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Written by B. David Zarley
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One third of bleeding edge harlequins Das Racist, Kool A.D. may have taken the joke a little too far on The Palm Wine Drinkard, the first of a trio of promised solo efforts from the group. The tape, which takes its name from Amos Tutuola's deeply twisted, fantastical tales of African folklore amid modern trappings, Drinkard is at once strange, stimulating and insulting. Mainly a collection of instrumentals, beats and chants, there is little rapping to be found and practically none of the rapier wit that has become Das Racist's calling card.
Kool wastes no time in not giving us what we want on the eponymous opening track, as the listener is instantly challenged by a long instrumental. A drum roll gives way to a porno thump and smattering of horn highlights, the familiar notes of "Taps" and "The Star Spangled Banner" delicately laced amongst the notes while we listen helplessly for a word. "Lagrimas Blancas" provides some of those words, albeit in the repetitive style the group showcased on "Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell." A deceptively deep beat, powered by large tones, serves as the backdrop for Kool's improved setting. Far from the fast food trappings he frequented before, his revolving hook now assures us he is in the swimming pool in Barcelona, perhaps explaining his vacation from rapping.
"A Ganglion of Lightnings" and "Girls and Women" are perhaps the best cuts on Drinkard. Somnambulistic R&B in the vein of Frank Ocean, sweet nothings sing over a driving beat and thick, powdery soundscape on "A Ganglion of Lightnings." Electricity ebbs and flows, meandering beneath the airy vocals; hints of charge and glow shimmer and faint like heat lightning. "Girls and Women" is slow noise, like Cocaine 80's on ketamine, locked in the studio with nothing but synthesizers and drum machines. Softly blooming chords spring from the molasses four-to-the-floor ground while A.D. ruminates on the necessity of love and the difference between the titular subjects. His revelation is not groundbreaking, but does resonate; "girls don't think enough, women think too much."
The winking, self-aggrandizing suicide that Das Racist is known for finally shows up on "Fun." A five minute fever dream of wild sounds and the delightful world of stupid dance music, the fourth wall breaking lyrics are similar in content and style to "Brand New Dance", while slightly less heavy handed and quite more non sequitur. After the usual slings and arrows about brand new dances and the purposely limp lines imploring one to try them, the beat breaks down into silence. One by one, the elements of the song are called back into play like a Pokemon master throwing forth one of his adorably menacing charges for battle. "Bass! Drums! Other shit! Clap!" Kool cries, summoning the sounds like a dime store wizard in a newspaper hat.
The Palm Wine Drinkard's other tracks provide far less whimsy and intrigue than the highlights. "Titties Out" is nothing more than a syrup slurred sex/dance anthem that, while possibly a joke, is so banal and sophomoric that it borders on moronic and simply falls flat. "Booty In The Air" is a acerbic, grating song in the same vein, this time dedicated to the back side as opposed to the front. That it appears in a far better form on Relax is particularly biting.
"Flying Thru The Air Inna Airplane" is another stream of consciousness recollection of moments seemingly as they happen, this time utilizing pitch skewed voices to recount an uninteresting tale of TV, drinks, hotel rooms and aircraft. A jagged, free flowing saxophone solo awaits on "Antenna Man's Theme," a track which takes much from the tape while selfishly providing nothing in return; it is almost a dare to listen to the piece in its entirety.
A final flash of that vicious burlesque vision can be found on "You Can Sell Anything." A 90's dance track complete with pulsing organs and synth claps serves as the backdrop to the line "you can sell anything" and ludicrous yelps. Deftly proving its point, by the end of the track I was convinced that this sound was the next one to be revived, the new dance sound after Jessica 6 and Hercules and Love Affair's nu-disco efforts are abandoned by the molly addled minds that populate the dance floors that decide such things.
Highlights aside, one would not be wrong to expect more from Das Racist, and Kool A.D. in particular. While the punchline is still potent and the praise will undoubtedly return, here it has gone too far; here it has been pushed and pulled and dissolved into a sticky, un-even mess.
Prime Cuts: "Ganglion of Lightnings", "Girls and Women", "You Can Sell Anything"
The Palm Wine Drinkard receives a PA
Rating:
P…Horrible
PA…Tolerable
PAR…Good
PARL…Kinda Great
PARLÉ… Classic
Also Check Out:
 One third of bleeding edge harlequins Das Racist, Kool A.D. may have taken the joke a little too far on The Palm Wine Drinkard, the first of a trio of promised solo efforts from the group. The tape, which takes its name from Amos Tutuola's deeply twisted, fantastical tales of African folklore amid modern trappings, Drinkard is at once strange, stimulating and insulting. Mainly a collection of instrumentals, beats and chants, there is little rapping to be found and practically none of the rapier wit that has become Das Racist's calling card.
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Written by Kyle Jarmon
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From "What I Do" to "F.A.M.E.", Young Jeezy's TM103: Hustlerz Ambition is composed of anthems that bang hard through the speakers and is bound to keep Jeezy a known commodity in the rap game for some time. It is difficult not to nod your head to Jeezy's songs that combine his trademark laughter and 'damn' catchphrase. The opener "Waiting," is about the blood and sweat he put into the project and the lessons learned along the way. "OJ," enlightens the listener on the prolific lifestyle that comes with being in entertainment and features Fabolous and Jadakiss.
Despite having brought the stories of the streets to the music before, the Atlanta based rapper is rooted in making the listener follow a neverending epic about the apropos "Snowman" himself. "All We Do," tones down the brash technicalities that exhibit themselves on TM103, gliding by as a banger on smoke and sex; whereas "Trapped," features Jill Scott, is harsh in its tone and detailed authenticity pacing itself as a reflection on wanting to move forward yet being engulfed in a web of immobility. "I Do," is styled towards finding the right one through as series of verses provided by Jeezy, Jay-Z and Andre 3000.
TM103: Hustlerz Ambition's main objective is to lament and elicit sympathy while creating a frenzied manifesto through moving and boastful snapshots from the trap rapper. "Higher Learning," is brewed in a chronic puffing chorus "I need some weed/somebody call the weed man/I'm tryin to get high," and a laid back spliff vibe with multiple guest stars including Snoop Dogg and Devin The Dude. The shameless ".38," is intent on firing a hardcore bullet about the crude ups and downs of what it takes to be a hustler.
3 years in the making, TM103: Hustlerz Ambition was initially delayed; yet the despite the setbacks does not take away from the hood mindset of an individual who draws from his quoted "empty" childhood and the experiences he's had since then.
TM103: Hustlerz Ambition receives a PARLÉ
Rating:
P…Horrible
PA…Tolerable
PAR…Good
PARL…Kinda Great
PARLÉ… Classic
Also Check Out:
From "What I Do" to "F.A.M.E.", Young Jeezy's TM103: Hustlerz Ambition is composed of anthems that bang hard through the speakers and is bound to keep Jeezy as a known commodity in the rap game for some time. It is difficult not to nod your head to Jeezy's songs that combine his trademark laughter and 'damn' catchphrase. The opener "Waiting," is about the blood and sweat he put into the project and the lessons learned along the way. "OJ," enlightens the listener on the prolific lifestyle that comes with being in entertainment and features Fabolous and Jadakiss.
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Written by Administrator
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The first high profile collaboration between a mainstream rapper and a member of the New Guard, Gucci Mane and V-Nasty's BAYTL bears the scars that one would expect from such a crude early graft. Large centipede gashes are practically visible when Gucci's satin is forcibly stitched to Nasty's rough denim. While Gucci was a fine choice to make this leap--can you think of any other rapper not associated specifically with the scene who embraces oddity and his own sound more than La Flare?--choosing White Girl Mob's little spitfire over the more celebrated Kreayshawn was like picking Flavor Flav instead of Chuck D.
Whereas Kreayshawn is all style and curiosity piquing strangeness, a saccharine harpy dripping charm and sex appeal, V-Nasty is abrasive and loud. Her straight forward delivery never changes; a high pitched, hard-charging kitten with an AK who is far more earnest in her gang appeal and desire to act hard, and far less so for it. Her choppy lines seem especially so compared to the always effortless Gucci, a dichotomy that threatens to break BAYTL rather than providing interest. A suicidal need to stuff one word too many into a bar frequently brings whatever momentum she can muster to a screeching halt. Nasty is a little off beat--sometimes literally--but provides a fine hook; unfortunately for her, Gucci Mane is already the undisputed King in that category.
This matching up of strength on strength, paired with Gucci's eternally desirable ability to flow like promethazine codeine, leaves BAYTL feeling like a Gucci Mane album at best, broken at worst and an attention grab most all the time. Not to say that it is not a somewhat endearing grab.
For his part, Mane is as smooth as ever, a slithering rasp that alternates from bouncing playfully on a track to oozing between the beats. Always more lyrically inclined than he seems, Gucci's strange word play and intriguingly picked rhymes ("Canada" with "tarantula") remain his trademark. BAYTL plays to it's bigger names strengths, with production heavy on scattered snapping snares and hollow bass supported by slightly menacing synth lines for a trap-lite feel. A slight dip into the Bay's hyphy sound adds some flavor, particularly on "Loaded" and "Sick Swag."
The album smartly introduces Nasty on a hook, allowing her to give the listener a first taste as soon as "Whip Appeal" opens. The album hits its stride with "Let's Get Faded." Gucci's disjointed rap seems shaken into pieces by the cut's deep wet thump and molasses melodies, while Nasty lays down her best verse of the album.
"Push Ups" glossy, lustrous feel combines with an infectious chorus and a syrupy showing from Slim Dunkin to make a stand out track. Tha Bizness' exotic bang carries "Out My Circle." An ode to all things purple, this well paced short song seems most poised for radio play and shows us a glimpse into what BAYTL could have been. "Millions Every Month," is the climax, a monstrously smooth cut with a luxuriously heavy sound, like stomping holes in the street while wearing Fendi pumps.
Make no mistake about it, this is Gucci's album, and V-Nasty is along for the ride. While some will be inequitably turned off by her presence, La Flare's fine efforts keep BAYTL above water. Neither rapper has much of anything intelligent to say, but one would be hard pressed to hear anyone say less more entertainingly than the indomitable Mane.
Prime Cuts: "Let's Get Faded", "Push Ups", "Out My Circle", "Millions Every Month"
BAYTL receives a PAR
The first high profile collaboration between a mainstream rapper and a member of the New Guard, Gucci Mane and V-Nasty's BAYTL bears the scars that one would expect from such a crude early graft. Large centipede gashes are practically visible when Gucci's satin is forcibly stitched to Nasty's rough denim. While Gucci was a fine choice to make this leap--can you think of any other rapper not associated specifically with the scene who embraces oddity and his own sound more than La Flare?--choosing White Girl Mob's little spitfire over the more celebrated Kreayshawn was like picking Flavor Flav instead of Chuck D.
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Written by B. David Zarley
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Having owned a floppy toque or two, being a graduate of a school less than an hour away from the Peace Bridge and the shining lands of the Great White North, and unabashedly listening to Wolf Parade alongside Lil Wayne, I have some perspective on the unique flavors Montreal adds to music. An island stronghold for forward thinking musicians, it comes as a shock then to hear Nation Ruckus; this is a sound that has taken a step back from the bleeding edge.
On it's face, Nation Ruckus is rap rock. The guitar heavy production on many of The Pre-Tape's cuts sounds like something left on Linkin Park's Hybrid Theory cutting room floor. The heavy handed and boisterous qualities that cause the genre's suicide inducing grate unfortunately rear their head here, although not without a glimmer of hope. Thankfully, not all is wrong with this Nation.
Emcee Milk-E Fresh is surprisingly talented and a sleeper find. A Canadian Peedi Crakk, Fresh's high, clear voice pierces like the moon on a cold night. His deft, sing-song flow is in the same vein as Emilio Rojas and Laws, a sound currently in vogue right now, along with the drizzly syrup Stream of Consciousness favored by the Odd Future crowd and the raspy weed smoke vocals utilized by Wiz Khalifa or Tyga. When he manages to unchain himself from the rock, Fresh soars, single handedly lifting The Pre-Tape out of mediocrity.
Fresh walks the line between a fine signifyer ("A lot of Milk-E is good for your health", "Like a porn star/I can never go soft") and a self conscious need to justify his position on the mic. This woe-is-me approach seems ridiculous in an age where comedic actors and white girls from Oakland are dominant figures in hip-hop; his talent needs no apologies. A fearless representative for Montreal, Fresh could make an impact quickly if he hooks up on the right track. A superb remix of J. Cole's "Work Out" shows just exactly what he can do when he's put on.
Nation Ruckus is at their best when Milk is flowing. "You Oughta Know" utilizes an excellent Billy Joel sample while dropping the power chords, and Fresh responds with fantastic bars. The soulful backing of "Better Man" tells an epic of a street story as honest and earnest as any ever told. The palpable emotion runs thick and glossy, with Mafe adding a mournful finishing touch.
The bombastic, jazzy drums of "Anthem" and the piano driven "Keep On" also ride a more traditional rap sound to surprising heights. If Nation Ruckus wants to take the next step, these songs are the key.
Rock heavy production dooms the rest of The Pre-Tape to lopsided, aggressive mediocrity. Opener "SOMTL" goes from Dr. Dre to Kid Rock to laughable, while "Beware" and "Say What!?" (always beware any song title containing a question mark and exclamation point next to each other; it screams "Fred Durst's ghost is here") too ride the six-string sound to a regrettable, fiery end. Despite Fresh's skill and some fine, old school hip-hop beats, as soon as that trite layer of crunching distortion comes in I instantly recoil; perhaps a knee jerk reaction from growing up white in the 90's.
Despite some strong cuts and a fine emcee,The Pre-Tape left me with little save bad flashbacks and a burning desire to hear Milk-E Fresh on far more tracks. He and Montreal deserve better, an avant-garde sound Nation Ruckus seems capable of reaching but falls short of here.
I have already lived through the halcyon days of rap rock. I refuse to go back.
Prime Cuts: "You Oughta Know", "Better Man", "Anthem"
The Pre-Tape receives a PA
Rating:
P…Horrible
PA…Tolerable
PAR…Good
PARL…Kinda Great
PARLÉ… Classic
Also Check Out:
Having owned a floppy toque or two, being a graduate of a school less than an hour away from the Peace Bridge and the shining lands of the Great White North, and unabashedly listening to Wolf Parade alongside Lil Wayne, I have some perspective on the unique flavors Montreal adds to music. An island stronghold for forward thinking musicians, it comes as a shock then to hear Nation Ruckus; this is a sound that has taken a step back from the bleeding edge.
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Spotlight Feature
Sometimes, it must fall upon the journalist to ensure that what they are hearing in an interview is clear enough that they can truthfully and accurately present their subject's words as quotations. This may require asking for an answer repeatedly, admitting you missed something that could have been important, or actively picking and choosing which quotes should be completely captured in a form of verbal triage. Other times, it may simply require asking the subject to slow down because your cell phone's speaker is woefully inadequate. Such was the case with Kirko Bangz, and regrettably, I did not follow the advice laid out above. The following is what I can transcribe from my conversation with the Houston hopeful, whose Drake on promethazine approach has been reverberating within the scene.
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