'89/'90

Inward or outward, build or destroy. "It's nation time!" versus "Da Inner Sound, Ya'll!" If you're lucky enough to have a record deal and you desire immortality you claim a movement through liner notes. For those of you just tuning in ,this is like a precursor to a Facebook group. Or think back to how the average nobody does the same through a yearbook caption or presses a sharpie onto the cheap vinyl of a schoolbus seat.

Chuck D. imagines an improbably continuum of dynasties blending into each other through a seasonal series of bloodless coups marching from new school to the nextest. Everyone is a self-annointed crown ruler, the heir to the throne of a nation not visible on any of his maps. There are no in-betweens here. No soda jerks, no drywall installers, no city job underlings, no secretaries or cashiers. Only kings, queens, gods, earths, lords, grandmasters overseeing principalities carved delicately out of the tawdry, bustling blocks of NYC and all outlaying counties.

Our legacy is stolen and obscured sixty six trillion times over, so we figure we have a right to locate our origins. Recolonization. Africa speaks to us coherently through James Brown's grunts but having exhausted that arsenal we are now ready to whisk ourselves away to the futurist technojungle of Afrika-Akebulan-Asia. This realm haunts us like a Freudian motif, we see it everywhere and point at it like madmen hallucinating. It's in the [obviously European styled] button down shirts with the psychcadelic prints, it's in the low hum emanating from the Jeep Wrangler safari, it's in the way she winds to the reggae cut, processed hair flailing to and fro.



Insanity, for certain, but insanity as a response to greater insanity is nothing new. Frantz Fanon once wrote at length about the absurd commercial relationship between the enslaver and the colonized, but we gloss over that part of the book. It's time to bedeck ourselves in finery - red, black, and green to the extent that Roy Ayers would blush at our get ups. Thrown in the blues and purples and yellows we've been racking from the sportswear plantations and for a brief technicolor dreamcoat moment we think we are not co-opted, that our culture is in fact our freedom.

We are a garish horde, driven by consumption, making Benetton ads look positively homogenous. Some of us start cultural awareness clubs at school and like NYOIL have to defend such choices later. But it was the coerced norm within our comfortably fragile bubble of celebrated otherness, and when that norm popped, it popped for good. Soulquarian lounginess, spoken word patchouli wafting, "Yes We Can!"-ism - none of that shit ever came close to matching the gaudy stylistic intensity and spacey optimism of '89/'90. How it slipped through out fingers is anyone's guess - it's not like the shit really went Hollywood, it just floated on or dissipated.

Like some nearly narctoic dream, in which we were the soul controllers. Where every drum machine, sampled composition, and metered verse was stitched together by pure Nubian sprites, and not a devil in sight. We can peek into this moment from time to time but it never feels the same, it seems so quaint, so contradictory and capricious. Never mind that the youth return to the brutal color combinations and impossible hopefulness every once in a crescent moon. We see and hear the obvious parallels but resist them like bad medicine, as if saying "fuck the youth" is as profound as our former inclination to say "fuck everything except the youth."



In our ears, they get it but they don't get it - there's something about Q-Tip's lazy but focused repetition "fallin skies babe, open eyes babe, can't you see what lays inside babe" that must be transcendent and unique, right? And if it's a little whimsical or silly for today's youth, so what? You got Brother J's matter-of-fact call to nationalism on "Raise The Flag" where he delivers a decidedly youthful and daringly happy style, never to use it again. A moment of youthful expression never quite rekindled by the Grand Verbalizer himself, so how could some kid today ever pick up the torch, and build the tribe, keep the colors alive, etc?

We jam this shit in 2009 like it's going out of style, the iPod guaranteeing musical anonymity, insularity. We could all be brave like Shawn Taylor and flock to mass transit rocking the same Zubaz that Q-Tip and company rocked in the ridiculous "I Left My Wallet In El Segundo" video and try to get these youngins to groove to the boom-bip. Or don a jumbo ankh and a walking stick and preach to the wayward souls of Washington Heights like X-Clan. But it all seems so fragile, so pointless. Do we have the presence of mind to locate a single YZ among the meretricious masses of today? Or was that bubble even weaker than we thought?

-- Thun

In Retrospect: Brand Nubian - Everything Is Everything

In Retrospect is going a new theme we're doing where we present you with an album that is much better than you originally thought. An album that may have received mixed reviews or happened to shunned initially but as the years went on you slowly realize it was better than you gave it credit for.

First up, Brand Nubian's Everything Is Everything. '94 was chock full of dope releases so it's understandable how this might have either fell though the cracks or got mistreated by the competition. Fresh off one of the dopest follow-up albums without their franchise player, "In God We Trust" was an absolute masterpiece of the new two-man team. A balls to the wall album where there is no apologizing, no cheating the listener of dauntless lyrics and definitely no hiding from Lord Jamar or Sadat X ideologies.

The Nubians returned a year later with Everything Is Everything, a safer and more mature album if you will. What many people don't realize is that Lord Jamar was always responsible for the majority of the production on the Brand Nubian albums. Even though they did a few tracks here and there, many people think of Pete Rock, Stimulated Dummies, Diamond D, Lord Finesse or Buckwild as the prominent producers in the groups catalogs.

Jamar laces things on the infectious "Word Is Bond" all the way into the ridiculously underrated posse cut "Step Into Da Cipher" featuring Serge, Maestro Manny and blogosphere favorite Snagglepuss.

The group tackled germane topics and wholeheartedly ripped tracks like "Claimin I'm A Criminal," "Hold On" and "Return of The Dread." If anything, this album showcased Lord Jamars growth as a producer and an emcee. While it was difficult to outshine Puba on "One For All" and the controversial Sadat X on "In God We Trust," it's on "Everything Is Everything" that Jamar truly shines.

The album was full of head-nodding tracks like "Alladat" featuring Busta Rhymes and the remix of "Lick Dem Muthaphuckas" originally found on the Menace II Society soundtrack. While it might not be better than any previous Nuban efforts, it surely isn't an album that you could call anything less than great. This is their "Beats, Rhymes & Life." --Philaflava

From D.A.I.S.Y. To Da Mad Face (De La Soul & Onyx)

Pure plug ... bliss?

In 1991, De La Soul cut themselves free from their paisley shirts, peace medallions, and cuddly day-glo aesthetic. Trugoy even chopped off all but a few of his trademark dreadlocks, looking nearly like a stranger in the "Ring Ring Ring (Ha Ha Hey Hey)" video. While seemingly unimportant, this change in hair parallels a genre-wide shift towards more aggressive posturing, best exemplified by Queens-based group Onyx. I'll get to that later.

De La's early "D.A.I.S.Y." image, whimsical haircuts included, represents a knowing departure from the uninspired dookie gold chain pageantry of the mid-'80s. Indistinct Kangol-clad crotch-grabbers blathering over James Brown breaks were the tired norm. De La's early music intentionally reflects the contrariness of their fashion choices and vice versa. Under Prince Paul's eccentric tutelage, they worked against the grain in a manner that was not always well-received by critics and fans accustomed to more blustery rap styles. If the lyrics to "Pease Porridge" are to be believed, than De La's outward appearance inspired taunts that ballooned into altercations with local hard rocks while on tour.

Even if we choose to ignore two years of concert scuffles, the riskiness of De La's aesthetic choices cannot be overstated. Three Feet High and Rising's marriage of cryptic rhymes, oddball deliveries, bizarre skits, left-field samples, and a comportment devoid of chest-puffing bravado was a huge deal in '89. Late '80s icons like Public Enemy, Boogie Down Productions, and Eric B. and Rakim are universally hailed as innovators, but their swagger was decidedly more masculine. Even the highly idiosyncratic spaciness of the Ultramagnetic MCs packed more of an obvious punch.

This is not to say that De La were without precedent or peer. They clearly owe a great debt to the Jungle Brothers, Stetsasonic, and to a lesser extent, EPMD, for popularizing a more laid-back, funkier, but still decidedly East Coast approach to rhyming. Contemporaries like Kwame, UBC, and a few others came off in a similarly left-of-center fashion. But De La had far greater crossover appeal than any of these groups, and they climbed the charts even as they bemoaned the way that record execs and fans pigeonholed them as neo-hippies on their P-Funk sampling hit single "Me, Myself, & I." The sonic and visual eclecticism of the D.A.I.S.Y. predictably invited scrutiny both positive and negative.

De La's exuberance was surely influenced by a late '70s and early '80s hip hop culture, whose flamboyance and earnest goofiness was quickly supplanted by a Run DMC-helmed return to the streets. Just-Ice, Big Daddy Kane, T-La Rock, Ice-T, Schooly D or LL Cool J were probably in rotation in De La walkmans, but if we are to take Posdnous' verses on "Ego Trippin' Part III" as the gospel truth, those artists must have taken a back seat to the Treacherous Three, Fearless Four, and of course the pop ditty interpolating Cold Crush Brothers. This healthy respect for the garish weirdos of the musical past complemented their obsession with moving things forward. The abandonment of the played-out relics of the immediate past ushered in a future of free-flow and pastiche, where the slavish devotion to insistent repetition was bolstered by a cumulative development.

De La's joie d'vivre was not burdened by naivete, and they knew when to call it quits on the flowers. The embrace of their sound and image, first by college radio and then by the mainstream media, led to a parade of imitators, mostly inferior. The few disciples who managed to craft respectable albums like KMD, The Future Sound, and The UMCs either languished in relative obscurity or found themselves caught up in a sea change from day-glo to Carhartt when 1993 rolled around.

Which bring us of course to Onyx. The Queens based crew were heavily influenced by the Native Tongue sound, but increasingly gravitated towards the grimier (and balder) side of things after hooking up with Jam Master Jay. Their ascension to the forefront of hip hop was enormously influential and put the nail in the coffin for all things colorful and cheery for many years. Mix shows once inundated with BDK, Rakim, and De La clones would soon be overrun by raspy voiced gunslingers and elaborate haircuts and parts quickly became passe, suggesting that hip hop in the 90s can be explained as a series of rapid reactions against the last style to be appropriated. For better or for worse, '93 saw Onyx snatching wallets on record, proudly proclaiming "No, this ain't El Segundo ... just the four bad brothers from the ghetto" a far cry from the frivolity of their first, jazzy Tribe meets Southern Drawl-ish single "Ah And We Do It Like This." And the beat went on.

-- Thun

Da Youngstas + K-Def = Better Than You Remember

Da Youngstas were exposed to every inset photo gimmick devised by A&Rs up to that point.

Revisit the musical memories of your adolescence with wizened discernment and you run the risk of besmirching your halcyon days. The music you held dear as a youngster tends to remain cordoned off in a sanctified spot where adult discernment is unwelcome. This remains the case until a mediocre song whose positive attributes were magnified in your mind by the forgiving lens of nostalgia innocently reappears on your Itunes playlist.

It is sad when a song ages poorly. The path to obsolescence is cold and unfair - a breakbeat that was perfectly serviceable in 1989 might induce nauseated groans in 2009. Ditto for references to "catching wreck" or "kicking mad flava." And this also applies to any number of currently laughable trends that were inflicted on the populace in the late '80s and early '90s, including of course, kiddie rap.

The kiddie rap that stood one its own as quality material in the golden era is difficult to tolerate in adulthood. Chi-Ali's prepubescent musings on sex and violence, while hilarious in retrospect given his murder rap, just seem to mar the godly blessing of early Beatnuts production (instrumentals, stat!). Illegal were ruff, rugged, and raw ... to the point that you just want to slap the little crumbsnatchers for their insolence. And this brings us to Da Youngstas.

O-Dub once wondered aloud how the hell Da Youngstas managed to release four albums in four years, three of them while signed to a major label, all the while procuring beats from the likes of Pete Rock, Marley Marl, and DJ Premier. Jesse Serwer got to the bottom of the mystery in an interview with founding member Qu'ran, who explained the group's history and ties to elder Philly rap luminaries like Steady B and Cool C with great attention to detail.

Now, while I am impressed by Da Youngstas impeccable pedigree, their true crowning feat is one that was probably unintentional. Their third LP, 1994's No Mercy, was recorded for the most part at Marley Marl's famed House Of Hits, and when Marley himself was not behind the helm, his protege K-Def was in control. K-Def's five contributions to No Mercy, much like his work on Real Live's The Turnaround LP, are nothing short of brilliant. The beats are beautiful, sweeping, orchestral. They just sound big, even grandiose. Da Youngstas are not budding Rakims on the mic but they hold their own competently, even showing signs of a sincere social consciousness on "Reality."

Taken alone, these five tracks comprise a stellar EP within a decent if forgettable LP. This is the tootsie roll center of a footnote career, one of those rare gems that can only be reanimated in the age of Ipod. "Ill Filly Funk" in particular soars high - you'll reconsider whether or not the Beatminerz deserve to be credited as geniuses for Black Moon's "Reality." Revisit, re-listen, and enjoy.

-- Thun

Enta Da Stage Vs. Midnight Marauders

Recently at the forum, Jaz (of CDRS fame) devised a poll that asks respondents to choose between two of 1993's landmark albums, Black Moon's Enta Da Stage and A Tribe Called Quest's Midnight Marauders. I was initially fearful that the discussion would devolve into a battle of ad-hominem attacks and unsubstantiated claims, with one camp singing the praises of dark griminess and the other championing meander positivity. Both albums are lauded by cultish fan followings and bolstered by the nearly universal acclaim of established critics.

Marauders is the more widely known, and thus more celebrated album. It is also the more polished production effort and few would disagree that it sounds sophisticated and modern to this day. Enta Da Stage is rougher and almost comically dark in tone. This is not to say that Tribe doesn't flirt with characteristic early '90s dark griminess -- Midnight is pretty much the sonic and lyrical blueprint for much of Mobb Deep's early career, as I argue here. But let's be real - Enta Da Stage's lyrics are full of brooding menace, while Tribe's rhymes run the gamut from optimistic to mystic to downright silly.

There's little doubt in my mind that both groups were fans of each other's work. It is well known that Q-Tip went beat digging with Evil Dee and Mr. Walt during this time. Phife identifies Black Moon as one of his favorite rap crews in the Marauders liner notes. Enta Da Stage sounds very much like The Low End Theory's more thugged out kid brother. Even Buckshot's typically melodic and laid back styles seem to be influenced by the Q-Tip's talky flow; his more aggressive performances (and those of Five Foot Accelerator) remind one at times of Phife's simplistic but effective technique. Both albums are filled with jazz samples that are stripped down to their most essential groove, in some cases beyond recognition.

Can one of these albums be said to be inherently superior to the other? It's a tough call and the thread in question has proven to be somewhat contentious. What's your opinion? Let us know in the comments section here or over at the forums.

For the record, I listen to Marauders more these days, but who can front on "Slave" or "Niguz Talk Shit"?

-- Thun

I Like The Native Tongue Because They Don't Act Like Caricaturish D-Bag Minstrel Morons

D-Nice & Heavy D can't both be wrong, right?

I like the music of the Native Tongue because the rappers, producers, and associated personalities in the inner and outer circles of this loose collective have never acted like insufferable, promethazine-addled, "I'm not a rapper I'm a hustler," douchebaggery-driven, subliterate troglodytes.

Now, if this statement somehow offends your delicate predilection for all that is jiggnorant, unintelligible, and decidedly Dixie (or bombastically Bompton), step away from your Soulja Boy mousepad, exhale, and count to ten. There’s no sense in firing up WordPress and banging out a jargon-laced and yet effusive knee-jerk response just yet.

Don’t get it twisted – the main reason to listen to ATCQ, De La, The JBs, and the others is to enjoy their music. Unlike half the acts that manage to trend in Twitter these days, such basic enjoyment of the Native Tongue discography is entirely possible before one tries to intellectualize the content of their songs. Even if decades of questionable praise from smooth jazz enthusiasts looking to rescue hip hop from its supposed iniquities sickens you to the core, the combined discography has something in it for you, even if you've spent the last half decade attempting to convince your peer group that Juelz > Rakim. Trust.

This is not to say that their legacy is entirely untarnished by mediocre output or questionable artistic decisions, or that their aesthetic cannot wear thin. I’m sure there are legitimate reasons to suggest why the Native Tongue as a whole are overrated in the grand scheme of rap. I am not so smitten by their greatness that I refuse to consider the possibility that others have improved on their formula. I readily acknowledge that some of their stances towards coarser forms of rap are problematic. And if someone simply prefers something that is harder-edged, at least in terms of lyrics, so be it, to each his own.

However, I believe that the legacy of the Native Tongue is secured not only by their excellent musical output, or their by now safe metropole-boho aesthetic, but also because they just seemed so easygoing and cool. Without coming off as licentious, nihilistic, or greedy, they reveled in all that was earthly and pleasurable. Their beats were pulsing, warm, and entrancing. Their deceptively simple “talky” style of flow hinted at worlds beyond comprehension in a manner so effortlessly appealing that the words barely mattered, even though many of their verses are damned near perfect.

In retrospect, they were all so … human, I guess, in a way that most rappers post-ATLiens simply are not. Self-indulgent yet playful, verbose yet affable, vaguely mystic and yet down to earth. Their more ethereal songs feel a bit aimless, almost to the point of being annoying, but rarely do you feel as if these guys are projecting massive insecurities out onto their audience for kicks. Regardless of what their real life personalities were like, you always got the sense that they were being themselves on record (an artistic self, perhaps, but a clearly defined self nontheless) and that they were having fun navigating the gulf between populism and polarization, flirting with widespread rejection. While such existential tumult has driven other talented rappers into premature obsolescence, the artists in the Native Tongue seemed to possess a healthy sense of humor about themselves. Their music has aged beautifully, and they have not been shamed by pink-suit videos or unlistenable R&B collaboratons.

Many thirtysomething rap fans pray daily that in lieu of an actual reunion, a new Native Tongue movement will spring out of today’s pool of young talent. Such longing is sort of superfluous given the sustained relevance of the posse's musical contributions in the face of a musical cultured that is debased beyond recognition and a reception culture driven by questionable agendas. Rest assured, I am similarly disgusted by the overcompensating praise for prometha-sambo marble-mouthed mongoloids that is all the rage in the blogosphere.

But at the end of the day the discography of the Native Tongue (which continues to grow with the continual discovery of unreleased gems) is here for all of us to rediscover and pass on. And every time it is revisited or shared, the participating listeners will encounter personas that are easily likable. You know, the kind of cats you wouldn’t mind inviting to a family cookout, friends that you don’t feel compelled to go to absurd lengths to justify, good all-around folks. And that's all that's needed sometimes. --Thun

I'ma Addict For Sneakers

Stream the track while reading...

Lexicon - Nikehead


For as long as any of us can remember, sneakers have been synonymous with hip-hop. It's a perfect marriage and to this day both use one another for inspiration. Whether it was RUN-D.M.C. telling us about their Adidas or Nas' confessions on his addiction or favorite brand, sneakers have always been prevalent within the hip-hop community. Today it's common to hear cats like Fat Joe, Jadakiss, Rick Ross, Kanye West, Jay-Z, Bun B and T.I. to commonly reference sneakers. (Click all hyperlinks)

But out of all the sneakers, there is only one staple of the hip-hop community and that has to be the Air Jordans.


A few years back there was this preeminent documentary titled Just For Kicks. It was about the sneaker phenomena and the marriage of hip-hop. It featured the likes of Grandmaster Caz, D.M.C., Damon Dash, Bobbito Garcia & King Ad Rock spittin' their favorite stores or dropping science on the birth of kicks like Nike Air Force Ones aka Uptowns.

I would strongly encourage those, like myself, who are indeed sneaker addicts to cop the movie at your local store, but for in the meantime definitely check out the full 82 minute video here.

It's no secret that emcees influence many of us. It's also no secret that those very emcees are influenced by their environment, so in essence we all play a role in this. A lot of stand in line for hours (some days) at places like Alife Rivington Club, Flight Club, Shoe Gallery or Ubiq just for the latest limited release, retro or exclusive colorway.

While sneaker companies go to great lengths at befriending rappers like Bun B, Kanye West, Fat Joe or Nelly in hopes of promoting their brands to millions, it's ultimately us the consumers who dedicate what becomes the hot item. Because after all if it don't make dollars it don't make sense, right?

So next time you're in line at Foot Locker and you happen to do a double take because you think you just saw your favorite album appear on a sneaker shirt, rest assure you're the reason why. Jordan Brand is not run by Michael Jordan. It's not even run by the HDIC, Gentry Humphrey, who after all is just a Jordan stan. No, It's run by young guns scrambling to reconnect with you and take your dollars. The great MJ couldn't name 5 A Tribe Called Quest tracks if his life depended on it. It's the recent 20-something grad who his trying to appeal to the 30-something recovering addict. It's not a coincidence that Jordan Brand just released 3 hip-hop related themed shirts that all happen to feature 3 bona fide classic albums covers.


So next time you pop in that Midnight Marauders album will you be rockin' your Jordans to make the cipher complete? --Philaflava
Related Link:
Charles Barkley Limited Tees

Shout out to the folks at Nike Talk & KicksOnFire.

Ras Kass - What Could Have Been?

(Many hyperlinks contain actual MP3s)

It was October 1, 1996, a Tuesday to be exact. I ran to my local music spot (then called Peaches) to pick up the most anticipated album of that year, to me at least. If you recall '96 was chock-full of releases such as Ironman, Illadelph Halflife, Stakes Is High, It Was Written, The Score, All Eyez On Me, Hell On Earth, Reasonable Doubt, Dr. Octagon and Entroducing just to name a few.

But there was one album that had me marking off my calendar since the start of the year. None other than John Austin hailing out of Carson, California, a pint size ferocious lyricist, at the time was still relatively unknown, debuted with Soul On Ice. I remember back in '94 landing a promo copy of Remain AnonymouS b/w Etc and instantly labeling it my prized possession. Shortly after that Ras appeared with Ahmad and Saafir on the track "Come Widdit" found on the Street Fighter soundtrack, then followed the official 12" release of Remain AnoymouS (I bought a few copies from Sandbox) that had "Won't Catch Me Runnin" on the flip.

[click to download]

By this time, those like me who were in need of a true west coast lyricist were finally about to get their wish. The early 90's was pretty dominated by the left coast and while they spit out tons of classics, there wasn't an artist out from Cali at the time that displayed sheer lyrical supremacy like Ras Kass. He was their Rakim, their Nas, their Pharoahe Monch. And at one point, Ras Kass was the future of lyricism.

Prepping the release of the Priority debut, we (the fans) were given an appetizer. In addition to the leaked S.O.I. demo, we also had the sampler tape which featured the infamous "Jack Frost." The combination between Ras, Nat King Cole and the precise DJ Rhettmatic laced sample of Nas' "I'll leave them froze like heroine in ya nose" was perfection. By this time people got hip to Ras Kass and magazine like Rap Pages and The Source were getting ready to call him the second coming. I must admit, once Soul On Ice dropped it took awhile to warm up to.

Many of us were expecting something Illmatic-like. There was a lot of fence sitting but for the most part you either you loved it or you hated it. To this day the most common discussion about the album is its production. Whether you thought it was lackluster or lustrous, the reality is the album left heads wanting more. In retrospect, the album was indeed a lot better than the credit it originally received but I'll let you decide should you revisit Soul On Ice 13 years later.

Fellow Carson native and Stanford stand-out pro-football player Bob Whitfield (Atlanta Falcons) agreed to help out Ras Kass when he opened up his Patchwerk studios to him, which also allowed Ras Kass to align with the Western Hemisphere alongside Meen Green, Bird & Vooodu, who by the way are largely responsible of the production found on Soul On Ice. There was plenty of promise for Western Hem when Key Kool & Rhettmatic dropped "E=MC5" featuring Vooodu, LMNO, Meen Green & Ras Kass. But the group projects (super or not) that have included Ras Kass never seem to pan out (see: Golden State Warriors, Four Horsemen).



So while the jury is still out on Ras Kass' career, it's pretty evident that in the mid 90's if you weren't up on Rassy Kassy you just weren't up on hip-hop. And despite what your opinions may be about him, his career decisions, or his inability to stay out of trouble with the law, you cannot deny the fact he was one of the best lyricists to ever come out of California. If there was ever a West coast lyricist with an east coast mentality it was Ras Kass.

Not proof of New York residence and an accent
Who expresses the freshest
The West Coast was resurrected
By me, I'm the mother fuckin' man like homo erectus
So why it matter where rap started
If I wanted to hear from asshole I would have farted
I'm a West Coast artist down wit' clicks from 510 to 516
But dis indiscriminately and you gets me
Fundamentally is the ability to smother suckas
So if rap was born to another then that makes me your muthafucka
Cause I'm the type of nigga to go to yo' show
Fuck yo' ho
Then nut on yo' promotional T-shirt
Eternally, verbally I fucks your head up like
Florence and Normandy normally (Easily I approach)

(chorus)
Now I'm a rap fan who never saw Bam Rock the park in the Bronx but I still snap skulls in the dark

What are your thoughts on Ras Kass?

Click here to join our Ras Kass discussion

T.R.O.Y. related links:
Ras Kass - On Earth As It Is...Remix?
All The Ras Kass Singles That Really Matter
Ras Kass - Soul On Ice Demo (Remastered)

Jimi Hendrix - Godfather

Jimi Hendrix is a godfather of 20th century music. He was an innovator, pushing musical boundaries and expanding horizons. His stature is equal to other greats like Miles Davis, Duke Ellington, Santana, Herbie Hancock, DJ Premier, Rakim, etc. Originally from Seattle, he went on to play all over the states and abroad. Most of us know him for his popular commercial albums but there is a giant archive of material which was never properly released. Many of these studio sessions and live shows were lovingly transferred and restored by reel to reel collectors. Distributed mostly among a small network of die-hard fans., much of his musical experimentation remains in obscurity. That only a few major albums came out during his lifetime is partly due to his early demise, but it's also the same sad evidence for ever-present mismanagement of talent in the music industry. This kind of ham-fisted bungling also amounted to a significant detraction from hip hop's glorious rise in the early/mid 90's. It's nothing new and continues to this day.

That's why we at T.R.O.Y. are dedicated to bringing to your attention contemporary artists whose talent is real and who deserve exposure whether or not the music industry is on the train. This kind of grassroots attention is also very much the thrust of our new effort, Steady Bloggin'.

Contrary to common perceptions that his style was mostly acid rock, in his many studio sessions, Jimi reveals himself to be something of a jazz virtuoso, an acoustic philosopher of exceptional depth and clarity. At times he is a salty blues man, a swaggering comic. During his live shows crowds often wanted to hear the hits, leading to him to pursue radically different avenues off the stage. Had he lived it is highly likely he would have been involved in the budding genre of hip hop as well. Even though he died too young, his imprint on our cultural psyche is mythical and iconic. Many hip hop artists have sampled Jimi. While purists charge that this defaces his music, the more sane among us see such sampling as a way of paying homage to his far-reaching influence. The mans legacy was only partly known to be generous.

It is a shame that so gifted a musician had such limited releases. This in spite of the avalanche of output between 1968 and his untimely death in 1970. The young and brilliant have a way of being snatched by the jaws of death at the doorstep of opportunity. We have to ask ourselves what the world be like if Hendrix had lived? Tupac? Is the passing of Tony D another manifestation of how helpless we are to the vagaries of human frailty ? Music expresses more than language has ever been capable of.

This compilation I assembled contains some very rare gems. There are also a few of his more well known studio jams which have circulated on small independent labels putting out his unknown catalog to collectors, fans, suckers and fanatics for the last 30+ years.

DOWNLOAD

01 (03:33) jimi hendrix - driving south
02 (03:44) jimi hendrix - untitled jam (record plant 5-15-69)
03 (05:09) jimi hendrix - pali gap
04 (03:00) jimi hendrix - gypsy sunset (unreleased studio outtake)
05 (07:07) jimi hendrix - little one take 2 (olympic studios 1-26-68)
06 (06:46) jimi hendrix - third stone from the sun
07 (04:58) jimi hendrix - tax free
08 (01:20) jimi hendrix - wah wah
09 (05:38) jimi hendrix - beginnings
10 (01:43) jimi hendrix - funky blues jam (date, location unknown)
11 (03:04) jimi hendrix - look over yonder (rough mix, ttg studios, 10-68)
12 (04:43) jimi hendrix - straight ahead
13 (03:21) jimi hendrix - come down hard on me
14 (01:41) jimi hendrix - farther on up the road

I hope y'all dig the change of pace. If you want to hear some more of Jimi's mostly unheard archives leave some comments and I'll do my best to fill your requests!

--Schenectadyfan

Editor's Note: Schenectadyfan's musical tastes run wide and deep, and his painstaking regionally-themed compilations must be heard to be believed. If you dig this post and just happen to be interested in the hip hop music from Seattle that Schenectady recommends, click here.

Tri-Pack Wafer: Abstract Tribe Unique, Leaders Of The New School, Yaaggfu Front

"I hope one of his peoples could hook him up with a tri-pack/ That's three different flavors/ Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry wafers" -- MF Doom, "Kookies"

Download All Three Tracks

Abstract Tribe Unique, Leaders Of The New School, and Yaggfu Front Look Towards The Future

When I listen to Yaggu Front's "Future Shock," I am reminded of Bruce McCall's irreverent and visually arresting presentation from May 2008 titled "Nostalgia for a future that never happened." In this talk (embedded below) the sardonic illustrator and author (known primarily for his many well-received New Yorker covers) discusses his revulsion/fascination with commercial art from the mid-twentieth century that forecasts the arrival of a post-WWII high-tech utopia. You know, hilariously innaccurate and vaguely disturbing visions of flying cars, silver jumpsuits, and robot maids by '87 at the latest. McCall skewers his own source materials by redrawing them in a manner that mocks their naive hubris, implicit jingoism, and subtle creepiness while celebrating their imaginative beauty.

Whether by design or accident, Yaggfu's "Future Shock" also makes me laugh. The deceptively simple, sarcastic lyrics successfully contrast hokey visions of futuristic bliss with the massively disappointing, increasingly hectic realities of modernity. The emcees pull this off so well in fact that I feel emboldened enough to violate the rules of valid criticism. For this review, I am embracing the fallacious yet attractive notion that in any given rap song, sample usage can be regarded as an ideologically-driven decision that mirrors the messages found in the lyrics.

Yaggfu Front - Future Shock

I want to believe. C'mon, the twinkling pianos, the unusually warm and fuzzy orchestral horns - this has to be an intentional, mock Twilight Zone-ish ironic commentary on white-dominated retro-future aesthetics, right? With a few knowing jabs at mid-'80s rap culture and its distinct brand of robotic groupthink and unapologetic fetishism of the latest cars and couture thrown in for balance? The Puma tracksuit as space attire? The 808 as automaton musician? No?

Ok, maybe I'm reaching. But the one discernible message of "Future Shock" I am certain is not a product of wishful thinking is the idea that the heralded future (actually, the present) is still an uncertain, unkind place for the poor and unlucky. For many, this does not constitute a profound revelation. But if Yaggfu are, on some level, poking fun at the upbeat prognostication of The Jetsons by positing wonders like online billing and laser eye surgery as vicious signifiers of perpetual inequity, the song can be viewed as poignant as well. Even more so when race is considered; the post WWII technocratic wonderlands of magical highways and sprawling, mechanized exurbs were not meant to include minorities. Robert Moses was pretty adamant about that.

Afro-Futurists admire artists like Deltron, Dr. Octagon, and Andre 3000 for their neo Parliament-Funkadelic extravagance. Their spacey, scatalogical vaunts and costumed antics are interpreted as signifiers of a forward-thinking movement in the direction of transcendent liberation. The mind-forged manacles and alienation that are the legacy of slavery are figuratively broken by the embrace of the type of technological ingenuity that fueled the careers of Lee "Scratch" Perry and Afrika Bambataa, among others. These are compelling concepts and we should not dismiss these artists as mere daydreamers, but rap's exploration of the future is hardly limited to artless garish solo artist indulgence in cosmic tropes with little to no discretion.

Leaders Of The New School - The End Is Near

Like Yaggfu Front, Leaders Of The New School and Abstract Tribe Unique view the future as a mixed bag at best, with most of the spoils going to the same undeserving heirs who seem to maintain an indefinite stranglehold on wealth. On "The End Is Near" the four future-conscious Public Enemy disciples from the rougher side of Robert Moses' Long Island futureworld impress with a dizzying display of vocal styles. While the normally boisterous Yaggfu Front calmly recite their lines to describe nanotech drudgery, the Leaders are besides themselves with pre-millenial tension. Dinco D spits out non-sequiters just like Uniblab while Charlie Brown is damned near hysterical, carrying on about a coming apocalypse. Busta is surprisingly the voice of reason in this instance. His style on "The End Is Near" (click here for demo version plus other LONS gems) is frenetic even for him but he delivers a sober meditation on the issues of artistic integrity facing the hip hop genre as it morphs into a full-fledged power industry.

Abstract Tribe Unique - Torn

This is also the main topic of Abstract Tribe Unique's "Torn." "Torn" sounds like urgent panic; the hi/low-tech, dusty-but-digital organ sample jettisons Abstract Rude's robust preacherly style towards the firmament. But Abstract Rude's presentation is ultimately very down-to-earth despite his penchant for mystical medicine show theatrics. "Torn" tackles the subject of the future with skill and gracel Abstract rude examines the arrival of the new generation of rappers reared on information overload and bemoans the glacial pace of progress but retains a sense of hope for the dawn of a new consciousness. Flying cars or not. -- Thun

Guilty Pleasures

A few months ago I shared with you my security blanket, this month I'm going to share with you some of my guilty pleasures.

Everyone has a few albums in their collection they've been questioned for liking or you might even question it yourself. Maybe it's an album that received lukewarm reviews or an album you flat out know is bad. Maybe it's an album most people have grown out but regardless you still appreciate the fuck out of it.

I have a few of these in my collection and I have no problem admitting they are some of my most listened to albums. The first one is what I like to think of as the ultimate summertime soundtrack. Ill and Al were far from dope lyricists but they had swagger and even though this album only has 12 songs, it centers around three standout tracks and the rest were either remixes or they switched some of the lyrics around to make them appear like different tracks.

I remember hearing "Where My Homiez?" (click for video) play constantly on Yo! MTV Raps and every time I'd have to stop what I was doing to watch it. When I said Creep Wit Me was a great summertime album I meant it.

Whether you took a ride down Fulton Street or A1A this was the ultimate backdrop. I distinctly remember taking those late-night trips to Denny's with the crew after a night of partying & bullshit. I remember the weekend excursions to the beaches rockin' the Nike visor cap (as seen worn by Al in the video) that became popular in the summer of '94 or how right before a game of b-ball we'd get amped to "Creep With Me" (title track) because the Snoop sample was the definition of perfection. I remember making the quintessential date night mixtape that had both "Summertime (It's All Good)" and "I'll Take Her" featuring Brian McKnight on there.

Yeah, Ill Al Scratch were the shit and Creep Wit Me is my guilty pleasure for sure.

[click image to download]

Next up is an album that most of us probably grew out of by 1996, but not me. What's crazy is that when the album dropped (1994) I was in 10th grade and I remember thinking how dope this little kid was but now after doing some research I found out the kid is actually older than me.

Shyheim aka The Rugged Child was born in '77, in Brooklyn. His affiliation had everything to do with his semi-success in rap as he was considered the youngest Wu-Tang Clan affiliate in the game. If you remember back in '94 the Wu phenomenon was absolutely crazy. Also having Ghostface Killah as your cousin couldn't hurt either.

Shy moved to Staten Island from Brooklyn living in the Stapleton Houses, where many Wu members lived. At the age of 14, Shy recorded his debut "On & On" for Virgin and months later the album, AKA The Rugged Child dropped. All but one track was produced by RNS. Many may not know about the RNS and that is the way he likes it. He's never been into the spotlight but that doesn't mean he didn't deserve it. RNS has worked with other Shaolin artists such as UMC's, GP Wu, King Just and RZA's Gravediggaz. It's also been mentioned serval times that RNS was the one who taught RZA the art of production.

AKA The Rugged Child is an album I thoroughly enjoy and even though I'm three decades old and cannot stand listening to kid rappers, I'll never turn my nose up to some Shyheim. He might have been young at the time but unlike many kid rappers Shy had some great tutelage and never came with those infantile raps.

So if you're new to the album I suggest you give it a shot. Some of my favorite cuts are On & On, One's 4 Da Money, Napsack, Here I Am and Headpiece. I've also added some b-sides and remixes for your listening pleasure. --Philaflava

WHAT ARE YOUR GUILTY PLEASURES??!!??!

Shaolin Style (Remix)

Lord Finesse, Big L, & Youth Crime

Lord Finesse "Shorties Kaught In The System (S.K.I.T.S.)"

Lord Finesse "Shorties Kaught In The System (S.K.I.T.S.)" REMIX

Big L "Street Struck"

All three songs zipped in one file

Sociologist Robert R. Alford once described how the media recasts scholarly theories as dogmatic truths that influence policymaking. Legal scholar Michael Lindsey wrote scathingly about one such concept, "super predator," which was introduced by Princeton University poli-sci professor John Dilulio in an article published in The Weekly Standard in late 1995:

... Dilulio defined his title phrase as a cohort of youthful offenders created from a moral poverty ... In academia, creating drama around an issue to ensure that editors will accept it is sometimes necessary ... this hyperbole did not end with Dilulio's article ... U.S. Rep. Bill McCollum of Florida introduced the Violent Youth Predator Act of 1996 ... References to youthful offenders has escalated from "delinquents" to "super-predators." Politicians, news commentators, journalists, and justice and law enforcement officials, now use Dilulio's postulated projections as a statement of fact.

This vision of a "demographic time bomb" lurking "on the horizon," comprised of youths who "quite literally have no concept of the future" is at once poetic, vicious, and calculated.

Dilulio does not mention music, but his "moral poverty" theory resembles studies like "The Moynihan Report" that according to Tricia Rose advance notions of a dysfunctional black culture that arises (against all logic) apart from social institutions. Rap is alleged to be this culture's "greatest contemporary promoter"; its reception as literal autobiography, she argues, is informed by historical assumptions that black men are " 'naturally' violent."

When authored by self-described insiders, such diatribes give rise to reductive binaries that persist despite being regularly disparaged by astute critics. Scrutiny is averted from "positive" songs that encourage the conflation of real crime with its verbal representation, or romanticize a prior decade. Such stances are vulnerable to co-optation by right-leaning anti-youth pundits. Hardly harmless.

Any rap lyric can be sold through charismatic, convincing authenticity. Academic texts are no different. Obtuse works can "cross over" if peppered with panache. Tucked between Dilulio's jargon slinging and number crunching is a stylized memoir: the kid from a low-rent ethnic white Philly 'hood grows into the fearless researcher who is "almost killed" conducting research in a prison. To build his case and his credibility, Dilulio cites folks with unimpeachable stripes: cons, cops, and then-Philly D.A. Lynne Abraham, known as "suite and street smart." She asserts that youth crime waves are led by "youngsters who pack guns instead of lunches," nearly mirroring Philly rapper Jamal's lyric "I'm never packing pop tarts for lunch, I'm packing .38 specials" on Illegal's "Back In The Day."

Dilulio and the Posse's wry pastiche also brings to mind Lord Finesse's "Shorties Kaught In The System," a grim account of high school dropouts who prefer shooting Glocks to skelly tops from the alarmingly titled State Of Emergency: Society In Crisis compilation. The ever-virtuosic Finesse offers rhymed statistics ("eighty out of a hundred/ all they wanna do is clock dough, scoop bitches, and get blunted") while appealing to his audience's sense of fearful urgency and insider authenticity ("if you ain't from the ghetto this undercover/ but in ninety-four, shit is realer than a motherfucker"). Dilulio could well have quoted him. While "S.K.I.T.S." is not a commentary on music nor the exact type of song that is frequently championed by purists to discredit newer trends, it stands as a forceful indictment of youth culture, ripe for the picking.

Finesse is redeemable, though. He is guilty of romanticizing his not-too-distant adolescence, but he acknowledges that violence is a systemic problem. He ascribes a level of resourcefulness and intelligence to troubled youths that Dilulio does not ("It ain't about IQ/ some of them are making more than doctors/ and didn't graduate high school"). In real life, he served as a mentor to Big L, who appears on the hook of the "S.K.I.T.S." remix as the contrary young voice ("I don't give a fuck..."). On the Finesse-produced "Street Struck," Big L credits rap with steering him from crime; Finesse's warmhearted concern for his disciple is corroborated by L's mother.

The sad irony is that Big L was shot to death in 1999, most likely over a dispute that did not directly involve him. His verses on "Street Struck" are poignant, empathetic, hopeful, less judgemental and ultimately more incisive than what we hear from his elder mentor on the same subject. Although the song is a departure from Big L's typically sadistic narratives, the trajectory of his life illuminates several truths that should be more obvious, namely that kids who consume and create violent rap are (like anyone else) complex human beings who mostly wish to pursue wealth and happiness, are fully capable of discerning fictive expression from actual reality, experience stress and frustration when presumed to be less than human, and bleed when shot.

And their bleeding is not stopped by a conscious lyric, a poorly executed album concept, or bad comedy. -- Thun

-- Thun