Editors seeking to hire Hannibal Moncrief are advised to be keep substantial bail money, margaritas, and VIP bracelets on hand. Hannibal Moncrief does not mingle with the Hoi Polloi. 

Why would Hannibal Moncrief feel remorse? The booking agent will feel the pain, not the Mad Moncrief who arrived ready to show the world the wistful side of metal. Do you know how expensive it is to ship a Theremin to Austin? You don’t because you don’t know how to play it, but you probably also don’t have Hannibal’s gifts. He knew that he was going to have a storied career in music when he was three years old and discovered he had perfect pitch singing to Wang Chung’s “Everybody Have Fun Tonight.” But while that tune may be a classic, it is not an appropriate way to describe Hannibal’s SXSW experience thus far.

Yesterday was supposed to be Infinite Transgression’s Coup De Great — we had 12 shows scheduled, one for every woman that Hannibal has had consensual sexual relations with in the last week.  But did they go down? Of course, not. Hannibal is not too much of a man to admit error. You can do that when you have such a lustrous coif. Unlike the booking agent who promised us that we would leave SXSW with Spin magazine calling us a “BREAK-OUT BAND —THE ARCADE FIRE, THE DECEMBERISTS, AND PANTERA HAVING A LOVE CHILD WITH A PARTICULARLY FEROCIOUS OCELET.”  Instead, not only did none of these pompous bloggers have any clue about Infinite Transgression playing their shows, they pretended they didn’t even know who we were — an outright lie considering that Hannibal Moncrief has been sending them personalized e-mails since 2004, when Fluxblog invented the Internet.  Hannibal Moncrief has respect for the medium and understands that having an online presence is a vital component of any indie band’s buzz strategy in 2010, but the bloggers here are acting like gladhanding gatches.

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Let me be clear (© Obama): I’m not jumping aboard the Mad Decent Express here. Diplo remains one of the humans on this planet whose views I’m most antithetical to alongside Jerry Falwell, the ghost of Pol Pot and whoever wrote Sex & the City. Everything I said here still stands. That said, recent Mad Decent addition Rusko was dope before he got down with the label and despite their best efforts, he’ll probably remain so for the most part. Even that terrible video makes sense, the man has always been one of Dubstep’s black sheeps and his Tiesto-sized ambitions are probably a better fit for a label that supports Keytars, mullet-hawks and multiple pairs of shades worn at once than say, Warp. Recently liberated tune “Da Cali Anthem” pretty much sums up his style: big beats, big hooks and enough fluorescent colors to make Yaesayer look like Nine Inch Nails. It’s hard to argue with the Roger Troutman flip considering Dr Dre is busy perfecting his “black Phil Spector” character and though this probably won’t go down well at Berghain, I suspect it’ll bang in most basements. Decent enough to grab off their bandwidth.

Download

MP3: Rusko - Da Cali Anthem

The editorial team unanimously decided that no one wanted to read Jeff’s long-winded rambles for a third consecutive year. Instead, we turned to special Passion of the Weiss SXSW correspondent, Hannibal Moncrief, the lead singer/guitarist/theremin player for death metal power trio, Infinite Transgression.  As payment, he will be receiving 32 cans of PBR, a two month supply of Turkey Jerky, and a slightly unused Racquetball Racket.

Call me Hannibal Motherfucking Moncrief. It’s about time the Passion turned over its space to some real hardcore musicians, not the anaconda pants-rap and laptop bloopity blah that passes for musical erudition in this space. Yeah, that’s right, I used “erudition.” Don’t be fooled thinking that just because Hannibal Moncrief plays epic and massively virile guitar riffs that it doesn’t mean that he didn’t attend Bates on a 20 percent music scholarship. Shit was cold, but I’ve got chops and I intend to use them over the next week. Then again, those 187 of you that already legally copped Infinite Transgression’s debut, Barnacle,  our 115 minute nautical ode to Ulysses, ought to know that we make those hipster metal bands look straight BOJO. Mastodong, you know you can’t see us and even if you could, you’d still know where the fuck to find Hannibal Moncrief — in the highest realm of musical creativity making sweet love to his guitar, several naked skeezers with tatted Interpol lyrics from a phase they had in ‘03, and possibly a four day-old baguette.

We’re here in Austin for SXSW to play 32 shows in 3 days. Yeah, that might sound intense, but we’ve got a plan. Each show will be one minute shorter than the previous one, until we conclude the festival with a 1-minute set Saturday night that could make even Dick Cheney cry tears of vodka due to its sonic beauty and virtuosity.  You also might ask yourself, what would a metal power trio be doing down in Austin, the city that never shaves? But we’re not your grandmother’s metal band. Granted, we’re out to prove to the rest of these poseurs in pork pie hats and lanyards that there’s a place for musicians who know how to play more than two chords. But we’re also trying to get famous. Where else can you perform in front of hundreds of journalists, radio personalities, and John Norris, all of them eating Zune-sponsored tacos and drinking Margaritas sponsored by Hornitas. Shit is wicked on these mean streets. Rest assured, by the end of the week, our parents will be no longer be paying the rent on our rehearsal space.

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Information remains scarce, but presumably Guru remains in critical condition. I’ll spare the reigning “Fuck Solar” sentiment because speculating on their relationship is tasteless and probably pointless. Though admittedly, calling another man “Lord” is arguably the only thing stranger than calling him “Daddy.” At this point, all we can do is hope that that Gifted Unlimited Rhymes Universal recovers swiftly and his family is allowed to monitor his progress/visit regularly. Judging from the e-mails I get, I suspect that at least a quarter of this site’s readership was entering the world when Gangstarr was stepping into the arena. Thus, their knowledge of one of the greatest duos of all-time is limited to hearsay. Thankfully, Matthew Africa can remedy this with his stellar Gangstarr greatest hits mix. For those who heard his earlier DJ Quik mix, you know that this is essential listening. A tracklist and message from Matthew about the mix below — credit is due.

Download:
MP3: Matthew Africa - Gangstarr Mix (One MP3)
ZIP: Matthew Africa - Gangstarr Mix (Left-Click, As Individual Tracks)

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HcOZ6xFxJqg

Clearly, Men Without Hats had the blueprint for Goodie Mobb’s “People Don’t Dance No Mo.” Granted, Cee-Lo has been known to sport a witch’s hat like he attended Necromancy school, but observe the clown/jesters, the big hair, the makeup. A coincidence? I think not. Pity the hat-less males — a one-hit wonder nonpareil, destined to be forever conflated with Men At Work. Until writing this post, I’d always thought they were from Australia, but according to the world’s most accurate encyclopedia, they’re Canadian — leaving Men at Work and Midnight Oil as the only two 80s Aussie outfits that non music nerds know about (all apologies to the great Go-Betweens).

This May, Stones Throw is releasing J Dilla’s Donut Shop, a partnership with Serato that includes six unreleased tracks, a pair of Donut Slipmats, and two sides with Serato Control Tone. The union is fitting considering every amateur DJ over the last four years has attempted to emulate Jay Dee via ham-handed computer cuts and a hard drive full of 128 KBPS soul samples. Dilla’s cover of “Safety Dance” proves what most ignored — the fact that calling him a “hip hop dude” was a stifling term. Like all the great producers, his tastes were eclectic and as much forged on Kraftwerk and Detroit techno, as they were on Pete Rock and Primo, and novelty 80s pop filtering through the airwaves. There were no arbitrary boundaries. “Keeping it real” just meant keeping it good. Always ahead of his time, “Safety Dance” is the sort of thing a contemporary blog rapper would do in a feeble (but likely successful) attempt to score a gimmick hit. Of course, no double zero could ever punch drums like that and as always, Dilla found the groove that Men Without Hats probably never knew they had.  80s pop re-invented with a crisp fitted.

Download:
MP3: J Dilla - “Safety Dance”

A quick check reveals that it’s been 213 days since I last wrote about Frank Zappa for this website, which is 212 days too long by my count. Yours may vary, but while Jeff is basking in the sea of facial hair, ironic t-shirts and lo-fi bands that is SXSW, I’m instituting a strict Pro-Mothers of Invention policy around here and that’s that. “Peaches in Regalia” which opens Hot Rats, perhaps the man’s greatest work, is low hanging fruit for a busy music-writer on deadline: the track practically praises itself.

An epic virtuoso piece combining Stravinsky keyboard runs, prog-rock drumming and more melodies than Kevin Barnes on adderall, its an easy entry-point (II) for Zappa neophytes and an obvious favorite for hardcore fans. It’s fun too: the song easily switches from orchestral pomp to faux-Chinatown cheese before exploding into a euphoric blast of horns that would serve as the perfect hook for just about any other band. More than the jokey tape pieces or the second-grade toilet humor, it’s this combination of compositional mastery and pure rock-n-roll fun that keep the man’s music in College kids’ playlists everywhere. Well, that and the SXSW worth facial hair.

Fun fact: legendary recluse and all around musical enigma Shuggie Otis played bass on it too.

Download:
MP3: Frank Zappa & The Mothers of Invention - Peaches in Regalia

Those curious about context or my thoughts on “A Sufi and a Killer” ought to head to Pop and Hiss. This is for completists and those inordinately interested about the man behind one of the year’s best debuts. 

I read somewhere that with you were really into baseball growing up. Were you pretty good?

Yup, I grew up in San Diego. I was born out here and pretty much always into baseball through my youth, until I started smoking weed and discovered rap music.

What position did you play?

I was a center fielder and lead off hitter. I pitched too.

You a lefty?
Nah, I was right handed. I was the fastest man on any field straight up. My first year playing I batted eighth and would get up to bat and everybody would immediately grab their gloves to go out to the field because I’d strike out everytime. But after I hit my first single, the whole shit changed. It was symbolic for my life and how I approach music. I struck out for a full year and then the last two games I learned to hit the ball and for the next year, I’d be constantly getting on base and stealing second every single time stole second the next year

You play in high school?
I played ball until the 9th grade, then I started smoking weed man and that shit changed everything. Once I heard Bob Marley, it was all over, and then they went on strike and it was really done.

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Run through the class of ‘88. Rakim’s last album was so sleep inducing you’d have thought the 18th letter stood for Rohypnol. No one’s checked for a Public Enemy song since they sampled Buffalo Springfield, and Chuck D writes the words “ex-Air America host” on his resume. Kane was last seen in velour, wandering around Bed-Sty in pursuit of a girl in Juicy Sweatpants, while KRS-One still believes the only “real” definition of hip-hop involves B-Boys and Bambaataa. Kool G Rap still murders almost every verse, but hasn’t had a new idea since people wore Conart. Which leaves the Grand Ruler the last one continuing to innovate out of his first ballot HOF peers. Nor should you be surprised, Ricky Walters was always advanced — the guy who had swag when it was called “staying fly.” You can trace a straight line from the chain worship of your favorite swag rapper du jour to Uncle Ricky, who wore a crown when T.I. wasn’t allowed to walk the streets of Bankhead without holding his mother’s hand. And Snoop and Mos Def’s cover choices and styles said more about Rick’s influence than any heavy-handed VH1 Hip Hop Honors could tell you.

By and large, the rappers that have achieved longevity in the rap game are the storytellers. Narratives are timeless and 25 years after “La-Di-Da-Di” few if any have ever topped the eye patched one’s ability to craft clever and occasionally poignant tales. See last year’s appearance on “The Auditorium,” where Rick inhabits the persona of an American soldier assailed by a young Iraqi child. The cameo was one of four Ricky did last year, with Raekwon and even Asher Roth aware that even at 45, no one writes a 16 like the ravishing one (no Rude).

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With roots stretching back from first generation Jungle through Grime, Dubstep and now Future-Garage, it’s safe to say that Montreal Producer/DJ Intoccabile doesn’t need my cosign, not that that’ll stop me. Operating as the head of Fyutchaflex Recordings since 2001, all while playing countless gigs throughout the city, he’s recently moved towards a deep dub-techno approach that keeps dubstep’s heavyweight bass while moving things uptempo. Acting as an appetizer for his forthcoming album, Future Garage Volume 1 neatly packs his music’s appeal into one 26 minute mix. Smoothly blending his recent production into a continuous track, the release is full of dark but danceable dub music that’s high on atmospheric soundscapes and low on dance-music cliches. Shotgun shells become percussion, crystal clear vocals disappear behind walls of static or fade out and heavy bass wobble fights it out with swinging drums. Though it’s terrible music to guido fist pump to, it does lend itself well to late night blunt sessions, physical exercise and “eyes down” dance nights in dark rooms. Special attention to the vocal track coming in at 11 minutes: T-Pain this ain’t.

If you ask me though, the best thing about this mix is how it keeps things dark all without pandering to its audience. For all the talk about “neon” last year, it’s good to know that there are still producers making idiosyncratic music without feeling the need to throw in a huge melody-line for trendiness’ sake. Though certainly inspired by the Garage revival currently going on in England, there’s nothing imitation brand here: you’d need to survive a Montreal winter to make this. Recommended for fans of Burial, Hyperdub and the dark and heavy side of the Four Tet/Pantha albums that have been showcased here.

Download
MP3: Intoccabile - Future Garage Volume 1 (left click)

In lieu of being able to actually enjoy the Airliner’s lax weed policy and jumbo-sized Fat Tires, the Low End podcasts offer an ideal window into what makes the weekly so unique. But until now, they’ve neglected to feature Nocando as anything more than a host. Wisely, Daddy Kev enlists his Alpha Pup protege and fellow resident to decimate an array of beats ranging from the Joker’s “Snake Eater” and Flying Lotus’s remix of “I Feel Like Dying,” to “All the Way Turnt Up” and “Exhibit C.” Written and recorded in a single night, James McCall proves why he’s not only one of this city’s most underrated rappers, but also one of its best. Jay Rock and Nipsey Hussle may have the major label deals and XXL hype, but the vanguard of the third generation of Project Blowed shows and proves every week. I have yet to bring a single person who hasn’t turned to me and said, “that dude can really really rap.” Were you wary about dropping a Hamilton on Jimmy the Lock, the proof is in the Porter.  Plus, Daddy Kev drops a typically blistering set, nicely averting any and all ill omens endemic to the 13th edition.

Download: 
MP3:  Low End Theory Podcast XIII - Daddy Kev and Nocando