Going all the way to the top

Hip Hop Hump Days #10: 

LEVELZ – LVL 11 (2016)

Yeah, that’s right – 2016. I’m using a column that is (with the exception of the Rough Trade compilation I reviewed last time) normally reserved for revisiting classic hip hop albums released in years beginning with ‘19’ to write about a mixtape released JUST LAST MONTH.

Why? It’s simple really - I only heard ‘LVL 11’ for the first time three days ago and I’m already convinced it’s a modern day masterpiece, a future classic in the making. I’m trying to remember the last time I heard a hip hop album as fresh, as inventive, as utterly compelling as this… and I’m still scratching my head.

LEVELZ are a 14-strong collective of rappers, DJs and producers from straight outta Manchester. I know very little else about them, but that’s not important right now because what I DO know is that ‘LVL 11’ not only DEMANDS your full and undivided attention, but manages to hold it through each and every one of its 13 tracks AND leaves you wanting more.

Refreshingly, ‘LVL 11’ is entirely free of those lazy ‘skits’ many hip hops artists rely on to pad out albums. No fillers here – we’re talking exceptional quality from start to finish, an exhilarating showcase of smart, on-point lyrics, breath-taking vocal dexterity (with Mancunian accents in full effect, of course) and crisp, clean production.

This is an album literally bursting at the seams with ideas, which is to be expected when so many different people are bringing something to the table – and yet it never sounds too busy or crowded. Musically, they cover a phenomenal amount of ground, from filthy-but-fresh grime (‘Look Who It Is’, ‘LVL07’) to gloriously hypnotic G-funk (‘King Of The Disco’, ‘Bow Wow’, ‘Slow Down’) through to exuberant dancehall rhythms (‘Rowdy Badd’ – one of the album’s highlights for me) and even Bukem-esque liquid funk (album closer ‘Jazzface’). There’s also razor-sharp social commentary in the form of the fantastically frank ‘Drug Dealer’, while the punchy but humorous ‘Dickhead’ is probably one of the most unapologetically British hip hop tracks you’ll hear this year.

I don’t know what they put in the water in Manchester, but there isn’t a single duff track here – each song bristles with the same boundless energy and enthusiasm: these guys aren’t just fantastically talented at what they do, they actually sound like they’re having fun doing it too.

Astonishingly, for a group who’ve just turned in one of the best albums of the year (and yes, I know it’s only February), it seems LEVELZ are still unsigned. On the one hand, this is utterly staggering because their music very clearly deserves to be heard as many people as humanly possible and yet, for many, it’ll slip under the radar. On the other hand, however, ‘LVL 11’ is an album of pure, undiluted, uncompromising music which its creators have made on their own terms. Crucially, this means it’s free of the curse of major label interference – no one’s looking at pie charts, thinking about market demographics or trying to write a radio-hit-by-numbers. Fuck that shit.

‘LVL 11’ is available to download from the group’s Bandcamp page. You can pay as much or as little as you like. I trust you’ll all do the right thing, because albums this good genuinely don’t come along very often.  

Hip Hop Hump Days #7: The Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy – Hypocrisy is the Greatest Luxury (1992)

Listening back to ‘Hypocrisy is the Great Luxury’, it strikes me that this record is something of a paradox: it sounded way ahead of its time in 1992 and yet it’s almost impossible to imagine it being released in any other year.

For those unfamiliar with the Disposable Heroes, they were a Bay Area duo comprising frontman Michael Franti and multi-instrumentalist Rono Tse, both of whom had served as members of The Beatnigs, an “avant-garde industrial jazz poets collective” (which sounds terrific, frankly).

To call it conscious hip hop doesn’t even scratch the surface. Sure, themes such as politics, money and social injustice are present and correct, but when the album’s opening line is “In the 1970s, the OPEC nations began to dominate the world’s oil economy”, you know it isn’t aimed at people who think the height of hip hop sophistication is bouncing down the street in a lowrider whilst wearing giant gold dollar signs round your neck.

From a strictly musical perspective, you could describe it as industrial hip hop – and indeed, the duo probably found greater acceptance in alternative rock circles (they had opened for the likes of Nirvana and Rage Against The Machine) than in the West Coast hip hop community, which was more focused on the warmer G-Funk sound being pushed by the likes of Dr Dre.

Franti’s upfront, confrontational-yet-calm vocal style often placed greater emphasis on getting the message across than it did on rhythm or flow – and he had plenty to say. Subjects covered across the album’s 13 tracks included anger at African-Americans ‘selling out’ to The Man (‘Famous and Dandy [Like Amos ‘N’ Andy]’), media bias and the subsequent dumbing down of society (‘Television, The Drug of the Nation’), racial equality (‘Socio-Genetic Experiment’) and – at a time when it was unthinkable for a hip hop artist to speak out against it – homophobia (‘Language of Violence’).

This isn’t an easy listen by any stretch of the imagination – in fact, Franti’s brutal yet intelligent lyrics (helpfully reproduced in the sleeve notes) probably played no small part in alienating any potential mainstream hip hop audience they may have had. Not that Franti and Tse would have cared anyway – they weren’t there to fit any formula, as evidenced by the inclusion of a cover of Dead Kennedys’ ‘California Uber Alles’ (albeit with slightly amended lyrics).

‘Hypocrisy is the Greatest Luxury’ was the duo’s only proper album. Following a spoken-word collaboration with beat author William S Burroughs (‘Spare Ass Annie and Other Tales’) in 1993, they decided to follow their own individual paths, with Franti going on to form the more accessible but no less socially aware Spearhead. 

But 23 years on, this album still stands up as an astonishingly raw snapshot of the USA in the early 90s, as seen through the eyes of a man who has woken up from the American Dream to find the Star-Spangled Banner soaked in blood and oil. 

Hip Hop Hump Days #6: Cypress Hill – Black Sunday (1993)

There aren’t many jobs where you can get away with being completely baked half the time, but Cypress Hill have pretty much built an entire career around their horticultural tendencies.

Considering they were probably smoking the equivalent of an average-sized garden centre on a daily basis, one of the most incredible things about Cypress Hill was that they managed to find their way to the studio in the first place, let alone make a record that would go down as one of the great classic hip hop albums of all time.

While the Californian group’s eponymous 1991 debut was highly acclaimed in its own right, it was 1993 follow-up ‘Black Sunday’ which would see them emerging from the haze into the big time, all bleary-eyed and craving Pringles… lots and lots and LOTS of Pringles, damn it.

‘Black Sunday’ is an intriguing proposition, combining high-pitched cartoon-style vocal delivery with eerie, slowed down bass-heavy grooves reminiscent of a particularly unsettling horror film score. Add to this the heavy metal imagery of the album artwork and the title itself (a nod to Black Sabbath, who are even sampled on ‘I Ain’t Goin’ Out Like That’) and you’ve got a record that’s both dark and humorous in equal measure.

As with the first album, ‘Black Sunday’ well and truly wears its stoned heart on its sleeve, setting the tone with opener ‘I Wanna Get High’, plus ‘Legalize It’ and the excellent, Dusty Springfield-sampling ‘Hits From The Bong’ which is about as subtle as an empty packet of king skins on top of a pile of nightclub flyers torn up to make roaches.

And if the group’s stance on the whole debate still isn’t clear enough then they’ve thoughtfully also included 19 facts about their good friend Mary Jane in the sleeve notes. Not sure why they didn’t round it up to 20 – they were probably all too busy laughing at the way a towel was hanging or something.

Anyway, if you’ve heard ‘Black Sunday’ then you don’t need me to tell you why it’s worthy of classic status – and if you haven’t, then it’s never too late to partake. Just make sure you have a takeaway menu handy. Thank me later.

   

From the archives: Hip Hop Hump Days #5: Dr Dre – The Chronic (1992)

Originally published on It Is Happening Again on June 4, 2014

Some of you may be too young to remember this but before he made garishly coloured headphones for imbeciles to wear on the bus, Dr Dre used to make music. And he was pretty damn good at it too.

Released at the tail end of 1992, long before he became hip hop’s first billionaire, ‘The Chronic’ still stands up today as his best work. Recorded at a time when he was embroiled in various financial and legal disputes (not to mention the obligatory ‘beefs’ with former NWA bandmates), this was the album that would reverse his fortunes in the most spectacular way.

While the lyrics are unmistakably ‘gangsta’ (I hate that term, but I’ve got nothing else), the music is something else entirely, taking the warm ‘G-funk’ sound pioneered by EPMD a few years earlier and shifting it up a gear. Musically, ‘The Chronic’ may have taken its inspiration from two decades earlier, but it still sounded way ahead of its time.

And that, to me, is what makes ‘The Chronic’ such an important album in the hip hop cannon. The Dre of today may feel like little more than a brand, but the Dre who made this album was taking a huge gamble on a career which could easily have gone the way of fellow NWA members DJ Yella and MC Ren (Google them – they do exist, I promise you).

This is the sound of someone with BIG aspirations; someone who understood the meaning of the term ‘next level’. Dre’s rapping can sometimes be a little perfunctory and his flow stilted, but ‘The Chronic’ is all about the BIG sound. A masterpiece? That goes without saying. A game-changer? Pay attention, damn it.

‘The Chronic’ is also significant for introducing the world to a then largely unknown Snoop (Doggy) Dogg. Okay, the first that many people in the UK had heard of Snoop was a year later when he was accused of murder (“Kick this evil bastard out!” screamed The Daily Star’s laughably hysterical front page at the time), but ‘The Chronic’ can take the credit for giving Mr Broadus his big break – the guy crops up on this album so frequently that it may as well have been marketed as a collection of duets. Snoop’s lyrical prowess leaves Dre’s in the shade, but then Dre’s real strengths have always been his production skills and business acumen – surrounding himself with promising young talent like Snoop was all part of the masterplan.

So, forget the headphones. This is 1992. They won’t exist for another 14 years. For now, the only beats by Dr Dre you need are right here.

From the archives: Hip Hop Hump Days #4: Dr Octagon – Dr Octagonecologyst (1996)

Originally published on It Is Happening Again on April 16, 2014

“Hello, this is the offices of Dr Octagon. If you have insurance or medical problems, I’m here for you for any type of intestine surgery, rectal rebuilding, relocated saliva glands… and chimpanzee acne. And, of course, moose bumps. You can call 1-800PP51 Doodoo. I’m in your corner.”

And there we have it: the tone is well and truly set for an album which, while not exactly breaking any sales records, is still held up as one of the finest examples of what can be achieved when hip hop is allowed to have a little imagination.

So, who is Dr Octagon? On record, he’s an extra-terrestrial, time-travelling gynaecologist and surgeon who takes something of a sledgehammer approach (literally) to his patients. As a doctor, he is either highly incompetent (“Oh fuck! Patient just died in room 105… nurse/Fuck it, he’s dead/Oh shit, there’s a horse in the hospital”) or downright homicidal (“You need a bad operation… gimme the scissors, hammer, flame/Okay, I’m getting ready to stab… jam it in”).

It’s become a bit of cliché to talk about an album sounding like nothing else released at the time, but in the case of ‘Dr Octagonecologyst’ (see what they did there?) it would be wrong to pretend otherwise. It also pains me to describe it as a concept album, but how else would you describe a record which documents the exploits of a murderous doctor from outer space?

The voice of Dr Octagon is, of course, the reliably eccentric Kool Keith, formerly of Ultramagnetic MCs and the supposed inventor of the ‘horrorcore’ sub-genre of hip hop. The abstract, stream-of-consciousness lyrics, non-sequiturs and vivid horror and sci-fi imagery throughout ensure that Keith truly shines as a rapper who is unafraid to let his imagination run away with him. Sure, the humour can be a little juvenile in places (“What would you do if I hit your face with dog doodoo?”) but it all adds to the surreal, dream/nightmare-like charm of the record.

Although technically Kool Keith’s first solo album, it would be unfair to overlook the contribution made by Dan The Automator, who provides the cinematic, psychedelic and often unsettling soundtrack, and Q-Bert, whose scratching demonstrates why he won so many successive world titles for his turntable skills. It’s to their credit that an instrumental version of the album was released later that same year and still managed to sound like a complete record, even without Kool Keith’s vocals.

‘Dr Octagonecologyst’ didn’t reach anywhere near the sales of, say, 'The Chronic', but then who says Dr Octagon set out to make friends in the first place? This isn’t about following the rules. This is about doing something completely different JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN. Hip hop is all about expression and if you can’t express yourself then you may as well just give up.

The doctor will see you now.

From the archives: Hip Hop Hump Days #3: EPMD – Strictly Business (1988)

Originally published on It Is Happening Again on April 2, 2014

“Who the hell are EPMD?” some of you may be asking. That’s understandable. Their videos aren’t plastered all over the TV music channels (well, those that still play music these days), they aren’t selling out stadium concerts or headlining festivals around the world and you don’t hear their music blasting out from people’s phones at the back of the bus.

The most influential musicians are not necessarily those who top the charts or play sell-out tours. Even if you haven’t heard of EPMD, you’ve undoubtedly heard and hopefully enjoyed music that probably wouldn’t have existed without their influence.

Part of hip hop’s golden age, Erick Sermon and Parrish Smith pioneered a sample-heavy funk-based sound which would serve as a blueprint for countless – and considerably more successful – other artists after them. Dr Dre’s ‘The Chronic’? Yep.  Snoop’s ‘Doggy Style’? Uh huh. The whole G-Funk era? Of course. Interestingly, later editions of ‘Strictly Business’ would include ‘Snoop Dogg approved’ on the cover – the student endorses his teachers.

As an album, ‘Strictly Business’ doesn’t really have a specific message, as such. Public Enemy were fighting the power. NWA weren’t overly keen on the law enforcement officials in their neighbourhood. EPMD, on the other hand, just wanted to party. For all the authoritative overtones of its title, ‘Strictly Business’ was a warm, light-hearted affair. Whatever ‘business’ EPMD had in mind, it sounded like something you wanted to be part of.

The opening title track sets the tone. The funk-fuelled backing track and the snatches of Eric Clapton’s cover of Bob Marley’s ‘I Shot The Sheriff’ (almost a decade before Warren G would have global success with his own version – there’s that influence again) provide the soundtrack for EPMD’s trademark deadpan delivery. Elsewhere, we find samples from Steve Miller, Kool and the Gang, Aretha Franklin, Pink Floyd, Michael Jackson and even ZZ Top – all thrown into a rich musical melting pot with astounding results.

Vocally, the delivery is smooth, confident and in many ways a lot more accomplished than the ‘child reading a prayer in school assembly’ style of some MCs of the time (yeah, I’m looking at you, LL Cool J). It’s a style that’s easy to listen to – remember, you’re allowed to like music simply because it sounds good, rather than because there is a message or an agenda.

EPMD have released seven albums in total, all with the word ‘business’ in the title and all containing a track called ‘Jane’ (give it up, guys – she clearly ain’t interested). However, nothing has come close to ‘Strictly Business’ and, more importantly, the foundations it would lay for those who came later.

If you don’t know, get to know. If you’ve forgotten, then it’s time to refresh your memory. Alternatively, you could just carry on listening to your Pitbull or Professor Green albums and pretend none of this ever happened.

Your move.

From the archives: Hip Hop Hump Days #2: Wu-Tang Clan – Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) (1993)

Originally published on It Is Happening Again on March 26, 2014

There wasn’t much excitement in the former mining town where I grew up. We always joked that when the ‘90s came around, its residents would be right on the ball. We made this joke in 1995.

So, it caused something of a stir when the townsfolk awoke one morning to find strange, ‘foreign-sounding’ names sprayed in large black letters across shop fronts, shutters, brick walls and, well, anywhere with a surface really.

‘Wu-Tang Clan.’

Who were they? What did they want? One person I spoke to suggested that a Triad-style Chinese gang had moved into town and its members had set about marking their territory across the frontages of Woolworths and Clinton Cards to show everyone that they meant business.

The names of their leaders were also there for all to see: Method Man. Chef Raekwon. Ghostface Killah. Ol’ Dirty Bastard?!

The graffiti has long since gone, of course, but looking back, it’s difficult to tell what the good townspeople would have found more frightening: a Triad takeover or what those spray-painted words REALLY signified.

Enter the Wu-Tang.

When the Staten Island collective first burst on to the scene more than two decades ago, it was clear that they were not like other rappers. Their music was too brutal to be lumped in with the warmer G-Funk sound emanating from the opposite West Coast. Equally, it didn’t take itself too seriously, unlike a lot of the hardcore gangsta rap at the time.

It’s no understatement to say that ‘Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)’ was a total game-changer. They were less a gang and more a movement, masterminded by de facto leader and producer RZA. They established an identity which went way beyond their music: it’s a safe bet that more people have heard the name Wu-Tang Clan than have actually heard their music – not to mention those unaware that Wu-Tang is anything more than a clothing label (yep, the Wu empire conquered that market too). But I digress…

"Shaolin shadowboxing, and the Wu-Tang sword style. If what you say is true, the Shaolin and the Wu-Tang could be dangerous. Do you think your Wu-Tang sword can defeat me?"

"En garde. I'll let you try my Wu-Tang style."

This opening dialogue, lifted from obscure late 70s/early 80s Hong Kong films, sets the tone for the album. The kung fu mythology theme is one which runs throughout the record – indeed, ‘Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)’ is divided into two sections: Shaolin Sword and Wu-Tang Sword. The battle theme is also evident in the Clan members’ lyrical style – each track sees selected members (rarely do they all appear together) square up to each other on the mic, flexing their lyrical muscles to see who can outdo the other with the most out-there free-association lyrics which veer between downright brutal and frankly hilarious, often blurring the two (the torture scene skit at the start of ‘M.E.T.H.O.D. Man’ is a case in point). Who wins these battles? Who cares? The results are never anything less than dazzling, regardless.

Musically, it’s difficult to find comparisons – even Wu-Tang Clan themselves failed to match their own stunning debut (although solo efforts from GZA and Raekwon came pretty damn close). In other words, this record is like nothing else that came before it. There is very little in the way of hooks or choruses and where other hip hop acts of the day would simply lift old songs wholesale and use them as the basis for their new tracks, RZA would instead take snippets of forgotten soul and funk and turn those brief snatches of music into instruments in their own right. The cheap equipment used during the recording process lends the album a raw, dusty sound, while the samples themselves (the sparse Chinese yangqin on ‘Da Mystery of Chessboxin’’ or the ghostly piano on ‘C.R.E.A.M.’, for example) give the whole record an eerie, unsettling tone, as if you’re eavesdropping into the Clan’s conversation and any minute now you’re going to sneeze or nudge whatever you’re hiding behind and give the game away. Wu-Tang Clan Ain't Nuthing Ta F' Wit. 

If your opinion of Wu-Tang Clan is based solely on ‘Gravel Pit’ (an uncharacteristically radio-friendly offering by their standards), then you’ve got some serious catching up to do, my friend. ‘Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)’ is your starting point.

Listen and learn.

From the archives: Hip Hop Hump Days #1: Jurassic 5 – Jurassic 5 (1998)

Originally published on It Is Happening Again on March 18, 2014

Glastonbury, 25 June 2010. It’s hot. Too hot. We’re queuing up to meet Chali 2na. He’s just come off stage, having performed with Breakestra, and is chatting to fans, signing autographs and posing for photos.

Jurassic 5, the hip hop collective which made him famous, split up three years earlier, citing the classic “musical differences” and, since then, Chali has busied himself with a plethora of collaborations, including with the aforementioned Breakestra.

It’s our turn. We were at the back of the queue, but he treats us like we’re the first people he’s seen all day. Handshake. Autograph. Photograph. Then the journalist in me kicks in and I start asking him questions.

Has he performed at Glastonbury before? He has.

Was that with Jurassic 5? Affirmative.

Will Jurassic 5 perform together again? Uh…

He looks awkward. This cannot possibly be the first time he has been asked that question today. WE WERE AT THE BACK OF THE QUEUE.

“You’re all working on your own projects at the moment, right?” I chip in.

He looks relieved.

“Uh… yeah, yeah.”

“Well, hopefully we’ll see you guys back together again soon,” I quip, optimistically.

He gives me a smile which betrays a hint of pity and puts his hand up for one of those handshake/high-five hybrid things, saying: “Aw, respect man.”

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I first encountered Jurassic 5 while at university in 1998. One of my housemates had their self-titled debut and I was immediately struck by the way it managed to sound so old skool and yet… so new, so fresh.

From the off, it was clear that this was the real deal. J5 weren’t concerned with guns, bitches and bling (which, as the great philosopher Scroobius Pip once reminded us, were NEVER part of the four elements and NEVER WILL BE). Theirs was not a world of macho posturing or pointless playground beefs based on territorial disputes and perceived disrespect. They had no need to pretend: every claim of lyrical prowess was instantly backed up. The evidence was right there in your hands, on your turntable, embedded in your consciousness.

So what about the album itself? Firstly, ‘Jurassic 5’ isn’t technically an album, per se, but more of an extended version of their earlier self-titled EP. Of the 13 tracks, just six are what you might call ‘songs’ (I hate to use that term in relation to hip hop but you know what I mean, right?) while the rest are either brief skits (‘Sausage Gut’, ‘Set Up’) sample-heavy instrumentals (‘Lesson 6: The Lecture’) and ‘reprises’ (in other words, shortened instrumentals) of earlier tracks. However, far from sounding fragmented or disjointed, everything comes together to create a mini-masterpiece which has stood the test of time.

Musically, this is hip hop stripped back to basics. Four MCs, two DJs. That’s it. What more do you want? Jarring kids’ TV samples shoe-horned into your track to get commercial radio play? Nah. P Diddy producing your record on the condition that he’s allowed to dance like a twat in your video? Not on their watch. Your own line of over-priced, garishly coloured headphones which look like something you would buy from the Early Learning Centre? GET OUT AND DON’T COME BACK.

Taking its cue from the conscious hip hop of De La Soul and A Tribe Called Quest, this is an album where substance takes precedence over style. What sets J5 apart from their peers is their smooth lyrical flow and four MCs rapping together as one, almost harmonising in places. These aren’t people who ‘think’ they can have a go at rapping – these are people with a talent that others should aspire to. The standard has been set.

It’s coming up to 16 years since ‘Jurassic 5’ was released. To this day, it remains one of the albums I play the most. The day I get bored of it is the day I stop breathing.

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O2 Academy, Birmingham, 11 June 2013. It’s hot. Too hot. We’re queuing up to meet Chali 2na. He’s just come off stage, having performed with a reformed Jurassic 5, and is chatting to fans, signing autographs and posing for photos.

It’s our turn. We were at the back of the queue, but he treats us like we’re the first people he’s seen all day. Handshake. Autograph. Photograph.

I resist the urge to say “I told you so”.