Wednesday, October 30, 2013

24. Cypress Hill - Cypress Hill





Subverting hardcore hip-hop's stone-faced severity with gallows humor and inebriated indifference, Cypress Hill is more mischievous than dangerous, opting instead for a comedy of excesses, both in piercing sound wave and nihilistic subject matter. What they sacrifice in realism they gain in artistic freedom, allowing for a debut full of focused chaos, flailing wildly between exploitative killing spree, bleary-eyed parody and loose-bootied anarchy.

Acting as head agitator and primary vocalist, B-Real forces out each syllable with nasal drawl and arrogant sneer, both mimicking and embodying the tenets of a gangster rapper. Taking inspiration from the absurdist humor of Cheech & Chong and confrontational delivery of Jello Biafra, Real spins street narratives both strikingly vivid and playfully comic, nearly always ending with violent death bordering on caricature (i.e. "broomstick up your ass").

In contrast to his penchant for employing shock tactics, Real's moments of hallucinatory wordplay, usually relating to his passion for cannabis sativa, make for tightly-woven, meticulous poetry. "Light Another" finds him detailing the body's reactions to huge waves of marijuana smoke, moving from trembling lungs to scorched windpipe to cellular damage. His contemplative passages are just as striking, taking astute and informed stances on prison culture, government corruption (particularly in the police force) and environment influencing behavior.

Feeding off of B-Real's intensity, DJ Muggs constructed a sound scape of polar opposites, marrying gnarled, fun house psych loops with squeezed bass lines and woody, cavernous percussion. Further contorting the composition, his choruses are less hook than messy collage of word and instrument, comprised of sampled non-sequiters, ecstatic funk riffs and slurred record scratching. Muggs makes murder danceable and accessible, perverting chestnuts like Gene Chandler's "Duke of Earl" into brainwashed melodies, lulling the oft-stoned listener into full compliance atop a bed of bubbly static and upbeat high-hat.

"How I Could Just Kill A Man" is just as dichotomous, radically manipulating its samples into a piece somehow still firmly rooted in contemporary pop. Backed by a loop of whiny white noise, like a far off signal from a fading AM radio station, Muggs continues with his motif of coupling the shrill and the subdued, adding a layer of rich blues guitar pluck and thumping, low-end drum stomp to the mix. Jimi Hendrix's caterwauling guitar from "Are You Experienced" adds a heightened sense of menace to the proceedings, as does B-Real's postured take on the right to bear arms. Puffing out his chest and brandishing his "chrome" like a cop flashes a badge, B acts as an unsympathetic assassin, reveling in the cartoonish nihilism of his lyrics, with Muggs' grooves acting as an accessory.

Even more jarring than B-Real's moral vacuousness is the mid-track breakdown of warped flute and creepy carnival organ. As if impoliteness and anti-authoritarian attitudes didn't already align Cypress Hill to the Angelino hardcore that predated hip-hop's West Coast migration, the curious tempo shifts, horror flick atmospherics and penchant for Juvenalian satire are a direct link.

Concise and unwaveringly resolute, Cypress Hill single-handedly modified LA street rap just like they modified their shotguns, relieving it of its self-seriousness and replacing it with caustic wit and the macabre melody of a nursery rhyme.

Buy it at Insound!

Sunday, October 6, 2013

25. Gang Starr - Daily Operation





Daily Operation is the sound of two performers (vocalist Guru and DJ Premier) merging their unique perspective with the influences of their predecessors and the history of their surroundings. Taking the melody and impact of jazz music, the “cultural awareness” of their Brooklyn homestead and a distinctly non-commercial sensibility, they fashioned an LP that expounds on the jazz platform and expands hip-hop's breadth of topic, digging deeper into what makes New York’s music culture great and castigating the violent aspects that seek to corrupt it.

Taking a conversational tone and rarely fluctuating pitch or sounding aggravated, Guru takes these corrupting elements head on, giving a singular and often controversial perspective on religion, government and record industry politics. His deliberately paced articulations act as the perfect vehicle for conveying complex ideas, particularly accusations of an anti-black sentiment in the media and governmental connection to crack cocaine distribution. His less serious diatribes even pack compelling dialogue, lending an air of gravitas to joint smoking etiquette and clingy ex-girlfriends.

Premier's best asset is an uncanny knack for picking the perfect snapshot, whether it be a staccato drumroll, pinch of organ or bent guitar string. Not only finding a funky beat, but one capable of matching Guru's unique flow, Premier doles out flirty bass lines, clunky woodblock and jaunty bursts of horn, highlighting the plain-spoken vocals without overshadowing. The dustiest jazz nuggets stick to Guru's words like glue and Premier keeps things low-tech and nocturnal, as to not take away from the stoned monotone.

Nevertheless, jams like "The Illest Brother" demand full attention, building a loop from a messy coupling of cymbal clash, vague wind instrument and barroom piano, all bleeding together like paint spilled on a canvas. Guru takes a chance by going at hyper speed on the mic, but keeps the conversation discernible, especially when elaborating on his talents as a wordsmith and man of the people. Premier also tests his agility, cycling through a handful of choice loops, the best of which pits a jazz fusion passage against playfully chopped up break beats.

"Soliloquy of Chaos" has the drama and tension of a prize fight, reflecting Guru's range of emotions through stirring strings and vocal swoon, mated with a soft xylophone stroke and faint bongo as percussion. Ever the storyteller, Guru sets an exciting nocturnal scene, abuzz with anticipation for a packed live performance. His characterization is rich, expounding on the five-car procession, extra rolls of film, "beige Tims" on his feet and adoring fans at the club. You can almost hear his heart break as gunfire rings out and police cruisers approach the venue.

Never missing the big picture in the smallest of details, Guru exposes the corruption of violence as a domino effect, not only ruining a Friday night, but damaging the art form, its supporters and the urban community as a whole. It's rare to find a lyricist so perceptive and universal, but Guru manages to boast without being solipsistic and perceive without being subjective, bringing a wisdom to Daily Operation scarcely found in the 21 years since its first pressing.