By Chris Dart
(Originally published in Exclaim, Summer 2009)
On Fabriclive .45, A-Trak manages to encapsulate most of the major dance music trends of the last decade and condense them into a neat little package. There's a little B-More club (DJ Class), a little baile funk (DJ Mp4), some spacey electro pop (Metronomy), a bit of dubstep (Skepta) and some disco-fied house (Voodoo Chilli). There's even some classic turn-of-the-millennium UK garage (DJ Zinc).
In the hands of almost anyone else, a mix album that squishes so many styles into such a tight space would quickly degenerate into a scattered, disjointed mess. A-Trak, on the other hand, makes rapidly switching between genres look easy. So easy, in fact, that he finds time to throw in some deft scratching and live remixing along the way.
In an electronic music landscape where a new subgenre is born every four-and-a-half minutes, it's good of A-Trak to remind us that ultimately, everything is connected. (Fabric)
Showing posts with label Exclaim. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Exclaim. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Omnikrom: Comme à la Télévision
By Chris Dart
(Originally published in Exclaim, Spring 2009)
Omnikrom are in a tough spot for their second album, Comme à la Télévision. On one hand, they don't want to deviate too far from the formula that made their full-length debut, Trop Banane!, so much fun. On the other, they don't want to look like one-trick-ponies, the goofy electro party boys who can't change speeds.
Télévision has all the weird synth bleeps, pop culture references and up-tempo, skittering beats that made Banane the success it was. "Je Crie Encore" shows the boys at their best, with MCs Jeanbart and Linso Gabbo flexing their elastic, syllable-holding rhyme styles over bouncy, chaotic beats. The title cut is pure dance floor gold, right down to its chant-along chorus.
But Télévision also has Omnikrom showing some breadth. "Feel Collins" is a downtempo, melancholy-sounding, AutoTune-heavy, borderline ballad. "Vedettes" is an industrial-style collaboration with the Sainte-Catherines, while "Plus Tard" is a mid-speed creeper built around a piano riff.
For a bunch of guys who talk about their Peter Pan-syndrome on "Crie Encore," Comme à la Télévision shows a lot of musical maturity. (Saboteur)
(Originally published in Exclaim, Spring 2009)
Omnikrom are in a tough spot for their second album, Comme à la Télévision. On one hand, they don't want to deviate too far from the formula that made their full-length debut, Trop Banane!, so much fun. On the other, they don't want to look like one-trick-ponies, the goofy electro party boys who can't change speeds.
Télévision has all the weird synth bleeps, pop culture references and up-tempo, skittering beats that made Banane the success it was. "Je Crie Encore" shows the boys at their best, with MCs Jeanbart and Linso Gabbo flexing their elastic, syllable-holding rhyme styles over bouncy, chaotic beats. The title cut is pure dance floor gold, right down to its chant-along chorus.
But Télévision also has Omnikrom showing some breadth. "Feel Collins" is a downtempo, melancholy-sounding, AutoTune-heavy, borderline ballad. "Vedettes" is an industrial-style collaboration with the Sainte-Catherines, while "Plus Tard" is a mid-speed creeper built around a piano riff.
For a bunch of guys who talk about their Peter Pan-syndrome on "Crie Encore," Comme à la Télévision shows a lot of musical maturity. (Saboteur)
Notes To Self: A Shot in the Dark
By Chris Dart
(Originally published in Exclaim, Fall 2009)
On A Shot in the Dark, Notes to Self manage to walk the line between making an album that pays tribute to a bygone era and lapsing into retro fetishism. Shot in the Dark draws the bulk of its inspiration from hip-hop's late '80s/early '90s Golden Era.
The vast majority of beats are built for oversized headphones rather than dance floors. MCs Bronze, Swamp Donkey and Roshin all spit dense, polysyllabic flows that would impress even the most discerning rap snobs. Bronze's production makes ample use of old school soul samples, most notably on "Nobody," a collaboration with Evidence of Dilated Peoples, and "Yellow & Grey," while making sure to leave room for DJ Dopey's sharp cuts.
At the same time, Notes don't totally ignore the last decade-and-a-half. They experiment with genre-blending on the riff-rocking "Throw Your (Hands Up)," while the jittery, up-tempo, horn-heavy "Don't Try This at Home" verges on being a club track. By blending classic sounds with modern attitudes, Notes to Self have established themselves as one of the more interesting voices in Canadian hip-hop.
How did you guys hook up with Dilated Peoples?
Bronze: When we originally touched base with them it was through Evidence, and I was fortunate enough to hit it off with him, and we decided that we wanted to get all three of them on a song. It meant so much to us. We looked at the way they've done things: they utilize a DJ live and in the recording. And that seemed really natural to us since we have Dopey in the click. That's something you don't see very much any more: the traditional rap group, with a bunch of rappers and a DJ.
Swamp Donkey: The production is one person, it's all Bronze, the cuts are all Dopey, we all rap, that's what adds to it sounding like a Golden Era hip-hop album. It's that there's a unity you can't escape. It's not that the sampling or the drum patterns are all '90s.
Do you think we're going to see a swing away from the guest producer or the super-producer and back to one producer doing the whole album?
Bronze: I don't think it's something people are cluing into on purpose, like it's a fad. It just kinda make sense, like how we did it in the early '90s. We've come back to that because there isn't lot of money out there. Cats can't afford to buy this, travel across the world to do that. So now what it feels like is not that we've been forced but it's the natural thing to get in the studio [with one producer]. It's a response. (BBE)
(Originally published in Exclaim, Fall 2009)
On A Shot in the Dark, Notes to Self manage to walk the line between making an album that pays tribute to a bygone era and lapsing into retro fetishism. Shot in the Dark draws the bulk of its inspiration from hip-hop's late '80s/early '90s Golden Era.
The vast majority of beats are built for oversized headphones rather than dance floors. MCs Bronze, Swamp Donkey and Roshin all spit dense, polysyllabic flows that would impress even the most discerning rap snobs. Bronze's production makes ample use of old school soul samples, most notably on "Nobody," a collaboration with Evidence of Dilated Peoples, and "Yellow & Grey," while making sure to leave room for DJ Dopey's sharp cuts.
At the same time, Notes don't totally ignore the last decade-and-a-half. They experiment with genre-blending on the riff-rocking "Throw Your (Hands Up)," while the jittery, up-tempo, horn-heavy "Don't Try This at Home" verges on being a club track. By blending classic sounds with modern attitudes, Notes to Self have established themselves as one of the more interesting voices in Canadian hip-hop.
How did you guys hook up with Dilated Peoples?
Bronze: When we originally touched base with them it was through Evidence, and I was fortunate enough to hit it off with him, and we decided that we wanted to get all three of them on a song. It meant so much to us. We looked at the way they've done things: they utilize a DJ live and in the recording. And that seemed really natural to us since we have Dopey in the click. That's something you don't see very much any more: the traditional rap group, with a bunch of rappers and a DJ.
Swamp Donkey: The production is one person, it's all Bronze, the cuts are all Dopey, we all rap, that's what adds to it sounding like a Golden Era hip-hop album. It's that there's a unity you can't escape. It's not that the sampling or the drum patterns are all '90s.
Do you think we're going to see a swing away from the guest producer or the super-producer and back to one producer doing the whole album?
Bronze: I don't think it's something people are cluing into on purpose, like it's a fad. It just kinda make sense, like how we did it in the early '90s. We've come back to that because there isn't lot of money out there. Cats can't afford to buy this, travel across the world to do that. So now what it feels like is not that we've been forced but it's the natural thing to get in the studio [with one producer]. It's a response. (BBE)
Empire: Get It
By Chris Dart
(Originally published in Exclaim, Fall 2009)
Get It, the long-delayed debut from Toronto, ON mixtape veterans Empire, is a blast from the past, in the best possible way.
In a hip-hop landscape increasingly dominated by ringtone music, Empire come through with an album full of hard-charging beats and menacing, hot-spitting, cipher-bred lyrics reminiscent of the East coast hardcore rap of the mid- to late '90s. Empire are at their best when they're combining violent threats and sex rhymes with almost ear-poppingly complex word puzzles over dark, hard beats on tracks like "Do the Math" and "S.A.R.S. ― Sick Artists Running Shit."
All five members of Empire are first-class lyricists that could make an engaging rhyme out of the phone book, but the fact that they're not afraid to toss out some old-fashioned ignorance makes their style that much more entertaining.
That said, they're not afraid to mix it up either; they take a break from the high-end wordplay and ass-kicking to slow things down and get introspective on the soul-infused "One Thing Wrong" and "Nowhere," a song about the frustration caused by love gone wrong.
Get It is a way-above-average debut album with no real weak spots and a whole lot of verbal gymnastics.
There's a really good mix of hard-edged shit and, not softer, but more introspective material. Where does that balance come from?
Adam Bomb: When we started, we were just hungry, hungry guys. When you have hungry guys like that you're going to get a lot of aggressive verses, you're going to get those straight spitters. And when we did the album, we knew we had to come with that; for anyone who had our old tracks, we wanted to give them what they wanted. For new listeners who were wondering, "can these guys go in?" we wanted to show that we could, but that's not all we can do. We're not just rappers; we're artists. We can do things and show sides of ourselves that not everyone who can do that straight spitting does.
Is the more introspective stuff harder to write?
In a way, it comes easier. If you put me in a small box, I'll spit in that box, and it'll come real quick. If you give me a huge room to fuck around with, it'll take me forever to make music. Some of the other dudes though, when it comes to the straight spitters, they can do that in one sitting. They can just sit down in ten minutes and write something hot. That's for what I call "the tracks," for the other stuff, the songs are like life music. Both entertain people, it's just what do you want to listen to at that time? Because I like some old soul music, I like some life music, but then sometimes I just like some real ignorant-ass shit. (E1)
(Originally published in Exclaim, Fall 2009)
Get It, the long-delayed debut from Toronto, ON mixtape veterans Empire, is a blast from the past, in the best possible way.
In a hip-hop landscape increasingly dominated by ringtone music, Empire come through with an album full of hard-charging beats and menacing, hot-spitting, cipher-bred lyrics reminiscent of the East coast hardcore rap of the mid- to late '90s. Empire are at their best when they're combining violent threats and sex rhymes with almost ear-poppingly complex word puzzles over dark, hard beats on tracks like "Do the Math" and "S.A.R.S. ― Sick Artists Running Shit."
All five members of Empire are first-class lyricists that could make an engaging rhyme out of the phone book, but the fact that they're not afraid to toss out some old-fashioned ignorance makes their style that much more entertaining.
That said, they're not afraid to mix it up either; they take a break from the high-end wordplay and ass-kicking to slow things down and get introspective on the soul-infused "One Thing Wrong" and "Nowhere," a song about the frustration caused by love gone wrong.
Get It is a way-above-average debut album with no real weak spots and a whole lot of verbal gymnastics.
There's a really good mix of hard-edged shit and, not softer, but more introspective material. Where does that balance come from?
Adam Bomb: When we started, we were just hungry, hungry guys. When you have hungry guys like that you're going to get a lot of aggressive verses, you're going to get those straight spitters. And when we did the album, we knew we had to come with that; for anyone who had our old tracks, we wanted to give them what they wanted. For new listeners who were wondering, "can these guys go in?" we wanted to show that we could, but that's not all we can do. We're not just rappers; we're artists. We can do things and show sides of ourselves that not everyone who can do that straight spitting does.
Is the more introspective stuff harder to write?
In a way, it comes easier. If you put me in a small box, I'll spit in that box, and it'll come real quick. If you give me a huge room to fuck around with, it'll take me forever to make music. Some of the other dudes though, when it comes to the straight spitters, they can do that in one sitting. They can just sit down in ten minutes and write something hot. That's for what I call "the tracks," for the other stuff, the songs are like life music. Both entertain people, it's just what do you want to listen to at that time? Because I like some old soul music, I like some life music, but then sometimes I just like some real ignorant-ass shit. (E1)
D-Sisive: Jonestown
By Chris Dart
(Originally published in Exclaim, Winter 2009)
On Jonestown, D-Sisive uses one of the largest mass suicides in human history as a metaphor for everything from alienation ("One Way Ticket") to the power of the artist ("In the Jungle"). Add in dense, sample-heavy beats, most of which come courtesy of producer Muneshine, and the result is an album that is alternately head-nodding, creepy and darkly humorous.
The Jonestown Massacre isn't the only culture signpost D references. On the punch line-heavy "Boom Baba Boom," he manages to connect Stand By Me, Juice and David Blaine, while on "1974," he uses John Mellencamp and Frank Sinatra to talk about his relationship with his father.
Overall, the tone of this album ranges from dark to very dark. "Ken Park," which takes its name from the Larry Clary film, is a downright gut wrenching examination of suicide. Even the album's slightly more upbeat songs ("West Coast," "They Got Guns") have unsettling undertones. Jonestown combines the rewind-worthy wordplay and punch lines of D-Sisive's early work with the introspection of his more recent output. It marks a high point for him, and is hopefully a sign of even bigger things to come.
Q: Why Jonestown?
A: Eleven years ago, I was on tour with DJ Serious, and I went into a used bookstore. We were in Halifax; I bought a book called The Guyana Massacre, and from that time, I just found it very interesting. I don't know if that's a disrespectful word to use, but it's a fascinating subject. A year-and-a-half ago, I saw the PBS documentary titled Jonestown; it totally brought my interest back, and I started making connections between Jim Jones and any sort of musician. And I thought it really isn't that different.
Q: You're releasing two albums in one year. How much difference will there be between this album and the one you released in the spring?
A: A huge difference. Let the Children Die was really specific and really personal, Jonestown, not so much. The idea to do another album came from a bad review I received. It's not like I'm one of those guys that's obsessed with reviews, but to sum up the review, it was like, "I get it, but his skills as a rapper aren't up to par." That was somewhat offensive to me, because when I started as a rapper back in '95, I was 100-percent [a] punch line rapper. Writing songs was not on the priority list. So I said, "Okay, now I'm going to put out something free, just to show that I can rap." (Urbnet)
(Originally published in Exclaim, Winter 2009)
On Jonestown, D-Sisive uses one of the largest mass suicides in human history as a metaphor for everything from alienation ("One Way Ticket") to the power of the artist ("In the Jungle"). Add in dense, sample-heavy beats, most of which come courtesy of producer Muneshine, and the result is an album that is alternately head-nodding, creepy and darkly humorous.
The Jonestown Massacre isn't the only culture signpost D references. On the punch line-heavy "Boom Baba Boom," he manages to connect Stand By Me, Juice and David Blaine, while on "1974," he uses John Mellencamp and Frank Sinatra to talk about his relationship with his father.
Overall, the tone of this album ranges from dark to very dark. "Ken Park," which takes its name from the Larry Clary film, is a downright gut wrenching examination of suicide. Even the album's slightly more upbeat songs ("West Coast," "They Got Guns") have unsettling undertones. Jonestown combines the rewind-worthy wordplay and punch lines of D-Sisive's early work with the introspection of his more recent output. It marks a high point for him, and is hopefully a sign of even bigger things to come.
Q: Why Jonestown?
A: Eleven years ago, I was on tour with DJ Serious, and I went into a used bookstore. We were in Halifax; I bought a book called The Guyana Massacre, and from that time, I just found it very interesting. I don't know if that's a disrespectful word to use, but it's a fascinating subject. A year-and-a-half ago, I saw the PBS documentary titled Jonestown; it totally brought my interest back, and I started making connections between Jim Jones and any sort of musician. And I thought it really isn't that different.
Q: You're releasing two albums in one year. How much difference will there be between this album and the one you released in the spring?
A: A huge difference. Let the Children Die was really specific and really personal, Jonestown, not so much. The idea to do another album came from a bad review I received. It's not like I'm one of those guys that's obsessed with reviews, but to sum up the review, it was like, "I get it, but his skills as a rapper aren't up to par." That was somewhat offensive to me, because when I started as a rapper back in '95, I was 100-percent [a] punch line rapper. Writing songs was not on the priority list. So I said, "Okay, now I'm going to put out something free, just to show that I can rap." (Urbnet)
Grand Analog Move Forward
By Chris Dart
(Originally Published in Exclaim!, Summer 2009)
There's nothing in the first seven seconds of Metropolis is Burning, the second full-length album from Winnipeg outfit Grand Analog, that indicates to the listener that this is a hip-hop album. There are no snapping snare drums, no booming bass, no mic-checking from the MC. There's not even one lonely DJ scratch. Instead, the album's opening cut "Play My Kazoo," opens with the rising wail of a heavily distorted guitar and then crashes into a dirty sounding drum beat. And yes, the song features an actual kazoo, too.
The rest of Metropolis is equally unorthodox, with the band channeling everything from psychedelic rock to classic soul to dub reggae, and according to Grand Analog front-man Odario Williams, that's at least partially out of necessity. The old way of making hip-hop — chopping together elements sampled from old funk and jazz records to make new instrumentals — hasn't been viable for a while, says Williams. He and his band-mates (bassist Warren Bray, guitarist Damon Mitchell, keyboardist Catalist, and Odario's brother DJ Ofield Williams) are just looking for a new way of doing hip-hop.
"[People are] trying to preserve something that almost isn't there anymore. Hip-hop is in a tough spot right now, because sampling has almost come to a complete halt," he says. "The reason we love those albums from the mid-'90s and before is because it was open season for jazz and funk loops, so the lifestyle included the record digging and the MPCs… but when sampling came to a halt, it put hip-hop in a chokehold. It left people wanting that sound that you can't get anymore.
"Now, these cats are trying to find anything else. They're running to the electro kids for something, running to the rock cats for something. You can either see it as a mess or see it as something beautiful, because they're trying to find a new way to make this hip-hop thing happen."
Williams, who now splits his time between Winnipeg and Toronto, isn't alone. He points to a growing number of artists, both underground and mainstream, who have tracks featuring live guitars as proof that the time is right for their multi-faceted sound. The challenge, according to Williams, is to integrate new sounds without making it sound like a gimmick.
"I wanted to experiment with a way to make the guitar work with the drums," he says. "In some of the American rap that uses guitars, the guitars sound way too much like Nickelback. It's a bland rock guitar that doesn't work."
The guys in Grand Analog aren't naïve enough to assume that everyone will like their new vision of hip-hop, one that borrows psychedelic rock riffs and reggae bass lines as well as funky jazz breaks. But Williams says that hip-hop purists, the ones who are inclined to see inclusion of new influences as "a mess," are living in the past.
"Whenever someone comes up with something, [they say] 'Well, it's not pure hip-hop,"' he says. "Well, that pure hip-hop has done its day. I would love to sample some Donald Byrd, but that motherfucker would sue my ass!"
Williams says that those who would criticize Grand Analog's sonic experimentation should remember that hip-hop is a way of making music. "Hip-hop is a lifestyle, it's not a sound. It's given birth to many sounds."
(Originally Published in Exclaim!, Summer 2009)
There's nothing in the first seven seconds of Metropolis is Burning, the second full-length album from Winnipeg outfit Grand Analog, that indicates to the listener that this is a hip-hop album. There are no snapping snare drums, no booming bass, no mic-checking from the MC. There's not even one lonely DJ scratch. Instead, the album's opening cut "Play My Kazoo," opens with the rising wail of a heavily distorted guitar and then crashes into a dirty sounding drum beat. And yes, the song features an actual kazoo, too.
The rest of Metropolis is equally unorthodox, with the band channeling everything from psychedelic rock to classic soul to dub reggae, and according to Grand Analog front-man Odario Williams, that's at least partially out of necessity. The old way of making hip-hop — chopping together elements sampled from old funk and jazz records to make new instrumentals — hasn't been viable for a while, says Williams. He and his band-mates (bassist Warren Bray, guitarist Damon Mitchell, keyboardist Catalist, and Odario's brother DJ Ofield Williams) are just looking for a new way of doing hip-hop.
"[People are] trying to preserve something that almost isn't there anymore. Hip-hop is in a tough spot right now, because sampling has almost come to a complete halt," he says. "The reason we love those albums from the mid-'90s and before is because it was open season for jazz and funk loops, so the lifestyle included the record digging and the MPCs… but when sampling came to a halt, it put hip-hop in a chokehold. It left people wanting that sound that you can't get anymore.
"Now, these cats are trying to find anything else. They're running to the electro kids for something, running to the rock cats for something. You can either see it as a mess or see it as something beautiful, because they're trying to find a new way to make this hip-hop thing happen."
Williams, who now splits his time between Winnipeg and Toronto, isn't alone. He points to a growing number of artists, both underground and mainstream, who have tracks featuring live guitars as proof that the time is right for their multi-faceted sound. The challenge, according to Williams, is to integrate new sounds without making it sound like a gimmick.
"I wanted to experiment with a way to make the guitar work with the drums," he says. "In some of the American rap that uses guitars, the guitars sound way too much like Nickelback. It's a bland rock guitar that doesn't work."
The guys in Grand Analog aren't naïve enough to assume that everyone will like their new vision of hip-hop, one that borrows psychedelic rock riffs and reggae bass lines as well as funky jazz breaks. But Williams says that hip-hop purists, the ones who are inclined to see inclusion of new influences as "a mess," are living in the past.
"Whenever someone comes up with something, [they say] 'Well, it's not pure hip-hop,"' he says. "Well, that pure hip-hop has done its day. I would love to sample some Donald Byrd, but that motherfucker would sue my ass!"
Williams says that those who would criticize Grand Analog's sonic experimentation should remember that hip-hop is a way of making music. "Hip-hop is a lifestyle, it's not a sound. It's given birth to many sounds."
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