Every obsessive, self-respecting music geek has that one record that is so intrinsic in shaping the way they listen to music, it’s practically wired into their DNA. That one record that they’ll blather on about uncontrollably for hours to anyone who’ll listen, and will sing its praises at any available opportunity. In most cases, it’s an album that has been unfairly maligned somehow during the course of music history, and said music geek feels it’s their honorary duty to remedy this by championing the record from the highest elevations. For me, Shudder to Think’s Pony Express Record (1994) is that album, a 54-minute artifact that is so critical to my genetic composition that my kids will one day be humming its songs in their sleep.

I first heard Pony Express Record in the late fall of 1994, a few months after its release date. I was glancing through the featured albums in one of those listening stations at a local record store, and the cryptic cover art intrigued me. I’d like to say that from the first notes of the album I was enraptured, passionately hugging the headphones to my ears for the record’s entire duration, but in all likelihood, I purchased the disc because it was something different and I had always been curious about what the band sounded like. By the fourth or fifth listen a few days later, I realized that I was in the presence of something beyond my then-daily intake of rock, metal, and hip hop staples, something that would completely alter the way my ears would interpret and process sound. I spent the entire winter of ‘95 with Pony Express Record, never tiring of it, letting it accompany me wherever I went. I forcibly pushed on every person I knew, desperately wanting to connect with someone who “got it” like I did, and readying my rapid-fire retorts to the usual first-listen criticisms of “It’s just too weird, it doesn’t make any sense,” and my personal favorite, “The singer sounds too gay for me.” Even still, I experienced a smug satisfaction in the repulsion of others, knowing I could keep Pony Express Record’s treasures all for myself, and that it would remain pure and untainted by the unrefined and undeveloped tastes of the rest of the world. In short, I cherished it like it was my first-born. (When I say “obsessive,” I’m not exaggerating.)

Shudder to Think was formed in the mid-’80s in Washington, DC, comprised of singer/guitarist Craig Wedren, lead guitarist Chris Matthews, bassist Stuart Hill, and drummer Mike Russell. Their early releases on Dischord Records stood out from the DIY punk and hardcore that the label was known for, characterized by an abstract sense of melody, Wedren’s near-operatic falsetto, and large doses of feedback and noise. By the time the group signed to Epic at the cusp of the early-’90s “alternative” explosion, Matthews and Russell had vacated and were replaced by Nathan Larson and ex-Jawbox member Adam Wade, respectively. Pony Express Record was their major label debut, and confounded critics and fans alike: the jagged textures and perplexing song structures were straight out of free jazz and ’70s prog and fusion, yet the melodic content had its foundations in pop, even a bit of hair metal (Wedren was reportedly listening to a lot of Def Leppard at the time). At the time of its release, there was simply nothing like it. Naturally, the album was mostly ignored by the mainstream as it began to accumulate its own cult following. The band’s follow-up, the more listener-friendly 50,000 B.C. (1997) hardly fared better in the sales department, and after dabbling in film and soundtrack work toward the end of the decade, the group disbanded.

I’ve been wanting to thoroughly dissect Pony Express Record since I began this site nearly two years ago, but have always been wary of my own enthusiasm; clouded with rabid infatuation, the autopsy would read like the deafening applause of a lunatic. Then about a month ago, I was checking my Inbox when I happened across an email from an “Adam Wade” thanking me for the kind words I had penned about his work in my Top Five Albums to Air-Drum Along To post. For a guy who used to scrawl the words “ADAM WADE IS GOD” into many a desk during his high school years, this was a pretty significant compliment; it’s rare that I experience the sensation of being ’star-struck’, but given my admiration toward Wade’s contributions to Pony Express Record, I couldn’t help but feel a tad lightheaded. Adam, who currently works as an engineer and music supervisor for an advertising agency in Los Angeles, sympathized with my “truth is in the details” ethos and graciously agreed to participate in an autopsy of sorts and offer his thoughts about the record. I attempted to rein in my gushings about his drumming as best as I could, but inevitably there were occasions where I couldn’t help myself. Before we delved into the meat of the album itself, I asked Adam a few general questions about Pony Express Record.

Floodwatchmusic: So what were the circumstances around your joining the band following the departure of Mike Russell, after you left Jawbox?

Adam Wade: I would have to say they were somewhat dicey. My last tour with Jawbox was actually opening for Shudder, and at the time Jawbox was going through some intense upheaval internally and were very unpleasant to be around, so I tended to hang with the Shudder guys more so than my own band. I like to have fun when I go on tour. I was a huge fan of theirs and we all seemed to get on rather well, plus I was also looking to do something different musically. I felt I had reached my limit with Jawbox and was eager to grow artistically. I suspect they had reached their limit with me as well. It was a very sad thing to leave Jawbox, but thrilling at the same time to know I was going to play with my favorite band.

FWM: The differences in your playing between Novelty (1992) and Pony Express Record seem like light years away from each other. Was it difficult to adjust to the more complex, almost “math-y” time signatures of Shudder to Think after playing relatively straightforward 4/4 material with Jawbox?

AW: Yes, very. After quitting Jawbox I had a couple of months before I could start rehearsing with Shudder. They went off to Europe that spring – 1992, I believe – so I holed myself up in their practice space and proceeded to learn Get Your Goat (1992) and some other older tracks. I would just play along with the record over and over and over again. There was one song I just couldn’t figure out, “Rain Covered Cat.” For some reason I just couldn’t get my head around it, and I think that bummed the guys out. But it’s a cool track, and Mike Russell is a great drummer. His ambidexterity allowed him to play some really remarkable patterns.

FWM: How much of a hand did you have in writing the Pony Express material? Were you directly involved in the writing process, or did the band present the finished songs for you to play over?

AW: Generally, what would happen is Craig or Nathan would have a riff or a chorus and then the four of us would hash it out. I never wrote any parts per se, but I did do my share of arranging.

FWM: Your drums on the record sound huge. How much involvement did you have with the mic’ing and mixing of your kit?

AW: None whatsoever. We can thank OZ [Studios, in Baltimore] owner and engineer Steve Palmeri and mixer Andy Wallace for that. I just hit the drums.

FWM: What are some of your impressions on how Epic treated the band, as far as promotion and attention are concerned? How much did a major-label budget affect the recording process?

AW: All in all, I think Epic did fine by us. Every one there was very attentive and made us feel special. I don’t think we would be having this interview if it weren’t for their efforts. Were there things that could have been done differently? Perhaps. At the time, major label budgets were still fairly sizable and we were able to make very good use of it at OZ. It simply meant you could take a lot more time and be methodical about the whole process, and not worry about the cost of tape and studio time.

FWM: How often do you listen to Pony Express Record?

AW: Maybe once a year or so.

FWM: What are your reactions to it today, nearly fifteen years after its release?

AW: There are parts that bring me great pleasure and satisfaction, and others where, having the benefit of hindsight, I would have played a little differently. To some extent it’s a product of its time: very stripped down guitars, bass, drums, and vocals, but it no way does it feel dated. I don’t think that record will ever sound “dated,” because it seems to occupy it’s own time. I have yet to hear anything that comes even remotely close to sounding like it.

“Hit Liquor”

FWM: Whose idea was it to pick “Hit Liquor” for the single, the label or the band? Listening to it now, in the context of what constitutes “single” material these days, I can’t wrap my head around something this weird dominating the Billboard chart.

AW: I think it was the label that made that call and we more or less went along with it. It’s important to remember that “Hit Liquor” was released previously as a Dischord single. I think Epic thought they were playing it safe by releasing a known quantity to college radio. Atlantic did that previously with Jawbox’s “Savory” and it seemed to work. I think “Hit Liquor” was the first song we recorded in the studio, although I’m not sure. I feel “9 Fingers on You” would have a made a good first single as well. Come out swinging, I always say.

FWM: I remember when I first heard this song I went nuts over the way your kick drum hits were in lockstep with those oddly-syncopated guitar chords, especially during the solo. Did Nathan play all of the solos on the records?

AW: Yeah, he did. They’re probably my favorite thing about the record. As for the kick, it was merely a matter of finding the pocket and sticking to the click. Which is certainly easier said than done.

FWM: You’ve got to help me out with the video for this song. What’s going on with the striped sailor shirts, the sickly-looking dude, and all that raw meat being butchered?

AW: We were at sea, you know, so we had to wear the nautical gear. I can’t claim to have any creative input into that video whatsoever. I remember I did manage to get a nasty case of vertigo during filming. I think it was a combination of being exhausted, in the sun, and on the water all day.

“Gang of $”

FWM: I particularly enjoy how you use nearly every cymbal to keep time on this song, from open hi-hats to the crash ride, not to mention those brief open hi-hat/snare hits you use to accent particular beats.

AW: I think most good drummers instinctively hear in their head what cymbal would fit with a certain part. A lot of how I approached the songs came from trying to emulate a particular feel of another song, and in the case of “Gang of $” there are obvious homages: AC/DC’s “Hell’s Bells” in the chorus and The Stooges‘ “Down on the Street” during other parts in the track. One of the most fun things about Shudder was the challenge of throwing in a reference to some old song, usually a 70’s track, around these way-out riffs. Actually, I ripped that intro beat off of our friend Nick Pellicciotto, who was the drummer for Edsel at the time. He was our sound guy too. That seemed to happen to him a fair amount.

FWM: This was always the cut I used to include on mixtapes for friends, probably because of how “catchy” the chorus was. Do you know where Craig’s inspiration for lyrics came from?

AW: I can’t say for certain, but I think it was a combination of literature, improv, and the occasional acid flashback, and then finding pockets to lay them into.

“9 Fingers on You”

FWM: This song still blows me away. The way you handle that 7/4 into the 13/8 is, if I may be so bold, absolutely brilliant. Was that part tricky to nail?

AW: Well, 7/4 into 13/8 is my trademark time change, really. Um, what part are you talking about?

FWM: Sorry, it’s the change before the “Girl, you get to hustle” line, specifically at 0:17.

AW: That was so much fun to play, as was the whole track in general. The 13/8 part, if I’m not mistaken, was inspired by a Grifters song from the One Sock Missing (1993) LP.

FWM: With the unconventional time signatures like these all over the record, do you feel like the “prog-rock” tag was applicable to the band? I don’t hear King Crimson and Yes so much as I hear “uniquely unparalleled in rock music.” Then again, I have no idea how some people labeled Shudder as “emo,” so I guess it’s all subjective.

AW: That’s very kind of you to say. We certainly never thought of ourselves as “prog” or “emo” or “punk.” We just thought of ourselves as a rock band. I think our only agenda at the time was to not sound like anybody else.

FWM: Video geeks worldwide are begging the question: If you could choose one song from Pony Express to be on the next installment of Guitar Hero, which one would it be?

AW: “9 Fingaaz,” biatch! The guitars are so fucking great. This track is unstoppable.

FWM: Love those double-snare hits you use to conclude the solo, by the way, before the Eddie Van Halen-esque “dive bomb” guitar brings the track to a close.

“9 Fingers on You” – Shudder to Think 2:41 (Pony Express Record, Epic 1994)

“Sweet Year Old”

FWM: Such odd jazz-like chords here; it’s easily one of the more dissonant songs on the record. Any memories of the first time you heard the song, and your means to approach it drum-wise?

AW: Actually, this track proved the most difficult for me to nail. This was that last one to be written and it was finished in the studio. I love the way it turned out in the end and it’s become one of my favorites over the years. It’s very heavy and Beatles-esque. There’s one part in there that I’m particularly proud of, and it was just something unplanned that I did while we were recording: the snare roll just before the beginning of the second verse [at 1:33]. Everyone loved it so we kept it in there.

FWM: Your ride cymbal here sounds phenomenal – you’re not still endorsed by Sabian, are you?

AW: Nope. And I can’t imagine how you would come to the conclusion that I endorsed Sabian? It’s not like it was printed in large type in the liner notes on it’s own line – oh, wait.

FWM: The liners indicate that this was one of two songs that Nathan penned for the record, and his songwriting style matches Craig’s remarkably well. Did he join the band before or after you?

AW: Nathan came in about a year before I did, give or take a few months.

“Earthquakes Come Home”

FWM: This track still gives me goosebumps, especially the little cymbal/hi-hat accent/snare routine you do after the line, “The things I like I care for” [at 0:42]. Your drum parts sound so deliberate and calculated on this track, yet remain fluid and natural. Did you have to “memorize” your parts to the extent that you played the songs the exact same way – fills and all – in a live context?

AW: Well, one of the nice things about recording is that it helps to solidify all the parts of a song, so when it came to perform them live you’re essentially performing a cover of the song from the album.

FWM: The loose 6/4 that closes the track (“Heaven is holding out for high scores”) must have felt like a relief of sorts compared to the more complicated signatures found on the record.

AW: I welcomed that part with open arms. It’s gorgeous. I loved it when we played it relatively straight like that.

“Kissi Penny”

FWM: A 17/8 time signature?!? Who is insane enough to write shit like that anymore?

AW: Well, again – my signature signature is a 17/8. Insane enough? That would be Shudder to Think, Mark III, of course!

FWM: What were your thoughts when you first heard this?

AW: I just thought it was a lovely riff. I’m basically a pop guy at heart and that’s what drew me to Shudder initially; their early stuff consisted of these wonderful little pop gems buried under guitars and lo-fi production. So whenever Craig would bring something melodic to the table, I was happy.

FWM: I still have trouble grasping the timing of the snare hits here (following “A kiss on the mouth instead”), and I’ve heard this song easily a thousand times. Did that kind of sense of time come natural to you, or did you have to count the beats in your head?

AW: If you count enough it all starts to come together naturally.

FWM: This is still a beautiful song regardless - personally, it was the last song on the record I fully “digested,” so to speak.

“X-French Tee Shirt”

FWM: In the video for “X-French Tee Shirt,” you’re playing a four-piece kit. Was that your standard set-up, or did you ever play a five-piece?

AW: At that time in DC, a four-piece kit was de rigeur. One of the most liberating things for me as a kid, learning to play the drums, was getting rid of that second tom.

FWM: I’ve heard a lot of drummers say that, and I’ve always wondered why that is. Not being a drummer, obviously, I would think that a five-piece would open up more possibilities for patterns.

AW: Yeah, but that extra tom complicates things. It expands the parameters of the kit, which can be overwhelming sometimes. I suppose it’s a less-is-more kind of thing.

FWM: By the way, what the hell was this video all about, anyway?

AW: I don’t know that the video is about anything, really. The concept of viewing the action via the dumbwaiter was ripped off of this Eastern European short film that director Pedro Romani had seen and was really into. I had watched The Monkees‘ movie Head (1968) during pre-production and was struck by the scene where Davy Jones is in the ballroom, dancing around this giant room that, through some very fast editing, switches from white tux on black background to a black tux on a white background. Shooting it was great fun, actually, and a very heady time indeed. We were flown out to Hollywood and put up in a fancy hotel, then proceeded to make this big rock video on the legendary Van Nuyes soundstage.

FWM: I remember seeing this back in ‘95 on MTV’s 120 Minutes and thinking, “At least the director or editor matched the video of your playing with what was actually played on the record.”

AW: Yeah, we did many, many, many takes.

“No Rm. 9 Kentucky”

FWM: I always felt that this track could have done well as a single, despite its length and the whole “mother fucking her son” thing. Those are brushes you’re using for the track’s entire duration, right?

AW: Yes, brushes up until the break and then I switched to those bundled reed stick things. They’re good for basic snare/hi-hat stuff, but I never really liked the way they sounded on the toms.

FWM: Was it your idea to play with the brushes?

AW: I felt the lighter feel of the song called for it. I didn’t have much experience then with playing brushes, and listening back now, “No Rm. 9 Kentucky” is probably the one song that I wish I could do over the most.

“Chakka”

FWM: I still have no idea what this song is about – do you know what Craig is singing?

AW: Ha! He’s not singing anything! It sort-of like when you try to sing along to a tune that you don’t really know all the lyrics to.

FWM: There is some odd percussion during some of the quieter moments in the song. Was that all done live, or was any of it synthetic?

AW: Them jugs are all 100% real honey.

FWM: You mentioned earlier about playing to a click. Was it used for all of the songs here?

AW: Yeah, I was chained up to a click for all the takes. When the drums were tracked, [producer] Ted Nicely had the click track and my kick drum patched through this thing called a Russian Dragon [”Rushin’ Draggin’”]. It had seventeen LED lights: eight on the right, eight on the left, and one in the center. That way we could tell if the kick was off and by how much. That thing was brutal, yet effective.

“Chakka” – Shudder to Think 4:47 (Pony Express Record, Epic 1994)

“Own Me”

FWM: I love the mock-swagger blues feel on this track. Again, one of Nathan’s songs, but it fits in with Craig’s style of songwriting perfectly.

AW: The straighter, bluesier feel of this one was fun to play, although in hindsight I wish we had put some guitar noise or something over those drum fills.

FWM: This must have been fun one to play live. How many of these songs did the band work into a live context following its release?

AW: We played them all.

“So Into You”

FWM: This song [previously covered here on the site] qualifies as one of my top five greatest covers in rock music. Whose idea was it to interpret this song?

AW: They were actually doing “So Into You” before I joined. They used to do loads of fun covers: America, X, a few others. I wish I got to do more with the band. I would have been happy doing a whole record of them, actually.

FWM: How familiar were you with the original?

AW: I was marginally familiar with Atlanta Rhythm Section’s version. It was one of those songs that was in the air when we were teenagers, growing up listening to FM radio.

FWM: One of the reasons why it’s so effective is because it doesn’t seem like a way to “fill” out the record, which I appreciate; it sounds like you guys genuinely wanted to incorporate the cover into the content and flow of the album, and it works well.

AW: It was just a lot of fun to play, and a bit of a break from all the counting. I love Nathan’s Rites of Spring-meets-Jane’s Addiction guitar parts on the song.

“Trackstar”

FWM: I’ve always thought of “Trackstar” as the centerpiece of Pony Express Record given its length, structure, and the fact that nothing else on the record sounds quite like it. What were your reactions to this track?

AW: This track has some exquisite moments, several of which that were inspired by the last two Talk Talk records [Spirit of Eden (1988) and Laughing Stock (1991)]. Before the band left on their European tour, which was a few months before I joined, Craig asked me if he could pick anything up for me while they were over there. I mentioned The Colour of Spring (1986) and a few other Talk Talk records that weren’t available domestically, and I don’t know, I like to think that we were inspired by them based on my recommendation.

FWM: How much improvisation was going on during that long, spacious midsection?

AW: That whole middle part was improvised during the recording.

FWM: This is the only song I will concede the “prog” tag to, by the way, although “free jazz” would be applicable.

“Full Body Anchor”

FWM: Craig did a similar solo vocal-and-guitar track to conclude Get Your Goat, although “Full Body Anchor” is a little less dissonant than “Funny.” Any thoughts or reactions to this song?

AW: It’s gorgeous.

Big ups to Marc LaGamba for the photos.

As the warm, laid-back grooves of Dr. Dre’s irresistible G-funk soundtracked thousands of summer pastimes during those halcyon months of 1993, and the hip hop landscape hadn’t yet been polarized between East Coast ruggedness and West Coast thuggishness, Long Island’s De La Soul released the final installment in their Prince Paul-helmed trilogy, titled Buhloone Mindstate (1993), on the 24th of September. No one – critics, longtime fans, DJs, record execs, industry insiders – really knew what to make of it. After the sunny, forward-looking positivity of the landmark 3 Feet High and Rising (1989) had been subsequently crushed by the bizarre and disenchanted De La Soul Is Dead (1991), it was nearly impossible to predict where the trio would go next. A return to their hippie ideologies? A detour into grounded street narratives? Or more left-field, psychedelic experimentalism? Even the Native Tongue family had been strangely silent for the past year, after rising to prominence at the turn of the decade with career-defining statements from A Tribe Called Quest, Black Sheep, and Jungle Brothers, and rumors of soured relationships between members were beginning to circulate around the hip hop press.

Amidst this tumultuous musical environment De La Soul constructed arguably the most fascinating album of their career; only De La Soul Is Dead rivals it for sheer enigmatic value. At its lyrical core, Buhloone Mindstate is one of hip hop’s most cryptic records, a 48-minute sonic exploration riddled with obscure symbolism, geeky in-jokes, and complex visual poetry, all existing at a level of advanced lyric writing that has rarely been matched before or since. Compared to the 70-plus-minute durations that characterized the previous two records, Buhloone’s brevity is its first and most notable distinction. And unlike 3 Feet High and De La Soul Is Dead, whose uniformity was further defined by Paul’s revolutionary (for better or worse) between-song skits, there are only three interludes on Buhloone: one is the intro and two are brief answering machine messages. The cover of the album, while nowhere near as starkly symbolic as the cracked flower pot that graced its predecessor, still gives some indication as to the thematic content within. It shows Posdnous, Trugoy (Dove), and Mase, along with Prince Paul, looking from above into a pool of water. Their faces are distorted by the ripples, and there appears to be a water balloon floating on the surface. It isn’t until the “Intro” that the meaning behind this imagery, and the album’s title, is revealed.

“Intro”
The first sounds that greet the listener are those of a balloon being inflated, which then pops on the downbeat of a drugged horn loop from The Outlaw Blues Band (”Deep Gully”). The phrase “stick the bush” is chanted like a mantra, which is overlapped by “it might blow up, but it won’t go pop.” As the latter increases in intensity and repetition, the “balloon mind state” becomes apparent: the theory that an artist can increase in popularity without succumbing to commercial pressure or diluting the artistic vision (”selling out,” “crossing over,” etc.). At 0:52 the balloon pops again, which signals the arrival of the first track, “Eye Patch.”

“Eye Patch”
In the same spirit as “Oodles of O’s” from De La Soul Is Dead, “Eye Patch,” continues the group’s propensity for placing one of the least listener-friendly cuts on the record as the opener, almost as a spit in the face of the notion that the lead track on an album should be as attention-grabbing as possible. Over an incredibly lo-fi guitar and drum loop, Pos and Dove wax abstruse and casually trade bars with each other, adhering to no particular rhyme scheme and keeping themselves entertained with eye-rolling punchlines like “I Don like Rickles” and “take the horse into the Jolly Ranch.” At 1:22 Pos drops one of the record’s most striking quotables:

I be the in ’cause the brother holding Glocks is out.
I be the in ’cause the pusher running blocks is out.
I be the in ’cause the kid smoking weed, shooting seed which leads
to a girl’s stomach being about a half a ton is out.

After a brief series of shout-outs from the trio, the music abruptly returns to the Outlaw Blues Band loop that served as the intro. A sample of the French word “ecoutez” (”listen”) from the “Transmitting Live from Mars” interlude off 3 Feet High is repeated, along with the sounds of children laughing and various barnyard noises. The weirdness has only just begun.

“En Focus”
Buhloone picks up steam with “En Focus,” a relatively upbeat cut that centers (albeit vaguely) around the peculiarities of fame. Dres of Black Sheep and Pos’ young protégé Shorty No Mas are featured on the track though neither contribute a verse, instead playing supporting roles to Pos and Dave’s ruminations. Again, Paul keeps things simple, constructing a bare musical template of dusty drums under a simple bass pattern, which is occasionally supplemented by hand claps and sound effects. Pos begins by describing his early years with a pen (”I found fun in the scribbling of speak on a naked white sheet“) while Dove is cerebral almost to the point of nonsensical (”I felt the heave in the jeeve, tap it in the basement, diggin’ my own understanding“).

The appearance of Dres here suggests that ties to the Native Tongues hadn’t been severed completely. He throws lines off Pos and, along with Shorty No Mas, acts out two brief in-song skits between Pos and Dove’s verses. In the first, he approaches a female (Shorty) who refuses his advances because she’s become enamoured with Posdnuos and his celebrity status. Pos’ comment that once sales start dipping, “that’s when the amnesia starts,” proceeds the second skit, in which the female is now captivated by Dres. She asks him who he’s with, and when he answers Pos, the female hilariously replies, “Oh yeah, Positive K – oh, I like him.” During Dove’s last verse the chant of “stick the bush” can be heard, a subtle reinforcement of Buhloone’s thematic unity.

“Patti Dooke”
“Patti Dooke” finally gets into the real meat of the album, a six-minute epic of sorts akin to “Pease Porridge” from De La Soul Is Dead and a testament to Prince Paul’s standalone skills as an arranger. The track features the first hook of the album, provided by Gang Starr’s own Guru, as well as live brass from the JB Horns. 1960s film and television icon Patty Duke is used here to represent the industry that is relentlessly attempting to steal De La Soul’s sound, and indeed, the chorus of “Running through the trenches, it’s the Patti Dooke,” suggests a war is being waged between the Black artists and white musicians and record executives. The song opens with some beautiful jazz guitar playing while an unknown voice laments the “crossing over” of Black artists in the industry, wondering, “They [the white public] can accept our music as long as they can’t see our faces?” A peppy drum pattern then enters, as Paul orchestrates some tasteful organ comping and later, interjections from the horns.

Dove comments upon those who bastardize his style in the first (and his only) verse on the track before Pos declares proudly:

I’m known as the farmer, I’m cultivating, mate, without bending,
Mending, compromising any of my style to gain a smile.

He then points the finger at his label, Tommy Boy, who shamelessly “plant bridges” in attempts to cross over to the mainstream. A white label executive interrupts the proceedings to offer his justification: “We decided to change the cover a little bit, because we see the big picture: Negroes and white folks buying this album.” In Pos’ second verse, he mentions, “Bridges sagging to my woods down under,” which will prove useful in deciphering a later track on the album. The “It might blow up, but it won’t go pop” chant from the “Intro” is repeated here, making “Patti Dooke” a strong contender for the record’s centerpiece. As the track fades, the unknown commenter from the beginning returns, flipping the script and offering the question: “How many of them ever cross over to us, huh? I never seen five niggas on Elvis Presley’s album cover!”

“I Be Blowin’”
JB Horns saxophonist Maceo Parker occupies the entirety of the next track, titled “I Be Blowin’” (as in, “the soul out of this horn“), an instrumental solo feature for his playing. For nearly five minutes Parker riffs over a jazzy piano loop sampled from Lou Rawls‘ “You Make Me So Very Happy,” which will later become the musical fodder for the track “I Am I Be” on the second half of Buhloone. A breathy flute line is blended into the mix along with the sounds of a children’s playground (see the end of “Eye Patch,” above – perhaps Pos is somehow wishing to emphasize the then-recent birth of his first daughter?); the effect is absolutely lovely and hypnotizing. To say this track was unexpected at the time of the album’s release would be a gross understatement: what the hell was a jazzed-up horn instrumental with no vocals doing on a hip hop record back in ‘93? Who did these guys turn into, Divine Styler?

“I Be Blowin’” – De La Soul feat. Maceo Parker 4:58 (Buhloone Mindstate, Tommy Boy 1993)

“Long Island Wildin’”
The mellow vibes of “I Be Blowin’” are interrupted by the next cut, “Long Island Wildin’,” which features Japanese B-boys SDP and Takagi Kan spitting over a thumping drum loop while Pos and Dove sit it out. A sample of Chuck D and Flavor Flav demanding to “bring that beat back” cues the beat, then the two MCs kick it kanji-style for nearly a minute before the naked drum pattern is flavored with a sample from Duke Pearson’s “Ground Hog” for four bars at the end. My Japanese is a little rusty (read: nonexistent) so I can’t offer a translation here, but regardless, the placement of “Long Island Wildin’” in the sequence is a delightful little diversion before the album gets back on track, although at this juncture one could be forgiven for wondering whether Pos or Dove will pick up the mic again.

“Ego Trippin’ (Part Two)”
What happened to part one? Who cares? The second single culled from Buhloone Mindstate and one of the most enjoyable selections on the record, “Ego Trippin”’ is hardly more than a forum for Pos and Dove’s rhyme skills, with their own lyrical eccentricities on full display, of course. As Paul brings in the “Harlem Hendo” sample (by jazz trumpeter Al Hirt), the group suddenly begins to yell uproariously, the screams reminiscent of the “Fat Lady” from De La Soul is Dead. In their verses, the two MCs alternate between various pop culture and music references (from Kriss Kross to Pete Rock to Johnny Gill) and hinting at selections from their back catalogue, from “Potholes in My Lawn” to “Ring Ring Ring (Ha Ha Hey).” Dove is in a particularly playful mood, proclaiming himself “the greatest MC in the world” with “ways that amazes popes,” while Pos introduces himself as “the Jericho Turnpike bandit,” referencing the freeway that runs the length of Long Island. The song concludes with another dose of the “Fat Lady” screams while the group chants “ego trip” and Paul mutters that “somebody’s crying in here,” before finally resting on a sample of a single G# major guitar chord. “Ego Trippin’ (Part Two)” is easily one of the oddest singles in the hip hop oeuvre, if only for the part where Shorty No Mas’ insists that Dove eats a muffin from an Easy-Bake Oven during Pos’ last verse.

“Paul’s Revenge”
This answering-machine interlude is basically a voicemail message from Prince Paul, who addresses a few business items before launching into a rather irate sermon about how The Source failed to credit him for some recent production work with Slick Rick. Presumably it’s included here because he actually says, “And you can quote me. And you can record this and put this on a record,” at one point in the message, though the writers’ names he vilifies are deliberately drowned out by the sound of – what else? – barnyard animals.

“3 Days Later”
An excerpt from Johnny Taylor’s “Love in the Streets (Ain’t As Good As the Love at Home)” serves as the foundation for the next track, which comprises two different moral lessons from Posdnuos and Dove. The “3 days later” refers to the interim between a tryst with Pos and a reputed skeezer and the ensuing doctor’s visit to diagnose the pubic enemy. Dove’s verse is a touch more serious, as he describes an average evening out that’s interrupted by a stick-up kid. Dove tries to bluff him then exclaims, “Now look at me now, he shot my ass dead.” This is followed by a sample from the film Deep Cover (1993), where Larry Fishburne’s character is sobbing while the voice of Jeff Goldblum is urging him to “get in the fucking van.” To underline Dove’s self-described tragedy, a female voice then mourns softly, “I love you, Dave.” It’s no “Millie Pulled a Pistol on Santa,” but as far as storytelling goes, one could certainly do worse.

“Area”
At first listen, “Area” would appear to be three and a half minutes of filler before “I Am I Be”: the beat is an unadorned guitar lick taken from the intro to Spoonie Gee & The Treacherous Three’s “The New Rap Language,” there is no chorus or hook, and Pos and Dove are again on some weird-ass tangent about who knows what. Upon closer listen, it’s actually a clever concept piece revolving around various East Coast area codes and their significance. The two MCs substitute the name-drops for numbers to protect the identities of their subjects (”703’s on my love bug,” and “my 202 keeps me marvelous“) and vaguely hint at some sort of narrative:

Well I’m taking my funds to the 301’s,
While I’m playing my flute in the rear kaboot.
My man from the 908, he don’t like it like that,
So I pipes ’till the sunshine hikes. (Dove)

“Area” is also notable for the first appearance of Maseo on the record, who steals the scene here with a series of call-and-response chants with an imaginary crowd as he tries to guess their area code. After a few unsuccessful attempts he gives up, shouting, “What is it?” to the audience in frustration.

“I Am I Be”
Comparable only to “Patti Dooke” in regard to length, structure, and depth, the five minutes that constitute “I Am I Be” are arguably the finest on Buhloone Mindstate and undoubtedly one of the shining moments in the group’s discography. The track begins with a melange of voices from the De La camp, from Shorty No Mas to Q-Tip, who state their name and a singular characteristic (ex. “I am Tasha, I be fly“). The Lou Rawls loop from “I Be Blowin’” returns, as well as the JB Horns, who color the sample with rich brass chords. Posdnuos enters at 0:52 with one of his most breathtaking verses to date, a 36-bar exposition that sheds light on the group’s newfound maturity, the shady dealings of their label, the birth of Pos’ daughter, and a no-regrets attitude toward his greener days from 3 Feet High. The Native Tongue schism is also expounded upon, with Pos claiming that the Jungle Brothers lied when they said the crew would be “Natives to the end, nowadays we don’t even speak.” He sums up his individuality in the last three bars:

If I wasn’t making song, I wouldn’t be a thug selling drugs,
But a man with a plan. And if I was a rug cleaner,
Bet ‘cha Pos would have the cleanest rugs, I am.

Naturally, Dove’s verse is a little trickier to decipher, as he uses obscure imagery and metaphors to convey his thoughts:

I bring the element H with the 2,
So you “O” me what’s coming when I’m raining on your new parade.

His last four bars echo Pos’, with a desire to walk on the “right side” of the road and a refusal to judge those who don’t. After an intermission showcasing a fuzzy Ernie Isley-ish guitar solo, Pos returns for another 12 bars to conclude the song, extinguishing the “hip hop hippies” tag with a desire to “bring the peace, not in the flower, but the As-Salaam-Alaikum.” The voices from the song’s intro return again, with engineer Bob Power lightening the proceedings by cutting through the racket with, “I am Bob, and I be really, really tired of doing this here, guys,” before Maceo Parker closes the track with a sax solo.

“In the Woods”
The group follows the introspective “I Am I Be” with “In the Woods,” another album standout and the only cut to feature a full verse from a guest – here it’s then-unknown Shorty No Mas, who finally gets a chance to flex her lyrical skills after numerous bit parts on the record’s previous tracks. Still a senior in high school at the time of the recording, Shorty had connected to the group via Posdnuos, who invited her to drive up from Philadelphia to New York to contribute to the Buhloone sessions. Here De La equates “the woods” with “the underground,” to the misinterpretation of many listeners who assumed the group was back on some outdoorsy, nature-loving shit. Dove leads the song off with a “party over here” chant as the beat drops, then trades lines with Shorty during his first verse. Pos contributes the second verse with an urgency heretofore unheard on the record, practically shouting lines like, “Yo, that Native shit is dead so the sticker bush is coming.” Shorty delivers the final verse with a sophistication that belies her age, warning, “Don’t you dare consider me a fly gal, pal, I got props on a different tip.” A shame that little would come of her career other than an occasional mixtape guest spot here and there; Buhloone benefits immensely by her presence and signaled a mild cult following and public thirst for her talent that continues to this day.

“In the Woods” – De La Soul feat. Shorty No Mas 4:03 (Buhloone Mindstate, Tommy Boy 1993)

“Breakadawn”
The lead single from Buhloone Mindstate fared mildly on the singles chart, which had to sting given that the group’s sample budget was likely exhausted from the Michael Jackson appropriation that “Breakadawn” is built upon. It’s still a fantastic cut, and probably went over the heads of many listeners who were expecting more of the same D.A.I.S.Y. Age antics from the trio. Pos spits the first verse, describing his move from the Bronx to Long Island as a child and indulging in phonetic complexities like the lines that conclude his verse:

So get your butt out the sling, I stung Mohammad, float a note,
That means I’m def, so like the autographs I’m signing ’til the break (a dawn).

Dove’s verses are rife with compound rhymes and arcane references, while Pos continues to explore the ups and downs of fame and the hip hop community’s reaction to the group’s wild artistic trajectory. The track ends on the final line from his last verse, a summation of sorts that defines the trio’s place in hip hop: “De La Soul is sure to show that we will hit the charter harder than the normal rapping bull.”

“Dave Has a Problem… Seriously”
The second of the answering machine-message interludes, this one has even less replay value than Paul’s phone diatribe and is much more ridiculous. It’s better left to the listener to discover this one for themselves.

“Stone Age”
The diabolical Biz Markie makes a studio appearance on the final cut on Buhloone, which lets its guard down for a light-hearted session of beatboxing, line-trading, and some good, old-fashioned rhyming. Dove exchanges a few bars with the Cold Chillin’ legend while Pos demonstrates a new style of delivery as Shorty No Mas echoes a few select lines of his. The entire production has a genial, spontaneous quality unlike any of the other tracks on the record, and Paul and Mase dress up the dubby drum pattern with scratches and oddball sound effects. A fine way to conclude the record, proving that despite the the group’s eagerness to distance themselves from their past they weren’t entirely humorless, nor above indulging in a harmless bout of whimsy.

Few hip hop veterans are more qualified to be the subject of a graphic novel than MF Grimm. For those unfamiliar with his compelling story, I’ll summarize it briefly: Percy Carey was born and raised in Manhattan’s Upper West Side, and through connections with his neighbor Morgan Freeman, was a regular child cast member of Sesame Street for four years. As he entered his teens his business interests shifted to those of the illegal variety and around the turn of the ’90s, Carey’s reputation as a notorious drug dealer was matched by his skills as a ferocious battle rapper; he supplemented his income from the narcotics trade by ghostwriting and working with everyone from Kool G Rap to MF Doom. Then, in ‘94, while being courted by several major labels and on the cusp of blowing up, Grimm was shot seven times, leaving him blind, deaf, and paralyzed from the waist down. He recovered his sight and hearing and continued to write and record for the remainder of the decade, yet he still requires a wheelchair for mobility. Grimm was sentenced to life imprisonment in 2000 for narcotics conspiracy charges, was released three years later, and is currently focused on overseeing the operations of his label, Day by Day Entertainment, which releases his material.

The handful of 12″’s that Grimm recorded during the ’90s were gathered and released by Day by Day two years ago on a collection titled Scars and Memories (2005), which is about as essential as breathing for heads like me who used to regularly fantasize about a hungry Grimm verbally destroying tracks by producers like Doom and Rob Swift (for proof, hear his devastating first single “So Watcha Want” from ‘93). The A side of one of those original platters was called “Get Down” and was released in ‘96 on the underground Dolo Records. The track is about as close as Grimm achieved to a club hit, which is to say it barely registered at all, but it’s a fascinating cut nonetheless for its half-assed and ultimately failing intentions (packing the dance floor) yet has aged much more gracefully than any of its peers from that era (ahem, Bad Boy Entertainment).

The production on “Get Down” was handled by the legendary turntablist and studio wizard Dr. Butcher, and was obviously influenced by the sound of A Tribe Called Quest’s then-popular Beats, Rhymes & Life (1996): plenty of electric keys, subterranean bass thuds, and swinging, downtempo grooves. Butcher’s beat consists of a two-bar loop of a minor-keyed chord progression outlined by a Fender Rhodes, emphasized by pedal bass hits and an uncomplicated, no-frills drum pattern; the only variation occurs when the keys drop out for a brief four-bar spell at the beginning of the second verse. Grimm is joined here by guest DJ E-Kim, who supplies the run-of-the-mill “Everybody on the floor, throw your hands up” hook for the chorus and echoes a few of the MC’s lines during the verses.

What’s so odd about “Get Down” are Grimm’s unusual lyric patterns in his verses, to say nothing of his overall disposition here: he doesn’t exactly seem amped or committed to an attempt at a club banger, yet he’s not completely resistant either. E-Kim opens the track with some standard exerpts from the DJ lexicon before Grimm begins:

Days of Alazay, nights of Cristal
Champagne corks bust like your pis-tals
Feelin’ good, sit back, wine, dine
Watch the diamonds glitter, gold shine
Expensive games we play
Mad shout outs coming from the DJ
Some come as couples and others single
DJ scratch it in, everybody jingle

Grimm opens his verse by reciting a laundry list of time-honored hip hop standbys: guns, jewelry, alcohol – nothing new here. What’s so unique about it lies not in the content, but Grimm’s delivery (I’ve underlined the syllables that fall on every downbeat). Around the third bar, he begins to shift his rhyme scheme two beats so that the rhymes fall in the middle of the bars rather than toward the end. What at first appears to be accidental is revealed to be intentional; note the casual but methodical pacing of the words and how Grimm pauses after the word “expensive” to preserve the pattern.

A lot of players party, game’s tight
But jealous motherfuckers only come to start fights
You’s a bigger nigga, ignore it
They’re broke, mad at you for it
Eye on bottle, really want to pour it
Throat’s so dry, playa haters don’t know why
They can play too if they really try
There’s enough for everyone to have a slice of pie
To the bar, more drinks we buy
“How we live?” Live the good life ‘til the day we die.

Grimm continues this inverted rhyme scheme, hesitating before the downbeats and progressing in short, compact phrases rather than extending ideas and thoughts. The second half of the first verse is dominated by his exploration of two vowel sounds: “-or” and “y,” the latter of which is exhausted for five bars. He slows his pacing for the line, “Playa haters don’t know why,” which suddenly brings him back to a standard rhyme pattern for the last four bars; the change in feel is subtle yet noticeable. E-Kim then enters with the party chants before the second verse:

My crew’s representing jitty
Exotic women, perfume, dress pretty
See the DJ, he got the music flowing
Party over here, Soul Train line going, have no fear
Ladies hypnotize with bootys on the low
Players smile with cuties, dress spandex
So you know the ass out, niggas sweaty
Drunk about to pass out, but fuck that
Hear a favorite song, to the floor, stagger back
With the slight ditty-bop though, stepping like The Mack
Bitches roll in packs, eyes on money stacks
All dime pieces, none seem wack
Soul come through speakers as sound
Can you feel it? Can you feel the love all around?

Compared to the off-kilter rhyme patters of the first verse, the second is more conventional but not by much, as Grimm can’t resist playing with the downbeat for the first eight bars. As he depicts the atmosphere in the club, he strangely eschews elaborate descriptions for direct, almost dumbed-down outlines like, “ladies hypnotize with bootys,” “dress spandex,” and “hear a favorite song.” The whole thing seems like it was penned in less time than it took to record it, a sentiment that is carried over into the third verse:

Look – you come in here to have fun, don’t act up
No wins, you’re outgunned a thousand to one
Represent Monsta Island, shine like the sun
Parties rock straight from start, continue, never done
Five families unite, become one
Invisible on map, the world we run
Accumulate the papers, nonbelievers left stunned.

Grimm drops a few references to his crew, organized crime, and his bank account before abruptly concluding the verse. At this point in the song his enthusiasm appears to have diminished for the party-over-here! vibe, though to his credit, his delivery and rhyme patterns remain consistent throughout. Perhaps he was aware of the song’s somewhat thin transparency during the recording, realizing that his style was better suited to “Emotions,” the record’s gullier B-side. Regardless, “Get Down,” remains more listenable than 95% of what qualifies as a ‘club banger’ today, and if anything, helps to further illustrate a curious transitional period for one of the ’90s most slept-on lyricists.

“Get Down” – MF Grimm 3:23 (Get Down/Emotions 12″, Dolo 1996)