|
|
|
|
 |
| tracklisting |
| 1. L.A. To Detroit |
| 2. McNasty Filth feat. Frank-N-Dank |
| 3. Nowadayz |
| 4. Champion Sound |
| 5. The Red |
| 6. Heavy |
| 7. Raw Shit feat. Talib Kweli |
| 8. The Official |
| 9. The Heist |
| 10. The Mission |
| 11. React feat. Quasimoto |
| 12. Strapped feat. Guilty Simpson |
| 13. Strip Club |
| 14. The Exclusive feat. Percee P |
| 15. Survival Test |
| 16. Starz |
| 17. No Games |
|
 |
|
|
| Champion sound really means ‚champion'-sound. At least that's what everyone says. |
| But on the other hand, who says you should believe what everyone says? |
| Okay. Energy. That's what you experience. Like punches. And something like an aftertaste after a track has died away. Jaylib are Jay Dee and Madlib. One rhyming over the other's beat and vice versa. So when you tune in to nr. 2. 4. 6. 8. 10. 12. 15. 17. you get Jay Dee over Madlib;
you check out 3. 5. 7. 9. 11. 13. 14. & 16, and what you hear is Madlib rhyming over some Jay Dee music. But the alternation won't cause much stir as this album consists mainly of snippets anyway. Snippets like: Loops. Some jazz-soul-pop music. Beep and rattle, cuts and movie skits. |
| From L.A. to Detroit, beats come sharp and clear. Never sluggish. Either bouncing, screaming out loud like "McNasty Filth" or reduced to the mellow tones, alluring ("Nowadayz"), and sometimes repeated ad
infinitum. We get all possible frequencies, but mostly the super low. Take "Heavy" and you will know. Then we get the instruments that penetrate. Like a never-ending trumpet-loop on "The Official". Or the obtrusive strings on "The Mission". Or the flute
on "React". Here, it's Quasimoto at his best, aligned with some dope scratching. Anyway, there's always two things happening at one time. Plus, we don't get much time to complain, enjoy or whatever: soon enough, the course is altered without
warning and we're treated to some new sounds, certainly the unexpected. |
| Nothing ‚ordinary' in sight except, perhaps, "The Red". It brings some straightness into the jumble. The classical head-nod, and we feel what good a simple boom bap (still) can do. This is also true for "Starz" and to some extent for "Raw
Shit" - with Kweli's voice a perfect match. But on with the weird stuff. On "Strapped" we got Guilty Simpson rhyming over something like a looped journey through an oriental city. Ending with the obligatory switch to something completely different. Then leading over to
the next loop. |
| Now, we're served another portion of Quasimoto's poisonous humor ("Strip Club"). On "The Exclusive" finally, it should be clear, how many facets this album provides. A beat consisting mainly of hi-hat this
time, topped with some oldschool rhyming. Guitars sawing through the impertinently short piece, then leading over to the next loop... You see, it's quite impossible to talk about this incredible mix. What we can determine though, is that not every snippet has its place. This makes it all pretty awkward
at times. We'll have to find our way through the beat jungle, where beats and cuts, intros and outros, fillers, talking and rhyming grow to incredible heights. And occasionally cover the sky. |
| Between all he meaningless booty-shaking and the wannabe mcee-producer-artists, hip hop in 2003 has bred, this appears to stand out as one of the rather creative pieces. At no point, we get the impression of something like bad sense of orientation or even self-consciousness. And Jaylib
have not only chosen the right track, they might also have created an authority to define what 'the right track' actually means. In other words: influence. And while music-wise we can't complain - there's creativity galore, we get something for every taste, the bouncing, the loving, the chilling - it
soon gets clear, that there's something lacking rhyme-wise. It's not even flow. It's not style. Something like content perhaps? The story with a beginning and an end? But this is probably not what they're aiming at. It's the inventive joint that counts. Still, it feels at times as if, between all the
ideas sparkling, the tale got lost somehow. Lost in creativity. |
| Finally, we could say that Dilla owes a lot to soul while Madlib is more devoted to jazz. But this is just a vague description. Not more than a feeble attempt to grasp what's going on here. Thus, all that has been said can possibly be seen from a different perspective. Just have this
in mind. And don't believe what everyone says. |
| review: denise |
|
