“The Three Rules” music video by Art Vandelay. Take 2. Ricky Pharoe “hated” the first version, and if you go back to our original YouTube post of that clip, you get an ominous “This Video Does Not Exist”. I can’t think of a more fitting message when it comes to Ricky and his producer cohort Mack Formway, Seattle’s top professors of hip hop pessimism.
“The Three Rules” is the opening track on Art Vandelay’s latest record, Eye 8 The Crow, which you can check for here and below. The video is a peek inside the tripped-out headspace of MC Ricky Pharoe and it’s a sight to behold (however: SEIZURE WARNING).
More interesting to me, though, are the rapper’s bars which seek to subvert the definition of what “success” means in the rap game. If a dope rapper spits a hot 16 in the woods, but no one is there to hear it, does he make a sound? Ricky Pharoe teeters on this sharp lyrical edge and production partner Mack Formway’s beat is wound appropriately tight.
Art Vandelay’s Eye 8 The Crow is due April 2. Ricky Pharoe and Mack Formway still think your television is brainwashing you. They’re probably right.
Unimpressive Records; 2012
The strangely edifying thing about Art Vandelay’s grey-skied, tongue-only-partially-in-cheek, depress-o art-house rap, is that the MC responsible for setting the gloomy table (that would be one Ricky Pharoe) is loathe to admit the rock you — and all your fellow busy-body, oxygen-depleting friends — crawled out from under is probably the one located right next door to his own. In a musical genre where the primary goal of every MC is obtaining as much genuflection as is required to begin believing in one’s own hype, it’s nice to come across an outfit like Art Vandelay. One that relishes basking in a deafeningly melancholic solace, preaching to each empty and occupied space that everyone’s shit does, in fact, stink. Human nature is a motherfucker, isn’t it?
At least that’s what I took away from the crew’s most recent project, Face Tattoo, which can be had for freebies at the group’s Bandcamp page. Likewise their previous release, 2011’s They’ve Got My Number Down At The Post Office, which saw Ricky and production partner Mack Formway preaching to no choir in particular about dark days and wanton human nature from the comfort of their own raggedy sofas. Actually, “preaching” is probably the wrong word as those in religious affiliation often find themselves the victims of lyrical beatdowns (see here: “Vitiligo” and it’s blasphemously comedic video).
Then again, the degradation opined upon throughout Face Tattoo is not exclusive to human spirituality. Art Vandelay hesitate even in placing their faith in empirical evidence, concluding on “What Is Matter?” that the only sure thing in scientific experiment is the addition of further questions. Pharoe is an expert at deconstructing both the questions that drive human exploration and the minutiae of a daily stationary existence. And that’s before he even tackles the kinetic doomsday machinations of crooked government and broken social systems (“Presidents And Prime Ministers”). Ultimately, the man is revealed as an MC trapped inside his own head, the hip-hop medium being his only reliable form of release and, dare I say, salvation.
The dense and vital soundtrack to Pharoe’s firing synapses is Mack Formway’s well-executed production. Guitar-laden sonic frameworks, moody samples and rugged breakbeats are combined to darkly atmospheric (yet often traditional) effect. This is not top-down, cruising-in-the-ride summer music. It’s far more pensive than that. “Hey Zeus!”, for example, is a sort of post-Grunge futurist meets El-P dance track. That might mean little to nothing on paper but in execution it sounds unlike anything currently spinning in Seattle hip-hop.
Art Vandelay’s threat of branding us with face tattoos finds its genesis in Pharoe’s standard MC desire of blemishing rap marks with his proverbial dopeness (which he possesses in spades). But it also seems to reference the consigned shroud that we and our neighbors persist to carry on under. Beneath all of Face Tattoo’s spoiled ink lies the notion that the world has sadly vacated the strive for something better. That maybe if the human race just moved the hell out of its own way, things wouldn’t be so constantly fucked up.