Musicide

producers: slomoshun, jude rock

guests: icon the mic king, brad hamers (of phlegm)
year of release: 2002
 
First, you might think 'there's just too many skilled mcs out there who deserved a neat studio and a producer with diamond rings and dollar bills'. Even an uncontrolled 'someone give this kid more bpm!' might escape. Eventually, as you listen more closely, things might change. You might find out that, if someone has to tell his story, even a simple metronome might do. As for this type of lyrical articulation, not more than a guideline, a frame for further progression is needed. Moreover, you might have to admit that the beats are simple - alright - but not as wack as you first thought. You surrender without even having started the usual argument about complexity and the ingredients of a good song.
But let's take it back to the beginning. Right there we're confronted with some fundamental concepts of the poet's life/music. "Either Or" is not supposed to be an intro. It's a reflection on what this record and all its elements might be/might not be. So he asks: "Is this a hip hop album or a wrongly labelled piece of garbage / a production that cost me two fucking cigarette cartons" and later: "is this CD a cry for help, is it taking up too much space on my shelf / is it for me and no one else?" Finally the whole thing is labelled: " ...congratulations consumer, you just purchased a suicide note / sincerely, Nobody Special." Alright. There's the foreboding that we won't be disappointed.

tracklisting
1. Either Or
2. Blood Sells
3. Fair Weather Song
4. The Strained Voice
5. Mind Cloud Stranded
6. Idiot Box feat. ICON the Mic King
7. Insanity and His Litter Box Trained Wife feat. Brad Hamers of phlegm

8. Seinfeld
9. Cigarette Break
10. Right Foot Blue
11. Diseased You
12. Crippled Defense
13. The Leaking Saxophone
14. Salmonella Last Supper feat. Brad Hamers of phlegm
15. Exit Stage Left
Songs have names like "Insanity And His Litter Box Trained Wife" or "Salmonella Last Supper" and from that already, we might guess that life is more complex than a four piece jigsaw. Also, there's "Blood Sells", "Mind Cloud Stranded" or "Diseased You" which make us believe that sunshine is not happening every day. Rather anger and frustration and fear and the ever present depression. Alright, there's the 'I'm better than you' battle tracks ("Idiot Box" with iCON the Mic King, "Crippled Defense" or the rocking "Seinfeld"). But apart from that, it's mostly a personal (occasionally family-)affair. Thoughts about past and present, individual and society, cause and effect wrapped up in incredibly long verses, so that no hook line is needed to fill up a song. And as on "Mind Cloud Stranded" these thoughts are pieces of an underlying theme, companions on what Nobs himself calls "somewhat of a musical suicide journey": "...can't be in two places at once / so my ego splits itself / and half grabs the butter knife and starts to run the water for the bath / cause the other half of me is haphazardly managing to be a tragedy / before I got an unknown calling me daddy.."
We got an artist with no fear to spit his guts all over, or as he puts it himself: "every time I need to vent, I write." Still, he's not the ordinary oh-how-I-hate-this-shitty-life type of fellow who gets on your nerves soon after you've met, this is due to his ability to tell the story differently every time. And his lyrical reservoir seems to be located in an infinite universe. Nobs is the self-titled Nobody Special and there's a lot of self-abasement going on on the album for sure. But it's spread with such creativity that we sometimes wonder if the contents really matter (to us, I mean. No doubt that they do for the artist), not rather the wrapping. Before we got ourselves lost in discussions about what poetry really means, there's a few words to say to the second half of the album.
After a 0.51 minutes "Cigarette Break" (see, that's how you get through one packet in less than one day) the page is turned and we enter another chapter which seems more elaborate, more musical, and, finally, relationships come into play. What would a good depression be without relationships? We got those songs where you'll put the hood over your headphones before stepping out into the street. Or, the bitter medicine for one of these days where hiding under thick layers of blankets and simply waiting for the clouds (or some of them) to disappear is just the one and only solution. On "Right Foot Blue" the first line could as well have been the title: "It's like a jungle sometimes / it makes me wonder / how I keep on getting dumber / the dark days of summer / the reminder of those winter trips / mentally pistol-whipped / by a girl named ignorance / who existed through her viciousness" We get soaked with the verses constantly evolving from the last ones. And we get those strings to make the drama perfect.
"Salmonella Last Supper" starts with the piano and Nobs rhyming and as the drumbeat comes in, we know, here it all forms one entire whole. Then, Brad Hamers of phlegm will as well take his place in that. Just after his appearance, we're left alone with the guitar and rather his words as he performs poetry towards the end of the world, and meanwhile the wind is blowing. Abstract: "...I've got a lazy eye that can't see past the bedboard so I paint pictures on my ceiling to mislead the carpet / If you picked up your vocabulary maybe I wouldn't stumble over your words but I guess being broken eventually becomes comfortable / and I get lost in your conversation somewhere between the small talk and the streetlight at the point of destination..." Finally, after it all has dissolved, the beat (another one) comes back and leaves us with the taste of a happy afterlife.
But for those who are still with us, there's one last chance..."Exit Stage Left" is the last chapter of desperation for the time being. Beats are not needed anymore as we "sail through endless skies"; later though (back to earth?), still wondering what the hell we're doing here: "insufficient funds and chewing gums stuck to sole / shoes laced with wood glue and not a single place to go / I got a hook in my right eye and very soon I might die / looking at the clouds through the skylight / it's like I can't win / even through tempering / no matter what the difficult the other circumstance I'm in /.../ days are shorter than they used to be / its rather new to me how daily grinds are executed foolishly..."
What's more besides this astonishing verbal expressiveness and the masterly played two syllable game? There's the drumbeat of course, the piano, the keyboards, the guitar. Very few samples and occasionally a voice coming from afar. And, except for some tracks where we could reasonably ask for more than a few notes played on the piano in random order, and 'cigarette break', where the title would rather be sufficient, there doesn't have to be more, for the complexity lies in the lyrical expression. And this will probably cause enough side effects after all.
Listen and be amazed. But don't expect there to be any door into heaven.
review: denise
» back to top
: .   © 2000 - 2012.08 by urban smarts | contact