere that holds everything together. What’s most remarkable here is how producer Def Dee’s mid-90′s aesthetic doesn’t imitate, but actually builds upon what came before. Def doesn’t mimic or parrot his sources of inspiration, he deftly crafts the beats with just as much skill as his predecessors. His work on Gravity is an astonishing accomplishment in that regard.
While Def’s beats lay the pavement for the ride, the man primarily responsible for driving is emcee Language Arts. He weaves his street-oriented rhymes so effortlessly through the tracks that it takes a few listens to realize just how versatile and effective his presence is. Simply put, LA can rhyme his way around any emcee in the 2-0-6. On “Uno Amore” he declares, “Reinvent the wheel? No I’m patchin’ up the tire,” which is an accurate self-assessment considering LA pulls as much from Nas’ Illmatic-era cadence as he does a characteristically West Coast nonchalance. LA uses his flow to tie Def’s beats up into tidy knots, seemingly never needing to breathe on “To Sir With Love,” which features a boot-stomping rhythm that he matches vocally march for march. Though LA is the primary voice in this group, Def’s tracks ride shotgun alongside his partner, saying as much through rhythm as could possibly be said without words. They’re a consistent and impressive two-man show on tracks like “Day In The Life,” with LA displaying a dexterous rhyme handle over Def’s self-inflicted staccato piano stabs. Every track on Gravity features a quality of rapping that equally matches the quality of its accompaniment.
To say that Gravity is the closest thing Seattle has to its own Illmatic is potentially dangerous hyperbole that immediately turns the author of this review into a target for criticism and attempts at discrediting his hip-hop knowledge. But who cares? Given that hip-hop’s fundamentalism is built (at least partially) on series of robust embellishments, the statement can and should be made given the nature of the two albums. Gravity could also be a cousin, once or twice removed, from Mobb Deep’s Hell On Earth, though it’s not nearly as cold. While it is decidedly “street,” Gravity‘s disposition doesn’t begin to approach Havoc and Prodigy’s flagrant nihilism (for example: nowhere do Def or LA make reference to being stabbed by an ice-pick).
As Nas asserted: “No Idea’s Original.” And to capably make an album like this with such conspicuous ties to the forebears previously mentioned, Def Dee and LA must understand that idiom. The significance of what they’ve created, and when they created it, means even more when considered in the context of Seattle’s hip-hop history. The Six never spotlighted this version of hip-hop. And, while it’s nothing new under the sun, it’s never what you do, but how it’s done. The virtue of Gravity is that it’s done right.
(Def Dee and LA’s Gravity is available for FREE download at the group’s Bandcamp page, here.)
REVIEW: “The Asymmetry of Life” (Bent Twig)
(The Asymmetry of Life is available for FREE download. Click here or above for the link.)
The Six’s first great summer riding soundtrack dropped last Friday with hardly a peep or tweet heard in local hip-hop’s otherwise boisterous online stomping ground. Cali-natives Soos and Preach, known together as Bent Twig, released a surprisingly capable and confident full-length debut album called The Asymmetry of Life that has thus far gone virtually undetected by the local blogs (save for yours truly and its compatriots at Seattle Show Gal). The conspicuous presence of Town players Ill Pill, Scenik, Grynch, Sol, and Geologic on the album, adds a further (and surprising) validity to this under-the-radar release.
The Asymmetry is a fifteen-track collection of laid-back, breezy, hip-hop, with funk/disco/pop sensibilities. Bent Twig (whose members grew up together on a street of the same name in Camarillo, CA) value the positive mental attitude derived from such feel-good music, which is a perfect accompaniment to backyard barbecues and cook-outs at Alki Beach. As the weather begins to transition, their debut album is just in time for such events.
Bent Twig’s rhyme topics are lighthearted and relatively narrow in scope. The party life is celebrated in an inoffensive way (“Good Music”); pursuing love and shorties is described with a PG-13 rating (“Cinderella Girl”); and motivational pep talks and commemoration of loved ones are included, too (“Can’t Go On” and “Like You”). Preach and Soos deliver their lyrics via casual conversational flow or in half-sung emcee stylings. It may all sound like cotton candy rap and, for the most part, it is. But Preach and Soos are so unrelenting in their positivity, all their good-guy talk comes across as genuine and endearing, not annoying or preachy.
Sonically, everything here is danceable and easy to listen to. Disco and funk inflections are prevalent throughout, but unlike many recent local releases with similar influences, futuristic bleeps and blips and other musical nods toward the extra-terrestrial are noticeably absent. It’s a welcome respite. Bent Twig has found a comfort within its style, fully knowing what its sound is and embracing it with satisfying results.
Currently, Preach and Soos are both attending college (the former at the University of Washington, the latter at Arizona State) which makes it all the more impressive they’ve found time to produce and release an album of such quality. On May 27, the official album release party will pop off at High Dive. The noise around Bent Twig might be relatively quiet now, but more folks are likely to get hip to this duo as word gets out, and deservedly so — they’re a worthy new addition to the Town movement.
REVIEW: “Code Red EP” (J. Pinder)
The Code Red EP is available for FREE download. Click here or the album covers below for the link.
The Code Red EP should probably be considered J. Pinder’s first official entry into the local rap game. The previously released Backpack Wax Mixtape served to introduce folks to the South End rhymer, and it was an unarguably excellent collection of scatter-shot beats and bars. Ultimately, however, it was exactly what it says it was: a mixtape; and thus lacked a coherence that effectively established J. Pinder’s particular identity. The Code Red EP achieves this with a self-assured nonchalance perfectly befitting this emcee.
The first thing you’ll notice is the production and guest shot lineups. Code Red is full of heavy-hitters like Jake One, Vitamin D, and Kuddie Fresh on beats, and established rappers Big Pooh and Guilty Simpson on feature bars. Because of the serious industry weight behind this brief eight-track collection, it sparkles with a certain professionally-applied sheen that we haven’t seen the likes of on any 2010 local releases.
This isn’t to say Code Red is all style and no substance. Quite the contrary. J. Pinder’s subject matter is categorically street-oriented, but ultimately trends toward that most complex of emotions dealt with by people from all walks of life: l-o-v-e. This album is really all about love. Love for your community, love for hip-hop music, love of self, love for your chick, love for your family, etc. There’s even a song about how dangerous and frightening it is to say, “I love you” (“Three Words”). A lack of love is generally the fundamental cause of society’s woes and J. Pinder understands that condition. Code Red is remarkable because the message is delivered in a grown-ass way, never preachy or holier-than-thou, just through observation and down-to-earth real talk.
If there is one knock on J. Pinder, it might be his rhyme style. While he has a knack for never wasting a word, the dude is so unassuming in his flow that he veers dangerously close to sounding indifferent. Not surprisingly, the best tracks on the album are those where he increases emotional effusion. “No Turnin Back” is a track so heavy and thick, it sounds like Vitamin D built it with bricks, concrete and asphalt. It’s about the dangers of losing positive focus when surrounded by so much negativity and J. Pinder gives a great vocal performance. A couple listens are required to appreciate how subtly he shifts from his normal casual breeziness to sounding downright icy. That he’s capable of carrying a track with so much audible weight is a great sign for his future.
Free EP’s are often crafted with the intention of building momentum for a full-length album. Occasionally they also succeed in standing alone on their own merits, as fully-realized collections of songs representing a concept or a brief statement of the artist’s general philosophy. Code Red is similar to The Physics’ 2009 High Society, two extended players that achieved multiple artistic objectives with relative ease. J. Pinder has deftly built an album good enough to capture listeners’ ears today and convincing enough that he’s worthy of following tomorrow.
REVIEW: “Victor Shade” (Victor Shade)
In the Fall of last year, emcee RA Scion adopted the new rap persona Victor Shade, named after a character from Marvel Comics’ The Avengers series. The reasons for the change seemed to be two-fold: 1) an intentional distancing from his well-established identity as the emcee half of Common Market, a group (unfortunately) on indefinite hiatus; and 2) a tribute to his late brother-in-law, a comic book aficionado who personally bestowed the Victor Shade identity upon RA. Hip-hop fans around Town already know the man, born Ryan Abeo, as a dramatic stage presence whose shows have veered into performance art territory. So it’s unsurprising that his new Victor Shade project would be accompanied by a dramatic and well-documented change in his rap alter-ego.
It’s a change that serves to blatantly announce his re-entry to the rap game sans his previous collaborator, DJ/producer Sabzi, a notable proposition not just because of how well-entrenched Common Market is in the local rap psyche, but because the two artists seemed like natural extensions of each other, a rare duality that many don’t find throughout an entire career. Well, in case you’re wondering, Common Market fans, there’s no need to fear as this new iteration, while certainly different sonically, is not an uncomfortable deviation from what you’re used to.
Common Market’s last major release, 2008′s Tobacco Road, was a sprawling exercise in conceptual hip-hop. It featured a few classic moments but ultimately was too long, its length consistent with what one would expect from RA Scion, a rapper with so much on his mind that his lyrics literally required hip-hop Cliff’s Notes (which he occasionally provided on his blog). CM’s self-titled debut, on the other hand, was of more manageable length and should now be considered a local rap classic. Like Blue Scholars’ first album, it perfectly replicated the mind-state of Seattle’s liberal populace: current but old-school; urban but organic; aggressive with its principles but…neighborly. Victor Shade finds a comfortable middle ground between the two CM albums. And, while the rapper in question might balk at any extensive comparison, the exposition is necessary because RA Scion, as he existed in Common Market, is our only point of reference.
A new producer means a new sound. Everett beat-maker MTK is responsible for all twelve tracks on Victor Shade. His style is notably more aggressive than Sabzi’s, which isn’t to say the CM composer didn’t bring out the natural battle-rhymer in RA. (As previously noted, theirs was a relationship based on mutual ability, essentially meeting each other halfway in their artistry.) If anything, RA seemed to bring out the battle-producer in Sabzi. MTK, on the other hand, brings a grenade to a knife fight, meeting Victor Shade at the gravel pit where he’s already most comfortable. With monitors drenched in gasoline and a lit match in hand, their fusion on wax is generally incendiary. For lack of a more elegant editorial: the sh*t totally f*cking knocks. MTK’s assailing production is a perfect vehicle for the natural go-hard tendencies of the rapper.
Yet, with a flow so conducive to battle-rhyming, it’s still impossible to overlook Victor Shade as a pure poet. The density of rhyme and structure is simultaneously his greatest strength and overarching flaw. Similar to Talib Kweli, it’s often hard to follow, understand, and digest what he’s saying. That seems like a petty and nearly useless criticism when considering most rappers don’t say sh*t, but it is what it is.
In Common Market, RA Scion was a poet for the proletarian class and Victor Shade keeps the same company here. Although this time he fancies himself as a bit of a hero for those folks, walking amongst them but not altogether of them. Subversive critiques of our social conditions are the rule of the day (“Bodega Politics”, “Boots”, and “Soothsayer”, for example). Victor Shade requires that you hear more than listen in order to get the picture. For some reason, that exercise is a challenge contemporary hip-hop heads struggle with, probably because we’re too busy breaking our necks to the beat when we should be taking notes (a symptom of the relatively new producer-as-celebrity corollary). The value in Victor Shade’s treatise can only be found in taking the time to listen. And, like RA Scion before him, he’ll probably only respect us if we accept the provocation.
The greatest compliment one might pay to Victor Shade/RA Scion, is that listening to his music is a totally holistic experience. The emotive effects from his well-suited production choices, combined with his aptitude for meaningful lyricism (often existing on some higher esoteric plane), create a multi-layered experience uncommon in most rap music. It’s easy to draw a straight line between Victor Shade and artists in the hip-hop family tree to whom he’s directly related. Those folks include the likes of KRS-One, Chuck D, and Dead Prez. And, similar to those rap brethren, listening to Victor Shade casually is like trying to read really good literature on a noisy metro bus: you can get a sense of what’s happening, but you can’t fully appreciate it until you take the time to deconstruct it. Like Common Market before him, Victor Shade demands his listeners be active. Passivity, ultimately, is for suckas when it comes to this brand of intellectual hip-hop.
REVIEW: Saturday Mourning (Gran Rapids)
Emcee Leach and emcee/producer Jay Battle are the duo who comprise Gran Rapids, a group whose debut album, Saturday Mourning, is a lengthy, party-rocking affair with a sound that trends toward the electronic end of the hip-hop spectrum. It’s startlingly confident and self-assured which, in the increasingly over-saturated local hip-hop market, is a necessity for a new group who wants to get noticed and have any hope of emerging unscathed from a crowded scene that’s a little like a downtown Metro bus during rush hour.
A national hip-hop critic wrote recently that, when in doubt, rappers wanting to expand their reach beyond backpackers and their over-sized headphones should just make a dance record; ie. a disco album with rap. Gran Rapids doesn’t paint itself into that small of a corner, but it rolls with the general idea. Party rap will get you noticed (especially around Town these days, with shows popping off every weekend), and that’s the direction GP takes Saturday Mourning.
There’s a lot of sh*t-talk set to uptempo beats, perfect for jumping up and down at the club in rapid succession (“The Good, The Bad, The Ugly”, “Rewsta” and “Wheredayat, Theredaygo!”, among others). Sometimes too much hip-hop with such subject matter makes the listener feel like he’s getting bludgeoned over the head with a broken MPC. That’s not the case with Gran Rapids. They bring just enough creativity to the table to make it enjoyable. Still, the album’s sprawling length dilutes the overall quality just a bit.
Leach and Jay Battle show the most promise for a sustained career in hip-hop on two tracks. “Make Us” is a determined head-nodder where both rappers display legitimate mic control skills and an understanding of the hip-hop fundamentals. And “Robot Fans” is an entertaining lampoon of those How Can I Be Down-type fans who want a piece of the music celebrity action (no matter how big or small). It’s still unclear whether Gran Rapids is fit or hungry enough to make it out of Seattle’s hip-hop kitchen as celebrities of the bigger variety. With the pot bubbling over, and every rapper jostling for position at the top, it’s hard to predict what will happen. Saturday Mourning, though, is a good enough indicator of a group worthy of keeping your eyes on.
REVIEW: The Stimulus Package (Freeway & Jake One)
(Note: This review also appears on the national online hip-hop site Above Ground Magazine.)
For better or worse, Freeway possess one of the most recognizable and unique voices in hip-hop. As a result, he’s a bit of an acquired taste. Jake One the producer, on the other hand, is a 21st century version of DJ Premier. He uses appropriately melodic soul samples, dusty beats, and well-placed scratches to create a reliable and familiar dose of straight-forward hip-hop.
So while it’s possible the listener might have a more rewarding experience if Jake’s beats were blessed by a more, how-would-you-say, “accessible” emcee than Philly Freezer, it doesn’t change the fact that with their combined powers the two have crafted the best hip-hop album of 2010, thus far.
On one hand, it’s not out of bounds to say Freeway is generally under-appreciated as a rapper. On the other, you can say he’s gotten his just due. Point of reference is important here, too. From a philosophical standpoint, he’s one of those dudes that sort-of bridges the gap between backpackers and radio. Generally known and respected by true heads, Freeway is still only peripherally known by Clear Channel-ers, which is fine. Being a made hip-hop man (of which he is one), does not depend on your ability to please fans of both Brother Ali and Gucci Mane.
It does, however, depend on being reliable and consistent and Freeway has played his hand in the hip-hop game well. Decidedly street, his ability to be both an ambivalent and empathetic witness to the ethical dilemmas faced by fellow hustlers is one of his greatest strengths. On “The Product”, he paints a bleak picture of the role narcotics play in many aspects of American life, neither celebrating the drug lifestyle nor outright dismissing it as something altogether heinous. After all, if it’s a means to put food on the table when all else has failed, what can you ultimately say? Freeway admittedly keeps “One Foot In” the rap game and one foot in the street. This delicate balancing act allows him to maintain a level of authenticity that other rappers have lost.
Jake One, the other half of The Stimulus Package, has become a figurehead in Seattle hip-hop. He probably has the most national influence of any member of the local rap community but his voice is never actually heard. Jake speaks clearly and authoritatively through his beats. He’s an expert at taking a delicate soul sample and layering it over a well-crafted drum pattern such that the essence of the original music partially dissolves and reforms into something entirely new and exciting. His production is rarely flashy or ground-breaking — it’s just solid and consistent.
Jake is in high industry demand these days, and one of the reasons might be because his sound doesn’t seem to belong to any particular coast or region. You can hear obvious Dr. Dre-style Cali influences in the flourishes on tracks like “The Product” and “One Thing”, yet he also shows he can do Dirty South capably too on “Follow My Moves” and “Sho’ Nuff”. Jake One is a true student of hip-hop production; any rapper would be lucky to have him bless an entire album with his beats.
It’s refreshing to see a prominent hip-hop release with the ability to pay equal tribute to rapper and producer as Rhymesayers has done with The Stimulus Package. One DJ and one emcee was once the established symbiosis in hip-hop, but that has gone by the wayside for the most part. The schizophrenia caused by multiple rapper-producer collaborations has much to do with the inconsistent level of quality that plagues most albums. If more well-known rappers like Freeway would stick to the one DJ/one emcee ethic (the way our humble Town so frequently does), we’d see more LPs match the level of quality of The Stimulus Package.
