Album Review: Apostle of Hustle-National Anthem of Nowhere

Andrew Whiteman, lead guitarist of Broken Social Scene is a smart man. I don’t know this for a fact. For all I know, the guy could be the Ralph Wiggum of Toronto. But I do know that at the very least, Whiteman was very savvy to pick the stage name, Apostle of Hustle. Why? Because by becoming Apostle of Hustle, Whiteman is guaranteed to hit the prime target demographics of fans of both apostles and hustling. Meaning the evangelical crowd, coke-rap fans, and fans of hustling-minded basketball players like Kurt Rambis, Ben Wallace and Mark Madsen, all will buy The National Anthem of Nowhere. Good work, Whiteman.

This is round two for Whiteman, as he delivered a fine solo debut with 2004’s Folkloric Feel. But with National Anthem of Nowhere, he’s upped the ante, improving lyrically and musically to produce one of the early year’s best records. Jettisoning the gauzy shoegaze of Broken Social Scene, the Apostle of Hustle albums retain a down-to-earth, rootsy feel, with a pronounced Latin influence. National Anthem of Nowhere sees Whiteman fusing moody Spoon-like guitar pop Spoon with the Afro-Carribbean rhythms of his Cuban roots, sounding like a unique artist, sound fully-formed.

The ballad, “Fast Pony for Victor Jara” provides an ample showcase of the album’s sonic diversity, with Whiteman crooning in Spanish, rocking the smooth baritone of a well-traveled mariachi, strumming his tres guitar in an flamenco rhythms backed by subtle horns and clockwork drums, letting the song drift away in a slow tropical haze. “Rafaga” is similarly latin-influenced as Whiteman layers angular guitar licks atop a tango-worthy backbeat. Makes sense, considering the Spanish-language song is likely named after the famed and identically-named Argentine Cumbia band.

Kurt Rambis: The Original Apostle of Hustle

Like any truly exceptional album, National Anthem of Nowhere has that one moment that reels you in, as the album’s best song bubbles up from the background, wriggling its way to the forefront with feverish urgency. Here, its on song two, the title track that fills that air with a jangling maelstrom of needle-sharp reverb-soaked chords, itchy bass lines and brooding lyrics.

Whiteman declared that “‘National Anthem of Nowhere’ is for everyone who feels that they have no voice or can’t be heard. They hear this title and something stirs inside them. Then they hear this song and they feel that they “know” it. They meet strangers in nowhere places and will never forget those meetings. They wander out into the suburban, in-between zones and there they are welcomed.”

It’s a fitting description of the song and the wayward imagery it carves into your head, reminiscent of another nowhere-minded track, Neil Young’s “Everybody Knows this is Nowhere.” The two songs might not reach the same heights, but in their own way, they both manage to convey a spirit of alienation and disorientation.

Rick Ross: A Far Inferior Apostle of Hustle

Chances are National Anthem of Nowhere won’t be a critical darling (though many blogs have rightfully given it the attention it deserves). It doesn’t overreach, it doesn’t take on pretensions and most importantly, it doesn’t have the name Broken Social Scene in front of it. But in many ways that’s part of its charm. In a year already marked by bigger names striving to make the most arena-ready music possible (Bloc Party, Arcade Fire) , Apostle of Hustle has come along and made a charming, deceptively complex record. If this is nowhere, you could’ve fooled me.

Rating: 8.5

Pre-Order National Anthem of Nowhere Here

See also Marathonpacks’ very fine write-up of the record.

Download:
MP3: Apostle of Hustle: “My Sword Hand’s Anger”
MP3: Apostle of Hustle: “National Anthem of Nowhere”

Bonus from Folkloric Feel
MP3: Apostle of Hustle: “Folkloric Feel”

Note to Readers: Something is wrong with my EZ Archive account, so the above files are being hosted by You Send It. Just left-click on them and they should work just fine. Hopefully, I will be back to EZ Archive by tomorrow. Thanks.

Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses | 4 Comments »

How 2 Live Crew is Responsible For Most Bad Southern Rap

So let’s just say hypothetically that you had a blog, a lazy Sunday to kill, a package from Sampson Simpson eying you longingly and the burning desire to reenact the Box’s video line-up from late 1992, where do you think you’d wind up? That’s right. You’d watch yourself a little Bell Biv DeVoe, you’d watch yourself a little Snow, you might even watch yourself a little Scatman. But if you wanted to be faithful to the content booming out of Miami that year, you’d most certainly be watching 2 Live Crew. Perhaps the epic love-ballad “Me So Horny” or “Pop That Coochie.” And ultimately, by the time the orgy of scantily clad video hos ended, you’d be certain of two things: that video ho’s got exponentially hotter sometime starting in 1997 and that 2 Live Crew are directly responsible for the majority of bad Southern hip-hop.

You see prior to 2 Live Crew’s entry in the rap world in the mid-1980s, rappers were expected to write coherent lyrics and be able to display fierce skills usually honed in MC battles and stage shows. Accordingly, the genre’s biggest names were guys like Run DMC, BDP and LL Cool J, with a couple of novelty types thrown into the mix like The Beasties and The Fat Boys. But the success of 2 Live Crew proved that by pandering to the lowest common denominator and continually trying to top themselves with more and more profane lyrics, rappers could ride their lack of skills all the way to the bank. Have nothing to say? Who cares? Talk about “poppin’ coochies” or how horny you are. Watch the public eat it up. (Gross imagery, unintended).

Granted, no one listens to groups like 2 Live Crew for the lyrics. No one ever has. No one ever will. But in the annals of rap history, few verses have ever been penned that you were more than inane from Fresh Kid Ice’s Second Verse from “Me So Horny.”

Worst Instance of False Advertising Since Stoner’s Pot Palace

“It’s true/you were a virgin until you met me/I was the first to make you hot and wetty-wetty/ You were your parents that we’re goin’ out/Never to the movies, just straight to my house/You said it yourself you like it like I do/Put Your your lips on my dick and suck my asshole too.”

Yes. He actually used the phrase “wetty, wetty.” And miraculously, it’s one of the better verses on the record, a work that included: “Put Her in the Buck,” “Dick Almighty,” “The Fuck Shop,” “If You Believe in Having Sex,” and weirdly enough, “Reggae Joint.” Of course, I’m aware it was supposed to be a joke. All in good fun. And you can’t deny that songs like “Pop That Coochie” and “Me So Horny” are catchy-as-all-hell. But putting issues of misogyny aside, there still ain’t nothing cool about a guy named Fresh Kid Ice bragging about how he likes rim jobs. Nothing. Besides, if I have to pick sides, I’m riding with Snoop and Dre in their beef against the Crew (see the Luke Skkywalker dart-board that was the “Dre Day” video.)

Ultimately, you kind of have to respect guys like 2 Live Crew. While, they certainly couldn’t rap and they were certainly far from being lyrical masterminds, the dudes invented a new type of schtick and found a way to capitalize on it. Can’t knock the hustle. But what you can knock is the talentless copy-cats that studied 2 Live Crew’s blueprint and managed to shamelessly and humorlessly imitate them. With 2 Live Crew proving exactly how viable misogynistic shock-rap could be, it opened the floodgates for no talent crunktards like L’il Jon, The Ying Yang Twinz, & Dem Franchise Boyz to sell millions of records predicated on their belief that they too could “beat that pussy up.” But the influence of 2 Live Crew hasn’t been merely relegated to Atlanta Crunk-rap and Miami booty bass, as last year Baltimore hipster icon Spank Rock rode 2 Live Crew’s formula to great success, essentially doing a note-for-note re-creation of As Nasty as I Wanna Be.

Thank You 2 Live Crew. For I Would Never Want to to Live in Ying Yang Twins-Less World.

All in all, 2 Live Crew weren’t completely bad. Their songs hold up as fun, if not ridiculous party records, In that vein, they serve their purpose. But it’s a little sad to think that as soon as studio executives picked up on 2 Live Crew’s formula, it was only a matter of time before they’d start trying to find their own Dem Franchise Boyz’, or Ying Yang Twinz, or L’il Jon’s., all inspired directly by the Crew. Maybe you disagree. Maybe you think the Ying Yang Twinz are brilliant auteurs eloquently illustrating life in the south (Though, if that’s the case, I would appreciate whatever it is that you’re smoking…seriously, call me) But either way, I think all of us can agree on one thing. “Pop That Coochie” is a truly excellent video.

Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought?, Best Of | 12 Comments »

Matisyahu and Aesop Rock: Long Lost Cousins?

So in my efforts to catalogue the finest white rappers of all-time, I stumbled across many many photos for each artist and in the process, I have become convinced that Aesop Rock and Matisyahu may in fact be long lost cousins. There are several reasons besides a vague but definite physical resemblance

1) Matisyahu has a gigantic bushy beard that makes him look like a billygoat. Aesop Rock has declared several times on wax that he has a “billygoat beard.”

2) Aesop Rock was born in New York state. Matisyahu was born in New York state.

3) Matisyahu is Jewish. Aesop Rock is from Long Island. Which is like basically the same thing.

4) Matisyahu used to like Phish and follow them around the country, hacky-sacking the nights away and taking acid. Aesop Rock writes songs about acid and has a very hippy hacky-sack loving fanbase.

5) Matisyahu is a white man performing reggae, a predominantly black art form. Aesop Rock is a white man performing hip-hop, a predominantly black art form.

6) Aesop Rock has a song called “Boom Box.” Matisyahu has a song called “Beat Box.”

7) Aesop Rock took his name from a fable. Matisyahu gets his entire identity from fables.

So you see it’s practically a lock. Well, except for the fact that Aesop Rock is dope and Matisyahu sucks. But c’mon…See the picture below. Beards just don’t get that bushy by accident.

Challah If You Hear Me!!

Download:
MP3: Matisyahu-”Beat Box”
MP3: Aesop Rock-”Boom Box”

Half-baked conspiracy theories about Aesop Rock and Matisyahu not doing it for you today? Then please check out these fine links, who I can guarantee do not traffic in such wild and ridiculous conspiracy-mongering (Probably).

About Rap lists his top 50 producers of all-time.

Angry Citizen sees the Clipse live.

Notes From a Different Kitchen Names His Favorite Singles From 06

Oh Word and Dallas Penn are the best tag team since Ax and Smash from Demolition. If you haven’t seen their videos from Sundance, you’re missing out.

Check out Very Little Known Facts. These dudes are very funny. And very weird. I respect that.

Aquarium Drunkard has Of Montreal doing a pretty awesome cover of Bowie’s “Moonage Daydream”

Dodge has some Elvis Perkins’ MP3s up. If you haven’t heard any Elvis yet, now’s a good time to start. His debut album comes out on XL on 2/20.

Tallyho.

Posted in Miscellany | 2 Comments »

Beards, Blazers & Glasses: The Genius/GZA

In the past year, as seemingly every blogger and music journalist rushed to anoint Ghostface the greatest thing since Jello Pudding Pops (myself, being particularly guilty), they’ve overlooked the fact he might not even be the most consistent rhymer in the Wu. Sure, in terms of sheer charisma and personality, Ghost arguably trumps any MC ever, but if you’re looking for technical mastery and scythe-sharp rhyming abilities, the Genius/GZA deserves consideration on any list of the 10 best to ever grace the mic, a fact that he proved with a dynamic performance at the Key Club on Wednesday night.

Often chided for his tendency to come off a bit dry and even clinical, live, the Genius commanded the stage, as he towered over the sold-out Key Club crowd delivering authoritative rhymes in the magnetic cadence of a holy-rolling evangelist. Backed by DJ Muggs on the turntables along with long-time Wu weed carriers, Prodigal Sunn, Dreddy Krueger and Killah Priest, (who at various junctures turned in impressive freestyles of their own,) The Genius turned in one of the finest hip-hop shows I’ve ever seen, dynamiting the crowd with a balance of supreme confidence, stone-cold lyrical ability and a spell-binding, commanding baritone.

The Genius’ undeniable mastery over the crowd was so clear it immediately brought to mind RZA’s in the Wu-Tang manual: “GZA has a naturally dominant vibe to him. He has an extra power in his presence. Rakim, Kool G Rap, Kane–I’ve listened to them since day one. I’ve met them and they’re exceptional MCs….But to my personal taste, none of them could touch the GZA. I knew it in my heart back before the Wu-Tang, and I strived to be like him, not like them. GZA’s the only one with a style that instilled fear in me.”

Coffee and Cigarettes (and Chronic…presumably)

Kicking off his set with his verse from Wu-Tang Forever’s “Reunited” the crowd got amped from moment one, its energy never flagging for a second. From there, the man formerly known as Gary Grice lit into the fierce strings and magazine name-drops of “Publicity,” followed by a bravado rendition of “Shadowboxin,” so energetic and charismatic you forgot about Method Man not being there to kick his verse. Loose and relaxed, the GZA had none of the wooden stultified gestures you might expect, as he bounced across the floorboards spitting his fluid satin-smooth flow, never missing a beat, wrapping his voice tightly around each word, spitting syllables like booming cannonballs.

Four solo albums deep (five, if you count Words from the Genius), The GZA’s catalogue doesn’t have as many classics as Ghostface, but there aren’t any Bulletproof Wallets in his discography. And certainly no “Tush” plays for radio time. Just raw gritty, no frills hip-hop. Beneath the Surface is rock solid, as is Grandmasters 2005’s collabo with Muggs. Meanwhile, the Legend of the Liquid Sword is flat-out great. As for the classic, 1995’s Liquid Swords, I consider it the finest hip-hop album ever made, full of claustrophobic menacing production, indelible battle-raps (”Your lyrics are weak like clock radio speakers”), and some of the finest guest appearances of all-time (”Ironman be sippin’ rum out of Stanley Cups,”).

Accordingly, the Genius’ set drew heavily off Liquid Swords, as he ran performed most of the album including favorites like “Cold World,” “Hell’s Wind Staff/Killah Hillz 10304,” “Duel of the Iron Mic” and of course, a Killah Priest-aided “4th Chamber.” From 1999’s Beneath the Surface, came “Beneath the Surface,” the aforementioned “Publicity,” and one the show’s highlights, an ODB-less rendition of “Crash Your Crew.” Dedicating it to his fallen Clansman, Genius sent the crowd into violent moshing mob scene, heads, arms and legs flying frantically. I honestly don’t think I’ve seen a hip-hop set get that rowdy since Lollapalooza 1994, when a bunch of yahoos tried to fracture a 13-year old Passion of the Weiss’ rib-cage during the Beastie Boys’ performance.

Slapping This Man’s Kufi is Highly Inadvisable

The set was short and sweet, just 50 minutes. Despite having Muggs spinning behind him, the GZA played nothing from Grandmasters and just two tracks from Legend of the Liquid Sword: “Fam (Members Only,” and another highlight, a fiery but smooth “Animal Planet.” In all, it felt refreshingly anachronistic. The rare lean hip-hop show not bloated by meaningless chatter, not wasted by innumerable weed carrier verses, no played out chants about “who really loves hip-hop,” or “what side of the crowd is loudest.” The elder statesman of the Wu at 40 years old, The Genius wields the energy and enthusiasm of dudes half his age, still seemingly thrilled at rocking sold out shows.

Indeed a palpable excitement loomed in the air, as the GZA periodically hyped the new Wu-Tang album on its way. With a performance that flexed his still awesome skills, the GZA proved that 15 years after first entered the game, he remains one of its most formidable MCs. Perhaps the last still relevant link to hip-hop’s late 70s break-dancing, DJ and graff roots, the Genius’ live show was Hip-Hop in its purest distillation. It was hip-hop at its best.

Also See Crock Tock’s Review

Download:
from Liquid Swords
MP3: Genius/GZA-”4th Chamber”

from Legend of the Liquid Sword
MP3: Genius/GZA-”Animal Planet”

from Grandmasters
MP3: Genius/GZA (ft. RZA and Raekwon)-”Advance Pawns”

Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses | 15 Comments »

Beards, Blazers & Glasses: The Broken West or Silverlake is the new Hollywood

Silverlake is trendy. This obvious thought rang through my head loud and clear on a windy Monday night as I stood in a line that snaked arond the block, outside of Spaceland, waiting to catch new Merge signees, The Broken West, in the midst of their monthlong January residency. And it wasn’t just the bone-chilling wait that caused this idea to pop into my head, but more the people I was standing with: dressed to the nines Hollywood club carpetbaggers slumming it on the Eastside to catch the new trendy “indie” band.

Don’t get me wrong. I know my two cents aren’t the stuff of ground-breaking revelation. Particularly after the likes of Spin Magazine and the LA Weekly have spilled thousands of words trying to explicate the who’s, the what’s and the why’s, to varying degrees of success. But make no mistake about it, standing in that god-forsaken line, observing the primped girls and the designer sport-coat clad guys with a delicate two day balance of facial scruff made me feel a little uneasy. As the scene that was set up to be the antithesis of the Hollywood scene has metamorphisized, infiltrated by the flow of Hollywod club kids oozing east. Rapidly. To the point of where getting into Spaceland on a Monday night seems to require almost as much of a commitment as bickering with some doorman goon outside of the latest Hollywood hotspot.

I’m not suggesting that the LAPD ease up on the community policing that has turned formerly gang-infested spots like Silverlake and Echo Park into a yindie Xanadu. Heaven knows how much the Silverlake Wine and Cheese Club crew would bitch about its impact on property values. But I wouldn’t be opposed to anyone putting the kibosh on the influx of luxury condos, apartments and boutique hotels that are popping up in the area like organic shitake mushrooms after a springtime rain. (A trend that reportedly began in Brentwood). Sure, laugh now, but I guarantee you every hipster worth his beard, blazers and glasses, will be up in arms two years from now when Silverlake Boulevard takes on the sanitized yuppified feel of West Hollywood.

If It Ain’t Broken (West) Don’t Fix It

The line relented and I made it into the packed club, dipping through the teeming crowd, finally finally standing in front of a twitching crowd of hipster males presumably uneasy with the encroaching scenesters prowling for hipster woman. (Like Puffy said, it’s about the leggings, baby….or was that Pat Benatar?). Either way, if you could deal with the fact that the show was as crowded as any Spaceland show I’ve ever been to, it was pretty easy to get sucked into the Broken West’s band of jangly pop.

In many ways the Broken West seem the New Pornographers-lite with Broken West front-man Ross Flournoy playing the role of A.C. Newman, pilfering Newman’s shiny power pop and big hooks with aplomb. Its certainly more than a little derivitive, but music is like screenwriting in that concept can take you a hell of a long way. Even at their most unoriginal. I’ll take a bunch of third-generation power-popsters crafting benign tuneful, soothing songs anyday, over a band of hairy hipsters citing Tom Waits, Captain Beefheart and Klezmer music as their primary influence.

The Broken West don’t make music for the critics. They make good ol’ fashioned thoughtless summer BBQ music that anyone can and probably will enjoy. Their Merge debut, I Can’t, I’ll Go On is a solid, unerringly pleasant record, worthy of the B that Ian Cohen gave them yesterday at Stylus. As usual, I co-sign his sentiments that led him to declare that “it’s not a perfect record, but it’s perfected, about as good as the debut from a band that traffics in this kind of music can be at this point.”

The Broken West: No Relation to Adam West, Jerry West or the West Indies

As for stage presence, the Broken West still have work to put in. No one moves on-stage and while they manage to replicate the albums good-natured vibes, they fail to expand beyond them. I wouldn’t put it past Flournoy to one day evolve into a charismatic front-man as he showed a nice sense of humor Monday night, but if he’s going to do so, he’d be much better served taking tips from guys like Stuart Murdoch rather than James Mercer of the Shins, lest they find themselves one day on a Zach Braff movie soundtrack and be forced to play in front of massive crowds they aren’t capable of handling.

But in the meantime, they remain a promising young band worth noticing. Obviously Merge Records agreed, inking them to a deal, making them the only Angelenos on the label’s roster. Clearly, Merge must’ve wanted in on the Silverlake scene too, as The Broken West’s Merge bio reads “over the last several years, LA has once again become a fertile proving ground for many young musicians and bands. Not since its psych-pop heyday in the late 60’s or the punk explosion of the early 80’s, has the volume and variety of great music emerging from southern California been this diverse. The Broken West hail from the Echo Park and Silverlake neighborhoods that serve as an epicenter of this new LA “scene.”

But with all the benefits that accrue from being able to see good young bands on the cheap in tiny venues close to your squalid Silverlake apartment, come the negatives, as scenes can only remain a scene so long, with Johnny and Jane-Come-Lately’s looking for a piece of the beard, blazers and black plastic glasses action. Oh well, maybe The Broken West’s Beckett inspired album title has some truth to it. (If) I can’t (get into Spaceland on a Monday night), I’ll go on (to Atwater Village).

Download:
MP3: The Broken West-”So It Goes”
MP3: The Broken West-”Down in the Valley”

Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses | 2 Comments »

Blogger Dies of Heart Attack Waiting For Arcade Fire Leak

In what is believed to be the first fatality ever attributed due to anxiety for an album leak, blogger Eugene Wilhelm of Seattle, Washington has passed away at the tender age of 24 years old. While medical professionals attribute Wilhelm’s death to several blocked arteries that stemmed the flow of blood to his heart, those close to Wilhelm claim that the real reason stems from his unchecked anticipation for the new release from the Montreal based-septet, The Arcade Fire.

According to Wilhelm’s closest friend, Erick Simpson, Wilhelm had been sleepless for several days leading up to his death.

“It was terrible. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. All he could do was sit in front of the computer with glazed eyes, constantly searching for the album on Soulseek and Oink. At one point he called me up ranting and raving. I think the first song, “Intervention” had just leaked. All he kept saying was ‘Erick…do you hear that organ…do you hear that organ….it sounds like God. It sounds like God.”

Wilhelm’s ex-girlfriend Nancy Farrar said that Wilhelm’s interest in the Arcade Fire had been one of the reasons for their break-up.

“All he could talk about was Arcade Fire this…Funeral that…Pitchfork this…but they all trade instruments that!! He even named his blog “In the Blogseat” after one of the songs on their debut. I was like ‘look they’re a good band and all, but they didn’t exactly invent bread,” Farrar said solemnly. “But he wouldn’t stop. He told me that Win Butler was better than any kind of bread ever made. Even raisin bread. I thought that that was a bit much. I told him that if he liked Win Butler so much, he should just date him. To which he responded…”fine then…maybe I will.”

Win Butler: “I Didn’t Do It.”

Win Butler, the lead singer of the Arcade Fire expressed sadness over Wilhelm’s death, but made it clear that neither he nor the rest of the band should bear any responsibility for it.

“Look, I’m sad that the kid died, but honestly, we’re just a band. We make music. We’ve only released like 15 songs ever. I’m pleased that people listen to our music, but perhaps people should focus on things more important, like curing polio.” When Butler was informed that polio has already been cured, he added. “Or curing cancer. It doesn’t matter. We’re just a band.”

But others feel differently. In particularly, Wilhelm’s grieving mother, Cindy Wilhelm declared that to her son, the Arcade Fire were more than “just a band.”

“If you could only have seen the look in my son’s eyes when he ran upstairs from the basement and started screaming “look mom, ‘Black Mirror’ leaked.” I haven’t seen him that happy since before he got dumped by that bitch Nancy Farrar,” Cindy Wilhelm. “His heart seemed fine then. Really, I didn’t think anything of it until this week when a live performance of new material leaked. He screamed for about an hour with excitement and then he went strangely silent.”

Wilhelm’s body wasn’t discovered until 6 p.m. that evening, when his mom found his cold body, still slumped over his computer, with his fingers still right-clicked on his mouse. Attempts to revive the fallen blogger were futile.

Wiping a tear from his eyes, Simpson mourned the loss of his fallen friend.

“What saddens me the most about it is that Eugene never even got to hear the album. I honestly think if he could’ve heard it, he would’ve died a happy man. But now? Nothing. His life was all for naught. He truly loved this band. He was even planning to name his first son Win Butler Wilhem. This is tragic, I just wish we could’ve staged an intervention of some sort to try to save him.”

When reminded that “Intervention” was the first song leaked from the new album, Neon Bible. Simpson shrugged and grinned slightly.

“I guess that’s what they call irony. Perhaps when Eugene first heard the song it truly was a sign from God. I mean….it is a really good song. ”

God declined to comment for this story.

Download:
MP3: The Arcade Fire-”Intervention”

The Passion of the Weiss takes no responsibility for any heart attacks that may ensue.

Posted in The Fakest News in Town, Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought?, Best Of | 18 Comments »

The 10 Best White Rappers of All-Time

White Rappers have been in the news a great deal of late, thanks to VH1’s White Rapper Show, a program whose main goal seems to be ensuring that melanin-deficient rappers will be laughingstocks for eternity (see Jamie Radford’s reviews of the show here). Last week, I tackled the 10 worst of All-Time. Today’s list is intended to be a bit more positive, focusing on the 10 Best White boys to ever pick up the mic and help to make people forget the sad sad legacy of Vanilla Ice.

10. Eyedea Anyone who’s heard one of Eyedea’s freestyles knows that the guy is no joke. Starting from the age of 16, the kid was a prodigy on the Scribble Jam circuit, winning top prizes at Scribble Jam ‘99, the Rock Steady Anniversary 2000, and Blaze Battle Chicago 2000. But unlike most battle MC’s good for little more than a hot flow and a few clever punch-lines, Eyedea had depth and true lyrical ability. By the age of 20, he’d already dropped two solid and very promising albums and seemed to be the underground’s next best thing. And then…nothing. Sure, there was 2004’s E&A which flew under everyone’s radar, but other than that Eyedea hasn’t been heard from and might never even return to rap. At least, if you believe Wikipedia, which claims Eyedea’s abandoned hip-hop to work on a rock project called Carbon Carousel. But his name and profile remain on the Rhymesayers ‘ website, so I’m willing to bet that he’ll return to rap at some point. Just 24 years old, he still has time on his side.

Download:
MP3: Eyedea-”Even Shadows Have Shadows”

9. Cage
A lot of underground heads turned on Cage following the release of 2005’s critically acclaimed Hell’s Winter. To many, it seemed a blatant play for crossover appeal, as Cage joined indie-rock friendly Def Jux and steered clear of the shit-talking, gross-out, punchline rap that had marked his previous decade in the underground. But in my mind, Hell’s Winter is his finest work, at once humanizing him without lapsing into self-pitying woe-is-me histrionics. With tracks like “Grand Ol’ Party Crash” (with Jello Biafra providing a dead-on Dubya impression), Cage showcased a knack for political attack to nicely complement his increased introspection. With hard-hitting production from El-P, the album had a consistency that his previous efforts had lacked and remains one of my favorite hip-hop albums released in the decade. I’m anxious to hear what’s next.

Download:
MP3: Cage-”Shoot Frank”

8. 3rd Bass (MC Serch/Pete Nice)
Don’t remember MC Serch for the White Rapper Show punch-line he’s become, or for his tendency to dance in 3rd Bass videos that got him dissed by the Beasties of all people, and proved that even if white men can rap, most still can’t dance. Serch and his partner Pete Nice deserve credit for being white rap pioneers. At a time when the only other white rappers were the novelty-minded rap/rock of the early Beastie Boys, 3rd Bass were the first crackers to be taken seriously as legitimate MC’s. Their 1989 debut, the Cactus Album holds up well, especially the Zev Love X assisted “Gas Face.” 3rd Bass also gets points for being second to put Nas on wax, from MC Serch’s solo album Return of the Product. Plus, even though he wasn’t white nor was he a rapper, 3rd Bass gets points for DJ Richie Rich’s wicked high-top fade.

Download:
MP3: 3rd Bass-”The Gas Face”

7. The Beastie Boys

I’m willing to bet that my inclusion of the Beastie Boys will inspire the most “you’re out of your fucking mind” e-mails. But even though the Beasties get annoying the moment you turn 18, any Best White rappers list without the Beasties Boys isn’t a good one. Their discography might be overrated, but in terms of Greatest Hits collections, you won’t find many groups rap or rock, with as many classic cuts as the Beasties. Play “Girls” at a party and watch it get live. Play “Sabotage” and don’t even pretend that you’re not amped up. Or if you’re in a mellow mood play the jazzy Eugene McDaniel sampling, Q-Tip featuring “Get it Together.” While its easy to lampoon the Beasties average mic skills, their continued evolution (with the exception of the unlistenable To the 5 Boroughs) showed a true sense of artistry that many rappers lack.

Download:
MP3: The Beastie Boys (ft. Q-Tip)-”Get it Together”

6. Slug (Atmosphere)
Whenever he’s asked about being a white rapper, Slug always side-steps the question with a reply about how he’s bi-racial so those labels don’t really apply to him. But while I don’t exactly have Sean Daley’s family tree in front of me, I do remember the old cliche, if it walks like a duck…and talks like a duck…Bottom line is, Slug counts as a white rapper. And a very good one at that. Granted, his career has been mostly uneven since 2003’s subpar Seven Travels but his first three albums are all outstanding compelling snapshots of a unique personality unafraid to show his personal side. But the work that makes him most worthy of inclusion on this list is his 1997 debut, the masterful Overcast, a straight-up classic packed with witty battle rhymes (”Even if your DJ was Jesus/you could never fuck with these kids”), eloquently worded laments (”Scapegoat”) and gritty bare-bones beat-making supplied by Ant.

Download:
MP3: Atmosphere-”1597″

5. The Streets
When someone first played me the Streets’ debut, I thought they were joking and begged them to take it off. Certainly, Mike Skinner has the worst flow of any white boy on my list. It isn’t even close. But The Streets did something Erick Sermon proved a long time ago: you don’t need to be a good rapper to make a classic album, as Skinner’s first two records are two of the most vivid self-portraits ever put on wax. Each song leaps off the speakers, pregnant with poetic detail. From the way a girl twirled her hair to the satirical depictions of a drunken lout vs. a quiet pothead, The Streets’ songs seemed endlessly relateable. His third effort, last years The Hardest Way to Make an Easy Living was a step backwards, with Skinner seemingly bored with the life that fame had ushered in. It remains to be seen whether or not he’ll recover, but either way Original Pirate Material and A Grand Don’t Come for Free remain two of the most unique hip-hop albums of all-time.

Download:
MP3: The Streets-”Dreams”

4. Edan
It might be a little early in his career to place Boston-bred Edan as the fourth best white rapper of all-time, but chalk that up to the promise he’s shown, between 2005’s instant-classic Beauty and the Beat and his prodigious skills that make him the best live performer in hip-hop today (at least to me). Watching Edan live, you can see exactly how many freestyle ciphers he must’ve been in to get such a razor-sharp LL Cool J-like flow. How many hours he must’ve spent behind the turntables learning to scratch as well as almost anyone you’ve seen. How many times he must’ve got laughed off the stage for being a white Jewish rapper and how much persistence and dedication to his craft it took to get to the levels he’s at. For heads wondering whatever happened to the spirit of 1988 and Golden Age-era MC’s like De La Soul, look no further, this is psychedelic rap for the new millennium.

Download:
MP3: Edan-”Beauty”

3. Aesop Rock It saddens me how little hip-hop heads have embraced Aesop Rock, as his fan base generally consists of hippies, indie kids and the occasional back-packer that got left behind when Kweli and Mos Def went stale. I’ll never understand how they don’t love his dense abstract lyrics that bear a heavy creative debt to Ghostface. Or how somehow people consider this “nerd rap.” From his collaborations with Camp Lo and Del tha Funkee Homosapien to his odes to NYC graffiti and b-boy culture, Aesop Rock’s hip-hop bonafides are legit and his lyricism is rock-solid. Spitting tangled fables and allegories with a raspy too-many blunts and cigs voice, Aesop’s skills are unmatched in the underground. Bar none. The tattoo on his arm reads Must Not Sleep, but sadly others have. And its their loss, because the man born Ian Bavitz is not just one of the best white rappers of all-time, he’s one of the best rappers. Period.

Download:
MP3: Aesop Rock-”The Greatest Pac-Man Victory in History”

2. Eminem
With each passing day, Eminem seems to be pleading for his removal from this list. And truthfully, if I had to listen to that dreadful Re-Up album again, I’d probably grant him that favor. Indeed, the last few years have pretty much seen Eminem do everything in his power to stain his legacy, from aligning with no-talent 50 Cent, to again re-marrying and again divorcing Kim, to his strange decision to talk exclusively about gun play and murdering people. Dude, that’s the kind of shit you talk about on your first album. Not your fifth. But for all the badwill Eminem has engendered over the past few years, there is no denying the unmitigated brilliance he displayed in the first few years of his career. From show-stopping verses on Soundbombing, to mix-tape lyrical assaults to his outstanding first two LP’s, hip-hop had seen few talents as bright as Eminem. Whereas guys like 3rd Bass had proved that white guys could rap, questions perpetually lingered in the aftermath of Vanilla Ice. Eminem crushed all those doubters, inspiring even Charles Barkley to comment: “You know something strange is going on in the world when the best golfer is black and the best rapper is white.”

Download:
MP3: Eminem-”Kids”

1. El-PI’d argue that El-P’s mic skills are as good as any white rapper ever. But if nothing else he deserves a spot a top this list because he’s also one of the most important rappers of all-time, regardless of race. With the success of Company Flow, El-P practically invented underground hip-hop as it exists today. Did you like Rawkus Records from 1997-2002. If you’re reading this blog, I’m willing to be you did. But its not unreasonable to suggest that Rawkus would never have taken off, if not for Co Flow’s legendary Funcrusher Plus. Setting the template for the future of underground hip-hop with gritty beats and hard-minded but broad lyrics, Company Flow and El-P’s solo work has always been progressive futuristic minded-music that sounded great. Whether toppling sacred cows (”Patriotism”), lamenting NYC’s dystopian paranoid feel (”Deep Space 9mm”) or living with war (”Da Nang, The Front, The Bush and the Shit,” El-P is a true original in a rap game filled with copy-cats. The mastermind and owner of Def Jux, El has built up one of the best labels in hip-hop, with a roster full of left-field artists like Cannibal Ox, Mr. Lif, Aesop Rock and Cage. And from what I’ve heard, I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead, is supposedly some of his finest work yet, further solidifying his place as one of the most innovative and important figures in hip-hop history.

Download:

MP3: Company Flow-”Vision of Art”

Posted in Lists, Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought?, Best Of | 88 Comments »

Beards, Blazers and Glasses: Subtle

Subtle are catnip for music critics. The actual band that fulfills the oft-spoken, rarely true cliche: they make “future music.” Indeed, the Oakland-based hip-hop/rock/electro six-piece makes music so forward-thinking it’s effectively genre-less. Just when an earth-shaking electro-bass groove reels you in, Dose One spits a tongue-twisting rap verse reminiscent of his Scribble Jam freestyle competition roots. Just when you think you’ve got ‘em pegged as a rap group, the band ties itself into a tense gordian knot of sound, a wild sprawl of do-it-yourself sampling, anvil-heavy funk drumming, squiggling keys, itchy guitars, buttery sax licks, and Cello (yes, Cello), unleashing a 45-second jam that sounds like the first Strokes album.

Weird isn’t quite the word for it. It’s as though you’ve been frozen for a few thousand years. In the meantime, earth has colonized Mars and the first great wave of half-man, half-martian bands have emerged, with Subtle leading the way, spitting lyrics in a strange dialect you aren’t sure is English, directly channeling William Burroughs to produce a musical Naked Lunch of sorts, a chopped-up pastiche of elements thrown helter-skelter at the canvas. And somehow, it all ends up working.

Subtle front-man Dose-One stalks the stage like a rampaging caveman on the brink of a nervous breakdown, rocking a black and white striped mask (see the album cover above), looking like an indie-rap version of Gene Simmons. Not to mention the black and white ruffled 70s prom undershirt he’s wearing, looking straight out of a Dumb and Dumber wardrobe sale. Behind the drum kit, the band’s drummer crashes snares so rapid and furious you’d swear he was a Run DMC drum machine in 1986. Meanwhile, Anticon veteran Jel is snapping his fingers hard against the sampler, in full union with the vibrating hellish sound.

Subtle: Miming One Flew Over a Cuckoo’s Nest
At the moment when everything gets too dense and impenetrable, someone busts out a whistling gorgeous flute solo, or a spine-tingling cello riff or a Charlie Parker-inspired sax line. Dose-One flings plastic silverware from a faux-shrunken head dragged on-stage, with full operatic histrionics. Then at the very moment when you’re about to write him off as another melodramatic Bay Area hipster, he unleashes an extemporaenous and very funny monologue about the previous night’s show in Pomona, when a teenager at his first rap show, asked the band if he had to worry about getting shot.

The short was set just 50 minutes, of nothing but white-pitch intensity, with beads of sweat trickling down off the face of every band member. Quite frankly, it would’ve been hard to handle much more. When people usually call music “challenging,” its short-hand for avant-garde post-modern wankery, but Subtle is that rare “challenging” band that actually has the goods, as the brilliance of their garbled often-abrasive sound only becomes unraveled with repeated listenings. It’s certainly not for everyone. They’ll inevitably antogonize hip-hop purists turned off by the relentless experimentation. Admittedly, its a lot to handle and Dose-One’ s reedy whine can certainly get annoying, but if you can move past it, his lyrics and the band’s sonic shape-shifiting are always intriguing.

Subtle aren’t perfect. But even in their failures they partially succeed, by constantly pushing things forward, something particularly notable in the mostly backwards thinking world of hip-hop. And when they succeed, they’re are one of the most interesting innovative bands working today. I’m not gonna lie, this isn’t the kind of rap I want to listen to on the regular. Give me Nas, Ghostface or even Edan, any day. But in their own not-so-subtle way, these dudes are making music far outside the boundaries of most musican’s limited imaginations. And that makes them alright in my book.

Buy For Hero: For Cool

Download:
MP3: Subtle-”A Tale of Apes I”
MP3: Subtle-”Midas Gutz”

Posted in Beards, Blazers, & Glasses | 5 Comments »

Album Review: Phantom Limb or The Shins Have the Last Braff

The Shins have an album coming out next Tuesday but you’d never know it if you only read music blogs for your news, considering most of them have kept mum about the record since its leak last October, thanks to Sub Pop’s subsequent buzz-crushing decision to call in the blog police for some good ol’ cease and desist action. Then again, you can’t blame Sub Pop for wanting to protect their investment, nor can you really fault them for wondering how much Internet noise matters at this point for the Garden State poster boys. No matter how much bloggers rant or rave, it won’t change the fact that this is going to be the dorm soundtrack of a hundred thousand love-lorn sorority girls, wishing that they too could find their own hyper-literate Zach Braff-esque nebbish.

Meanwhile, the cooler-than-thou crowd has long since begun wondering whether or not its still okay to a band unfairly saddled with being able to “to change your life.” Unsurprisingly, a few middling reviews have already trickled in from Rolling Stone and Play Louder. Though to be fair, Robert Christgau is pushing 70 and doesn’t exactly fit anyone’s definition of the cooler-than-thou crowd.

So let the cliche-as-soon-as-it-happened Garden State jokes stop (at least after next Tuesday.) The Shins definitely won’t change your life, nor will this album, other than maybe James Mercer, who might find himself bumped into the next income tax bracket, provided Sub Pop can ink a couple more savvy licensing deals. Caring is creepy, but it’s also lucrative. And hey, Braff’s about to start filming a Fletch sequel. Who knows maybe Irwin Fletcher in his newer, inevitably more wussified incarnation might enjoy him some “Phantom Limb.”

You Mean They Green-Lit Garden State 2?? Yippee!!!!!

So fuck all that nonsensical hyperbole from Mr. Scrub. It doesn’t change a damn thing. This is a good band and Wincing the Night Away is a very good album. Don’t go expecting Chutes Too Narrow redux. This isn’t it. There aren’t a whole lot of catchy tailor-made singles to satisfy the 99 cent Itunes crowd. In their stead is a moodier, brooding record. Of course, the Shins still write jangly harmony-driven pop songs, but they sound grown-up now, no longer feeling up to making sunny-day music for mentally unstable attractive girls in psychiatrists’ office.

Lyrically, James Mercer remains inscrutably vague in an introspective, wistful sort of way, tossing off laments about aging, numbness, and zombie-walking through towns that are hardly worth your time. In short, its The Shins’ break-up record. And like a break-up, the album is deceptively complex and tough to navigate. Each listen revealing a different angle of interpretation, a distinct analysis of facts you thought were clear-cut, another emotion cut from James Mercer’s thin echoing voice and the band’s stone-washed harmonies. The four years off seem well-spent, as the band has mastered the little details, keeping a variety of disparate parts churning underneath a superficially glassy veneer.

While never divorcing their Beach Boys/Beatles foundation, Winging the Night Away finds the Shins getting experimental. “Split Needles” revolves around a spiky bridge jutting out at the minute and half mark, shambling into into a sea of frozen blue electronics, splintering into sharp shards of sound. “Pam Berry” is buried in a muddy shoe-gaze of guitars. While “Sea Legs” finds Mercer’s love-lorn vocal buoyed by airy fluttering strings.

The Shins: Changing Lives One Fist at a Time

Running 10-plus minutes longer than anything they’ve ever done, the added heft feels right alongside the sleepy rainy day vibe of the record. Along with The New Pornographers, Spoon and Wilco, these guys just seem like one of those rare bands that doesn’t know how to write a bad song.

Maybe these are all wasted words. At this point, you know what you’re going to get when you pick up a Shins record. You all know this isn’t a grab you by the lapels and make you re-evaluate your relationship with Jesus type of band. (For that we have Creed). So forget all those silly Garden State labels that every reviewer including myself will wrongly think himself clever for referencing. Of course, this album won’t change your life. But it will make it a whole lot more pleasant.

Rating: 8.7

Buy the album at Insound

MP3: The Shins-”Phantom Limb”

Bonus from Chutes Too Narrow
MP3: The Shins- “Kissing the Lipless”

Posted in Album Reviews, Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought? | 3 Comments »

Advice For New Years Resolution Gym Joiners

Every single January 1st brings the same thing, an avalanche of New Year’s resolutions from optimistic souls vowing that this year will finally be the one that they put their gym memberships to good use. Which is all well and good but it inevitably means the worst time to work out is each January through March, when parking lots are constantly clogged, the machines are perpetually in use and a noxious workout stench oozes from the walls. It’s awesome. With that in mind, I’ll like to give a bit of advice to all the gym newbies, lest they wind up like the rest of the Los Angeles freak shows that dog me at every gym turn. Because no matter which one I join, one truth always holds evident in Los Angeles: the people are fucking freaks.

1. Shower Beforehand I don’t even know how this made the list. It seems so elementary. For most people, showering is a part of their daily routine. In fact, people everywhere seem to shower regularly except at the gym. In fact, there’s always that one person you dread working out next to. At my gym, there’s a weird bearded dude who looks like a cross between a gay porn star and a flamenco guitar salesman, who always steps on the treadmill or elliptical right next to me, wearing the same bandanna, the same heavy sweatshirt and the same smelly sweatpants. Every single day. Exuding his trademark stench of rotted roast beef and unwashed feet. It’s quite fantastic I suppose, if you ever wondered what it would be like to work as an undertaker.

2. Learn How to ParkIt never fails. Every time I go to the gym, I get stuck behind a guy blocking traffic, waiting for someone to pull out of his spot. Invariably, there’ll be dozens of available spots in the lot, but 9 out of 10 times I get stuck behind Elmer Bernstein, aged 81, there for Senior Citizen Yoga. Then, if I can even snag a spot, thanks to the sheer January-March madness of the gym parking lot, I’ end up returning to the car to find some brain surgeon who has parked his vehicle four inches away from, making it impossible to even enter. I assume this is because half of Los Angeles runs around convinced that they’re superstars and thus exempt from any common decencies.

3. Stop Grunting
Last time I checked you weren’t Monica Seles. If you are, then I apologize. Otherwise, don’t grunt at the gym. Females will not be impressed by how much weight you’re lifting. In Los Angeles, the only thing most females can agree upon is that they’re more impressed by your bank account than your bench press. Grunting at the gym is like driving a yellow Mustang: a desperate and feeble cry for attention.

4. Be a Female

Though preferably not a female whose intestines are showing, like the one above. How come it seems that these January new members are always dudes. Granted, if I were a girl, I’d certainly be wary of joining gyms filled with skeezy dudes with lame pick-up lines. But c’mon ladies. Getting in shape is a good thing. If nothing else, do it for your fellow man. Because at this point, when I work out at the gym looks like a prison. Not that there’s anything wrong with that per se, but if I wanted that, I’d just watch Oz. Speaking of horrible shower situations…

5. Wear A Towel in the Locker Room
Listen to Towellie. He knows what he’s talking about. You can always trust a talking piece of terrycloth that advocates strict towel and marijuana use. But no one seems to listen. Instead, weird old naked guys insist on plucking their nose hairs, stark nude in front of the mirror. I kid you not. I’ve walked in on this scene more than once. The point is, don’t forget to bring a towel. It can’t hurt. No one wants to see your Johnson. Not even the nihilists, who in fact would probably endorse cutting it off for such misdeeds.

6. Stop Dancing

Contrary to popular belief, when you’re dancing at the gym, you don’t like like Ginger Rodgers nor do you look like Fred Astaire, you look like the neighborhood schizo that forgot to take his meds. I’ve covered this trend before, so no need to spill many more words. But bottom line: it’s okay to bob your head and maybe even an elbow or two on the IPod. We all do it. But no need to doing the monkey next to the incline bench press. Or the swim next to the abdominal machines. And definitely not the funky chicken in front of the funky bicep cirl. Ok, fine maybe you should do the funky chicken. That’s just funny.

7. Stop Flexing in the Mirror

You aren’t fooling anyone. I promise. Every single time you lift up your shirt to wipe the sweat of your face, we all know that you’re only doing it to check out your abs. And those biceps must be “accidentally” contracting every single time you pass by a mirror. Nothing says, “I have an IQ of 47…Let’s pump Iron” more than the dudes that insist on wasting hours making love to themselves in the mirror. You aren’t being subtle. You’re being obvious and quite frankly, rather embarrassing. Is it really that hard to wait that extra half hour before going home to undress yourself with your eyes? I think not. Calm down, Zoolander. It’s just a look.

So gym newbies, good luck with your New Year’s Resolutions, work those abs, hit that treadmill, shed that flab, pump those biceps, fulfill every fitness cliche I can think of. But above all remember these crucial things and most importantly: shower (with a towel).

Posted in It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 9 Comments »