Reviews

Albums

The Classics

NAS Illmatic Released: 1994

First off, let's not dwell on the merits or otherwise of Nas today. We're here to talk about Illmatic. Which is, after all, an album so good that ten years of substandard follow-ups can be forgiven. Just about. Maybe not that J Lo collaboration, thinking about it.
Anyhow...
While not wishing to get bogged down in hackneyed East v West nonsense, it is relevant to note that Illmatic was released at a time when West Coast G-Funk was ubiquitous. Nas, born and bred in "the infamous Queensbridge housing projects"- copyright every media reference to Queens ever- was a central figure in re-establishing New York hip hop. How? Well, put it this way, aspiring MCs should be forced, Clockwork Orange style, to listen to the first verse of N.Y. State Of Mind: "Rappers I monkey flip em with the funky rhythm I be kickin/Musician, inflicting composition of pain, I'm like Scarface sniffin cocaine."If not inspired to greatness, it really is time they got back to frying fish for a living. In fact Nas could spit about fish suppers and make it sound like the teachings of a prophet. Not that he has to, because Illmatics lyrics reveal a highly articulate young man growing up in New York. Memory Lane (Sittin In Da Park) finds Nas reminiscing about the usual spectres of drugs, violence and racism. But he's not about to become a stereotypical gangsta however, for his intellect "prevails like a hanging cross with nails".
Genius.
The beats keep pace with Nas' urgent yet relaxed street teachings throughout. From Premier's beautifully menacing, piano led "N.Y. State Of Mind" to the typically sublime jazz stylings of Pete Rock's "The World Is Yours", the pace never drops. Q-Tip provides the best Tribe song that never was in One Love, and Large professor provides a funky as fuck beat over which Nas boasts that he is "as ill as a convict who kills for phone time" on Halftime. Which he is, of course. At ten tracks, Illmatic never loses intensity. Shorn of the usual nine skits and twelve fillers- otherwise known as Nastradamus- Illmatic is a rush from start to finish.

PUBLIC ENEMY It Takes a nation of Millions To Hold Us Back Released: 1988

It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back begins with Dave Pearce- yeah, that Dave Pearce- introducing Public Enemy to the stage. As the band enter, the first sound we hear is an air raid siren. Has there ever been a more fucking perfect intro in history? What follows is harsh, abrasive and fearless, nothing short of a musical war against injustice and oppression. First track proper, Bring the Noise, opens with an incessant Malcolm X sample: "Too Black, Too Strong, Too Black Too Strong." This ain't gonna be a comfortable listen. Which is, of course, the whole point. Never easy, always thrilling, enlightening and rewarding. As usual, Chuck himself puts it best on the stunning assault on media lies that is "Don't Believe The Hype": "Not surrenderin'/I don't rhyme for the sake of riddlin'." You won't hear any cat/hat/mat rhymes here. Not a single word is wasted. Well, maybe on Flav's "Cold Lampin With Flavor", whose surrealist ramblings, though still sounding heavier than any other music you've ever heard, comes as something of a light relief. Otherwise, every shot hits the target. Then kicks it in the nuts when it's down.
Black Steel In The Hour Of Chaos finds Chuck in jail for refusing to fight a white mans war, recalling Muhammed Ali's refusal to fight in Vietnam ("No Vietcong ever called me nigger"). Over a suitably intense piano loop, Chuck literally spits out every word: "They wanted me for their army or whatever, Picture me givin' a damn- I said never/Here is a land that never gave a damn about a brother like me."
Producers The Bomb Squad outdo themselves in creating soundscapes as ferocious as Chuck's raps. Old soul breaks are twisted to within an inch of their lives to become fearsome artillery fire, while the squealing horns prevalent throughout are terrifying; painful but compelling. But listening to album closer "Party For Your Right To Fight", with its demented organ sample, you realise that ferocious and culturally vital as It Takes A Nation Of Millions obviously is, it also has the funk in abundance. Which makes it the dictionary definition of essential.

DE LA SOUL 3 Feet High And Rising Released: 1989

It features psychedelic artwork. It clocks in at 24 tracks. Oh dear. Worse still, it can be blamed for thousands of chancers believing they could release albums while only having three songs. For 3 Feet invented the skit. For which they should be shot. But by the time the slinky piano hook of "Potholes In My Lawn" has finished, you will have studied every nook and cranny of the artwork, bemoaned the lack of more skits and renounced violence in all its forms. For 3 Feet High and Rising is one of the most loveable records ever made.
Now, "The Magic Number" may be three, but make no mistake, producer and unofficial fourth member Prince Paul is pivotal to this madcap genius. The sheer depth of samples used- from old Turtles tunes to bizarre French educational recordings- is spellbinding. Paul creates a dense collage of light and breezy hooks coupled with high tempo, incessant beats that is instant and easy on the ear, yet so sophisticated that- to use a suitably innovative phrase- it gradually unravels, revealing more depth with each listen. The perfect background for Plugs One, Two and Three to shine then, as De La's flow is instant and easy blah blah
3 Feet High is the mirror image of It Takes A Nation Of Millions To hold Us Back. Less forceful, maybe, and it's hard to imagine Chuck D penning a song titled D.A.I.SY. Age, but just as potent. Tracks like "I Can Do Anything", while containing lyrics childlike in their simplicity- "I can stick my hand up my nose/I can do anything"- reveals De La's ethos- a faith in the good of people that can overcome all. Ghandi to Chuck's Farrakhan even. Not that 3 Feet doesn't contain moments of biting social commentry. The impossibly funky Say No Go is a tale of crack whores and wasted lives: "A baby is brought into a world of pits/And if it could've talked that soon in the delivery room it would've asked the nurse for a hit." Ghetto Thang, all smooth, fluid bassline and sporadic horns, finds De La trying to comprehend the cycle of teenage single mums and violence that surrounds them. But for every despairing moment, there are a hundred of near-euphoric positivity. It's an LP that radiates diversity and unity, in its music and its message. It's impossible not to love

ERIC B & RAKIM Paid In Full Released: 1988

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so they say. How big must Eric B and Rakim's heads have gotten over the last fifteen years then, as they have seen every beat, every lyric, every idea on their debut album imitated/nicked by the great, the good and P Diddy? Pretty big I'd wager, and deservedly so.
I Ain't No Joke kicks things off. Over an incessant drum machine beat, Rakim wastes no time in letting us know he's the real deal: "I ain't no joke/I used to let the mic smoke, now I slam it when it's done and make sure it's broke." Written on screen by a middle class white boy, these words look like typical old school bragging. Listen to the track however, and you realise just how high Rakim raised the rap stakes. The effortless flow, the conviction in Rakim's voice, makes every syllable sound like a statement of fact rather than a personal opinion. To say that he's the best to ever pick up a mic is a no-brainer. Rap before Rakim was immediately made to look a little childish in its innocence. MCs since look incredibly childish in comparison.
But Paid In Full is not a one-man show. Eric B is President and As The Rhyme Goes On show off Eric's talent to the full. Though both essentially electro tracks, there is a denseness to them that none of his predecessors and few of his contemporaries could match. And I Know You Got Soul is quite simply the most perfectly realised five minutes of hip hop ever made. An inspired Bobby Byrd sample that could get a paralysed head nodding provides the perfect platform for Rakim to shine: "Even other states come right and exact/it ain't where you're from, it's where you're at." A few people since could do with heeding those words. Though I suppose quite a few have. Well, they've nicked them at least.
And I haven't even mentioned the title track yet, with its classic break, unforgettable bassline and Rakim rhyming fish, dish and wish without sounding like a cock. Absolutely essential stuff, and one of the few LPs for which seminal is a genuinely apt description.

DJ SHADOW Endtroducing Released: 1996

DJ Shadow is a lucky git. Endtroducing is an LP hailed as creating an entire, admittedly cack new genre. And how did he do this? By nicking bits of other peoples tunes of course. Piece of Piss! If talent borrows and genius steals then Shadow is omniscient, because every second of Endtroducing is sampled. Yet it's also the album that renders the sampling as theft argument obselete. Single seconds of obscure tracks are laced together, twisted into multi-layered symphonies that sound like nothing else. Shadow's Akai really is no different to Jimmy Page bastardizing obscure old blues riffs.
Shadow's also a lucky git because Endtroducing manages the imposiible- it is an LP appreciated equally by musos and head nodders. Look at rock 'n' roll. Every wank-festy widdle is jizzed over by musos, but let's be honest, no-one who actually likes music wishes anything other than ill on Steve Vai. Yet the heart-wrenchingly sublime Midnight In A Perfect World, though technically in a different league, is phat, subtle and restrained enough to actually be listenable. More tha listenable in fact: it's beautiful.
Shadow achieves this by never forgetting the music that inspired him in the first place. For all the innovation and technical wizardry on display, these are classic hip hop tunes without vocals. Organ Donor, for example, is an absolute banger, simply an infectious looping organ riff over the phattest beat in the land. Obviously it's more complicated than that, but Shadow makes the complicated sound simple.
It's eclectic too. Building Stream With A Grain Of Salt is built round an epic piano line with an operatic female backing vocal. It sounds massive, but retains a certain intimacy. like I said, lucky git. The Number Song ups the pace, with proper breaks like they used to make, and a distorted analogue bassline. I was going to describe it as Future Funk, but then I realised there was a lame "trip hop" compilation of the same name. And that's Endtroducing's only problem. As with all great albums, a bunch of no-marks soon crawled out of the wood-work to make lame soundalikes. The genius that spwaned the drivel can easily be forgotten. But then you get the shivers from the sporadic keyboard stabs, brooding bass and understated guitar of Changeling, and you realise you can forgive Shadow the existence of Morcheeba. The lucky git.

BEASTIE BOYS Paul's Boutique Released: 1989

Look up the term "difficult second album" in any encyclopaedia and you will find a picture of a probably gurning Beasties. How were they supposed to follow Licensed To Ill? They had two options. Firstly, rehash their debut. Who knows, they may score a huge hit with a subtle rewrite of Fight For Your Right. The problem was, since Licensed To Ill, Public Enemy et al had made their obnoxious frat boy rants seem a bit, well, obnoxious.
Option number two was to rope the Dust Brothers in on production duties and make an album that pushed sampling to unprecedented levels, taking in The Ramones, Chic, Zeppelin and Curtis Mayfield along the way, yet still retaining the Beasties anarchic abandon. No-one would buy it, but it would later be hailed as one of the most important albums of the 80s. A hip hop Velvet underground if you will. Luckily they chose option two. Bad for their bank balances, great for our record collections.
Sonically, Paul's Boutique's is beyond compare- barring 3 Feet High and Rising. Looking Down the Barrel of a Gun sees a crunching guitar riff meeting an Incredible Bongo Band break, and getting on famously. High Plains Drifter contains samples from both the Ramones and the Fatback Band. Easy to pigeonhole this ain't. Car Thief, with its Funkadelic and Funk Factory loops is, perhaps unsurprisingly, funky. In fact, it's proto G-Funk. What Goes Around opens with a Zeppelin drum beat and is based round an infectious Alice Cooper riff. It's all a glorious, funky mess.
As are the lyrics. The Beasties were yet to reach their worthy (dull) stage in 1989. So we still get a barrel-load of pop culture imagery- rambo, Bruce Willis and JD Sallinger all get serious props, as does just about everyone the Beasties had ever heard. Rampantly dumb and hilarious tracks like Eggman- in which driveby shootings are forsaken for driveby eggings- are interspersed with serious anti-violence tracks like the aforementioned Looking Down the Barrel Of A Gun.
How the fuck did this fail to sell? It contains bits from all the good music ever. It is sharply observed yet unapologetically dumb. And it's funky as. Difficult second album my arse.

WU-TANG CLAN Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) Released: 1993

It's ten years since the Wu arrived to administer a mighty hard kick up the arse to a scene that had become bloated, stagnant and complacent. Not that saving rap was ever on Wu-Tang's agenda. In fact, from the obscure kung fu samples to the in-jokes, 36 Chambers presents a band with an impenetrable last gang in town mentality. We're outisde observers along for the ride. Which is fine, because not only is the ride thrilling, but the prospect of getting on the wrong side of the Wu is, frankly, terrifying.
On Shame On A Nigga, ODB, in his best madman drawl, proclaims that "Crews be acting like they gangs, anyway/I be like "Warriors, come out and playiyay."" If it's alright with you I'll pass. But thanks for the offer. see, Wu-Tang don't idly boast about thug life. Their condescending attitude to wannabe gangstas prevalent throughout is far more disconcerting than generic gangsta rap.
Rza's favoured production weapons- harsh, slow beats and piano, string and horn loops are similarly effortlessly intense. Rza's genius is restraint: the haunting sounds are given room to breathe, but never to the detriment of the vocals. Which, when you are providing the accompaniment for MCs of the calibre of Method Man, Gza and Raekwon, is wise indeed. As Meth says on his eponymous track, he's not "an average Joe with an average flow/Doing average things with average hoes." Average Wu-Tang are not.
Underneath the intense sounds and inflammatory lyrics, 36 Chambers can be laugh out loud funny. Protect Ya Neck, with its two note bassline and Bomb Squad-esque horns, is a highlight, and containd the following musings courtesy of Ghostface Killah: "For crying out loud my style is wild so book me/Not long is how long this rhyme took me." No shit!
There are even moments of sensitivity and insight. Can It All Be So Simple is a reminiscing hip hop ballad that isn't lame. And C.R.E.A.M is simply beautiful. In a Wu-Tang dark as night kind of way, naturally. It seems to be a heartfelt lament of the importance of money. But, in light of the Wu's empire building in the last decade, it's difficult to tell. You never quite know what Wu-Tang really think. Which is kinda the point. Last gang in town and all that. Just revel in the mystery, and don't ever cross them.



New and Recent Releases

SOUL POSITION 8 Million Stories Released: 2003

Over the last twelve months, RJD2 has broken free of the Shadow comparisons for good, by displaying a vaguely prolific work ethic. Not for RJ a mostly genius debut followed by six years of mostly fuck all, punctuated only by the occasional "look how many great records I own that you don't" mix album- though he did do one, and it's better than Brainfreeze- in your face Davis!- or lame collaborations with his label boss. Actually, he's sort of done that too. Hmmm. But he's also been busy making 8 Million Stories, a full LP in collaboration with chum Blueprint. And mighty fine it is too.
A blaze of scratching kicks things off, before a smooth piano loop enters that Pete Rock should sue for, if only because he didn't get there first. Blueprint seems to be struggling to be heard over this impressive backing, so simply apologises for the album being delayed and then shuts up.
He starts to display his own skills though on Printmatic. With RJ conjuring up a bass heavy bongotastic groove, Blueprint spits the first of many memorable one liners: "You got beef, I got vegetables." It's as if his belief grows as the LP progresses, realising that at his story telling best he doesn't need to be overshadowed by his producer. The Jerry Springer Episode is a skilfully told tale of a failing relationship, and the three Candyland excerpts are basically producer and MC showing off. RJD2 proves he can take on Premier at his own game, as Blueprint gets all nostalgic, alphabetically listing favourite clothes/sweets/stuff from back in the day. It's sweet, and mighty impressive.
Pleasingly, only Survival and the genius that is Share This (how does this lad give such consistently great horn?) sound like lost Dead Ringer cuts. 8 Million Stories is the sound of RJD2 partially escaping his pigeonhole. Admittedly, he mostly achieves this by aping loads of other producers rather than anything groundbreaking. But who cares when it's as infectious as this? And NONE of it sounds like Moby. Woo hoo!

NECRO Brutality Part 1 Released: 2003

Necro's Brutality Part 1 is the aural equivalent of a gimp sneaking up behind you to strangle you with a mic cable until your right eye pops out of its socket. Which, by a happy coincidence, is in fact the album cover. Brutality Part 1 does exactly what it says on the tin.
Necro is undoubtedly a sick, sick fuck. On Anguish & Aggression, he warns us that "if you mess with me your destiny is to rest in peace." He soon reconsiders his words though, deciding that resting in peace is far too pleasant, and declares that we will "rest in pain."
The violence that forms the core of Necro's lyrical content is always shot through with an extremely healthy dose of sarcastic humour however. At one point, explaining how he will quite literally get away with murder, Necro claims that he "left the body stinkin' like Courtney's sweaty hole." Offensive? Definitely. Hilarious? Hell yeah.
The psychotic "act" would soon become tiresome were it allied to lame, derivative cartoon beats and pitiful flow. Hello Juggalos. Fortunately, Necro is an MC and producer of considerable verve. His delivery compliments the gruesome imagery perfectly- clear, concise, and leaving little to the imagination. The music also is raw, agressive and absolutely filthy. Standout track White Slavery is built around a classical piano loop that recalls The Exorcist more than EPMD. I'm Your Idol has an eerie, early Rza feel to the strings, but coupled with a bassline verging on the downright funky. Morbid Shit, meanwhile, is pretty damn near to head nodder party territory with its addictive one note guitar line. Though whether you'd wanna go to a party Necro was involved with is up to the individual. It would sure be memorable though.

VIKTOR VAUGHN (MF DOOM) Vaudeville Villain Released: 2003

MF Doom, as his 974th alias Viktor Vaughn, comes out guns blazing right from the start of Vaudeville Villain- the title track blasts from the speakers, a lolloping bassline and distorted flashes of guitar everywhere, while Vik announces his arrival to the world. And he's certainly a confident sort, asking "what happened to the kind of spit that used to help a fellow out", knowing full well that such rhymes are alive and well and he's providing them. See, amongst the bling, MF Doom is an MC to treasure. He even does a neat line in self-deprecation, unlike most of todays MCs who probably think it means faggots shitting their pants. On the slinky, piano-led "Let Me Watch", Vaughn is found trying to woo a sweet, virginal teenage girl. He's doing pretty well, too. That is until he asks her if she might fancy a night cap, "maybe a bottle of Moet, so Vik can bite on your titties like a baby toddler, ho." This leads the girl to proclaim that she'd "rather masturbate than fuck Vik Vaughn." Admirably undeterred, Vik asks if he can watch!
Saliva is produced by (cue horntastic fanfare) RJD2. Guess what? It consists of a shuffling beat, swooning strings and euphoric horns. A tad generic? Maybe, but he's got away with it again, because it's a joy. And it includes the immortal line, "A lot of crews like to act like a violent mob/They really just need to shut the fuck up like Silent Bob."
Never Dead ups the weirdness quotia substantially with its darkside orchestral loops, stuttery beat and electronic squiggles. No surprise then, that it features ex Anti-Popper M. Sayyid. You want this LP yet? What if you knew that at one point Vik rhymes Rob Steiner with knob shiner? Eclectic, phat and funny as fuck, you won't hear better this year.

ROYCE DA 5' 9" Build & Destroy: Lost Sessions Part 1 Released: 2003

Poor Royce Da 5' 9". Everyone's favourite monstrously well endowed/slightly below average height MC has had more than his fair share of knocks. Unfinished and poorly received LPs, label problems and falling out with his fast track to the big time. He keeps buying winning lottery tickets, only to find his mum left them in his jean pockets while doing his weekly wash.
But fear not! Royce still believes, shown by this double LP, containing a mix of the old and the new, the underground and the commercial. Disc 1, Build, is a showcase for Royce to display the skills that should make him a star. And what a schizophrenic star he would make. Royce never seems sure whether he wants to be the biggest or the best. Thus, we get bangers from underground legends: The Alchemist donates a predictably classy beat for I Won't Be. RJD2 tweaks (for tweaks read put a thunderous beat over the verse and put the horns from Ghostwriter on the chorus) Boom to exhilarating effect. DJ Revolution gets scratch-happy on the awesome R.A.W. But we also get cuts from the biggest names in the charts. The Neptunes and Kelis make an appearance on the polished, potential smash (that never will be) Make This Run. Eminem guests along with Meth on the Wu-esque What the Beat. Which leads us to Disc 2, Destroy. Royce has got serious beef with Em, Dre et al. Dis track follows dis track, all aimed at the rap hegemony du jour. That they're funny is not in doubt. Some, like Malcolm X, also double as top tunes. But the feeling persists that Royce is better than this. As he rightly says himself, he "writes shit, the pen guides it, spittin' harder than ten hydrants." So why bother with people so obviously beneath you? The Build disc proves that one day- surely- his mum will check his pockets.
"Formerly known as the best kept secret, I guess that I just leaked it." If only

METAL FINGERS PRESENTS SPECIAL HERBS 4, 5, 6 Released: 2003

Anoother week, another MF Doom release. Even more impressive, another MF Doom release that's worth getting whether trainspotter or casual admirer. There are 21 new MF Doom beats on this latest instalment of his Special Herbs series. Yeah, some are merely instrumental versions of previously released material, and others will probably be released with vocals on his next scheduled release, MM Food. But some, like blissful opener Blood Root, are exclusives. Prolific doesn't even begin to cover Daniel Dumile.
You can't even claim that his releases are production line soundalikes. Here, he veers from the 70s copshow-tastic Star Anis to the floaty flute and bongo vibe of Orange Blossoms without a second thought.
So, he can get away with 70s sleaze and 60s hippie and still maintain his dignity. But what about that most stern of challenges to the hip hop producer- the 80s guitar solo? Anyone who has had the misfortune to hear, for example, EPMDs You Had Too Much To Drink, will understand what a minefield this can be for even the most legendary producer. For MF Doom? Piece of piss! Ok, the guitar solo is slightly underplayed, and may very well have been sampled from an old Traffic monstrosity rather than Miami Vice. But the way in which he casually drops this potential turd onto a beat with 80s cock rock reverb, adds a bassline only a couple of steps away from Seinfeld, and walks away laughing knowing he's crafted another gem, is something to behold. The bastard.
What makes this more than a stop gap between proper LPs is the fact that, though hard-hitting beats like Cinquefoil conjure up mental images of him letting rip with his customary one-liners, Special Herbs works as a standalone LP from beginning to end. MF Doom releases a new album every four hours, and obviously doesn't even understand the concept of filler. oh yeah, for those unaware, MF Doom also happens to be the best MC on the planet. A treasure.

BIZ MARKIE Weekend Warrior Released: 2003

The slightly deranged uncle of Hip Hop returns. And in this increasingly po-faced rap world, Biz Markie is as refreshing as ever. Not that he's actually, you know, changed in any way during his absence. Tear Shit Up, with cuts courtesy of Jazzy Jeff, is typical: old school minimalism with rhymes so childlike in their innocence that they can't help but raise a smile from the most cynical of heads. "I flip so many stlyes my name should be flipper." Hit 'em where it hurts, Biz! But then we don't listen to Biz Markie in 2003 for incisive debate on the machinations of modern global capitalism- we listen because his very being reminds us of simpler times, and makes our heads nod involuntarily.
Chinese Food consists of an oriental style loop similar to Eric B's Chinese Arithmetic, while Biz lists his favourite culinary treats. Of which, evidently, there are many. For The DJ'z features a scuzzy guitar riff reminiscent of EPMD in their pomp. Throw Back and Hands Of Time are nostalgic trips down Biz's slightly sketchy memory lane. In short, Weekend Warrior refuses to acknowledge the fact that it's no longer 1988. Which is fine. Hip hop was funkier, funnier and purer then than today. It's great to have you back, Biz.
PS - Unfortunately, sample clearance took a dim view of Biz nicking a loop from a major Hollywood movie- you can just imagine him thinkng no-one would notice. In fact, a whole LP of tunes arguably better than the actual release got canned. But fear not. Order Weekend Warrior from this very site and you will get a bonus CD of 13 cuts that didn't make it. Now, Weekend Warrior is a very funky album. Indeed, Biz Markie only has to fart to be funky. Even so, Dance Party Scream & Shout and So Funkay are just ridiculously funky. Even when Biz gets it wrong, as with the Austin Powers "borrowing" Ima Do It, it's entertaining as hell. Buy it.

RJD2 Deadringer Released: 2002

A weird album this. It's virtually impossible to argue with some of its detractors' views. Bits of it do indeed recall (shudder) Moby. El-P's pre-release claim that this record would "change tha mutha fuckin' world. Just before we burn in Bush's apocalyptic fury. Did I mention George Bush's apocalyptic fury?"- or some such- is, frankly ridiculous. Deadringer is simply a mostly instrumental hip hop album. Yet, when it hits its highs, which it does with a fair regularity, you too may just begin to think that hip hop never really existed until RJ learnt how to loop a horn section ad infinitum. It's that good.
Let's get the Moby ones out of the way first. Smoke and Mirrors is a haunting, atmospheric ballad, with a maudlin blues vocal. In that way it sounds like Moby. But only if Moby woke one morning to find he actually had a soul. It's beautiful. Good Times Pt.2 is a block rocking, fast and furious party anthem. It also sounds a bit like Moby. But Moby if he actually learnt to programme a beat that could fight its way out of a wet recycled paper bag. Sponsored by Coke.
Of course, as most of you will already know, the real delight on DeadRinger is Ghostwriter. It begins with a folky acoustic groove, augmented by an ethereal female backing vocal. It's rather lovely. After about two minutes, however, THE. HORNS. ARRIVE. And how. It's impossible to put into words how euphoric this horn loop is. If you don't feel better about the world upon hearing it, you are dead. Suffice to say that the tune then reverts to the acoustic groove which, lovely as it is, seems to last forty one weeks until. THE. HORNS. RETURN. With 2 More Dead, RJ almost manages to repeat Ghostwriters' majesty. It's a sligtly less triumphant horn, but a damn fine horn nonetheless.
So, RJ tricks us into believing he is the future of hip hop by looping a load of trumpets. Nice work if you can get it. He also rips off the Inspector Gadget theme tune for the dark as fuck title track. Now that, surely, IS the future.

LITTLE BROTHER The Listening Released: 2003

North Carolina's Little Brother obviously hail from the school of thought that sometimes you have to go backward to go forwards. This is evident from one listen to Speed (sure-fire winner of this years "most ironic song title contest- mogadon would have been more appropriate). The slow, thumping beat. The perfect blend of piano flourishes and soulful backing vocals nestling just below the surface. the pure chemistry between MCs Phonte and Big Pooh. Yep, this is hip hop like they used to make. Except...there's just something in the rolling, dubby bassline that elevates this far above pure nostalgia. Unlike J5 and their ilk, you get the feeling that Little Brother actually listen to records made post 1989.
The Curtis Mayfield swagger of Make Me Hot sives an indication of the importance of producer 9th Wonder's parents' record collection to his sound. This is an album full of lush orchestral backdrops, large swathes of hammond and backing vocals taken straight from smoke-filled clubs. Think Mos Def when he was good. While not as overtly political as Mos at his best, Phonte and Big Pooh are cynical lyricists of the highest order. The Yo-Yo- a typically laidback groove- shows Little Brother to be dismissive of modern coffee shop "counter culture": "So-called Black righteousness/Even though y'all niggas might not cuss like me, end of the night y'all just tryin' to fuck like me."
Not that they have any more time for the bling aesthetic. The T.R.O.Y. sampling lament of the title track features a despairing vocal about the lack of passion in contemporary hip hop, from both artists and fans: "They ain't listenin'/They thinkin' 'bout their Timbalands, We got more chance of blowin' up in Switzerland."
So, basically, for all their smooth, chilled beats and cocksure delivery, Little Brother hate everybody! In giving hip hops traditional sources and values a contemporary edge, Little Brother show how utterly lame most attempts at "modern" hip hop are. Little Brother understand hip hop. They are vital, essentially, because they are evrything that cLOUDDEAD isn't. And for that we must be truly thankful.

GANG STARR The Ownerz Released: 2003

The luke warm reviews got it right. Almost. It's fair to say that The Ownerz does not reinvent the wheel. In truth, it does little to advance the piano loop. So yes, it IS Gang Starr by numbers. What the reviews neglected to mention however, is that in terms of beats, lyrics, thrills and consistency, Gang Starr by numbers still shits on the competition from a great height. You will not hear a finer rap album this year.
No-one could accuse Gang Starr of hitching a ride on any passing bandwagons. Fifteen years ago, Premier's arsenal consisted primarily of slinky jazz piano and bass or shimmering, subtle guitar codas. And he did it better than anyone else. Today, his arsenal has extended to occasionally merging slinky jazz piano and bass with shimmering, subtle guitar. And he still does it better than anyone else. To nick a phrase from a wise, Norwich-based sage, Premier evolves, but doesn't revolve. But why the fuck should he? When he has a seemingly bottomless pit of A-grade samples still to mine, why not stick to what he knows he does better than the rest? Which isn't to say that The Ownerz lacks variety. Capture, the third Militia instalment, radiates with cinematic menace, while Same Team, No Games is infectious, anthemic and devastatingly effective. The sonic middle ground is found in the slow, grimey horns of Nice Girl, Wrong Place- an Ex-Girl to Next Girl for the new millennium no less!
It's difficult to imagine Guru's suave flow over any other production- explaining, perhaps, why most of his extra-curricular projects have been uniformly cack. Here though, he's back on peak form, dispensing knowledge to anyone who'll listen or happens to be in earshot, from challenging pretenders to his throne on the awesome banger that is Rite Where U Stand to questioning his government's domestic policies on Riot Akt.
The Ownerz is an LP that exudes assurance, from a band that knows it only has to exist to still be relevant. And it rules.