producers: alias, dj mayonnaise

As a kid having an ant farm was not as cool as having a toy train. Then again, that wasn't as cool as having a computer. Or a scar. But if you are Alias, Sole or DJ Mayonnaise, your contests wasn't of show and tell proportions, but you'd pack up your rucksack, get a couple of milk crates, board a Nissan and you'd leave the place where lobsters can be picked like grapes, and resettle at a place, where the streets think that all Christmas trees are made of plastic. And you'd be amongst people that can't walk backwards. But your brain was still somewhat breezy, due to the fresh air, and your first day brought coughing, as your lunges weren't used to airborne tar, to airborne trash. However, you regrouped under the sign of the ant, and what used to be Maine is now Oakland, and home was to mean the same thing in both places. The scars that were of importance now couldn't be found on the skin, but more a few levels deeper, maybe even more next, as the battle scars were now worn on the heart, the soul, and on our humor. If we only took them serious at the same time as themselves.

Once more so many words this tadah writes that are mainly confusing and fuck. But look, these cats got like a big following and more people that couldn't give a flying dropping anyways. We are not listening to anyone's saving grace or Eastern carol. Naw man. The So Called Artists are that strange something, that you don't want to take too serious, but also not miss to give it the needed seriousness, that is somewhere in there. Hence, you are either willing to listen to three cats talk about some things that trouble them, or that should trouble you, written in a poetic fashion, that demands your gray mass, or you're not.

We get the typical mayhems like "Posterchildren For The Advancement Of Something", "The Skin Song And Dance", or the "I Don't Know How To Start This", that features over par production by Alias and the plea: "while listening, keep in mind that we've been dubbed experimental, but we're just doing what we do naturally. [...] Take your first impression and forget everything you are or heard. Leave the herd and join a new cause", with them continuing "my best songs are complaints, my best friends are the Aristotles of tomorrow". We then want to give Mayonnaise some advance props on his production, as he is not failing to catch the acknowledgment. Not only with the two instrumentals. The first one is "Someone Is Watching", that's featuring his scratching, that can be considered a dark update of his solo album. He's further treating us with the second one, the "Point Of Departure Part".

The moments that really qualify for being emotionally touching, are tracks like "Music 2 Drown", where Alias is keeping the sorrow for himself, gaining high regards with this song, sounding in depth like a Pink Floyd tune. We shall mention another Alias beat, that's put behind "Interpretations Of Mere Interpretation" and that's making clear how depressed the total of this album is, something that isn't just good. And one more of the favorite moments has to be associated with Alias' name, as on "Token Joyous Tune About Scorpions And Their Place In Modern Society", he hooks up a breakbeat drum, that is easily able to capture the anxiety otherwise only being pointed out, but not reached. And he's further responsible for the beat on "The Perils Of War And Its Effects Upon Those Who Know Nothing About It".

Sole's moment comes on "Real Life True Confessions Of A Meglomaniac", where he reflects on his career and lifetime in music. He goes "yesterday I promised myself this would be the last rap album I ever do. I should be writing books or join a rock group. I'm not rapper material. I'm not corporate America material. I'm not radio friendly. And I'm not feeling these females all wrapped up in material". That's combined with a down dragging beat by Mayonnaise, that makes Sole sound even more unbalanced with his reality. Getting straight to the point is the distinguishing themselves from other rappers efforts discussing "So You Wanna Be Rap Star Or Recycling Bin", where no hand is put in front of the mouth, when Sole and Alias expose your shortcomings and they are not even pulling down your pants. Here Alias goes "I wrote my lyrics while under the influence of myself. Making art out of oxygen for those who pick apart, analyze my breath, react to the era of the magnetic strip that was swinging on your heart. Can you feel it?".

There already have been enough petty fights about these three cats, so that we could approach them in a 'before paintball' way. Big dots are already coloring our bias. And it has already been determined what team you would join. But if you do still claim a neutral stance, then this album might not be the right program to be initiated. Not even because this album is more left field, more rough on the throat. But other records are easier to approach, maybe just due to their frustration still being less finalized. What's the hardest about this album is its darkness, the gloomy wood, the lack of tongues in cheeks. But currently these three cats are "So Called Artists living in a paint by numbers world" and the squares are not circles enough.