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When the rappers reference themselves, they often do so with agitation and dissatisfaction, assuming their combat positions because they have to, not because they like it. References to sex usually appear in the context of violence and abuse the government is portrayed as nothing less than Big Brother and a puppet of corporate influence.
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If their words elude full understanding at the micro level, the overarching messages come through clear as a bell.
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You could post it on a wall and throw a dart at it blindfolded, and you can be pretty sure that whatever you hit will be close to brilliant: “Scratch the bed numbers off your girl’s back / In fact, black, the injection of my lethal status will ultimately break all beats down to lethal antimatter” “I the Don Digital, slash, piranha morph / Alongside poor terrible surgeons who blur comic perspectives / And wonder how to get bent, that flaming Molotov shit / Unstoppable object hits unmovable wall and space split”.
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Three-hundred consecutive listens wouldn’t even begin to crack it, and reading the lines on a lyrics sheet doesn’t really help: It’s a Harvard dissertation riddled with blood and bullet holes, where only parts of the exegesis come through, tarnished and surreal. Their flow is so fast and dexterous, it’s practically a graduate course on how to rap. The ample spaces between beats are meant to give the performers the chance to fire as many rounds as possible within a single breath, and if they’re not speaking, to allow you to cogitate the album’s gravitas and catch up to them. Not much there, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a hip-hop record since The Low End Theory that is at once this spare and this fully realized. We all know it by now: bargain-basement beats produced on cheap equipment, sparsely laden scraps of melody (some may just be simple sound effects given over to pitch control), a near-complete absence of jazz licks and G-funk samples, and above the barren landscape, the MCs spitting strands of lingual barbed wire at 120 miles per hour. Hip-hop devotees from across the spectrum continue to swear by its aesthetic, as though it were a dogma and not a production technique. When it arrived in 1997, it sounded like nothing else in existence. Octagonecologyst, but it’s unlikely that Company Flow took any cues from those records at all. spirit of Endtroducing and the dystopian creep of Dr.
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Together, they groomed ready and willing listeners for experimental hip-hop’s bright future.įuncrusher Plus shares the D.I.Y.
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The latter seethed with horror movie backdrops and the queasy non-sequiturs of rapper Kool Keith’s twisted alter ego. The former was a head trip built wholly from samples, an unthinkably dazzling love letter to marginalized pop music set to the ever-reliable blunted beat. Death Row Records had a corner on the market and hogged the spotlight, in fame and infamy alike, and there were precious few viable alternatives until 1996, with the release of two very different but extremely influential records: DJ Shadow’s Endtroducing and Dr. It’s easy to take for granted that hip-hop didn’t used to have the variety we now enjoy, and that huge swaths of the population felt alienated when Native Tongues-inspired rap declined and gangsta rose to prominence in the mid-’90s. In hindsight, though, the timing of Funcrusher Plus was right on the money. Even CoFlow themselves were shocked at the record’s positive reception it’s one thing to shout your piece from the top of a mountain and hope for the best, but it’s entirely another for millions to gather around and imbibe it, enraptured, as if they were hearing the last words on earth. What they didn’t know was how unanimously thrilling an experience getting shot with a nail gun turned out to be. Take it from El: “When a Company Flow song comes on it’s like getting shot with a fucking nail gun. Which isn’t in any way to condemn what they’ve done. Boasting is practically a strand of hip-hop’s DNA, but given the focused ferocity of what these MCs produced, their self-referential talk makes them seem less like big-headed braggarts and more like first degree murderers, planning and successfully carrying out a brutalizing mission. The record was designed to leave a mark, to be a rallying cry against societal ills, with a goal no less ambitious than the dismantling of the entire corporate infrastructure that enslaves us all. They knew they were good, and that what they had to say was goddamn insightful, and if you kept buying the major labels’ snake oil without bothering to tune in to their message, well then fuck you very much. Len, and Bigg Jus reveal, in so many words, that they knew exactly what they had on their hands when Funcrusher Plus (1997) hit an unsuspecting public like a bat out of hell. Twelve years after the release of Company Flow’s only proper album, El-P, Mr.