Kool G Rap & DJ Polo “Men at Work” Road to the Riches Cold Chillin’ 1989

It takes an ungodly amount of pre-street date hype to get me enthusiastic about a hip hop release these days, which is half attributed to the numbing daily barrage of PR spam and the other half to my own personal feelings about where the music is headed (not going there). Reissues of the classics, however, are a different story, which happen to be the specialty of Quincy, MA’s Traffic Entertainment. The label has devoted itself equally to higher-profile reissues like Criminal Minded (1987) and unearthing Mobb Deep rarities as well as almost-forgotten joints like Ed OG and Da Bulldogs‘ Life of a Kid in the Ghetto (1991) (”Be a Father to Your Child” was my joint back in middle school). I was excited beyond belief when Traffic dropped their remastered-with-bonus-tracks edition of Kool G Rap & DJ Polo’s Road to the Riches (1989) over a year ago, and when a revamped Wanted: Dead or Alive (1991) appeared last summer, I prayed that the label would eventually complete the trilogy with Live and Let Die (1992). Sure enough, my man Dan at Traffic has confirmed that the final installment in the G Rap and Polo series is on its way (no date yet), so to whet my appetite I’ve been exploring the B-sides, outtakes, radio appearances and other miscellany that accompanied the first two.

I’m asked the question “What it is about G Rap?” almost as much as I receive “Pete Rock again?” comments, and on my lazier days I eschew elaborate justifications for three words: “Men.” “At.” “Work.” It’s an odd phenomenon when one simply cannot grow tired of a song, and despite the fact that I can recite every drum hit, sample, scratch, and syllable backwards, I’ve never been able to exhaust myself with “Men at Work,” whose familiarity is nearing twenty years now. No other item in the G Rap canon tops to the verbal dexterity here, the endless strings of multi-syllabic rhymes, the labyrinthine patterns of wordplay, the forceful, lisp-assisted delivery exemplified. Usually, those who pose the query of my G Rap idolatry are familiar with his lesser, more forgettable output around the turn of the millennium (and there’s a good reason why Half a Klip [2008] wasn’t covered recently on this site). They just don’t know, and explaining the “favorite rapper’s favorite rapper” theory often yields little progress. When I hear another MC spit 68 – that’s sixty-eight – bars of fire over an “Apache” loop at 112 beats per minute and my attention doesn’t falter for a second, perhaps I’ll concede G Rap’s GOAT title to them. Until then, aspiring rappers, here’s the manual.

“Men at Work” – Kool G Rap & DJ Polo 5:05 (Road to the Riches, Cold Chillin’ 1989)

On another note, my apologies to anyone who has been experiencing difficulty loading the site over the past week or two. Without getting into the mundane details of tech-gibberish, I’ll just say that it’s not the wisest idea to upgrade your version of WordPress without first checking the list of compatible themes, in addition to assuming that said upgrade will remedy the occasional server hiccup or corrupted index file path. Ahem. That being said, if anyone needs IT assistance in the Boston area, MacShaman is that dude. Thanks to those patient souls who provided words of encouragement when I was ready to throw my hands up in the air for good.

Domenico + 2 “Aeroporto 77″ Sincerely Hot Luaka Bop 2004

For many Western (er, Northern Hemispherical) ears, journeying into the waters of Brazilian pop is a risky and often expensive venture without some kind of guidance to steer your course. Curious but clueless, I dove headfirst into it a few years ago and came out broke, mildly frustrated, and with a generous handful of discs that by all accounts would qualify as “elevator music.” Now that I can swim comfortably I can kick myself in the ass for not taking the time to do a little research, which would have likely uncovered a treasure like Sincerely Hot (2004), a project which comprises percussionist Domenico Lancellotti plus vocalist/guitarist Moreno Veloso and bassist Alexandre Kassin. A supertrio of sorts in the world of modern, experimental Brazilian pop, Sincerely Hot is the second installment of their “plus two” trilogy, bracketed by Veloso’s Music Typewriter (2001) and Kassin’s Futurismo (2007). While I’m not familiar with the other two records (yet), Sincerely Hot is seriously the best thing I’ve heard in months and has provoked an endless string of curses to this abominable New England weather, as I pine for the days when this album’s warm radiance matches my comfort of sipping a beer in the backyard with one eye on the grill.

“Breezy” seems to be the critics’ descriptor of choice when it comes to Brazilian pop, which isn’t entirely by accident; the word perfectly summarizes the music’s unhurried, relaxed embrace. It’s a word that’s far too simplistic for Sincerely Hot, however, as the breadth of styles and aural experiments here could never be encompassed by a single adjective: the soft nightclub funk of “Comigo,” “Solar”’s gentle bossa swing, the tropical noir of “Tema da Zorra.” And not a single note of it feels like self-indulgence on the creators’ part. “Aeroporto 77″ was the first track that caught my ear, after the indescribable opening cut “Alegria Vai La” (attempt: fractured, futuristic krautrock on a meth overdose). I could dissect this song for hours, but here are a few of the ingredients that make me swoon, bullet-point style:

• Those ultra-cheesy blocks of organ that dare you to ignore them.
• The effective doubling of the bassline and the vibraphone, something I don’t think I’ve ever heard before.
• Lancellotti’s drumming, which somehow manages to sound clunky and fluid at the same time.
• That pizzicato violin that sounds like it’s eavesdropping in on the conversation.
• The abrasive metallic clang during the bridge at 1:44 at 2:46 – what the hell?
• The gurgling synths and other electronic textures submerged in the mix.

I could go on, but I really don’t want to spoil too much. If you find yourself digging this track, I can state will full confidence that you will not be disappointed by the rest of Sincerely Hot. While you’re absorbing it, I’ll be standing outside in a t-shirt and jeans, pretending it’s not a raw 35 degrees Fahrenheit and ignoring the sleet and freezing rain stinging my skin.

“Aeroporto 77” – Domenico + 2 3:34 (Sincerely Hot, Luaka Bop 2004)

Michael Jackson “Get on the Floor” Off the Wall Epic 1979

Let me skip the introductory formalities and get the obvious of the way: this post isn’t about Michael Jackson. It’s about the technique of electric bass playing loosely known as “slapping and popping,” an approach that, nine times out of ten, tends to trigger a look resembling my reaction to a particularly stubborn gnat buzzing around my face. I can admire the skill, sure, but as a devout student of the Less Is More School of Modern Bass Playing, the skittering blitz of notes that accosts my ears from this technique goes against every one of my principles. Add to this the fact that 95% of all bass players who do insist on “thumpin’ and plucking” just don’t do it right; chances are, these are the guys who wish they had the ability to play the guitar or drums, the kind of insolent asshole musician who continually looks for every available opportunity to pick up your instrument and “show you how it’s done.” Spanking the strings of the bass like you’re teaching it a hard lesson has its place, but overall, it simply doesn’t jive with me – like country music, rappers who pose shirtless, Deadheads and Phish phans, or the vocal stylings of Neil Diamond.

With that established, there are occasions when I’m forced to make exceptions, and Louis “Thunder Thumbs” Johnson’s bass line that propels “Get on the Floor” from Off the Wall (1979) is a monument of rhythmic perfection. It struts and wiggles inside the beat, in lockstep synchronization with the drums yet still remaining fluid and independent. It’s the kind of musical brilliance that begs the question, “How would he think to play that?” until a glance through the liners reveals that Johnson co-wrote the song with MJ, so everything here likely originated from the chunky figure he constructed on his bass. Jackson uses it to entice a wallflower he has his eyes on, insisting that she dance with him, knowing that it’s impossible to resist Johnson’s low-end funkiness. Quincy Jones dresses up the track with fluffy disco strings, succinct horn spasms, and even an “Apache”-like Latin percussion breakdown before the last chorus – it’s all arranged wonderfully, but still the bass remains the star of the show. To all aspiring bassists who are incapable of plucking their strings without clobbering them with their thumbs or violently yanking them from the fretboard: study this track diligently, commit it to memory, and walk in its footsteps, then maybe I won’t immediately search for the nearest exit the next time you want to “funk it up a little.”

“Get on the Floor” – Michael Jackson 4:38 (Off the Wall, Epic 1979)

Fireside “Beautiful Island, Ugly Natives” Hello Kids Startracks 1998

While making some adjustments to the ol’ year end list the other day I realized that I can’t remember the last time I was really into a non-metal band whose instrumentation consisted of a couple of guitars, bass, and drums. By “into” I mean a good three weeks of listening to nothing else, roles that bands like Jawbox, The Sea and Cake, Shudder to Think, XTC, and a handful of others have played at one point in time. Sweden’s Fireside were a curious fixation of mine back in the late ’90s, a quartet whose discography consists of exactly one outstanding full-length (1997’s Uomini d’Onore), a decent odds-and-ends comp (Hello Kids [1998]), and half a dozen slabs of derivative garbage that range from carbon-copy Quicksand imitations to third-rate power pop. Really, if you’re looking to pick something up from this identity-shifting group (as well you should, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing about them here), just look for the date of release on the back; if it’s anywhere between ‘96 and ‘98, you’ll probably be fine. If it isn’t, well, save your receipt (2003’s rancid Get Shot).

Of course, you have to have an appreciation for raw, discordant rock with a heavy emphasis on bass/drum syncopation and combative guitars slashing through the mix (I refuse to use the word “angular,” but if I did, it would apply here). “Beautiful Island, Ugly Natives,” the first cut on Hello Kids, must have been an outtake from Uomini d’Onore, as I have no knowledge of it appearing on a label comp or 7″. It’s one of Fireside’s finest moments, opening with a spacious vibraphone and guitar duet before the beat drops in. Vocalist Kristofer Åström sleepily mutters various disconnected thoughts like, “Turn out the light, there’s an insect on my bedroom floor,” that border on textbook emo but are left-field enough to shed the image of a mascara-clad kid scribbling in the margins of his Creative Writing notebook. At 3:06 the band rips into a crashing mid-tempo coda with a noisy and staggering lead guitar, thick nebulous chords, and a buzzing monophonic synthesizer that connects everything together. It’s admittedly not the most original formula but the band refined it quite well, even if it was only for a few years before they grew bored with it and moved onto something else.

“Beautiful Island, Ugly Natives” – Fireside 5:07 (Hello Kids, Startracks 1998)

Opeth “In Mist She Was Standing” Orchid Candlelight 1994

For a good six or seven years, Stockholm’s Opeth could do no wrong in my book. Their finely-honed balance of crushing riffage, rich melodicism, and uniquely structured songwriting – displayed in all its glory on My Arms, Your Hearse (1998) – was nothing shy of a revelation to these ears. I spent hundreds of hours trying to wrap my head around Still Life’s (2000) complexities, and still hold Blackwater Park (2001) to be metal perfection from start to finish. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the less-metal/more-’70s-prog direction band leader Mikael Åkerfeldt had shifted the group toward on Deliverance (2002) and especially Damnation (2003), and I was utterly defeated when I heard these tendencies nurtured to fruition on Ghost Reveries (2005) two years ago. (A recent listen to the record revealed it to be much better than I had remembered, though it’s safe to say that I’ll never want to hear “Hours of Wealth” again.) With the recent departures of longtime guitarist Peter Lindgren and drummer Martin Lopez, I highly doubt that my unwavering devotion to the band will reach the same levels of fanaticism, and the recent announcement that Opeth will occupy the opening slot on Dream Theater’s 2008 tour hardly gains them any points. Yet I’m still amazed by the replay value of those earlier records, especially the debut Orchid (1994) and ambitious follow-up Morningrise (1996).

It wasn’t until after My Arms, Your Hearse that I backtracked through the band’s catalogue and heard these two records, which, other than the extended song structures, bear little resemblance to what Opeth would grow into. (Part of this could be attributed to the fact that the impenetrable rhythm section of Lopez and bassist Martin Mendez had yet to jump on board.) Orchid’s opening volley “In Mist She Was Standing” remains one of the band’s finest quarter-hours (literally, clocking in at 14:09), with an abundance of single-note dual-guitar harmonies, galloping 6/8 grooves, Åkerfeldt’s chilling death-metal roars, and expansive instrumental passages and brief acoustic interludes in equal measure. Åkerfeldt’s gift for composing the most gorgeously sad and moving melodies is already apparent at this early stage – note the dreary spaciousness of the movement at 5:34, which sounds like something off Pink Floyd’s Animals (1977). His wealth of ideas here is ebullient, moving through each section with a furious, don’t-look-back intensity that he would abandon by the time of Still Life; in other words, enjoy that riff while it lasts, because you won’t hear it again. It’s a wonder how lesser bands like Night in Gales and even In Flames had the stones to continue after hearing something of this caliber; in less than fifteen minutes, Opeth just trumped anything they could ever hope to write.

“In Mist She Was Standing” – Opeth 14:09 (Orchid, Candlelight 1994)