T.I. Vs. TI-85

This week marked the release of one of this year’s most anticipated rap albums, T.I. Vs. Tip., the follow-up to 2006’s T.I.’s hit King, a record that was best summarized by Ian Cohen in just four words: colossal waste of beats.

So far, the buzz on T.I. Vs. Tip has been mostly negative, with its Metacritic score sitting at a tepid 60. But I don’t trust Metacritic and its so-called “algorithms.” So I consulted with a machine that I’ve never known to be wrong, the oracle known as The T.I. 85. Indeed, only the calculator of Kings could analyze the real T.I., an artist so diverse he’s capable of doing both kinds of rap: gangster rap and Southern rap.

Yes, the TI-85 is so powerful it can solve both convoluted Calculus problems and the problem of how to keep occupied during worthless Calculus classes. (I.E. Snake, Drug War, & Tetris, games so addictive I’m surprised the other T.I. hasn’t bragged about selling them). There is only one problem. Namely that of late my ancient calculator is showing the harmful effects of laying dormant for a decade. For some reason, it will only produce out a series of random numbers. Therefore, I have no choice but to interpret the prophecy of the machine

Revelations from the T.I. (85)

Answer: 73

Q: What are the number of minutes on this bloated album.

A: 68

Q: The number of minutes that I’ll never listen to again for rest of my life: (The five minutes of “Watch What You Say to Me” are pretty awesome though. )

A: 2

Q: What are the number of past their prime rappers who somehow manage to out-shine T.I. (Busta Rhymes & Jay-Z)

A: 0.001 percent%

Q: What percentage is T.I. Vs. Tip, guest, Eminem of his former self?

A: 9,832

Q: How many times does T.I. call himself the “King.”

King Louis XIV: A Much Better King Than T.I. (And Probably Capable of Making a Better Album)
A: 4 percent

Q: What is the percentage of the time that the differences between and T.I. and TIP are readily apparent?

A: Infinite

Q: What is the number of tired gangster tropes and 2-dimensional drug-dealer stereotypes that T.I. recycles on this album.

A: 25

Q: How many rap albums have been made in 2007 that are better than T.I. Vs. Tip.

A: 16

Q: The number of bars it takes for T.I. to wear out his presence on any track.

A: Zero

Q: What is the sense of humor that T.I.possesses.

A: 3.3

Q: The score websites would give T.I. Vs. Tip if an indie rock band released a record this derivative, uninspired and straight-up boring.

Download the only thing on this record worth listening to.
MP3: T.I. (feat. Jay-Z)-”Watch What You Say to Me”

Posted in Are You From the Lester Bangs School of Thought?, Best Of, It Got Weird, Didn't It? | 9 Comments »

Links from Lovitz

If you want the real post for today you’re going to have to head on over to Floodwatch music , where I’m guest blogging for the day. As you might imagine from the photo above, the post in question concerns one of the most forgettable movies ever made: High School High. More specifically, it analyzes its surprisingly memorable soundtrack, featuring cuts from Wu Tang, Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul & The Roots. Lots of MP3’s, lots of jokes about Rollie Fingers, good times. Check it out.

Autopsy of a Soundtrack: High School High

Hi! My Name’s Jon, I Enjoy Stand-Up Comedy, Vast Quantities of Food, $1,000 Sunglasses & The Tanning Salon…
In Other News:

I Guess I’m Floating offers a full stream of Arizona’s upcoming EP

Nerd Litter Posts His 10 Best Albums of the Year Thus Far

Hidden Track offers up the 10 Best Singing Drummers

Dave Rawkblog makes a 4th of July mixtape

Souled on Music drops some gems ranging from Roberta Flack and Willie Hightower to MF Doom and Biggie rarities

Jamie Radford sheds some light on an “ironic” hip-hop fashion company and their models who should all be placed in a burlap sack and beaten with reeds.

Posted in Links | 3 Comments »

Beers, Blazin’ & Beads: Widespread Panic

When I told a friend that I was seeing Widespread Panic at the Orpheum last Friday, he did a double-take, flashing a look of derision that suggested that I’d told him I was seeing Fergie live–re-defining “Fraggle Rock” for the new millenium (see pictures from her tour here.) Of course, I understood my friend’s bewilderment. This is the year 2007. It’s the year of unwarranted presidential pardons. It’s the year of Paris Hilton going to jail. It’s the year of Mims. It’s the year of the apocalypse. The point, if I indeed have one, is that this isn’t the coolest time to be a “jam” fan.

If this were the late 90s and we were taking gravity bong hits inside a dorm room in Burlington, jam bands would probably make more sense. By contrast, those seem like the salad days of the Jam-era, a time when 2-ton dinosaurs like Phish, Panic, String Cheese, Moe, and the inexplicably popular acoustic yodels of Dave Matthews, stalked the dormitories of every east coast college kid with a bong and an eighth to burn. But Phish is dead. No one ever really liked Moe in the first place. String Cheese are on their final victory lap, (inevitably, choking on the second-hand smoke). And as for Dave Matthews, the Onion story: Dave Matthews-Not that Into himself Any More aptly summed him up.

Which leaves Athens-based Panic as the last hope of the old guard. A band who for better or worse has been unfairly saddled with the “jam band” tag, thanks to a knack for, it-sounds-really cool-when-you’re-stoned guitar solos. But aside from being a guitar band that jams, Panic aren’t at all like the former jam kings, Phish. Where Phish fused the Dead’s genre-mashing and skill at covers to form a wholly new, light-hearted sound, Panic takes its clues from the gritty dirt-under-the fingernails, Southern rock that Duane and Greg Allman cooked up nearly 40 years ago.

The “Widespread” Portion of the Name Concerns Bassist and Horatio Sanz Look-A-Like, Dave Schools (Second From Right)

Watching Panic on-stage strikes you with the feeling that you’re seeing rock n’ roll as it was meant to be played, primal, bluesy and raw. A six-piece in perfect harmony, the band rifles off otherworldly guitar licks, rollicking keys, and stadium-sized snare hits, backed by John “JB” Bell’s whiskey-soaked croon. Rocking the tiny art-deco Orpheum, Panic’s powerful combination of energy and sound pushing your wig back, flooding into your ears. Loud.

Of course, at this point, you might be wondering how I’ve even made it four paragraphs writing about a Widespread Panic show without even mentioning any form of illicit substance. Good point. Attending a Panic show sober is like attending a Klan meeting nude. You feel even more out of place than you’d normally feel. Not to mention there is the high probability that you’ll leave the room feeling a great deal more disturbed by humanity than you ever thought possible.

The place is a veritable pharmaceutical wonderland. Dudes knife through the crowd shouting, “doses,” “rolls,” “molly.” People get carried out on stretchers. Post-show, the parking lot abruptly turned into a whippet party. I kid you not. As a friend pointed out, “what is this, 2001?” These people know how to party. And they do it well, giving off an air of conviviality and affability sorely lacking in Los Angeles. Everyone smiles, carrying strong drink in their hands. It’s the sort of scene where you’re as apt to run into one of LA’s best bloggers, as you are to stumble into a drugged out hippie, begging you to give up your backstage pass just to sit next to Panic lead guitarist Jimmy Herring for two minutes.

The Actual Picture You Get When You Google Image Search “Widespread Panic Show”

It isn’t high school. Bands aren’t “cool” or “uncool” (except for the Killers, who are most definitely uncool.) They’re good or bad. And Widespread Panic are very good. Their lyrics might not be the most erudite, their sound might not be the most original. But they have a heart and a soul to them that 99 percent of modern indie rock bands and rappers lack.

Tireless performers, they played three hours, pouring every ounce of energy that they had into the show. And they’ve done it night in and night, with a different set list each night, for 20-plus years. I’m not about to drop everything and follow these guys x-country, but I can’t fault anyone for wanting to do so for at least a week or two. Just be forewarned that if a guy comes up and asks you to buy some “Molly,” he isn’t trying to sell you bootlegged DVD’s of the Breakfast Club.

Download:
MP3: Widespread Panic-Live @ Bonnaroo 6/17/07 (left-click)

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

Pharoahe Monch-Desire

Hip-hop history is littered with MC’s blessed with scythe-sharp flows and Byzantine lyrics who couldn’t pick out a dope beat if their life depended on it (see also Kass, Ras). Now I wouldn’t go as far as to lump Pharoahe Monch in with the tin-eared rabble, but over the course of five albums and 16 years, Pharoahe has produced just one single capable of cracking Billboard’s Top 100. And even that lone quasi-hit, 1999’s ”Simon Says,” peaked at #97.

Of course, with most rappers, an inability to select mammoth show-stopping beats would be the death-knell. Imagine T.I. stripped of Just Blaze and Toomp’s trunk-rattling bangers, or the Game without his Dre-aping cadre of no-names. But with Pharoahe, it almost doesn’t matter. After all, the mark of a great rapper isn’t what he does with a banging beat, it’s what he does with a mediocre one.

With the exception of maybe Ghostface, few rappers in history have ever successfully transcended ho-hum soundscapes better than Pharoahe. With a knack for clever similes (“leave you die laughing like John Ritter”), complicated internal rhyme schemes (“Pharoahe’s flows blow shows like afros”), and a voice that rocks and sways with the hell-fire and brimstone cadence of a Pentecostal preacher, the beats very often take a backseat. And rightfully so.

Pharoahe Monch: A Huge Fan of Comical Misunderstandings

In that vein, Desire, Pharoahe’s long-anticipated return to the rap world after a near decade hiatus, is very much a mixed bag. Beat-wise nothing stands on its own merits, lacking the grimy cohesion of Pharoahe’s self-produced Organized Konfusion jaunts and the straight-out-of-the-bowels of hell turmoil of Internal Affairs. Constructed by a hodge-podge of producers, from underground leading light Black Milk, to Alchemist, to long-time collaborator Lee Stone, to Kon Artis from D-12, to Monch himself, Desire’s successes stem chiefly from Pharoahe’s unimpeachably brilliant rhyme skills.

Where Internal Affairs felt like the work of a deranged sociopath bent on murder and mayhem, Desire feels almost tranquil in comparison. Of course, Monch’s penchant for conspiracy mongering is still indulged: Citbank is watching over you, the Klan is somehow involved with clearing music samples, the United States is controlled by a Masonic conspiracy, etc. And there’s still gun talk a-plenty, with “When the Gun Draws” revamping the Organized Konfusion classic “Stray Bullet,” as Pharoahe somehow sounds fresh in spite of the tired trope of rapping from a gun’s perspective.

But Desire is so much more than a mere rehash of past glory, thanks to Monch’s ability to balance his cerebral paranoia with a healthy dose of experimentation. Celebratory first single “Push,” provides one of the album’s most satisfying moments (even if it could use a bit more rapping), with Pharoahe enlisting Tower of Power to lace the track with a swaggering and soulful slice of East Bay Soul. “Desire,” the album’s second single moves with similarly funky rhythms. On it, Pharoahe sounds the most sanguine he’s ever been, triumphantly declaring victory over his demons and label woes. Even “Body Baby,” the record’s maligned third single succeeds, as Pharoahe manages to turn something that could’ve resembled Gnarls Barkley at their worst, into a modest triumph.

Wanna Buy a Mon-chi-chi?

Sure, it’s not all perfect. A skit about “the stranger” (yes, that stranger) head-scratchingly concludes the end of “Let’s Go.” The Soulquarian, Erykah Badu-assisted funk of “Hold On” shows why Badu shouldn’t be allowed within 100 feet of great rappers. A Milk production on “Bar Tap” shamelessly appropriates Premier’s brilliant beat for “Betrayal.” And don’t even get me started on the nine-and-a-half minutes of “Trilogy,” which manages to indulge in some Love Below-esque levels of wankery.

But despite its flaws, this record is—and will remain—better than 99.9 percent of all rap albums released this year. Once again devoid of a perfect booming beat capable of snatching radio airplay, Monch isn’t about to escape the subterranean rap ghetto anytime soon. But Desire will satisfy anyone seeking intricately constructed and brilliantly spit verses from one of the best rappers to ever do it. Hell, it’s a Pharoahe Monch album in the year 2007. What else do you desire?

Originally Published at Stylus

Download:
MP3: Pharoahe Monch-”Desire”
MP3: Pharoahe Monch-”Push”

Posted in Album Reviews | 6 Comments »