Mixtape Friday: Dorm Room Griots' Flow From Above
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
For my little brother's 10th birthday, I sent him The Giver by Lois Lowry. The story follows Jonas through his apprenticeship under the Giver, an old man who serves as his community's Receiver of Memories.
Like the Giver, West African griots have served for centuries as keepers of memories. Griots are oral storytellers who use poetry and music to teach their village about its history. In America, griots became rappers, but somewhere between Senegal and the South Bronx, these rappers forgot the history they were entrusted to protect.
Today, the village of hip-hop suffers from a serious ignorance of its own past, which extends past New York in the 1970s. Modern-day spoken word poets like Saul Williams are hip-hop's true storytellers, but griots are not supposed to be celebrities; they're supposed to be functioning members of every village.
A-Side
Myran Hunter "We Have Forgotten"
At Boston College, a group of poets called the Dorm Room Griots have recorded Flow From Above, an album of spoken word poetry. They will be performing with musicians and DJs at the record release party on Friday at 9 p.m. at The Perch in McElroy.
On "We Have Forgotten," Myran Hunter, BC '07, speaks about the African musical and social history that hip-hop has sold out. "You can purchase an alternate ego, a lavish lifestyle, worldwide recognition, or even a whole new identity. All of this can be yours for three easy payments of your past, your present, and your future," Hunter says.
Noah "The Conflict"
"We are the BC '06, on this track from his upcoming rap album. Noah brings variety to the poetry album, rapping about the inherent conflicts involved in struggling to succeed in a country that was built on slavery.
B-Side
Martine Russell "Moonbeams"
Griots are both men and women, but hip-hop refuses to pass the mic to females. On "Moonbeams," Martine Russell, BC '06, sings her ode to the urban village, the "birth-mother to b-boys and b-girls." Her poem celebrates the persistence of a battered, but not beaten, metropolis, "survivor of Nixon and drug wars / all the while she continues to smile."
Sean Dwyer "Woodrow Wilson"
Time for some American history. "It's no wonder to which demographic democracy reaches / it's been since Woodrow Wilson when a president wrote his own speeches," raps Sean Dwyer BC '04.
More than guns or drugs, hip-hop promotes consumerism. Rappers are like commercials, encouraging listeners to buy, buy, buy. On his track, Dwyer explores how blind consumerism leads to global injustice: "I need to purchase more dead weight, my clothes have more pockets / Am I purchasing death? Wait, how'd they pay for those rockets?"
Showing posts with label album review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label album review. Show all posts
April 28, 2005
April 7, 2005
Don't call it a comeback, Jeffreys' been in Europe for years
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
When Garland Jeffreys decided to take some time off from his epic music career during the '90s, it was for all the right reasons: He was staying at home to help raise his young daughter with his wife. Now he's ready for a comeback and the music world needs him more than ever.
In fact, maybe it's just America that needs him, because the rest of the world has been enjoying Jeffreys' eclectic mix of rock, reggae, and soul for decades. Though he remains popular in Europe, most in America don't know his name.
There are a few exceptions - Bruce Springstein and Lou Reed are fans, friends, and occasional collaborators of Jeffreys. His music began with a distinct New York classic rock sound in the '70s and incorporated more soul, reggae and Latin music in the middle of his career.
For Jeffreys, these styles didn't come from outside influences, but from incorporating his own history into his music. Jeffreys is as diverse as his sound, growing up in a multi-racial family, part black, part white, part Puerto Rican, and part Native American. His lyrical content, like his musical style, reflects his diverse background.
Maybe now, 33 years after his self-titled debut album and 13 years since his last American release, Jeffreys is finally about to get the exposure his music deserves since recently signing with Universal.
Jeffreys, a true Rock 'n' Roll Adult (to use the title of his 1982 album) is busier than ever. He's out on a celebratory tour, which brings him back to Boston for the first time in 15 years. Jeffreys will perform in Somerville tomorrow night at Johnny D's Uptown with his full eight-piece band, The Coney Island Playboys.
Unfortunately, none of Jeffreys music from the '70s and '80s has been reissued on CD, other than his Wild in the Streets: Best of 1977-1983. This compilation features his reggae groove on "I May Not Be Your Kind," his exploration of interracial relationships.
Now 61 years old, but well-rested from his recent sabbatical, Jeffreys is ready to make a splash in a music scene long after most of his peers - Springsteen, Elvis Costello, Graham Parker, Paul Simon, Lou Reed, and James Taylor - are getting ready for retirement.
Before it became a gimmick for Jay-Z and Linkin Park, mixing styles came naturally for Jeffreys. His body of work is diverse and expansive enough that any music fan will find something to fit their taste and his live show tomorrow promises to be a blast.
Don't miss Jeffreys tomorrow night or you might have to wait another 15 years for the next show.
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
When Garland Jeffreys decided to take some time off from his epic music career during the '90s, it was for all the right reasons: He was staying at home to help raise his young daughter with his wife. Now he's ready for a comeback and the music world needs him more than ever.
In fact, maybe it's just America that needs him, because the rest of the world has been enjoying Jeffreys' eclectic mix of rock, reggae, and soul for decades. Though he remains popular in Europe, most in America don't know his name.
There are a few exceptions - Bruce Springstein and Lou Reed are fans, friends, and occasional collaborators of Jeffreys. His music began with a distinct New York classic rock sound in the '70s and incorporated more soul, reggae and Latin music in the middle of his career.
For Jeffreys, these styles didn't come from outside influences, but from incorporating his own history into his music. Jeffreys is as diverse as his sound, growing up in a multi-racial family, part black, part white, part Puerto Rican, and part Native American. His lyrical content, like his musical style, reflects his diverse background.
Maybe now, 33 years after his self-titled debut album and 13 years since his last American release, Jeffreys is finally about to get the exposure his music deserves since recently signing with Universal.
Jeffreys, a true Rock 'n' Roll Adult (to use the title of his 1982 album) is busier than ever. He's out on a celebratory tour, which brings him back to Boston for the first time in 15 years. Jeffreys will perform in Somerville tomorrow night at Johnny D's Uptown with his full eight-piece band, The Coney Island Playboys.
Unfortunately, none of Jeffreys music from the '70s and '80s has been reissued on CD, other than his Wild in the Streets: Best of 1977-1983. This compilation features his reggae groove on "I May Not Be Your Kind," his exploration of interracial relationships.
Now 61 years old, but well-rested from his recent sabbatical, Jeffreys is ready to make a splash in a music scene long after most of his peers - Springsteen, Elvis Costello, Graham Parker, Paul Simon, Lou Reed, and James Taylor - are getting ready for retirement.
Before it became a gimmick for Jay-Z and Linkin Park, mixing styles came naturally for Jeffreys. His body of work is diverse and expansive enough that any music fan will find something to fit their taste and his live show tomorrow promises to be a blast.
Don't miss Jeffreys tomorrow night or you might have to wait another 15 years for the next show.
March 3, 2005
Infectious joy from Jack Johnson
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
While the sun struggles to break through the blizzard in Boston, Jack Johnson's new album In Between Dreams brings much appreciated warmth to an otherwise dreary winter of bland, gray music. It's a bit more upbeat and multi-layered with various instruments than his previous albums, but it's still filled with Johnson's characteristic relaxed vibe and subtle, poignant lyrics.
Johnson's music will make you feel good on the inside. The timbre of his voice and the simple plucking of his acoustic guitar convey a contagious joy in life. Johnson seems so content with life that his melodic smile might seem exaggerated, until you remember this guy spends most of his time surfing and playing guitar on the North Shore of Oahu.
In fact, Johnson's life at the beach was so good that he was initially reluctant to pursue a music career at all. Johnson decided against signing to a major label and dealing with record companies and all those "mediocre bad guys" he sang about on his last album, On and On.
Instead Johnson started his own label, Brushfire Records, with his wife and friends, releasing his phenomenonal surf movies, September Sessions and Thicker Than Water, and their equally great soundtracks.
The only person happier than Johnson might be his wife. Many of the best songs on In Between Dreams are love songs dedicated to her, including "Do You Remember?" on which Johnson sings about first meeting his future wife: "I was crazy about you then and now/ but the craziest thing of all/ over 10 years have gone by/ and you're still mine."
On "Banana Pancakes" Johnson sings about staying inside and making banana pancakes with his wife and kids on a rainy day. While some might envy the lavish Cribs on MTV, Johnson paints a much more attractive picture of his domestic life: "We could close the curtains and pretend there's no world outside."
Johnson supports hiding from the outside world sometimes. On "Good People" he sings, "Where did all the good people go? I been changing channels/ I don't see them on the TV shows."
Since his first album Johnson has been an outspoken opponent of television and its effect on our culture. On iTunes Originals, an album he released last year, he explains the inspiration for his songs: "Sometimes I get embarrassed when I turn on the TV, you know? Cuz' we're all the same thing and when I see some other humans acting so silly on some reality TV show, just to sensationalize, it just kinda makes me feel stupid."
"Staple It Together," "Never Know," and single, "Sitting, Waiting, Wishing," are Johnson's most upbeat songs to date, with funky reggae rhythms and occasional jazzy piano. Johnson adjusts his flow for these songs, nearly rapping his way through his verses. While most rappers brag about their bling, all that Johnson can do is "tell you that my metaphor is better than yours."
Some people like their musicians bigger than life, but I prefer mine full of life. Johnson overflows with soul, in a quiet sort of way.
In order to promotes his new album, Johnson signing autographs at Virgin Records on Newbury Street today at 1 p.m. He will also perform songs from In Between Dreams, but you will need to show your purchased copy of the album in order to get into the concert.
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
While the sun struggles to break through the blizzard in Boston, Jack Johnson's new album In Between Dreams brings much appreciated warmth to an otherwise dreary winter of bland, gray music. It's a bit more upbeat and multi-layered with various instruments than his previous albums, but it's still filled with Johnson's characteristic relaxed vibe and subtle, poignant lyrics.
Johnson's music will make you feel good on the inside. The timbre of his voice and the simple plucking of his acoustic guitar convey a contagious joy in life. Johnson seems so content with life that his melodic smile might seem exaggerated, until you remember this guy spends most of his time surfing and playing guitar on the North Shore of Oahu.
In fact, Johnson's life at the beach was so good that he was initially reluctant to pursue a music career at all. Johnson decided against signing to a major label and dealing with record companies and all those "mediocre bad guys" he sang about on his last album, On and On.
Instead Johnson started his own label, Brushfire Records, with his wife and friends, releasing his phenomenonal surf movies, September Sessions and Thicker Than Water, and their equally great soundtracks.
The only person happier than Johnson might be his wife. Many of the best songs on In Between Dreams are love songs dedicated to her, including "Do You Remember?" on which Johnson sings about first meeting his future wife: "I was crazy about you then and now/ but the craziest thing of all/ over 10 years have gone by/ and you're still mine."
On "Banana Pancakes" Johnson sings about staying inside and making banana pancakes with his wife and kids on a rainy day. While some might envy the lavish Cribs on MTV, Johnson paints a much more attractive picture of his domestic life: "We could close the curtains and pretend there's no world outside."
Johnson supports hiding from the outside world sometimes. On "Good People" he sings, "Where did all the good people go? I been changing channels/ I don't see them on the TV shows."
Since his first album Johnson has been an outspoken opponent of television and its effect on our culture. On iTunes Originals, an album he released last year, he explains the inspiration for his songs: "Sometimes I get embarrassed when I turn on the TV, you know? Cuz' we're all the same thing and when I see some other humans acting so silly on some reality TV show, just to sensationalize, it just kinda makes me feel stupid."
"Staple It Together," "Never Know," and single, "Sitting, Waiting, Wishing," are Johnson's most upbeat songs to date, with funky reggae rhythms and occasional jazzy piano. Johnson adjusts his flow for these songs, nearly rapping his way through his verses. While most rappers brag about their bling, all that Johnson can do is "tell you that my metaphor is better than yours."
Some people like their musicians bigger than life, but I prefer mine full of life. Johnson overflows with soul, in a quiet sort of way.
In order to promotes his new album, Johnson signing autographs at Virgin Records on Newbury Street today at 1 p.m. He will also perform songs from In Between Dreams, but you will need to show your purchased copy of the album in order to get into the concert.
Interview with Citizen Cope
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
Rarely will I do this, but I'm going to spare the reader a long-winded introduction and just come out and say it: You need to stop reading this and go buy Citizen Cope's new album, The Clarence Greenwood Recordings.
If you don't like it and later regret your purchase, I will personally refund your money. That's how good this album is.
There's nothing especially unique about what Citizen Cope does - he's a singer-songwriter in the tradition of Woody Guthrie, John Steinbeck, and Bob Dylan, but Cope incorporates subtle hip-hop rhythms to accompany his gritty, woeful wail and acoustic guitar. Beck is the closest thing around today to Citizen Cope's hybrid of folk, funk, and hip-hop.
But while Beck busies himself with experimental meanderings, Cope gives listeners what they want, proving that it's better to be good than unique. There's no need to reinvent the wheel, as long as you roll with style.
Nowadays, singer-songwriters tend to be pretty boys with pretty songs, but Citizen Cope sings about his reality, which hasn't always been pretty.
"I sing about the people around me, the people I've met in D.C. and all over the place, but they're not always normal, model citizens," said Citizen Cope during our recent interview.
Listening to Citizen Cope is like reading a Jack Kerouac story filled with lovers and lunatics. On "Pablo Picasso," Cope sings from the perspective of a deranged man in love with a woman painted on a wall mural. Even when he sings about someone estranged from reality, it is obvious that Cope sings with sympathy.
"I try to put myself into the reality of the character, no matter how crazy he is," he said.
Citizen Cope, aka Clarence Greenwood, released his self-titled debut in 2002, but soon after left his record label, Dreamworks, because they weren't sufficiently promoting his album. He bought himself out of his contract using the advance from his next album and then signed to Arista, recording The Clarence Greenwood Project in the interim time.
The album's lead single, "Bullet and a Target" features Citizen Cope at his best. Cope layers piano and strings over the best beat you'll ever hear on a singer-songwriter's album.
The rhythm and percussion stands out throughout the album, integrating hip-hop breakbeats and live drums.
"When I was growing up, I tried to learn the guitar and the trumpet, but I couldn't play at first, so I started making beats, messing with drum machines and samplers," said Cope.
Before he was Citizen Cope, Greenwood was the DJ for a funky, laid back Washington, D.C. hip-hop crew called Basehead.
"Hip-hop taught me a lot about song structure, about the idea of measures and choruses," said Cope.
Cope's previous dabbling with hip-hop shaped his cadence, rhyme scheme, and narrative structure, but in contrast to Everlast or Wyclef Jean, Cope's hip-hop influence is subtle and well integrated.
In Citizen Cope's music you can hear bits of Bob Marley, bits of Ben Harper, and bits of Al Green, but Citizen Cope is no carbon-copy imitator.
His music is deeply personal and there's an audible honesty in his words. Citizen Cope's songs reflect the natural genesis of his musical talent.
"I couldn't afford all these expensive drum machines and samplers, so I just picked up the guitar and started plucking at it one string at a time, getting to know each string with my heart, instead of trying to understand it with my head," said Cope.
The album features a guest appearance from Carlos Santana on "Son's Gonna Rise," a hectic tale about racing to the hospital with his pregnant wife going into labor in the backseat.
Me'shell Ndegeocello plays bass on "Sideways," a beautiful song full of pathos and regret about lost love, where Cope laments, "These feelings won't go away."
Soon everybody will know about Citizen Cope, but before then you can take advantage of his relative obscurity by seeing him perform at the intimate Paradise Lounge on Wednesday.
February 3, 2005
Kill Bill soundtracks remixed
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
The soundtracks to Kill Bill, Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 were mixtape masterpieces put together by Quentin Tarantino and Wu-Tang Clan leader The Rza. The Rza was chosen to score the kung-fu epics as a result of his ethnic credibility after being officially drafted by the Asian Delegation during the Racial Draft on Chappelle's Show.
Most of the songs on the soundtracks are either covers of long forgotten originals or cult movie theme songs. Only a few of the tracks are individually remarkable, but the combination of hipster songs from every era and corner of the globe makes a fine mix.
Taking Tarantino's theme of juxtaposition a step further, a group of DJ's have released a remix mashup album called Hanzo Steel, one of the most innovative mash-ups since Danger Mouse's Grey Album.
A-Side
Billions McMillions - "Ironside Jumpoff"
When Uma Thurman, aka "The Bride" aka "Black Mamba," gets angry, whether in a knife fight in a suburban kitchen or at the hospital with a necrophiliac trucker, dizzying horns foreshadow the impending rampage. The sound effect comes from the theme song from the old TV show Ironside, composed by Quincy Jones (who, incidentally, is an alumnus of Boston's Berklee School of Music).
Tomoyasu Hotei - "Battle Without Honor or Humanity" (Nas Remix)
Nineteen seconds into this song, the beat drops so hard, it'll break your big toe. Unfortunately the cheesy 80s electric guitar solo ruins the song. Blackstone and Atari, who apparently also sensed the hair band vibe in this Japanese pop-rock song, put the vocals from "Shout" by Tears for Fears over the beat. An uncredited remix floating around the Internet featuring Nas' gritty lyrics from "Made Your Look" is a better match.
B-Side
Nancy Sinatra - "Bang Bang" (Remix)
Frank's better half sings a quiet tale of revenge that perfectly fits the Kill Bill story, with lyrics originally penned by Sonny Bono: "Bang bang, my baby shot me down." This remix pairs Sinatra's sultry voice with the hard drums and squeaky London accent of Dizzee Rascal's "Fix Up, Look Sharp" [aka "The Big Beat"].
Billions McMillions - "Missted Nerve"
Nurse Daryl Hannah whistles an eerie, gleeful tune as she heads down the hallway in the hospital towards an unconscious Uma Thurman. The whistle appears on the soundtrack to Vol. 1 as Bernard Herrmann's "Twisted Nerve," but DJ Billions McMillions throws some meat on the simple tune to make a funky treat. Instead of just mashing two songs together, Billions McMillions bakes a three-layer cake with the original whistle, the syncopated Lain hand claps from the flamenco disco track "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" by Santa Esmeralda (also from Vol. 1), and the bouncy beat from Missy Elliot's "Pass the Dutch."
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
The soundtracks to Kill Bill, Vol. 1 and Vol. 2 were mixtape masterpieces put together by Quentin Tarantino and Wu-Tang Clan leader The Rza. The Rza was chosen to score the kung-fu epics as a result of his ethnic credibility after being officially drafted by the Asian Delegation during the Racial Draft on Chappelle's Show.
Most of the songs on the soundtracks are either covers of long forgotten originals or cult movie theme songs. Only a few of the tracks are individually remarkable, but the combination of hipster songs from every era and corner of the globe makes a fine mix.
Taking Tarantino's theme of juxtaposition a step further, a group of DJ's have released a remix mashup album called Hanzo Steel, one of the most innovative mash-ups since Danger Mouse's Grey Album.
A-Side
Billions McMillions - "Ironside Jumpoff"
When Uma Thurman, aka "The Bride" aka "Black Mamba," gets angry, whether in a knife fight in a suburban kitchen or at the hospital with a necrophiliac trucker, dizzying horns foreshadow the impending rampage. The sound effect comes from the theme song from the old TV show Ironside, composed by Quincy Jones (who, incidentally, is an alumnus of Boston's Berklee School of Music).
Tomoyasu Hotei - "Battle Without Honor or Humanity" (Nas Remix)
Nineteen seconds into this song, the beat drops so hard, it'll break your big toe. Unfortunately the cheesy 80s electric guitar solo ruins the song. Blackstone and Atari, who apparently also sensed the hair band vibe in this Japanese pop-rock song, put the vocals from "Shout" by Tears for Fears over the beat. An uncredited remix floating around the Internet featuring Nas' gritty lyrics from "Made Your Look" is a better match.
B-Side
Nancy Sinatra - "Bang Bang" (Remix)
Frank's better half sings a quiet tale of revenge that perfectly fits the Kill Bill story, with lyrics originally penned by Sonny Bono: "Bang bang, my baby shot me down." This remix pairs Sinatra's sultry voice with the hard drums and squeaky London accent of Dizzee Rascal's "Fix Up, Look Sharp" [aka "The Big Beat"].
Billions McMillions - "Missted Nerve"
Nurse Daryl Hannah whistles an eerie, gleeful tune as she heads down the hallway in the hospital towards an unconscious Uma Thurman. The whistle appears on the soundtrack to Vol. 1 as Bernard Herrmann's "Twisted Nerve," but DJ Billions McMillions throws some meat on the simple tune to make a funky treat. Instead of just mashing two songs together, Billions McMillions bakes a three-layer cake with the original whistle, the syncopated Lain hand claps from the flamenco disco track "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" by Santa Esmeralda (also from Vol. 1), and the bouncy beat from Missy Elliot's "Pass the Dutch."
January 20, 2005
With Dre & Co. on the beats, let The Game Begin
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
The hype surrounding The Game made him seem more like a marketing gimmick than a rapper. Dr. Dre signed him to Aftermath because he was from Compton, home of gangsta rap pioneers NWA. 50 Cent made him a member of G-Unit because he also got shot during a botched drug deal.
No one knew whether he could actually rap, but The Game could definitely star as a video game character in Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.
His debut album, The Documentary, proves The Game is more than a cheap publicity stunt and might re-establish the otherwise lifeless West Coast hip-hop scene.
The Game's lyrical content won't send listeners reaching for the rewind button with astonishment, but the album's superb production and The Game's decent flow guarantees listeners won't need to skip any tracks either.
The production roster on The Documentary is absolutely preposterous for a debut album. Jay-Z had to release ten albums before he got this sort of all-star line-up to produce The Black Album.
Timbaland, Kanye West, Just Blaze, Eminem, and Hi-Tek each bless The Game's grimy growl with fresh beats. But lest we forget the lessons of the 2004 Yankees, a superstar line-up doesn't automatically guarantee a championship.
Fortunately, Dr. Dre serves as sonic director, lending a cohesiveness to The Documentary that's rare on albums with so many producers. Dre put more effort into The Game than he has with any of his Aftermath projects since 50 Cent's debut. Surprisingly, the five tracks Dre produced, including the old-school g-funk in "How We Do," aren't the best beats on the album.
Just Blaze produced the hottest track on The Black Album ("Public Service Announcement") and now brings his infamous horns to two of the best beats on The Documentary, "Church for Thugs" and "No More Fun and Games."
Apparantly, Kanye West has recently discovered the 33 RPM button on his turntable and his offering, "Dreams," is a nice departure from his typical violin solos and sped-up samples.
The Game is outshined by both 50 Cent and Dungeon Family producers Cool and Dre on the album's best track, "Hate It or Love It." 50 Cent's mellifluous flow glides effortlessly, whether it's from verse to hook or from rapping to singing.
Here and throughout the album, The Game raps barely well enough to justify the beat. Every once in a while he will utter a mildly clever line, but he mainly spends his verses reminiscing about NWA, 2Pac, and the good ol' days of West Coast hip-hop. Just in case anyone was not aware of his affiliation with Dre, The Game references the doctor 35 times in 70 minutes.
There's really nothing mentionable about The Game as a rapper, but The Documentary bangs from beginning to the end, perfect for driving fast with the speakers blasting.
December 9, 2004
Street's Disciple
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
On Street's Disciple, Nas proves again that he has perfected the balance between popular and underground hip-hop. His lyrics are meaningful, but not overweight. His production is catchy, but not jiggy. His guest appearances are entertaining, but not relied upon. Nas sarcastically raps, 'it's trendy to be the conscious emcee," but for him it comes naturally.
Except for 2Pac and Outkast, rappers never actually have enough material to justify a double album. Nas' newest is filled with great tracks, but suffers from too much filler and sounds like a great watered down album.
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
On Street's Disciple, Nas proves again that he has perfected the balance between popular and underground hip-hop. His lyrics are meaningful, but not overweight. His production is catchy, but not jiggy. His guest appearances are entertaining, but not relied upon. Nas sarcastically raps, 'it's trendy to be the conscious emcee," but for him it comes naturally.
Except for 2Pac and Outkast, rappers never actually have enough material to justify a double album. Nas' newest is filled with great tracks, but suffers from too much filler and sounds like a great watered down album.
November 18, 2004
Without an enemy, Eminem falters
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
On his new album Encore, Eminem disappoints and impresses at the same time. He has always enjoyed a God-given talent for rapping, but it was his meticulous attention to rhyme scheme that made the difference between simply impressive and absolutely amazing albums.
Eminem comes off like a procrastinator who had two and half years to record his follow-up to The Eminem Show, but instead finished it in a rush at the last second. Like an intelligent student writing a late night term paper, Eminem cruises on natural ability, but still sounds tired and repetitive.
For better or for worse, producer Dr. Dre's beats perfectly match Eminem's flow. The doctor's beats lack their normal G-funk bounce, but remain better than those of most other producers. The problem is that Eminem and Dr. Dre shouldn't be compared with average rappers and producers. Eminem's beef with Benzono and Ja Rule inspired him to more passionate lyricism than anything found on Encore, but they were still petty feuds with lessers. If Eminem wants to assert himself as a legitimate candidate for the best rapper of all time, he needs to learn how to push himself to a higher standard on his own rather than relying on others to push his buttons for him.
The biggest problem (and biggest consolation) is that Eminem seems to be completely aware of this problem. He has always been at his most vicious when he feels threatened by another rapper, but on "Toy Soldiers," Eminem admits that he needs to demonstrate more self-control in the future. He raps, "It's not a plea that I'm coppin/ I'm just willing to be the bigger man if y'all can quit poppin/ off at your jaws/ Well, then I can/ cuz frankly I'm sick of talkin'."
The problem with this song and much of the album is that Eminem is rehashing subject matter that he has already kicked to death on better songs previously released on DJ Green Lantern mixtapes in the last few years.
On "Evil Deeds," Eminem brags, "Sometimes the average listener rewinds and plays me 20 times." On previous albums this has been true, but there isn't a single verse on Encore like the second verse in "Square Dance" from The Eminem Show, which required multiple listening before you could get you head around his lyrical gymnastics. On Encore, there are brief flashes of the impressive multi-syllabic rhymes that fans expect from Eminem, but he doesn't sustain his virtuosity for more than a line or two.
On "Big Weenie" Eminem rambles about his legions of jealous enemies, until he eventually admits, "It's pointless/ Why do we have to keep on going through this?/ This is torturous." The album isn't torturous, but it's certainly pointless. Eminem's irrepressible talent shines through his lazy verses nonetheless, which makes Encore a disappointment, but not a waste.
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
On his new album Encore, Eminem disappoints and impresses at the same time. He has always enjoyed a God-given talent for rapping, but it was his meticulous attention to rhyme scheme that made the difference between simply impressive and absolutely amazing albums.
Eminem comes off like a procrastinator who had two and half years to record his follow-up to The Eminem Show, but instead finished it in a rush at the last second. Like an intelligent student writing a late night term paper, Eminem cruises on natural ability, but still sounds tired and repetitive.
For better or for worse, producer Dr. Dre's beats perfectly match Eminem's flow. The doctor's beats lack their normal G-funk bounce, but remain better than those of most other producers. The problem is that Eminem and Dr. Dre shouldn't be compared with average rappers and producers. Eminem's beef with Benzono and Ja Rule inspired him to more passionate lyricism than anything found on Encore, but they were still petty feuds with lessers. If Eminem wants to assert himself as a legitimate candidate for the best rapper of all time, he needs to learn how to push himself to a higher standard on his own rather than relying on others to push his buttons for him.
The biggest problem (and biggest consolation) is that Eminem seems to be completely aware of this problem. He has always been at his most vicious when he feels threatened by another rapper, but on "Toy Soldiers," Eminem admits that he needs to demonstrate more self-control in the future. He raps, "It's not a plea that I'm coppin/ I'm just willing to be the bigger man if y'all can quit poppin/ off at your jaws/ Well, then I can/ cuz frankly I'm sick of talkin'."
The problem with this song and much of the album is that Eminem is rehashing subject matter that he has already kicked to death on better songs previously released on DJ Green Lantern mixtapes in the last few years.
On "Evil Deeds," Eminem brags, "Sometimes the average listener rewinds and plays me 20 times." On previous albums this has been true, but there isn't a single verse on Encore like the second verse in "Square Dance" from The Eminem Show, which required multiple listening before you could get you head around his lyrical gymnastics. On Encore, there are brief flashes of the impressive multi-syllabic rhymes that fans expect from Eminem, but he doesn't sustain his virtuosity for more than a line or two.
On "Big Weenie" Eminem rambles about his legions of jealous enemies, until he eventually admits, "It's pointless/ Why do we have to keep on going through this?/ This is torturous." The album isn't torturous, but it's certainly pointless. Eminem's irrepressible talent shines through his lazy verses nonetheless, which makes Encore a disappointment, but not a waste.
November 11, 2004
Heiruspecs
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
Live instrumental hip-hop tends to have its heart in the right place but falters in its presentation. It often seems like the emcee's lyrics are struggling to be heard above the band's accompaniment. Unfortunately, in order to avoid this problem, live hip-hop musicians often attempt to replicate the looped-sound of traditionally produced beats. The Roots, the most famous live hip-hop band, are notoriously guilty of both.
The three musicians and two emcees in Hieruspecs are perfect examples of how rappers and musicians can collaborate to create a progressive musically-based hip-hop album.
The crew hails from St. Paul, where it earned a reputation opening for fellow Minnestota-native Atmosphere. Who would expect Minneapolis to produce so much great hip-hop?
As a whole, the group's newest album, A Tiger Dancing, is the most enjoyable live instrument hip-hop albums of all time. Unlike groups like The Roots, Heiruspecs avoids the distracting musical wanderings typical of overly talented musicians. They seem more interested in entertaining the listener than impressing the critics.
As a result the album is listenable from beginning to end, with standout tracks including "Swearsong," where emcee Muad'Dib shows off his syllabic gymnastics, "5ves," where the live drums hit noticeably harder than your typical computer-programmed beats, and the beautifully romantic "Heartstrings," where emcee Felix shines as a subtle, poignant poet.
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
Live instrumental hip-hop tends to have its heart in the right place but falters in its presentation. It often seems like the emcee's lyrics are struggling to be heard above the band's accompaniment. Unfortunately, in order to avoid this problem, live hip-hop musicians often attempt to replicate the looped-sound of traditionally produced beats. The Roots, the most famous live hip-hop band, are notoriously guilty of both.
The three musicians and two emcees in Hieruspecs are perfect examples of how rappers and musicians can collaborate to create a progressive musically-based hip-hop album.
The crew hails from St. Paul, where it earned a reputation opening for fellow Minnestota-native Atmosphere. Who would expect Minneapolis to produce so much great hip-hop?
As a whole, the group's newest album, A Tiger Dancing, is the most enjoyable live instrument hip-hop albums of all time. Unlike groups like The Roots, Heiruspecs avoids the distracting musical wanderings typical of overly talented musicians. They seem more interested in entertaining the listener than impressing the critics.
As a result the album is listenable from beginning to end, with standout tracks including "Swearsong," where emcee Muad'Dib shows off his syllabic gymnastics, "5ves," where the live drums hit noticeably harder than your typical computer-programmed beats, and the beautifully romantic "Heartstrings," where emcee Felix shines as a subtle, poignant poet.
November 4, 2004
The New Danger
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
For the last few years, Mos Def has been all over the place. He's been acting, performing in his rock group Black Jack Johnson, and hosting Def Jam Poetry on HBO. The only thing he hasn't been doing since he released his classic debut Black on Both Sides is rapping. Not surprisingly, his new album, The New Danger, is also all over the place. Sadly, Mos doesn't actually rap all that much on the album but instead alternates between inaudible mumbles and soulful wailing. The result is an album filled with musical genius that fails to congeal into a cohesive unit. The album sounds a lot like a very diverse live performance, jumping from classic blues rock to Kanye West. The New Danger begins awkwardly, but after a few songs, Mos settles down and that lasts through the end of the album. Standout tracks include "Sex, Love and Money," "Blue Black Johnson," and "The Beggar."
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
For the last few years, Mos Def has been all over the place. He's been acting, performing in his rock group Black Jack Johnson, and hosting Def Jam Poetry on HBO. The only thing he hasn't been doing since he released his classic debut Black on Both Sides is rapping. Not surprisingly, his new album, The New Danger, is also all over the place. Sadly, Mos doesn't actually rap all that much on the album but instead alternates between inaudible mumbles and soulful wailing. The result is an album filled with musical genius that fails to congeal into a cohesive unit. The album sounds a lot like a very diverse live performance, jumping from classic blues rock to Kanye West. The New Danger begins awkwardly, but after a few songs, Mos settles down and that lasts through the end of the album. Standout tracks include "Sex, Love and Money," "Blue Black Johnson," and "The Beggar."
September 14, 2004
KO-S Rebels against the current
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
Who will save hip-hop? Most people would look to New York, Los Angeles, or maybe Atlanta for the next revolution, but while gangsters from all over the country try to take over hip-hop with ever bigger guns and egos, there's a joyful rebellion going on just across the northern border. Instead of trying to take over, Canadian rapper K-OS is attempting to change the rules of the rap game with his newest album Joyful Rebellion and the result couldn't be more enjoyable.
K-OS' 2001 debut album Exit gathered awards and acclaim for its unique musical hybridity. Like its predecessor, Joyful Rebellion seamlessly moves from reggae to folk rock while still remaining a hip-hop album (unlike Andre3000's The Love Below, for example).
What distinguishes K-OS from most emcees is a diverse musical talent, allowing him to incorporate live instruments into his songs without letting the music draw attention away from his lyricism, as often occurs with groups like The Roots.
K-OS manages to avoid all of the possible pitfalls that often ruin such musically ambitious albums. Though the album crosses musical borders, it never feels like an aimless wander. K-OS maintains a sonic and thematic consistency that pervades the album, holding it together as a cohesive unit.
The lead single, "B-Boy Stance" is a gritty old school hip-hop joint that samples a short Public Enemy loop, the only sample to be found on an album otherwise notable for its lush instrumentation. In many ways, K-OS is taking hip-hop back to its revolutionary roots, but unlike Chuck D's Fear of a Black Planet, this album delivers its message with a vibrant joy instead of violent anger. According to K-OS, rebellion is an internal struggle to make ourselves better people (and therefore better emcees).
Throughout the album, K-OS searches to find his place. On "Man I Used to Be" he admits, "The things I said I wouldn't do, I did them." From there he tries to find his way through an internal rebellion against external temptations.
The best song on the album, "Crabbuckit" takes the funky bass line from The Cure's "Love Cats" and flips it upside down to create a dirty blues rap song where K-OS compares himself to a crab stuck in a bucket. Pianos and saxophones fly around while the infectious bass line gives a K-OS a strong foothold to show off his lyrical skills. Even if he weren't such a talented musician, K-OS would still be an impressive emcee. He manages to drop intricate syllables into the perfect groove between beat and melody.
To write a fair and balanced review, both the strengths and weaknesses of an album should be mentioned, but K-OS's Joyful Rebellion leaves little to be criticized. All of his songs are meticulously composed with a great attention to nuance and detail. As a rapper, a singer, and a musician, K-OS might not save hip-hop, but he has certainly resuscitated it with a beautiful infusion of fresh air.
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
Who will save hip-hop? Most people would look to New York, Los Angeles, or maybe Atlanta for the next revolution, but while gangsters from all over the country try to take over hip-hop with ever bigger guns and egos, there's a joyful rebellion going on just across the northern border. Instead of trying to take over, Canadian rapper K-OS is attempting to change the rules of the rap game with his newest album Joyful Rebellion and the result couldn't be more enjoyable.
K-OS' 2001 debut album Exit gathered awards and acclaim for its unique musical hybridity. Like its predecessor, Joyful Rebellion seamlessly moves from reggae to folk rock while still remaining a hip-hop album (unlike Andre3000's The Love Below, for example).
What distinguishes K-OS from most emcees is a diverse musical talent, allowing him to incorporate live instruments into his songs without letting the music draw attention away from his lyricism, as often occurs with groups like The Roots.
K-OS manages to avoid all of the possible pitfalls that often ruin such musically ambitious albums. Though the album crosses musical borders, it never feels like an aimless wander. K-OS maintains a sonic and thematic consistency that pervades the album, holding it together as a cohesive unit.
The lead single, "B-Boy Stance" is a gritty old school hip-hop joint that samples a short Public Enemy loop, the only sample to be found on an album otherwise notable for its lush instrumentation. In many ways, K-OS is taking hip-hop back to its revolutionary roots, but unlike Chuck D's Fear of a Black Planet, this album delivers its message with a vibrant joy instead of violent anger. According to K-OS, rebellion is an internal struggle to make ourselves better people (and therefore better emcees).
Throughout the album, K-OS searches to find his place. On "Man I Used to Be" he admits, "The things I said I wouldn't do, I did them." From there he tries to find his way through an internal rebellion against external temptations.
The best song on the album, "Crabbuckit" takes the funky bass line from The Cure's "Love Cats" and flips it upside down to create a dirty blues rap song where K-OS compares himself to a crab stuck in a bucket. Pianos and saxophones fly around while the infectious bass line gives a K-OS a strong foothold to show off his lyrical skills. Even if he weren't such a talented musician, K-OS would still be an impressive emcee. He manages to drop intricate syllables into the perfect groove between beat and melody.
To write a fair and balanced review, both the strengths and weaknesses of an album should be mentioned, but K-OS's Joyful Rebellion leaves little to be criticized. All of his songs are meticulously composed with a great attention to nuance and detail. As a rapper, a singer, and a musician, K-OS might not save hip-hop, but he has certainly resuscitated it with a beautiful infusion of fresh air.
May 4, 2004
Eminen shines, but his band bores
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
Even Michael Jordan couldn't save the otherwise horrendous Washington Wizards, but at least he turned them into a decent team worth watching.
Similarly, even Eminem can't save the otherwise ignorable D12 album, D12 World, but at least you can skip around and listen to all the phenomenal verses from Eminem and decent production from Dr. Dre and Kanye West.
Part of Jordan's failure to bring the Wizards into the playoffs can be attributed to his old age and weak knees, but Eminem is obviously at the top of his game right now, so there is no one to blame but his teammates.
It's not that the other members of D12 are horrible rappers, but their generic content and delivery wither in the huge shadow of Eminem, the "lead singer of the band." The album opens with "Git Up" and an especially ridiculous verse from Eminem, who then unfortunately hands off the baton to his less-gifted crew.
Sometimes Eminem's verse is first and you can simply skip the rest of the song, but often a jewel is hidden in the heap of mediocrity, such as on "Get My Gun," in which Eminem's hilarious rap about a jammed gun is surrounded by the others' forgettable verses.
In terms of rapping, there isn't enough Eminem, but in terms of production, there's too much. Eminem has once again used D12 as a guinea pig for his continued experiments with production, but no one needs six songs produced by Slim Shady. Fellow D12 rapper Kon Artis, aka Denaun Porter, produces three tracks on the album; yet, his work for D12 never sounds as good as when he produces for 50 Cent ("Stunt 101" and "PIMP").
Kanye West offers an excellent beat for the title track, but the song ends forgettably without a verse from Eminem. Even Kanye's Middle Eastern violin melody outshines the bland rhymes from D12.
Unlike the hometown crews of Nelly or Cam'ron, most of D12 can actually rap surprisingly well, especially Proof. Their inability to shape interesting verses out of their natural talent proves that a nice delivery can't compensate for empty, repetitive subject matter.
Dr. Dre probably hates to waste one of his beats for D12, but he nevertheless obliged the requests from his white little brother and produced the ominous "American Psycho II," featuring B-Real from Cyprus Hill.
The surprise guest on the album is underground producer Hi-Tek. Best known for his classic collaboration with Talib Kweli, Reflection Eternal, Hi-Tek is instead paired with Bizarre, quite possibly the worst rapper of all time, for the album's only solo cut, "Just Like U."
It's always painful to hear a quality instrumental butchered by an ignorant, talentless emcee, but despite his utter lack of talent, Bizarre at least grabs the listener's attention.
It would be difficult to say whether it's because of his horribly disgusting and inappropriate subject matter (even compared to Eminem) or because of his laughable lack of skill, but Bizarre's verses are at least mentionable for the fact that they are difficult to ignore.
Unfortunately, that can't be said about the other, admittedly more talented members of D12. If you're the type of person who forgets someone's name 30 seconds after you've been introduced, then you have no chance of remembering the difference between a verse from Kuniva or Swifty.
For fans of Eminem, the D12 album is full of great verses from the best rapper alive, but it amounts to nothing more than a decent album with a catchy single to keep Eminem on the radio until his solo album comes out at the end of the year.
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
Even Michael Jordan couldn't save the otherwise horrendous Washington Wizards, but at least he turned them into a decent team worth watching.
Similarly, even Eminem can't save the otherwise ignorable D12 album, D12 World, but at least you can skip around and listen to all the phenomenal verses from Eminem and decent production from Dr. Dre and Kanye West.
Part of Jordan's failure to bring the Wizards into the playoffs can be attributed to his old age and weak knees, but Eminem is obviously at the top of his game right now, so there is no one to blame but his teammates.
It's not that the other members of D12 are horrible rappers, but their generic content and delivery wither in the huge shadow of Eminem, the "lead singer of the band." The album opens with "Git Up" and an especially ridiculous verse from Eminem, who then unfortunately hands off the baton to his less-gifted crew.
Sometimes Eminem's verse is first and you can simply skip the rest of the song, but often a jewel is hidden in the heap of mediocrity, such as on "Get My Gun," in which Eminem's hilarious rap about a jammed gun is surrounded by the others' forgettable verses.
In terms of rapping, there isn't enough Eminem, but in terms of production, there's too much. Eminem has once again used D12 as a guinea pig for his continued experiments with production, but no one needs six songs produced by Slim Shady. Fellow D12 rapper Kon Artis, aka Denaun Porter, produces three tracks on the album; yet, his work for D12 never sounds as good as when he produces for 50 Cent ("Stunt 101" and "PIMP").
Kanye West offers an excellent beat for the title track, but the song ends forgettably without a verse from Eminem. Even Kanye's Middle Eastern violin melody outshines the bland rhymes from D12.
Unlike the hometown crews of Nelly or Cam'ron, most of D12 can actually rap surprisingly well, especially Proof. Their inability to shape interesting verses out of their natural talent proves that a nice delivery can't compensate for empty, repetitive subject matter.
Dr. Dre probably hates to waste one of his beats for D12, but he nevertheless obliged the requests from his white little brother and produced the ominous "American Psycho II," featuring B-Real from Cyprus Hill.
The surprise guest on the album is underground producer Hi-Tek. Best known for his classic collaboration with Talib Kweli, Reflection Eternal, Hi-Tek is instead paired with Bizarre, quite possibly the worst rapper of all time, for the album's only solo cut, "Just Like U."
It's always painful to hear a quality instrumental butchered by an ignorant, talentless emcee, but despite his utter lack of talent, Bizarre at least grabs the listener's attention.
It would be difficult to say whether it's because of his horribly disgusting and inappropriate subject matter (even compared to Eminem) or because of his laughable lack of skill, but Bizarre's verses are at least mentionable for the fact that they are difficult to ignore.
Unfortunately, that can't be said about the other, admittedly more talented members of D12. If you're the type of person who forgets someone's name 30 seconds after you've been introduced, then you have no chance of remembering the difference between a verse from Kuniva or Swifty.
For fans of Eminem, the D12 album is full of great verses from the best rapper alive, but it amounts to nothing more than a decent album with a catchy single to keep Eminem on the radio until his solo album comes out at the end of the year.
March 23, 2004
Murs + 9th = Classic
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
To an underground hip-hop fan, a Living Legends, Definitive Jux, and Justus League collaboration is nothing more than a wet dream: something fantasized about but probably too good to be true. After listening to Murs' new album Murs 3:16 - The 9th Edition, which features production entirely from 9th Wonder, hip-hop fans will probably need to take their bedding to the laundromat for a cleaning.
A few years ago, Murs was traveling through Europe, showing up at rap concerts, and convincing performers on the night of the show to let him open for them. Halfway around the world, producer 9th Wonder was sitting in his bedroom, using Fruity Loops to layer an a cappella version of Nas' God's Son on top of his own mellow, fluid beats.
A year later, Murs signed to underground superlabel Def Jux, and 9th was the critically-acclaimed producer of the debut from indie favorite Little Brother. Murs and 9th were both bubbling just under the radar that defines commercial success, and they decided to do an album together.
Then Jay-Z happened. The reigning king of rap was impressed by one of 9th Wonder's beats and hired him to produce a song on The Black Album alongside Timbaland and the Neptunes. Suddenly, 9th Wonder was the hottest producer on the block and Murs, for a second, worried that 9th would forget about him.
Instead, 9th used the collaboration project as an opportunity to show off his producing abilities and, as a result, created a number of beautiful instrumentals, but at times, he also seemed to be trying to demonstrate his ability to produce radio-friendly singles. On "Bad Man," 9th Wonder and Murs jump on more bandwagons than an Amish hitchhiker, rapping about exaggerated sexual exploits over a high-pitch Jamaican dance hall sample, as if to say, "I can do the Kanye West thing, too."
In general, though, the production and rapping are superb, exactly what you expect from two artists of this caliber, but nothing more. The album doesn't astound; it is simply very good. At his best, Murs tackles the problems with underground hip-hop, such as on "And This Is For," in which he warns white fans against using "the N-word" and laments the fact that albums from white rappers sell so many more copies than his do.
On his last album, Murs declared that it was "the end of the beginning" of his career. "Now it's the end of that 'cause now I gotta do in-stores, photo shoots, interviews," he complained. Def Jux, his new superpower record label, expected him to contribute to the marketing of his album, and Murs seemed annoyed with the additional responsibilities that produce a commercial success. With increased exposure of his new album, Murs now hopes to reap the benefits of his efforts and enjoy increased sales.
Murs (which, among other things, stands for "Makin Underground Raw Sh-") brings a distinct West Coast flavor to Def Jux and the underground in general. He isn't as lyrically abstract as most Def Jux artists, such as Aesop Rock. He's also black, which in underground hip-hop is becoming something of a novelty. His West Coast upbringing also exposed him to fellow Los Angeles natives Sublime and Red Hot Chili Peppers, both of whom he references as major musical influences.
Murs' background brings a unique perspective to hip-hop: He's no drug dealing gangsta like 50 Cent ("I'm more Coldplay than I am Ice T," he raps), but he's not a daisy-wielding, suburbanite hippie like De La Soul, either. In fact, it's surprising that there aren't more rappers like Murs: He grew up in the 'hood and, as a result, personally experienced the issues that affect poor black Americans, but never actually started shooting people or selling crack. Murs comes off like a regular guy with some stories to tell, the best of which is "Trevor an Them," a hilarious story of a 7-11 robbery gone wrong.
"Walk Like a Man" is the most impressive demonstration of 9th Wonder's progressive production and Murs' unique storytelling ability. 9th divides the song into three separate movements to complement the mood of each verse. In the first verse, Murs decides to get rid of his gun ("I never did use it/ What's the point of holding heat if you're never gonna use it, stupid?"). 9th creates a somber mood for the second verse, which chronicles the murder of Murs' friend. In the final verse, Murs raps about the funeral and the retaliatory murder of the killer. Instead of bragging about his violent history, Murs admits, "Now I'm haunted with remorse, and I wish I hadn't done it."
Murs' new album won't disappoint those who eagerly anticipated his collaboration with 9th Wonder, but no one will be astounded, either. Both of them are capable of more, but until then, Murs 3:16 - The 9th Edition will keep the underground happy.
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
To an underground hip-hop fan, a Living Legends, Definitive Jux, and Justus League collaboration is nothing more than a wet dream: something fantasized about but probably too good to be true. After listening to Murs' new album Murs 3:16 - The 9th Edition, which features production entirely from 9th Wonder, hip-hop fans will probably need to take their bedding to the laundromat for a cleaning.
A few years ago, Murs was traveling through Europe, showing up at rap concerts, and convincing performers on the night of the show to let him open for them. Halfway around the world, producer 9th Wonder was sitting in his bedroom, using Fruity Loops to layer an a cappella version of Nas' God's Son on top of his own mellow, fluid beats.
A year later, Murs signed to underground superlabel Def Jux, and 9th was the critically-acclaimed producer of the debut from indie favorite Little Brother. Murs and 9th were both bubbling just under the radar that defines commercial success, and they decided to do an album together.
Then Jay-Z happened. The reigning king of rap was impressed by one of 9th Wonder's beats and hired him to produce a song on The Black Album alongside Timbaland and the Neptunes. Suddenly, 9th Wonder was the hottest producer on the block and Murs, for a second, worried that 9th would forget about him.
Instead, 9th used the collaboration project as an opportunity to show off his producing abilities and, as a result, created a number of beautiful instrumentals, but at times, he also seemed to be trying to demonstrate his ability to produce radio-friendly singles. On "Bad Man," 9th Wonder and Murs jump on more bandwagons than an Amish hitchhiker, rapping about exaggerated sexual exploits over a high-pitch Jamaican dance hall sample, as if to say, "I can do the Kanye West thing, too."
In general, though, the production and rapping are superb, exactly what you expect from two artists of this caliber, but nothing more. The album doesn't astound; it is simply very good. At his best, Murs tackles the problems with underground hip-hop, such as on "And This Is For," in which he warns white fans against using "the N-word" and laments the fact that albums from white rappers sell so many more copies than his do.
On his last album, Murs declared that it was "the end of the beginning" of his career. "Now it's the end of that 'cause now I gotta do in-stores, photo shoots, interviews," he complained. Def Jux, his new superpower record label, expected him to contribute to the marketing of his album, and Murs seemed annoyed with the additional responsibilities that produce a commercial success. With increased exposure of his new album, Murs now hopes to reap the benefits of his efforts and enjoy increased sales.
Murs (which, among other things, stands for "Makin Underground Raw Sh-") brings a distinct West Coast flavor to Def Jux and the underground in general. He isn't as lyrically abstract as most Def Jux artists, such as Aesop Rock. He's also black, which in underground hip-hop is becoming something of a novelty. His West Coast upbringing also exposed him to fellow Los Angeles natives Sublime and Red Hot Chili Peppers, both of whom he references as major musical influences.
Murs' background brings a unique perspective to hip-hop: He's no drug dealing gangsta like 50 Cent ("I'm more Coldplay than I am Ice T," he raps), but he's not a daisy-wielding, suburbanite hippie like De La Soul, either. In fact, it's surprising that there aren't more rappers like Murs: He grew up in the 'hood and, as a result, personally experienced the issues that affect poor black Americans, but never actually started shooting people or selling crack. Murs comes off like a regular guy with some stories to tell, the best of which is "Trevor an Them," a hilarious story of a 7-11 robbery gone wrong.
"Walk Like a Man" is the most impressive demonstration of 9th Wonder's progressive production and Murs' unique storytelling ability. 9th divides the song into three separate movements to complement the mood of each verse. In the first verse, Murs decides to get rid of his gun ("I never did use it/ What's the point of holding heat if you're never gonna use it, stupid?"). 9th creates a somber mood for the second verse, which chronicles the murder of Murs' friend. In the final verse, Murs raps about the funeral and the retaliatory murder of the killer. Instead of bragging about his violent history, Murs admits, "Now I'm haunted with remorse, and I wish I hadn't done it."
Murs' new album won't disappoint those who eagerly anticipated his collaboration with 9th Wonder, but no one will be astounded, either. Both of them are capable of more, but until then, Murs 3:16 - The 9th Edition will keep the underground happy.
March 16, 2004
Cee-lo overflows with soul on classic new album
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
In the event of an emergency, when drowning in the bland wasteland of music in the TRL-generation, Cee-lo's new solo album, Cee-lo Green is the Soul Machine, can be used as a quality flotation device.
Following years as the standout member of Goodie Mob, Cee-lo broke into his solo career with his 2002 debut, Cee-lo Green and his Perfect Imperfections. The album was just that: perfectly imperfect. Despite quite a few unnecessary musical digressions, the album anticipated both the brilliance and sloppiness of Andre 3000's The Love Below, but lacked the radio-friendly "Hey Ya!" to boost its sales.
The critical success but commercial failure of his solo debut can be largely attributed to the fact that Cee-lo did all the production himself. On his follow-up, Cee-lo brought some of the best in the game on board and challenged the most successful mainstream producers to broaden their musical horizons.
Timbaland took a break from his day job (carrying Missy Elliot on his back) to produce Cee-lo's new single "I'll Be Around." The club song bounces on top of loud trumpets and African drum percussion and is accompanied by a great music video (though not as creative as his video for "Gettin' Grown" in which the egg-shaped rapper dresses up like a Teletubbie).
Cee-lo even conjured a few interesting beats out of the Neptunes, who could probably compose a hit song with nothing more than a stick and a hard surface but really haven't produced anything with much artistic merit in quite a while. "The Art of Noise" and "Let's Stay Together" are both demonstrations of the most dangerous quid pro quo deal in hip-hop: Pharell will give you a nice beat, but you have to let him sing on the hook.
Even DJ Premier breaks out of his characteric style of jazz samples and scratched hooks (which, by the way, no one has ever complained about) on "Evening News." Surprisingly, the best production on the album comes from fellow southern boys Organized Noize, who offer a silly, mischievous beat layered with a xylophone and a stuttering piano on "Childz Play." Here we see one of Cee-lo's many sides, when his fun, playful alter-ego comes to play with an equally puerile Ludacris, making one of the few guest appearances on the album.
Of course, the highlight of the show is not the amazing production but none other than Mr. Cee-lo Green. By force of sheer energy, God-given talent, and irrepressible freakiness, Cee-lo is truly funky.
Born to two preachers and raised in the streets of Atlanta, Cee-lo's personality overflows with so much zeal and soul that even when he falters, he sounds good.
On his last album, Cee-lo seemed preoccupied with showing off his "closet freak" eccentricities. Yet, on his new effort, from the infectiously catchy chorus on "Living Again" to beatnik spoken-word poetry of "Sometimes," Cee-lo seems confident of his unique place in hip-hop, and now he is just strutting around.
"My Kind of People" contains an entertaining interpolation of "Pass the Dutchie," the 1982 pop-reggae hit from Musical Youth. The best songs on the album are "All Day Love Affiar" and "Die Trying." The former is an endearingly simple but sweet serenade to his wife while in bed. Unlike the exaggerated braggadocio used by most rappers to woo their women (such as Usher, who apparently has the beat that makes the booty go clap), Cee-lo offers nothing more than to "make it a Blockbuster night."
From his outfits to his lyrics to his singing ability, Cee-lo is everything that Andre 3000 wishes he could be but fails to match. On his first album, Cee-lo showed the world he had beautiful music inside of him but was unable to present it in a commercially palatable way.
Cee-lo has followed through with the promise of his debut with his remarkable new album that deserves to reverse his former reputation as the "second-best Southern rapper."
On the album, Cee-lo raps, "Sometimes I don't think people think I'm as good as I really am." After Cee-lo Green is the Soul Machine, there shouldn't be any more confusion about it.
February 10, 2004
Beatles Sing Back-up for Jay-Z
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
When John Lennon said, "Music is everybody's possession. It's only publishers who think that people own it," clearly he failed to anticipate underground hip-hop producer DJ Danger Mouse.
Danger Mouse (DM) has taken the anarchy of musical intellectual property to a new level by remixing Jay-Z's Black Album, using nothing but samples from the Beatles' White Album, creating an impressive and entertaining new remix, The Grey Album.
When Jay-Z released the a capella version of his entire Black Album on vinyl, he seemed to be offering his tacit approval for DJs remixing his vocals onto their own beats. In just a few months, no less than six major producers have offered their own versions of Jay-Z's final album.
The remix fad began with 9th Wonder, when he remixed Nas' God's Son, layering Nas' vocals on top of his own signature fluid, old school beats. The remix project earned the unknown producer so much buzz that when Jay-Z was gathering his all-star list of producers for The Black Album, he included 9th Wonder.
At first, Danger Mouse wasn't even going to do his own remix, since he knew that so many other DJ's would be doing the same. He was busy working on other projects, including the follow-up to his stellar debut album with emcee Jemini, Ghetto Pop Life.
Then, the idea of taking samples exclusively from the Beatles' White Album dawned on him. "I did it real quick," Danger Mouse told The Heights in an interview, "because I was afraid someone else was going to have the same idea." After just two weeks and over 200 hours of studio time, Danger Mouse released his remix.
The Grey Album is awe-inspiring collage of Ringo's snare, Paul's bass, Lennon's voice, and Harrison's weeping guitar that demonstrates the delicate art of sample-based production. Some songs are immediately recognizable as looped samples, while DM rearranges some songs to an almost indecipherable effect.
"It was basically just an experiment for me, like an art project," DM said. "I'm actually surprised people like it because I really just did it for me. It was a test, like 'For this song I have two loops and that's it, so let's see what I can do with that.'"
On "What More Can I Say," when Jay-Z's first verse drops on top of a slowed down guitar riff from "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," the collaboration at first catches the listener off guard. Fortunately, the quality of Danger Mouse's production eclipses the gimmick that initially piques listener's interest.
Many will listen to the album simply for the concept's novelty value, but this is no generic mash-up. On "Dirt Off Your Shoulder," DM takes "Julia," speeds it up, slices it in half and throws some meat on the beat until it's an entirely new song.
As Nick Hornby writes in Songbook, to accuse an artist like Danger Mouse of plagiarism is ridiculous: "You may as well make the same case against a writer whose book contain words that other writers have used before."
Unfortunately, copyright law does not agree. Sampling has been a rich man's game ever since Biz Markie was sued for sampling in 1991. The judge ruled that the Biz had violated "not only the Seventh Commandment, but also the copyright laws of this country."
Danger Mouse knew there was an insurmountable sample clearance issue that prevented him from releasing the album commercially and instead made the album available to friends and fans on underground hip-hop sites on the Internet. Recently, the album has even disappeared from these non-traditional venues.
Danger Mouse suggests, "Go find it on the Internet and make copies for your friends. I knew I was never going to make money off this, that wasn't why I did it."
On "Encore," DM's production reaches its most impressive point, with a looped breakbeat from "Glass Onion." Halfway through the song, DM switches the beat to a short drum-based sample from 1:08 into "Savoy Truffle."
On some songs, such as "Moment of Clarity," Danger Mouse falters and fails to create an engaging beat from the scraps of "Happiness Is A Warm Gun." Similarly, The Beatles' "Cry Baby Cry" doesn't seems to be able to keep up with Jay-Z's double-time rhyme on "My 1st Song."
The Grey Album shows what Danger Mouse and sample-based production in general is capable of, if not for the financial limitation involved in clearing samples. Most likely this sort of art will continue to flourish in the underground, below the radar of record label lawyers but just perfect for true hip-hop fans.
By Canyon Cody
Published in The Heights
When John Lennon said, "Music is everybody's possession. It's only publishers who think that people own it," clearly he failed to anticipate underground hip-hop producer DJ Danger Mouse.
Danger Mouse (DM) has taken the anarchy of musical intellectual property to a new level by remixing Jay-Z's Black Album, using nothing but samples from the Beatles' White Album, creating an impressive and entertaining new remix, The Grey Album.
When Jay-Z released the a capella version of his entire Black Album on vinyl, he seemed to be offering his tacit approval for DJs remixing his vocals onto their own beats. In just a few months, no less than six major producers have offered their own versions of Jay-Z's final album.
The remix fad began with 9th Wonder, when he remixed Nas' God's Son, layering Nas' vocals on top of his own signature fluid, old school beats. The remix project earned the unknown producer so much buzz that when Jay-Z was gathering his all-star list of producers for The Black Album, he included 9th Wonder.
At first, Danger Mouse wasn't even going to do his own remix, since he knew that so many other DJ's would be doing the same. He was busy working on other projects, including the follow-up to his stellar debut album with emcee Jemini, Ghetto Pop Life.
Then, the idea of taking samples exclusively from the Beatles' White Album dawned on him. "I did it real quick," Danger Mouse told The Heights in an interview, "because I was afraid someone else was going to have the same idea." After just two weeks and over 200 hours of studio time, Danger Mouse released his remix.
The Grey Album is awe-inspiring collage of Ringo's snare, Paul's bass, Lennon's voice, and Harrison's weeping guitar that demonstrates the delicate art of sample-based production. Some songs are immediately recognizable as looped samples, while DM rearranges some songs to an almost indecipherable effect.
"It was basically just an experiment for me, like an art project," DM said. "I'm actually surprised people like it because I really just did it for me. It was a test, like 'For this song I have two loops and that's it, so let's see what I can do with that.'"
On "What More Can I Say," when Jay-Z's first verse drops on top of a slowed down guitar riff from "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," the collaboration at first catches the listener off guard. Fortunately, the quality of Danger Mouse's production eclipses the gimmick that initially piques listener's interest.
Many will listen to the album simply for the concept's novelty value, but this is no generic mash-up. On "Dirt Off Your Shoulder," DM takes "Julia," speeds it up, slices it in half and throws some meat on the beat until it's an entirely new song.
As Nick Hornby writes in Songbook, to accuse an artist like Danger Mouse of plagiarism is ridiculous: "You may as well make the same case against a writer whose book contain words that other writers have used before."
Unfortunately, copyright law does not agree. Sampling has been a rich man's game ever since Biz Markie was sued for sampling in 1991. The judge ruled that the Biz had violated "not only the Seventh Commandment, but also the copyright laws of this country."
Danger Mouse knew there was an insurmountable sample clearance issue that prevented him from releasing the album commercially and instead made the album available to friends and fans on underground hip-hop sites on the Internet. Recently, the album has even disappeared from these non-traditional venues.
Danger Mouse suggests, "Go find it on the Internet and make copies for your friends. I knew I was never going to make money off this, that wasn't why I did it."
On "Encore," DM's production reaches its most impressive point, with a looped breakbeat from "Glass Onion." Halfway through the song, DM switches the beat to a short drum-based sample from 1:08 into "Savoy Truffle."
On some songs, such as "Moment of Clarity," Danger Mouse falters and fails to create an engaging beat from the scraps of "Happiness Is A Warm Gun." Similarly, The Beatles' "Cry Baby Cry" doesn't seems to be able to keep up with Jay-Z's double-time rhyme on "My 1st Song."
The Grey Album shows what Danger Mouse and sample-based production in general is capable of, if not for the financial limitation involved in clearing samples. Most likely this sort of art will continue to flourish in the underground, below the radar of record label lawyers but just perfect for true hip-hop fans.
December 9, 2003
Keys Strikes Again
By Canyon Cody
Originally published in The Heights
When a British magazine recently asked Alicia Keys how her life had changed since her last album, she replied, "I'm definitely older." Fortunately, Keys proves herself more adept at songwriting than interviews on her impressive, soulful sophomore effort, The Diary of Alicia Keys.
Alicia Keys has quite a bit to live up to following her critically acclaimed debut, Songs in A Minor, which earned the 21-year-old singer more Grammys than she could carry. Not to be outdone by fellow mellow diva and reigning Grammy empress Norah Jones, Keys once again combines her amazing (though often self-referenced) talent as a classical pianist with her passionate voice and romantic lyrics to produce another beautiful album.
The first single on the album is the Kanye West-produced "You Don't Know My Name," which samples the Main Ingredient track "Let Me Prove My Love To You." The song's lush Motown sound explores the moment before speaking to someone that attracts your attention. The song features Keys as a waitress interested in one of her customers, played in the video by (former) rapper Mos Def, who has apparently abandoned hip-hop altogether in deference to his thespian career.
Keys takes it back to 1971 for a remake of Gladys Knight and the Pips' "If I Were Your Woman" and Dionne Warwick's "Walk On By" for the creatively titled "If I Was Your Woman (Walk on By)." The song, along with "Samsonite Man" and "Diary," allow Keys' rolling piano to compliment her soaring voice, which she at times exaggerates until it borders ridiculously orgiastic levels.
Keys deviates from her usual romantic R&B ballads on "Wake Up," an unexpected criticism of the War on Terror. Two days after September 11, Keys told a reporter that she "saw lies" in the American flag, yet she posed for a magazine in front of a large flag three months later. "Wake Up" is sung from the perspective of a soldier's wife, pleading, "Bring my baby back home."
Timbaland brings more old school flavor to the album on "Heartburn," which sounds like a theme song to a 1970s blaxpoitation film. By working with more hip-hop producers, Keys' album lacks the consistency of her previous pure neo-soul album, yet she demonstrates greater versatility as an artist. She will hopefully never turn into just another R&B/hip-hop cross-over singer such as Ashanti or Mariah Carey, but her undeniable musical talent seems to indicate this will not occur in the near future.
So far, her collaborations with hip-hop artists have produced wonderful results, such as "Streets of New York." Unfortunately, the song, which is currently exploding on the mixtape circuit, was inexplicably left off the album at the last second, though it might be included as a bonus track on a reissue. The song samples the DJ Premier-produced hip hop classic "NY State Of Mind" from Nas' 1994 debut Illmatic and features new verses from Rakim and Nas.
Keys takes a few limited risks with her music and succeeds in producing another listenable album that, at times, borders on the beautiful. She better bring a backpack with her to the Grammys this year, and Norah better be practicing.
By Canyon Cody
Originally published in The Heights
When a British magazine recently asked Alicia Keys how her life had changed since her last album, she replied, "I'm definitely older." Fortunately, Keys proves herself more adept at songwriting than interviews on her impressive, soulful sophomore effort, The Diary of Alicia Keys.
Alicia Keys has quite a bit to live up to following her critically acclaimed debut, Songs in A Minor, which earned the 21-year-old singer more Grammys than she could carry. Not to be outdone by fellow mellow diva and reigning Grammy empress Norah Jones, Keys once again combines her amazing (though often self-referenced) talent as a classical pianist with her passionate voice and romantic lyrics to produce another beautiful album.
The first single on the album is the Kanye West-produced "You Don't Know My Name," which samples the Main Ingredient track "Let Me Prove My Love To You." The song's lush Motown sound explores the moment before speaking to someone that attracts your attention. The song features Keys as a waitress interested in one of her customers, played in the video by (former) rapper Mos Def, who has apparently abandoned hip-hop altogether in deference to his thespian career.
Keys takes it back to 1971 for a remake of Gladys Knight and the Pips' "If I Were Your Woman" and Dionne Warwick's "Walk On By" for the creatively titled "If I Was Your Woman (Walk on By)." The song, along with "Samsonite Man" and "Diary," allow Keys' rolling piano to compliment her soaring voice, which she at times exaggerates until it borders ridiculously orgiastic levels.
Keys deviates from her usual romantic R&B ballads on "Wake Up," an unexpected criticism of the War on Terror. Two days after September 11, Keys told a reporter that she "saw lies" in the American flag, yet she posed for a magazine in front of a large flag three months later. "Wake Up" is sung from the perspective of a soldier's wife, pleading, "Bring my baby back home."
Timbaland brings more old school flavor to the album on "Heartburn," which sounds like a theme song to a 1970s blaxpoitation film. By working with more hip-hop producers, Keys' album lacks the consistency of her previous pure neo-soul album, yet she demonstrates greater versatility as an artist. She will hopefully never turn into just another R&B/hip-hop cross-over singer such as Ashanti or Mariah Carey, but her undeniable musical talent seems to indicate this will not occur in the near future.
So far, her collaborations with hip-hop artists have produced wonderful results, such as "Streets of New York." Unfortunately, the song, which is currently exploding on the mixtape circuit, was inexplicably left off the album at the last second, though it might be included as a bonus track on a reissue. The song samples the DJ Premier-produced hip hop classic "NY State Of Mind" from Nas' 1994 debut Illmatic and features new verses from Rakim and Nas.
Keys takes a few limited risks with her music and succeeds in producing another listenable album that, at times, borders on the beautiful. She better bring a backpack with her to the Grammys this year, and Norah better be practicing.
Stone stumbles over top 500
By Canyon Cody
Originally published in The Heights
I would love to say that Rolling Stone's "500 Greatest Albums of All Time," featured in the current issue, reflects the extreme musical bias of the magazine and mainstream media in general. Yet, the sneaky editors managed to absolve themselves of any responsibility by assembling the list through the votes of musicians, producers, critics, and record executives. As a result, my only conclusion is that even musically knowledgeable individuals have bad taste. Rolling Stone admits, "If you don't like some of the choices, blame Britney." Spears was one of the voters.
Most disappointingly, the list offers very few surprises. Once again, it's obvious that by relying exclusively on popular opinion, one inevitably arrives at insipid results that do not offend nor inspire (does anyone remember the last presidential election?).
The Top 10 is dominated by four Beatles albums (including Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band at No. 1), which is very difficult to argue against, yet I still would have been impressed to see a bit more creativity. As expected, the Beatles top the list with 11 albums, followed by Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones. I was surprised and impressed to see Rolling Stone recognize The Clash at No. 8 with London Calling and The Velvet Underground's self-titled debut at No. 13.
Many of my gripes with the list are based on personal taste and nothing more than sarcastic comments from the peanut gallery: Led Zeppelin's self-titled debut deserves to be much higher than #29 and much, much higher than John Lennon's first solo album, Plastic Ono Band, which is overrated at #22. Modern music was ignored in general, yet U2 gets the credit they deserve with The Joshua Tree at #26 and Achtung Baby at #62. Nonetheless, the three additional U2 albums on the list are superfluous and take up space that could be otherwise put to better use.
Still, these are entirely subjective personal preferences over which I entertain discussion and remain conscious of the fact that the polled voters very possibly understand more about the history of music than I do. These are disagreements of nuance; whether The Doors' eponymous debut or Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon is the better album is entirely up for debate, with either side capable of making a passionate and compelling case.
Some issues, on the other hand, are not up for debate. There are some mistakes and omissions that are so glaringly apparent that I can fathom no explanation other than drug-induced confusion or internal corruption (based on the sketchy polling method of tabulating votes "according to a weighted point system developed by the accounting firm of Ernst & Young"). Here, Rolling Stone, you reveal your fundamental misunderstanding of the last century of music:
Bruce Springsteen: The Boss undeniably commands a passionate following of devoted fans, and his music speaks profoundly to everyone raised in the fine state of New Jersey. Nevertheless, most of America is not from the Garden State and as a result does not suffer from the delusion that Springsteen deserves to be compared to actual musical geniuses such as Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix. Like other musicians with inexplicable cult followings, such as KISS and Jimmy Buffett, Springsteen brings undeniable energy to his live sets in order to compensate for his equally undeniable lack of substance. From the cheesy love ballads of Tunnel of Love to the easy-to-sell patriotism of Born in the USA, the eight Springsteen albums on the list prove that much of the self-described "eclectic and stellar panel of experts" must have allowed their 16-year-old daughters to answer the poll instead of bothering to do it themselves.
Rolling Stone's single worst decision was to allow Greatest Hits CDs to be considered on the list as albums. An album is an artistic creation with a specific identity, which ideally should result in an experience greater than the sum of its songs, and it deserves to devoured in its original form. Greatest Hits compilations, such as Bob Marley's Legend (No. 46), are for lazy fans who lack the energy and passion to listen to true albums such as Marley's Catch a Fire (No. 123) and Natty Dread (No. 182). From Buddy Holly's 20 Golden Hits (No. 92) to Hank Williams' 40 Greatest Hits, "Best Of" compilations are conceived in the boardroom of the record label, not the bedroom of the musician.
I expected hip-hop to remain disrespected and underrepresented on this list, which of course, it was. Despite 25 years of vibrant hip-hop culture, it remains largely misunderstood by mainstream media (as evident in Bill O'Reilly's absurd condemnation of rappers, rather than poverty or poor education, for causing violence in inner cities). Public Enemy earns the top hip-hop ranking at No. 48 with its their groundbreaking diatribe against the racist power structure in America, It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back.
Hip-hop subsequently disappears from the list again until No. 120: Run-DMC's Raising Hell. It was Run-DMC's collaboration with rock superstars Aerosmith for "Walk This Way" that established hip-hop's mainstream influence. The confluence of rock and rap ushered a large white fan base into hip-hop, as demonstrated by the two Beastie Boys albums and all three Eminem albums on the list. It's tempting to attribute the apparent preference for white emcees as an indication of America's racism, yet it is truly despite their race, and not because of it, that Eminem and the Beastie Boys have proven themselves deserving of their recognition.
And yet, the most deserving rapper in the history of hip-hop, recognized among his peers as one of the greatest of all time and respected as both a poet and revolutionary figure comparable to John Lennon, remains unrecognized. The absence of Tupac Shakur is not only conspicuous but bewildering. Both All Eyez on Me and Me Against the World deserve to replace any of the following insipid albums that inexplicable made the list:
No Doubt - No. 316 Rock Steady. Why would this made-for-TRL album rank higher than Tragic Kingdom? And why would No Doubt make the list instead of Sublime? Because Gwen is hot.
Madonna - No. 363 Ray of Light and No. 452 Music. At 40 years old, the Material Girl has better abs and a worse voice than she did at 20.
TLC - No. 377 CrazySexyCool. Just because "Waterfalls" will forever retain a place in your heart because it was playing at your favorite dance in junior high, it does not mean that TLC deserves to be anywhere near this list.
Red Hot Chili Peppers - No. 399 Californication. The band with the funkiest bassist in town gets dressed, sells out, and plays a few poppy radio hits for MTV.
By Canyon Cody
Originally published in The Heights
I would love to say that Rolling Stone's "500 Greatest Albums of All Time," featured in the current issue, reflects the extreme musical bias of the magazine and mainstream media in general. Yet, the sneaky editors managed to absolve themselves of any responsibility by assembling the list through the votes of musicians, producers, critics, and record executives. As a result, my only conclusion is that even musically knowledgeable individuals have bad taste. Rolling Stone admits, "If you don't like some of the choices, blame Britney." Spears was one of the voters.
Most disappointingly, the list offers very few surprises. Once again, it's obvious that by relying exclusively on popular opinion, one inevitably arrives at insipid results that do not offend nor inspire (does anyone remember the last presidential election?).
The Top 10 is dominated by four Beatles albums (including Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band at No. 1), which is very difficult to argue against, yet I still would have been impressed to see a bit more creativity. As expected, the Beatles top the list with 11 albums, followed by Bob Dylan and the Rolling Stones. I was surprised and impressed to see Rolling Stone recognize The Clash at No. 8 with London Calling and The Velvet Underground's self-titled debut at No. 13.
Many of my gripes with the list are based on personal taste and nothing more than sarcastic comments from the peanut gallery: Led Zeppelin's self-titled debut deserves to be much higher than #29 and much, much higher than John Lennon's first solo album, Plastic Ono Band, which is overrated at #22. Modern music was ignored in general, yet U2 gets the credit they deserve with The Joshua Tree at #26 and Achtung Baby at #62. Nonetheless, the three additional U2 albums on the list are superfluous and take up space that could be otherwise put to better use.
Still, these are entirely subjective personal preferences over which I entertain discussion and remain conscious of the fact that the polled voters very possibly understand more about the history of music than I do. These are disagreements of nuance; whether The Doors' eponymous debut or Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon is the better album is entirely up for debate, with either side capable of making a passionate and compelling case.
Some issues, on the other hand, are not up for debate. There are some mistakes and omissions that are so glaringly apparent that I can fathom no explanation other than drug-induced confusion or internal corruption (based on the sketchy polling method of tabulating votes "according to a weighted point system developed by the accounting firm of Ernst & Young"). Here, Rolling Stone, you reveal your fundamental misunderstanding of the last century of music:
Bruce Springsteen: The Boss undeniably commands a passionate following of devoted fans, and his music speaks profoundly to everyone raised in the fine state of New Jersey. Nevertheless, most of America is not from the Garden State and as a result does not suffer from the delusion that Springsteen deserves to be compared to actual musical geniuses such as Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix. Like other musicians with inexplicable cult followings, such as KISS and Jimmy Buffett, Springsteen brings undeniable energy to his live sets in order to compensate for his equally undeniable lack of substance. From the cheesy love ballads of Tunnel of Love to the easy-to-sell patriotism of Born in the USA, the eight Springsteen albums on the list prove that much of the self-described "eclectic and stellar panel of experts" must have allowed their 16-year-old daughters to answer the poll instead of bothering to do it themselves.
Rolling Stone's single worst decision was to allow Greatest Hits CDs to be considered on the list as albums. An album is an artistic creation with a specific identity, which ideally should result in an experience greater than the sum of its songs, and it deserves to devoured in its original form. Greatest Hits compilations, such as Bob Marley's Legend (No. 46), are for lazy fans who lack the energy and passion to listen to true albums such as Marley's Catch a Fire (No. 123) and Natty Dread (No. 182). From Buddy Holly's 20 Golden Hits (No. 92) to Hank Williams' 40 Greatest Hits, "Best Of" compilations are conceived in the boardroom of the record label, not the bedroom of the musician.
I expected hip-hop to remain disrespected and underrepresented on this list, which of course, it was. Despite 25 years of vibrant hip-hop culture, it remains largely misunderstood by mainstream media (as evident in Bill O'Reilly's absurd condemnation of rappers, rather than poverty or poor education, for causing violence in inner cities). Public Enemy earns the top hip-hop ranking at No. 48 with its their groundbreaking diatribe against the racist power structure in America, It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back.
Hip-hop subsequently disappears from the list again until No. 120: Run-DMC's Raising Hell. It was Run-DMC's collaboration with rock superstars Aerosmith for "Walk This Way" that established hip-hop's mainstream influence. The confluence of rock and rap ushered a large white fan base into hip-hop, as demonstrated by the two Beastie Boys albums and all three Eminem albums on the list. It's tempting to attribute the apparent preference for white emcees as an indication of America's racism, yet it is truly despite their race, and not because of it, that Eminem and the Beastie Boys have proven themselves deserving of their recognition.
And yet, the most deserving rapper in the history of hip-hop, recognized among his peers as one of the greatest of all time and respected as both a poet and revolutionary figure comparable to John Lennon, remains unrecognized. The absence of Tupac Shakur is not only conspicuous but bewildering. Both All Eyez on Me and Me Against the World deserve to replace any of the following insipid albums that inexplicable made the list:
No Doubt - No. 316 Rock Steady. Why would this made-for-TRL album rank higher than Tragic Kingdom? And why would No Doubt make the list instead of Sublime? Because Gwen is hot.
Madonna - No. 363 Ray of Light and No. 452 Music. At 40 years old, the Material Girl has better abs and a worse voice than she did at 20.
TLC - No. 377 CrazySexyCool. Just because "Waterfalls" will forever retain a place in your heart because it was playing at your favorite dance in junior high, it does not mean that TLC deserves to be anywhere near this list.
Red Hot Chili Peppers - No. 399 Californication. The band with the funkiest bassist in town gets dressed, sells out, and plays a few poppy radio hits for MTV.
October 21, 2003
Ludacris serves soggy Chicken, warm Beer
By Canyon Cody
Originally published in The Heights
Ludacris is known to get freaky from time to time with his lady friends, drink inordinate amounts of expensive alcohol, and even partake in some smoking of marijuana, but he has never allowed his rapper lifestyle to distract him from his true priorities, which he explains on "Hip Hop Quotables" from his new album: "It's the chicken and the beer that makes Luda keep rappin'." In homage to the loves of his life, Ludacris has named the new album Chicken and Beer, which says quite a bit about the quality of his new effort.
On his first two albums, Ludacris remained faithful to a simple, though thoroughly enjoyable, recipe of party songs with surprisingly witty and often hilarious lyrics. His music was never inspiring, but it bounced with enough frivolity that it convinced the listener to just enjoy it. Music does not always need to be a dissertation on contemporary social conditions or a profound musing of artistic expression. Luda is about simple fun and he admirably doesn't pretend to be anything else. Sure, chicken can cause heart disease and beer is full of empty calories, but they are oh-so-good. Unfortunately, the musical production on this project is so poor that listening to it is like eating soggy fried chicken with bitter, cheap beer.
The first problem is that Ludacris chose too many producers to work with, and as a result, the album lacks any semblance of cohesion. Kanye West, DJ Nasty, and Medicine Men all share producing responsibility, and the collage of each artist's unique sound creates a choppy effect. Unfortunately, Ludacris' album not only lacks a consistent vibe, it's an assortment of songs that have nothing in common other than the fact that they are really bad. Lots of hip-hop albums suffer from musical schizophrenia as a result of rappers' apparent lack of interest in creating full albums instead of mixtape compilations of hit singles. At least those albums have some good songs, even if they lack a soul. Ludacris has gotten away with his musical immaturity in the past partly because it was oddly endearing, but mostly because his songs were undeniably hot. Like beer left out of the fridge, Ludacris' music doesn't taste as good as it did.
Following Pepsi's decision to terminate Ludacris' endorsement contract, Fox News commentator Bill O'Reilly voiced his opinion of support, arguing that a rapper such as Ludacris is an inappropriate role model for young kids. Instead, Pepsi hired the Osbournes, without any resulting criticism from O'Reilly. Ludacris and many others were infuriated about the apparent double standard and called Pepsi's decision hypocritical and O'Reilly a racist. Some of the more eloquent/serious members of the hip-hop community (such as Russell Simmons) came onto the O'Reilly Factor to defend Ludacris' lyrics as a legitimate form of self-expression and also to attack O'Reilly's prejudice against black musicians.
On the album, Ludacris throws in his two cents, clearly unbothered with his own immaturity, by calling O'Reilly some unsavory names. O'Reilly proves entirely ignorant of hip hop every time he opens his mouth on the subject, and it's unfortunate that Ludacris is vindicating O'Reilly's narrow-minded position by embracing negative stereotypes. Nevertheless, Ludacris' job isn't to justify hip-hop to the world, but he needs to make good albums. If this album was as good as his last one, no one would be complaining.
By Canyon Cody
Originally published in The Heights
Ludacris is known to get freaky from time to time with his lady friends, drink inordinate amounts of expensive alcohol, and even partake in some smoking of marijuana, but he has never allowed his rapper lifestyle to distract him from his true priorities, which he explains on "Hip Hop Quotables" from his new album: "It's the chicken and the beer that makes Luda keep rappin'." In homage to the loves of his life, Ludacris has named the new album Chicken and Beer, which says quite a bit about the quality of his new effort.
On his first two albums, Ludacris remained faithful to a simple, though thoroughly enjoyable, recipe of party songs with surprisingly witty and often hilarious lyrics. His music was never inspiring, but it bounced with enough frivolity that it convinced the listener to just enjoy it. Music does not always need to be a dissertation on contemporary social conditions or a profound musing of artistic expression. Luda is about simple fun and he admirably doesn't pretend to be anything else. Sure, chicken can cause heart disease and beer is full of empty calories, but they are oh-so-good. Unfortunately, the musical production on this project is so poor that listening to it is like eating soggy fried chicken with bitter, cheap beer.
The first problem is that Ludacris chose too many producers to work with, and as a result, the album lacks any semblance of cohesion. Kanye West, DJ Nasty, and Medicine Men all share producing responsibility, and the collage of each artist's unique sound creates a choppy effect. Unfortunately, Ludacris' album not only lacks a consistent vibe, it's an assortment of songs that have nothing in common other than the fact that they are really bad. Lots of hip-hop albums suffer from musical schizophrenia as a result of rappers' apparent lack of interest in creating full albums instead of mixtape compilations of hit singles. At least those albums have some good songs, even if they lack a soul. Ludacris has gotten away with his musical immaturity in the past partly because it was oddly endearing, but mostly because his songs were undeniably hot. Like beer left out of the fridge, Ludacris' music doesn't taste as good as it did.
Following Pepsi's decision to terminate Ludacris' endorsement contract, Fox News commentator Bill O'Reilly voiced his opinion of support, arguing that a rapper such as Ludacris is an inappropriate role model for young kids. Instead, Pepsi hired the Osbournes, without any resulting criticism from O'Reilly. Ludacris and many others were infuriated about the apparent double standard and called Pepsi's decision hypocritical and O'Reilly a racist. Some of the more eloquent/serious members of the hip-hop community (such as Russell Simmons) came onto the O'Reilly Factor to defend Ludacris' lyrics as a legitimate form of self-expression and also to attack O'Reilly's prejudice against black musicians.
On the album, Ludacris throws in his two cents, clearly unbothered with his own immaturity, by calling O'Reilly some unsavory names. O'Reilly proves entirely ignorant of hip hop every time he opens his mouth on the subject, and it's unfortunate that Ludacris is vindicating O'Reilly's narrow-minded position by embracing negative stereotypes. Nevertheless, Ludacris' job isn't to justify hip-hop to the world, but he needs to make good albums. If this album was as good as his last one, no one would be complaining.
September 23, 2003
OutKast divides and conquers on new album
By Canyon Cody
Originally published in The Heights
After three years of studio experimentation, one of the world's most-anticipated album quickly became one of the world's most difficult to grasp. Overflowing with groundbreaking music, the double album could not entirely hold itself together and nearly burst at its seams. Divergent artistic visions and individual aspirations were pulling the band apart, and the resulting music, hitherto augmented by the juxtaposition of different styles, could now no longer survive the tension.
The year is 1968 and the album is the Beatles' White Album, yet the story might as well refer to OutKast and its new release Speakerboxxx / The Love Below. Coming off the overwhelming success of 2000's Stankonia, which sent critics fleeing to their thesauruses to find more hyperbolic ways to express admiration, the Atlanta duo ran into difficulty producing their follow-up. What do you do when everyone is expecting the unexpected?
The interaction between OutKast members Big Boi and Andre 3000 has always distinguished the group by exploiting their unique skills and creating something greater than the sum of their parts. Dre, the quixotic Gemini, propelled them into the funkiest layers of the stratosphere, while Big Boi, the gritty Aquarius, kept their feet firmly planted in the hood.
The apparent contradiction finally revealed itself as unsustainable when OutKast confirmed rumors that they were working on solo efforts to be packed as a double album. Rumors fluttered about that Andre instigated the separation and that he was tired of being limited by rapping and wanted to pursue other genres of music.
"OutKast, cell therapy, to cell division/ We just split it down the middle so you see both the visions," promises Big Boi. The two albums offer each artist the opportunity to explore his own personal agenda and result in two diametrically different sounds. As expected, Big Boi's half, Speakerboxxx, embraces the deep-fried, Deep South sound of classic OutKast. The album deserves praise for its consistent strength and would be considered progressive if it hadn't been packaged in the same case as Andre 3000's The Love Below.
Andre eschews rapping altogether and prefers to croon his way through an 80-minute meditation on the nature of love and relationships. The infectious joie de vivre with which he sings justifies his imperfect falsetto (though still superior to Pharrell Williams' high-pitched whine), yet his lyrical abilities are so impressive that it's truly a shame to lose such a great emcee.
But this album isn't about hip-hop; it's about mesmerizing music without boundaries. It's full of dizzying, incandescent explosions of brilliance that lead the enthralled listener in every unexpected direction. At times Dre seems over-ambitious and distracted by what amounts to musical masturbation, such as his obnoxious techno cover of "My Favorite Things." Andre flutters without hesitation from each of his creative impulses, apparently apathetic to the listener.
In one of the least likely and most successful collaboration in recent music, Andre and Norah Jones come together for a beautiful, simple duet in which Jones sings, "Baby, take off your cool/ I want to get to know you." Perhaps Dre should heed her advice and abandon his "too cool for rap" attitude so that OutKast can reachieve its yin-yang balance.
By Canyon Cody
Originally published in The Heights
After three years of studio experimentation, one of the world's most-anticipated album quickly became one of the world's most difficult to grasp. Overflowing with groundbreaking music, the double album could not entirely hold itself together and nearly burst at its seams. Divergent artistic visions and individual aspirations were pulling the band apart, and the resulting music, hitherto augmented by the juxtaposition of different styles, could now no longer survive the tension.
The year is 1968 and the album is the Beatles' White Album, yet the story might as well refer to OutKast and its new release Speakerboxxx / The Love Below. Coming off the overwhelming success of 2000's Stankonia, which sent critics fleeing to their thesauruses to find more hyperbolic ways to express admiration, the Atlanta duo ran into difficulty producing their follow-up. What do you do when everyone is expecting the unexpected?
The interaction between OutKast members Big Boi and Andre 3000 has always distinguished the group by exploiting their unique skills and creating something greater than the sum of their parts. Dre, the quixotic Gemini, propelled them into the funkiest layers of the stratosphere, while Big Boi, the gritty Aquarius, kept their feet firmly planted in the hood.
The apparent contradiction finally revealed itself as unsustainable when OutKast confirmed rumors that they were working on solo efforts to be packed as a double album. Rumors fluttered about that Andre instigated the separation and that he was tired of being limited by rapping and wanted to pursue other genres of music.
"OutKast, cell therapy, to cell division/ We just split it down the middle so you see both the visions," promises Big Boi. The two albums offer each artist the opportunity to explore his own personal agenda and result in two diametrically different sounds. As expected, Big Boi's half, Speakerboxxx, embraces the deep-fried, Deep South sound of classic OutKast. The album deserves praise for its consistent strength and would be considered progressive if it hadn't been packaged in the same case as Andre 3000's The Love Below.
Andre eschews rapping altogether and prefers to croon his way through an 80-minute meditation on the nature of love and relationships. The infectious joie de vivre with which he sings justifies his imperfect falsetto (though still superior to Pharrell Williams' high-pitched whine), yet his lyrical abilities are so impressive that it's truly a shame to lose such a great emcee.
But this album isn't about hip-hop; it's about mesmerizing music without boundaries. It's full of dizzying, incandescent explosions of brilliance that lead the enthralled listener in every unexpected direction. At times Dre seems over-ambitious and distracted by what amounts to musical masturbation, such as his obnoxious techno cover of "My Favorite Things." Andre flutters without hesitation from each of his creative impulses, apparently apathetic to the listener.
In one of the least likely and most successful collaboration in recent music, Andre and Norah Jones come together for a beautiful, simple duet in which Jones sings, "Baby, take off your cool/ I want to get to know you." Perhaps Dre should heed her advice and abandon his "too cool for rap" attitude so that OutKast can reachieve its yin-yang balance.
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