As many visitors to this site are aware, there are a group of us out here in the audioblogosphere who are dedicated to promoting All Things Beat Garden Entertainment, a label helmed by Philly’s own Zilla Rocca and Nico the Beast, and it’s not just because they’re genuinely nice dudes who drop by every now and then to leave a comment. Last month saw the release of Nico’s No Beast So Fierce (2008), a sprawling, 80-minute hip hop monolith riddled with street philosophy, experience, and authenticity – or as Zilla accurately put it, like “The Game’s The Documentary (2005) meets Brother Ali’s Shadows on the Sun (2003) with a hint of Big Pun’s Capital Punishment (1998).” With solid, forward-thinking production handled mostly by Zilla and Alex Wood, it’s easily the label’s most ambitious release to date. To help promote the record, Nico’s been “feeding the beast” by dropping freestyles over two classic beats per week and letting the fans vote on which one he murders better. Fresh recently conducted a thorough and insightful interview with the man over at 33Jones, so rather than retread covered ground, I asked Nico ten random and somewhat irrelevant questions as a supplement. Prepare to get beasted.

Floodwatchmusic: What is the biggest misconception that people have about you?

Nico the Beast: I would say that, right now, I get molded in that class of “white rappers” trying to fit in. This is a misconception among those who first meet me. But I deal with, and have dealt with, too many dope MCs, white or black, that know me and understand that I’m just a monster MC, not just a good white rapper.

FWM: Blastmaster KRS-One said that every MC remembers the first verse that they ever wrote for the rest of their lives. Do you remember the first lines you wrote, and if so, what were they?

NB: Yes sir, I do remember my first rap. I was on some Canibus shit back in 98. I think I remember the first eight, so here they go:

Renegades of black shade persuade to invade the earth wit nuclear raids.
Bloody blades engraved with the mark of Satan’s grave behave brave.
Like slaves being whipped by forms of hate.
Insane like the pain of this rap game.
Emcees get slain from their backs up through their brain.
You heard of change of the estranged stage of the plague of human rage?

Yea, I know, kinda simple. But at fifteen and in a time where Wu-Tang and Canibus were the best thing in hip-hop – outside of Biggie, obviously – that’s the way I wrote for my first verse. I guess you can say I got worse over the years [smirks].

FWM: What is the one corny song that you feel guilty for enjoying?

NB: You know what, cuz? The one song that I felt when it dropped was that Gnarls Barkley “Crazy” joint. No guilt in saying that either – that shit was catchy. Cee-Lo’s voice is dope as hell. Plus the hook and beat is hook, line, and sinker when you put it together.

FWM: Which producer - dead or alive - would you most want to collaborate with on a full-length?

NB: Dead, the obvious answer is Dilla. End of story on that one. Alive, I’m a huge fan of Premo, Havoc, and Alchemist. As you can tell by my beat selections (mostly piano with heavy drums), dark beats with a story already to them before I even write are my cup of tea.

FWM: What is your favorite dinner that you like to serve?

NB: Well, anybody who knows me knows that I’m a husky Italian from South Philly. So my favorite meal is chicken parmigiana with some angel hair spaghetti and a good homemade meatball. In some outstanding gravy, not sauce.

FWM: If you could gain a superpower (strength, invisibility, etc), which one would it be and how would you use it?

NB: Any power? Man, I’m gonna get in trouble for this one, but fuck it – any man who says they don’t want X-ray vision is a goddamn liar [laughs]. I can be politically correct and say Spidey senses or some shit and that I would save the world. But let’s be realistic, it would take a lot more than one man with superhuman power to save this planet, feel me?

FWM: Who is your greatest influence as a lyricist?

NB: Right now, Brother Ali. Dude just has a reason to rhyme. He talks about everything, from his kid, to his personal life with his chick, to dealing with being “abnormal.” I mean, if you can’t feel what he’s saying you must be a zombie. That’s why I approach writing the same way – give people a piece of you every time you go in and they will either relate to you or not. Simple as that.

FWM: There are ten minutes left before the end of the world. What do you do in your last final moments?

NB: I spend every second with my two kids and tell them I love them, and that the final ten minutes of my life are worth more than the past 25 years because it was spent with them.

FWM: Is there a subject, for whatever reason(s), that you refuse to write about and why?

NB: No subject is untouchable, but I prefer to stray away from demeaning chicks. I also never talk about selling drugs – that is something I ain’t never done. I was around cats who did it, but to glorify something that cats do to survive is a cop out in regards to song substance. If you can paint a vivid picture of drug related events that occurred in your life, a la Jay-Z or Biggie, then that’s different. But if all you talk about is flipping coke – come on now, that’s just ridiculous.

FWM: What was the first record/cassette/CD you bought as a kid and what are your reactions to it now?

NB: I remember the first physical cassette I ever bought was Wu-Tang’s Enter The Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers (1993), hence me being a huge Wu fan. But I remember always putting my stereo on record with a Maxell tape running while the radio played new joints. I captured some good shit doing that. So most of my collection was Maxell tapes that I had made off the stereo. My reaction to it now is the same as the day I bought it: love it!

FWM: What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever witnessed at a show or on tour?

NB: Well, being fresh in the pond of hip-hop, I’ve yet to dip my feet into the touring end of the pool. But as far as shows are concerned, the craziest shit I’ve ever seen was actually shit on the underside of a toilet seat. Yeah, I’ve done it in some bad places, but come on, how the fuck did it get under the lid? It was like dude was trying to make a shit sandwich with the seat bottom and the bowl. Nuts, absolutely nuts. I had to laugh, because I was baffled thinking, “How?!?”

“My Life Is Mine” – Nico the Beast 3:48 (No Beast So Fierce, Beat Garden 2008)

Though I’ve always been more of a Step in the Arena (1991) and Daily Operation (1992)-type of dude, I’m still taken aback by how good Gang Starr’s Moment of Truth (1998) is every time I hear it. Which is slightly absurd, given my near-decade of familiarity with it and the ‘classic’ tag it has arguably been given by the general populace over the years. Moment of Truth has essentially become my own brand of noise pollution to the public these days, as I am wont to blare “The Militia” and “Work” out of my car speakers with all windows down on the first 70+ degree day of the year; if my side and rear view mirrors aren’t buzzing with distorted reflections on every kick hit, it’s not loud enough. That’s right. Public nuisance-style.

Yet the other day, as I was forcibly subjecting the citizens of Boston to my favorite cuts from the album, I was suddenly struck by how playable Premier’s beats were – and by “playable” I don’t mean “MPC-programmable,” but more applicable to live instrumentation in a small group setting. Granted, one could argue that most hip hop beats could actually be replicated to a certain extent by real musicians, a somewhat obvious point given its sample-based aesthetic. Still, there is something about Preemo’s musicality and approach to production on Moment of Truth that lends itself to transcription more so than, say, his jazzier leanings on Gang Starr’s earlier records and the stark, often atonal sound collages from his mid-’90s work with Jeru and Group Home. Here are four of the more notable selections.

“You Know My Steez”

Premier’s reconfiguration of the intro to Joe Simon’s “Drowning in the Sea of Love” forms the basis for Moment’s opening cut, which is guided by a drum track constructed from those classic Grandmaster Flash beatbox drums. Other than a brief trombone swell lifted from the Simon sample, that’s about it, but there are two distinct features of note here (disregarding the fact that there is no bass line). First, from a sonic perspective, “You Know My Steez” possesses the unique characteristic of sounding spacious and claustrophobic at once, the chunks of guitar octaves colliding with the slightly distorted, overcompressed kicks of the drum track. Secondly – and this is purely subjective – but to these ears, the guitar ‘melody’ appears to be arranged backwards; the bars should be flipped so that the stuttering F# pattern should follow the rising and swelling motif in the previous bar. Yet not only does Preemo’s ‘reversed’ interpretation work marvelously, it gives the two-bar loop a circularity that a more logical arrangement would lack when repeated for more than 16 bars. Guru seems particularly inspired by the music, showcasing, in this author’s opinion, his finest lyrical moment on wax.

“You Know My Steez” – Gang Starr 3:44 (Moment of Truth, Noo Trybe 1998)

“Above the Clouds”

“Above the Clouds” is proof positive that the the art of creating music from sampled sound extends far beyond a cracked copy of Fruity Loops and snippets of imported audio from a few CDs. The best beatsmiths all have an unidentifiable ability to ‘hear’ arrangements and musical structures from the most unlikely of sources and recycle those sounds into something their own. Premier, unsurprisingly, is one of these individuals. His production for “Above the Clouds” is absolutely brilliant and ranks among the finest of his career; how someone could make something this bangin’ out of the first few seconds of John Dankworth’s “Two-Piece Flower” is beyond mortal comprehension (I’ve offered the original source below for this example).

Incidentally, “Above the Clouds” lends itself surprisingly well to transcription, despite its overall weirdness and the audible repeated triggering of selected samples in the beat. What sounds like a shamisen on the original recording could be played by a palm-muted and slightly flat guitar, and two oboes would be required – a tad unorthodox, yes, but crucial for the counterpoint in the latter half of the second bar (unless a polyphonic oboe can be found as a substitute, of course). Premier wisely chooses to leave the bottom end open, only inserting two emphatic bass hits to signal the loop; he’s cleverly reminding you that it’s there, but he’s not going to clutter the track with it. Note the 32nd-note pinched kicks before the first and third beats, which give the track a sense of propulsion that the more common 16th note pinches would lack, as well as help enforce the impression that the tempo is faster than it actually is (roughly 86 bpm). It’s hardly surprising that Inspectah Deck straight-up destroys this cut with a verse that surpasses any of the other guest spots on the record.

“Above the Clouds” – Gang Starr feat. Inspectah Deck 3:41 (Moment of Truth, Noo Trybe 1998)

“Two-Piece Flower” – John Dankworth 4:04 (John Dankworth and His Music, Fontana 1967)

Bonus link: Try to play the melody from “Above the Clouds” on this virtual shamisen! Fun!

“Itz a Set Up”

Most of the fodder for the suspenseful “Itz a Set Up” derives from keyboardist Les McCann’s “Beyond Yesterday.” The two-bar loop begins with a sequence of two- and three-note clumps from a parallel guitar and bass lick, followed by a brief stab of electric piano, then concludes with the soft trilling of a trumpet for the final three beats. Premier keeps the drum track relatively straightforward to prevent any clashing with the three distinct colors from the other instruments, though he can’t resist adding some shuffle to the hi-hat track in the second beat of each bar. One gets the slight feeling that he could have constructed something like this in his sleep, but regardless, the music would have fit right at home on M.O.P.’s Firing Squad (1996) or even Jeru’s Wrath of the Math (1996). “Itz a Set Up” is also one of the handful of tracks on Moment that would sound amazing as interpreted by El Michels Affair (on a limited-edition 7″, no less).

“Itz a Set Up” – Gang Starr feat. Hannibal 3:49 (Moment of Truth, Noo Trybe 1998)

“The Rep Grows Bigga”

One of the highlights during the second half of Moment of Truth is “The Rep Grows Bigga,” a choice example of what Preemo could do with a piano, a drum track, and little else. When transcribed, the music reveals a wealth of subtle complexities that a cursory listen would fail to notice. The foundation of the track is a looming, inescapable piano that stomps down on each beat and would grow incredibly tiring in the first minute were it not for Premier’s drum track, which takes advantage of those 32nd-note pinched kicks and a well-placed hit just before the fourth beat of each bar. The harmony is about as basic as it gets, a i - v progression that almost screams “open-close” every two beats; note the mangled dissonance of the second chord with the addition of the B natural.

The tonality changes on every eighth bar with the appearance of an odd Eb diminished chord, which is introduced chromatically and decorated with a brief flurry of notes. It’s a terrific way to bring a sense of closure to the somewhat static seven bars before it, and curious unresolved nature of the chord helps to keep the listener engaged.

“The Rep Grows Bigga” Gang Starr 3:31 (Moment of Truth, Noo Trybe 1998)

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.

I simply don’t know what to make of this.

A part of me wants to laugh until my sides ache, but laughing would only accelerate the impending bile slowly creeping its way up my throat.

Coincidentally, I received an email from a reader yesterday wondering why I didn’t cover more contemporary hip hop instead of “that same old ’90s NYC bullshit.”

Just when I thought I had viewed the steaming pile of absurdity that is commercial hip hop from every possible angle, yet another perspective reveals itself.

A shout to Dallas Penn and apologies for the brevity.

Id: So over the past few days I’ve been spending a lot of time with Erykah Badu’s New Amerykah, Pt. 1: 4th World War (2008).

Ego: Yeah? God, what a pretentious title. How awful is it? I imagine it’s a train wreck as knotty as that fake Pam Grier ‘fro she’s often seen sporting. Come on, let’s don our First Impression Haiku hats and unleash some hating!

Id: Well, it’s… uh. (sigh) See, here’s the thing. It’s really good.

Ego: …

Id: …

Ego: You’re joking, right?

Id: (sheepishly) Afraid not.

Ego: We are talking about the same Erykah Badu, right? The “neo-Soul” queen who baby-dolled herself onto the chorus of every hip hop record for a solid five years around the turn of the millennium, exhausting herself creatively with the utterly wasteful Worldwide Underground (2003) before almost disappearing completely? The Badu notoriously responsible for destroying rappers’ careers and the inspiration behind OhWord.com’s most hilarious feature to date?

Id: The same.

Ego: Who fed you this nonsense? Have you been trolling around the Okayplayer message board again? Jesus, we talked about this.

Id: No, it was Dart Adams. I actually went out and purchased New Amerykah based on his recommendation. So, you know. Blogs stay winning.

Ego: Wait, let me guess: it’s got some killer guest spots, right? I mean, that’s the only thing that would make it redeemable.

Id: No, and that’s part of the reason why it’s so refreshing. Other than the producer credits – 9th Wonder, Madlib, the dudes from Sa-Ra, ?uestlove – and an appearance from Georgia Anne Muldrow, the spotlight is strictly on Erykah.

Ego: Yeah, but see, that’s exactly what would turn me off about it. Badu croaking over the same run-of-the-mill, Fender Rhodes-laced Roots backing tracks? No, thanks.

Id: But wait – the music is the best part! It’s got a weird, edgy, funky thing that veers from a lost Roy Ayers soundtrack to wildly experimental and, dare I say, almost avant-garde. And Badu doesn’t try to compete with it, or do that over-enunciating syllables thing that was mad annoying on Mama’s Gun (2000) and Worldwide Underground. Take a listen to “Me” and tell me you can’t nod your head uncontrollably to that shit.

Ego: It’s two chords. For nearly five minutes.

Id: But listen to what’s happening inside those two chords. First of all, there’s this subtle, wow-and-flutter pitch discrepancy going on that I love and wish more artists would do. Why does everything always have to be in perfect 440-hertz Western tuning? And that disjointed bassline – it sounds like Shafiq Husayn (the Sa-Ra member) chopped it up into microfragments on his MPC and deliberately reassembled the digital snippets haphazardly. The beat not only knocks, but it’s also got that latent Dilla shuffle where the hi-hats aren’t synched correctly with the tempo. Plus, those trumpets are gorgeous. Seriously, I probably listened to this track five times before I even realized that Badu was singing on it.

“Me” – Erykah Badu 5:36 (New Amerykah Pt. 1: 4th World War, Motown 2008)

Ego: I could see how you’d be all over this. But what about the rest of the album?

Id: Well, let’s dissect a bit. “Twinkle” is built upon this stuttering, collapsing rhythm with Morse-code keyboards and punctuating sheets of white noise. “My People” updates Eddie Kendricks‘ “My People… Hold On” as interpreted by Herbie Hancock’s Mwandishi collective. “Telephone” is the Dilla tribute and ?uestlove collaboration with a lush, spaced-out atmosphere that borders on transcendence. Then there’s “The Cell,” which I can’t even wrap my head around: an overcompressed Afrobeat groove, a distorted guitar, and a spidery, nervous bassline that sounds like Jaco Pastorius on crack. I’ve never heard anything like it.

“The Cell” – Erykah Badu 4:20 (New Amerykah Pt. 1: 4th World War, Motown 2008)

Ego: Funny, you just happened to gush all over the record without even mentioning Badu’s own contributions.

Id: Lyrically, she’s treading the same ground of social commentary peppered with a track or two about relationships and the (yawn) power of contemporary Black music. I’m not saying the record is impeccable; there are some between-song interludes with no replay value at all and some vain musical overindulgences on Badu’s part.

Ego: Does she still refer to herself as the “analog girl in a digital world”?

Id: No.

Ego: You may be swimming against a tidal wave here. I’ve read quite a few scathing reviews of this album, most of them from longtime fans.

Id: That’s because people want another Baduizm (1997). They want those same predictable, silky late-night grooves with swinging basslines and plenty of rim shots that don’t completely change course mid-song, blatantly flirt with abstraction, or end abruptly. Honestly, that’s what I was expecting, and I’m glad she did the opposite and experimented with her sound. In a way, it makes the listening experience more intimate and personal. She took a pretty big risk here, and at the very least you’ve got to give her credit for that, even if it doesn’t always pay off.

Ego: Speaking of risks, you’re gambling pretty big with this lame critic-arguing-with-himself format here. I didn’t know Pitchfork was looking for new writers.

Id: Why don’t you go somewhere and obsess about Enslaved or something?