It’s been nearly six months since I started Floodwatchmusic, and since I jumped the gun on my Halloween post, I thought I would give a few shout-outs to the blogs I check on a daily basis. Bigups:

Unkut.com: A Tribute to Ignorance (Remix): If Robbie updated his site more often, it would have my vote for the best on the web, but he’s always emphasized quality over quantity, and he always delivers for those of us who remember a time when hip hop was fresh and exciting. Obscure mixtape freestyles, revealing interviews, “forgotten beefs,” and an ongoing series on the criminally underrated Ultramagnetic MCs are just a few of the treasures you’ll find here, and his knowledge of the music is seemingly endless and nothing short of astonishing.

Angry Citizen: Generally, I tend to avoid blogs that seem like a smattering of random YouTube vids, political commentary, links, and familiar mp3s, but Angry Citizen has one of the better ones out there, and the guy frequents more venues than anyone I know. Thoughtful political posts, worthwhile links, and great live reviews can all found here.

Byron Crawford: His posts range from childishly obnoxious to curiously insightful, and most of his readership (who relish every incendiary word) has the intelligence and maturity of your average third grader. He peppers his posts with asinine homophobic slurs and racist epithets. Yet I keep coming back, hoping for more of Bol’s venomous tongue-lashing upon Kanye West and Lupe Fiasco. A guilty pleasure, one could say.

Copyranter: The world of advertising makes me absolutely nauseous, and Copyranter rips into it with passion, disgust, and most importantly, humor.

Destination: Out: This was a recent discovery, and I’m all the more grateful for it. Destination: Out presents cuts from the free jazz and avant-garde fringes without the pretension and snobbery that usually accompanies such offerings. Intelligent writing, choice selection of artists, and a great-looking site to boot.

Ear Fuzz: A friendly crew of knowledgeable guys with record collections to die for, Ear Fuzz has always been a reliable source for obscure ’70s funk, jazz, and soul. Reading each post is like an informal coversation with a fellow record geek over beers, complete with cross-referencing of liner notes and debates over chronology and catalog numbers. The site design is agreeable and welcoming, and I occasionally find myself getting lost in that banner of theirs.

Moistworks: I have occasional gripes about Moistworks (such as the apparent haphazard posting of tracks with the faintest trace of relevance) but the writing and personal insight contained each post is so good that it’s impossible to complain.

Oh Word: A refreshing and hilarious take on the hip hop blog, marred only by a weak site design that requires way too much scrolling than necessary. Sacha and Rafi write with a sharp, biting wit that has me frequently laughing out loud (“Seriously, if you’re currently jocking this album, please realize that you sound exactly like a Dilated Peoples fan in 2000″), and also have fantastic ideas for “themed” posts. With often multiple posts over the course of a day, my visits have become almost hourly.

Poplicks: As long as the posts aren’t tired “Question of the Week”s and “look at this funny video!” timewasters, Poplicks is an entertaining and discussion-provoking read.

Silence Is a Rhythm Too: Another recent find. Michael has a simple, no-frills approach to posting that I find refreshing and such a genuine interest in the music that comes across as nothing but infectious, with as wide a spectrum of music than I can remember seeing in an audioblog.

Soul Sides: What more can be said about Soul Sides? Just when I think Oliver has exhausted his collection of rare soul platters, he manages to post something that is so shockingly good it’s a wonder that more listeners didn’t know about it.

The Passion of the Weiss: I was initially familiar with Jeff Weiss’ writing over at Stylus, but his audioblog is way more entertaining (and colorful - is anyone else turned off by the grim sobriety of Stylus’ layout?). Despite his Pitchfork-like ratings system, his record reviews are incredibly good and frequently hilarious.

As undeniably extraordinary as Jeru the Damaja’s The Sun Rises in the East (1994) and Wrath of the Math (1996) were, my favorite moments on each record involved the participation of Jeru’s then-disciple Afu-Ra, whose youthful, scholarly flow perfectly complimented Jeru’s wisened perspective and staccato delivery. Afu then released one of the greatest hip hop singles of the ’90s two years later with “Whirlwind Thru Cities,” a Premier-produced gem that had fans chomping at the bit for his upcoming debut. Body of the Life Force (2000) was mostly well-received, but I couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed by the slick, polished production, and Afu’s voice had frustratingly developed into a heavier, more matured inflection. His verses were still capable of deadly verbal darts, but without any subject variety, he had somehow lost his charm.

Few emcees live for the thrill of lyrical combat like Afu. His debut appearance on “Mental Stamina” from The Sun Rises was a head-spinning vortex of metaphysical maxims and martial arts proficiency, all atop a bouncy, whirring funk loop. Having established their mental prowess, Jeru and Afu returned for a sequel on Wrath of the Math titled “Physical Stamina,” a more aggressive counterattack from the duo, with a rambunctious beat by Primier that is simply unclassifiable and perhaps the most unique production of his oeuvre. The preparatory dialogue that began “Mental Stamina” is reprised here word for word, yet with the two emcees switching lines. Once the beat drops, Afu enters after eight bars, sounding like he has just been rudely interrupted from writing his dissertation on molecular physics:

Physical paralysis, open your chest like a chalice
Emcees couldn’t strike movements we wish to brandish
I’m tormenting mind states, lyrical warrior
I flow through, fuck the mic, I fuckin’ floor ya

Afu slips into his combat stance with ease, assailing his opponent with some impressive alliteration and scoring a direct hit by temporarily disregarding the microphone for violent confrontation (“I fuckin’ floor ya”). I suppose one could argue the logistics behind “opening” a chalice, but such is the style of Afu, who places more emphasis on phonetics than meaning.

Headlocks and armlocks, necks is gettin’ broken
No jokin’, format will leave your whole aura smokin’

Afu engages physical contact here, shunning martial arts for basic wrestling maneuvers. It’s difficult to tell whether he says “aura” or “borough,” but the former would make more sense, given the metaphysical tendencies of his subject matter.

Fist of five rings, I fling emcees to the gutter
Samurai sharp, more deadly than box cutters
Ultimate, as I emit your death blow
Perverted Monks, and Jeru with the combo.

More fine alliteration here, as well as a combination of Eastern warrior imagery and makeshift street weapons conclude Afu’s first verse. He reigns champion as he delivers his crowning fatal strike, acknowledging his crew (the Perverted Monks) before ceding to Jeru. His second verse (at 1:33) begins by incorporating a series of entertaining comic book references:

More strength than the Juggernaut, electric like Magneto
Know you couldn’t test “Mental,” or now the sequel

As a reminder of their legacy, Afu refers to the first installment, claiming that the outcome here will be no different.

I slip to the floor for the grapple
I crack your collarbone, while I crush your Adam’s apple
Spleens get ripped out the backs of your raps
Broken-down fractions as you start to make actions

Afu continues his physical assaults, inflicting critical damage to the upper body of his opponent with just one blow. The rhythm of his delivery in the third line is the verbal equivalent of the bob-and-weave motion of a boxer, and when coupled with the fourth line, is a revealing display of Afu’s internal rhyme techniques.

It’s too elusive, how I’m quicker than bruises
Silver Surfin’, the universe is now its astrological
As I proceed in my vehicle, you can’t stop it
Fiber optic, so you watch it
Sophistry, with so much fury, you can’t get with me
Fight scenes are left bloody

Here we enter a mysterious part in Afu-Ra’s verses, a jumble of phrases that border on indecipherable. The only thing clear is another comic reference, this time to Silver Surfer, but a fiber optic vehicle? An obscure allusion to astronomy? “Sophistry” is right - or was it perhaps his intention to deliberately confuse his opponent? Regardless, Afu doesn’t hesitate in describing what remains after an encounter with him.

Poisonist Taoist, my thoughts make plates shift
Some may call this tectonics
But airwaves from miles I boil by my sonics
It’s ironic, got emcees hooked on phonics
So physical styles I construct like bionics.

Afu’s conscious mispronunciation of “Tao” (or “Dao”) harkens back to his first appearance two years eariler, and is followed by a puzzling explanation of the geological phenomena that occurs when he thinks. The irony he refers to is the eventual assimilation of his style by adversarial emcees. Afu finishes his round as the word “bionics” delays into the mix, and Jeru takes the lead again to bring the battle to a close.

“Physical Stamina” – Jeru the Damaja feat. Afu-Ra 3:05 (Wrath of the Math, Payday 1996)

In a genre of music fundamentally confined to a particular mode of direct, danceable repetition, it’s always refreshing to stumble upon an artist or group so intent on meticulous composition and living-room listening. Such were my feelings when I first heard London duo Spring Heel Jack’s unique form of drum ‘n bass. Although in the past few years the group has moved on to the denser pastures of free jazz, the earlier half of their work (from ‘95 to ‘00) still resonates with an intelligent, vigorous drive seldom heard in electronic music today. Their closest contemporaries would likely be the intricate, chamber-like pieces of Orbital, but where Phil and Paul Hartnoll wove introspective soundscapes from an array of keyboards and live drums, John Coxon and Ashley Wales constructed loud, grotesque anthems from some of the most unmusical sources available.

Coxon was a DJ in London when he met classical composer Wales in ‘90, and the duo found a veritable palette in dub-like jungle as the decade progressed, even contributing the title track (and album standout) to Everything But the Girl’s platinum record Walking Wounded (1996). Breakthrough album 68 Million Shades (1996) and especially their incredible follow-up Busy Curious Thirsty (1997) sounded like nothing else at the time, and left drum ‘n bass fans dumbfounded as to the music’s application; even compared to Goldie’s darkcore jungle, Spring Heel Jack was simply too odd and incredibly noisy to boot, thus hardly danceable. Coxon and Wales refined their formula and within the span of a little over a year, released two “sister” records, Treader (originally released on Tugboat in ‘99) and Disappeared (2000).

At first listen to Spring Heel Jack, one’s immediate impression is usually one of unease; something just sounds wrong, but it’s often difficult to identify. It could be the massively distorted drums, random metallic blasts from various noises, or the utter disregard for diatonic harmony. More often than not, it’s the general assemblage of disparate sounds that seemingly have no business interacting with each other. Coxon and Wales have adamantly emphasized that every track is composed solely from the manipulation of samples; there are no drum machines, keyboards, or sound modules to be found. In a way, this method prevents stagnation, blurring the inherent tendencies of the trained musician to fall back on “reliables” or learned musical resolutions. It’s essentially similar to sampling in hip hop: gather a handful of unrelated samples and make something musical out of it, in one way or another.

“Is” opens Treader with what sounds like the arming and engaging of various power sources on a spacecraft; a relaxed funk loop enters, then a smoky upright bass with the sounds of icy strings gliding across the sky. As the texture thickens, one can hear the group constructing melodies out of keymapped samples, a common technique found in their work. At 3:21 the orchestra suddenly decends into a black hole, gradually imploding as it is sucked into oblivion.

“Is” – Spring Heel Jack 4:14 (Treader, Thirsty Ear 2000)

“Eyepa” is a fine example of the duo’s bizarre hybrid of jungle and the avant-garde, as a dirty tech-step pattern flows underneath bombs of distorted bass, brass fanfare, clusters of organ chords, and dozens of bell-like percolations. It almost sounds too chaotic to digest, but this is what the group was all about.

“Eyepa” – Spring Heel Jack 6:26 (Treader, Thirsty Ear 2000)

Disappeared is the stronger record of the pair, displaying a wider variety of styles that the duo merely hinted at before, and is often referred to as “John Barry on crack” or some such. True, a large portion of the album sounds like futuristic spy music more than anything else, and as the last release before diving into beatless electronic free jazz, it contains the subtle hints of a transitional record. It certainly is unique and much easier to absorb than Treader, containing some of the most impressive ideas from Wales and Coxon to date. “Disappeared 1″ features the multi-tracked horn of British multi-instrumentalist and composer John Surman over a lush bed of vibraphones and synthetic strings, a hauntingly gorgeous taste of what Spring Heel Jack would explore on Masses (2001).

“Disappeared 1” – Spring Heel Jack feat. John Surman 6:14 (Disappeared, Thirsty Ear 2000)

“Trouble & Luck” is another left turn of sorts, a title theme without a film, with a steady breakbeat providing the foundation for a guitar lick and a simple trumpet figure. As the track progresses, select instruments and sounds begin an infinite decay, creating an organic, hypnotic drone.

“Trouble & Luck” – Spring Heel Jack 5:49 (Disappeared, Thirsty Ear 2000)

As mentioned above, Coxon and Wales have moved into improvisational jazz, collaborating with figures such as Matthew Shipp and Evan Parker to create ambient backdrops for the soloists. Their earlier creations as mad scientists of drum ‘n bass are just as deserving of attention, and are relatively easy (and often cheap) to find.

Five years is a lifetime in the world of hip hop, but for EPMD, it proved to be just enough time to make their mark in an era when each week brought a genre-defining release and the rules were being rewritten constantly. I’m still waiting for the pre-reunion work (’88-’92) of Erick Sermon and Parrish Smith to get its proper due, if only in the area of production, as the duo were arguably the first to successfully popularize the thick funk loops of Parliament/Funkadelic and Zapp at a time when sampling James Brown was considered cutting-edge. While neither of the two emcees possessed a gifted flow, there was something about these two brothers from Brentwood, Long Island that was irresistible, whether it was the dirty, laid-back grooves, the endless stream of half-baked metaphors and similies, or the mush-mouthed musings of Sermon (never before had a speech impediment been so effective).

I’ve always felt that EPMD’s fourth release, the shamefully long out-of-print Business Never Personal (1992) was their finest in terms of consistency and overall vibe, potently illustrating the “rough, rugged, and raw” mentality the duo had always adhered to. Along with noteworthy releases from Das Efx, K-Solo, and Redman, 1992 was undoubtedly the year of the Hit Squad, and two strong singles were culled from the record: the rowdy posse cut “Headbanger” with Redman and K-Solo, and their manifesto on crass hip hop commercialism “Crossover.” What’s remarkable about the album is the lack of filler or skits present, chiefly attributable to its brevity at 11 tracks and 39 minutes, but also in regard to the lyrical content, which elevated street braggadocio to an art form. There’s plenty to be found here: ferocious trash-talking (”Chill”), props to their DJ (”Scratch Bring It Back”), calling out gold diggers (”Play the Next Man”), and a further installment in their amusing transvestite saga (”Who Killed Jane?”).

“Can’t Hear Nothing But the Music,” with the Average White Band’s “School Boy Crush” loop buried underneath the drums and handclaps, had the potential to be a third single had the group not parted ways in early ‘93. Smith begins by casually rattling off 14 bars that sound like standard fare, but what other rapper could compare himself to serial killer Dave Berkowitz, Shaft, and a mentally challenged individual and get away with it? Sermon’s verses have him singing the theme song to Rocky, dropping kung fu references, and mumbling lines like, “Bust a move, I’m worth about a million cash bucks / Say what? Damn right, shut the hell up.” All in a day’s work for the Green-Eyed Bandit.

“Can’t Hear Nothing But the Music” – EPMD 3:37 (Business Never Personal, Def Jam 1992)

“It’s Going Down,” previously appearing on the Juice soundtrack earlier that year, is mandatory listening, and about as quintessential a track as fan favorites “You Gots to Chill” and “So What ‘Cha Sayin’.” Snagging the horn line from Marvin Gaye’s “I Want You” and layering it over a crushing, bleacher-rattling drum loop, the duo spit memorable line after line, climaxing in Smith’s summarization of the group’s ethos at 2:45:

While the E-Double takes a nap, no time to slack
It’s my turn to guard the fort, ready for combat
Guns and violence - that we don’t promote
Just taking what’s ours, kid, chill or smell the gunsmoke.

“It’s Going Down” – EPMD 4:12 (Business Never Personal, Def Jam 1992)

Considering the success of this album, it shouldn’t be too difficult to stumble upon it in the used section to avoid the exorbitant prices I’ve seen for it on eBay and Amazon. In the meantime, “Keep your hoodies on and your boots laced.“

Way back in the fall of ‘99, I had a hardcore straight-edge vegetarian friend who would relentlessly try to turn me on to dozens of mediocre, garden-variety hardcore bands to little avail. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect the energy of the music or frowned upon the close-knit devotion to the community and the “scene,” but it was too predictable, too monotonous, and ultimately left me feeling empty. Like ska and punk, it just wasn’t my bag. (Correction: on second thought, I loathe ska.) So one can only imagine the kneejerk eye-rolling and sigh of mild annoyance as my well-intentioned companion proceeded to tell me about a band that he “guaranteed” I would like - no, love - while he casually sauntered over to the stereo to insert the disc. Within minutes I was sitting dumbfounded, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as Zao’s Liberate Te Ex Inferis (1999) blasted out of the speakers.

Never before had I been exposed to such blazing, unrestrained evil (this was shortly before I discovered black metal), and when my friend told me they were a Christian metalcore group, the irony was not lost on me. Zao was formed in 1993 in Parkersburg, West Virginia by drummer Jesse Smith, and during the mid-’90s they released a handful of demos, EP’s, and two full-lengths on Steadfast before disbanding in 1997. Smith wanted to continue, however, and it wasn’t until the addition of vocalist Daniel Weyandt for 1998’s Where Blood and Fire Bring Rest that a new lineup solidified. With a new-found sense of purpose and a discordant, crushingly heavy approach to songwriting, Weyandt was the icing on the cake: a troubled, enigmatic kid with a flair for thoughtful (albeit incredibly grim) lyrics and, most critically, the voice of Satan incarnate.

Liberate Te Ex Inferis remains the band’s masterwork to date, a concept album loosely based on Dante’s Inferno and the five circles of Hell. The song titles themselves offer insight into the music, abandoning subtlety for downright creepiness: “Dark Cold Sound,” “The Ghost Psalm,” “Skin Like Winter.” Anchored by Smith’s violent drum work are the dual guitars of Scott Mellinger and Russ Cogdell, churning simple but brutally heavy riffs into the mix. At the eye of the storm is Weyandt, his voice alternating between a chilling whisper and a demonic rasp. His lyrical content transcends the usual death-and-despair approach to reveal poignant, intelligent expositions on topics such as attaining immortality (“So close to separation, a ghost without a grave”), the vicious rape of a close friend (“Her petals are slowly torn away; scarlet adorns the snow”), and the unexpected death of a younger sibling (“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, beautiful child turning into stone”).

The band welcomes the listener into their cold, barren sound-world with “Intro,” a funereal dirge that slowly builds in intensity and volume to culminate in the blood-curdling scream that opens “Savannah” at 3:37. The guitars, nearly suffocating under their own weight, transform into piercing air raid sirens at 5:13, mimicking Weyandt’s apocalyptic warning: We saw it bleed! At 5:39 the guitars drop out for Rob Horner’s contorted, stomach-churning bassline while Weyandt writhes in agony: The machine bleeds, the machine bleeds. Lovely stuff, isn’t it?

“Intro / Savannah” – Zao 6:23 (Liberate Te Ex Inferis, Solid State 1999)

“If These Scars Could Speak” begins with acoustic guitar strumming atop Smith’s nervous drum pattern, loosening his hi-hats to anticipate the fury of sound at 0:36. Note the punishing 6/4 groove he creates out of the guitarists’ knotty chords at 1:32 with a cleverly placed hi-hat accent as he whips the bell on the ride cymbal. The storm briefly subsides at 2:53 for the most beautiful moment on the record, as bell-like harmonics caress a wonderfully neutral guitar chord and Weyandt double-tracks his naked voice: “Cradled by a cold floor, isolation reveals his true motivation.” The solace is brief as the band suddenly erupts into a stomping death march custom-made for mosh pits, the guitarists tearing through riffs with the ferocity of a rabid pack of wolves.

“If These Scars Could Speak” – Zao 4:43 (Liberate Te Ex Inferis, Solid State 1999)

With Hallow’s Eve looming in the near future, I was tossing around the idea of a Most Evil Records post, but few albums can lurk in the shadow of Liberate Te Ex Inferis: powerful, passionate, and scary as all hell.