Tri-Pack Wafer: Abstract Tribe Unique, Leaders Of The New School, Yaaggfu Front

"I hope one of his peoples could hook him up with a tri-pack/ That's three different flavors/ Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry wafers" -- MF Doom, "Kookies"

Download All Three Tracks

Abstract Tribe Unique, Leaders Of The New School, and Yaggfu Front Look Towards The Future

When I listen to Yaggu Front's "Future Shock," I am reminded of Bruce McCall's irreverent and visually arresting presentation from May 2008 titled "Nostalgia for a future that never happened." In this talk (embedded below) the sardonic illustrator and author (known primarily for his many well-received New Yorker covers) discusses his revulsion/fascination with commercial art from the mid-twentieth century that forecasts the arrival of a post-WWII high-tech utopia. You know, hilariously innaccurate and vaguely disturbing visions of flying cars, silver jumpsuits, and robot maids by '87 at the latest. McCall skewers his own source materials by redrawing them in a manner that mocks their naive hubris, implicit jingoism, and subtle creepiness while celebrating their imaginative beauty.

Whether by design or accident, Yaggfu's "Future Shock" also makes me laugh. The deceptively simple, sarcastic lyrics successfully contrast hokey visions of futuristic bliss with the massively disappointing, increasingly hectic realities of modernity. The emcees pull this off so well in fact that I feel emboldened enough to violate the rules of valid criticism. For this review, I am embracing the fallacious yet attractive notion that in any given rap song, sample usage can be regarded as an ideologically-driven decision that mirrors the messages found in the lyrics.

Yaggfu Front - Future Shock

I want to believe. C'mon, the twinkling pianos, the unusually warm and fuzzy orchestral horns - this has to be an intentional, mock Twilight Zone-ish ironic commentary on white-dominated retro-future aesthetics, right? With a few knowing jabs at mid-'80s rap culture and its distinct brand of robotic groupthink and unapologetic fetishism of the latest cars and couture thrown in for balance? The Puma tracksuit as space attire? The 808 as automaton musician? No?

Ok, maybe I'm reaching. But the one discernible message of "Future Shock" I am certain is not a product of wishful thinking is the idea that the heralded future (actually, the present) is still an uncertain, unkind place for the poor and unlucky. For many, this does not constitute a profound revelation. But if Yaggfu are, on some level, poking fun at the upbeat prognostication of The Jetsons by positing wonders like online billing and laser eye surgery as vicious signifiers of perpetual inequity, the song can be viewed as poignant as well. Even more so when race is considered; the post WWII technocratic wonderlands of magical highways and sprawling, mechanized exurbs were not meant to include minorities. Robert Moses was pretty adamant about that.

Afro-Futurists admire artists like Deltron, Dr. Octagon, and Andre 3000 for their neo Parliament-Funkadelic extravagance. Their spacey, scatalogical vaunts and costumed antics are interpreted as signifiers of a forward-thinking movement in the direction of transcendent liberation. The mind-forged manacles and alienation that are the legacy of slavery are figuratively broken by the embrace of the type of technological ingenuity that fueled the careers of Lee "Scratch" Perry and Afrika Bambataa, among others. These are compelling concepts and we should not dismiss these artists as mere daydreamers, but rap's exploration of the future is hardly limited to artless garish solo artist indulgence in cosmic tropes with little to no discretion.

Leaders Of The New School - The End Is Near

Like Yaggfu Front, Leaders Of The New School and Abstract Tribe Unique view the future as a mixed bag at best, with most of the spoils going to the same undeserving heirs who seem to maintain an indefinite stranglehold on wealth. On "The End Is Near" the four future-conscious Public Enemy disciples from the rougher side of Robert Moses' Long Island futureworld impress with a dizzying display of vocal styles. While the normally boisterous Yaggfu Front calmly recite their lines to describe nanotech drudgery, the Leaders are besides themselves with pre-millenial tension. Dinco D spits out non-sequiters just like Uniblab while Charlie Brown is damned near hysterical, carrying on about a coming apocalypse. Busta is surprisingly the voice of reason in this instance. His style on "The End Is Near" (click here for demo version plus other LONS gems) is frenetic even for him but he delivers a sober meditation on the issues of artistic integrity facing the hip hop genre as it morphs into a full-fledged power industry.

Abstract Tribe Unique - Torn

This is also the main topic of Abstract Tribe Unique's "Torn." "Torn" sounds like urgent panic; the hi/low-tech, dusty-but-digital organ sample jettisons Abstract Rude's robust preacherly style towards the firmament. But Abstract Rude's presentation is ultimately very down-to-earth despite his penchant for mystical medicine show theatrics. "Torn" tackles the subject of the future with skill and gracel Abstract rude examines the arrival of the new generation of rappers reared on information overload and bemoans the glacial pace of progress but retains a sense of hope for the dawn of a new consciousness. Flying cars or not. -- Thun

Tri-Pack Wafer: Three Times Dope, Main Source, Gang Starr

"I hope one of his peoples could hook him up with a tri-pack/ That's three different flavors/ Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry wafers" -- MF Doom, "Kookies"

Three Times Dope "Increase The Peace" from Original Stylin'

Main Source "Peace Is Not The Word To Play" from Breaking Atoms

Gang Starr "Soliloquy Of Chaos" from Daily Operation

Download All Three Tracks + 2 Bonuses ("Peace Is Not The Word to Play" Video Remix, S.O.U.L.  "Peace Of Mind")

Call me cynical, but a plea for peace  in the form of a rap song sounds wiser and more sincere when coming from an individual. "Self-Destruction" has a slamming beat and "We're All In The Same Gang" is, err, well-intended, but the "We Are The World" vibe of both cuts leaves me cold. Crowded in-your-face issue songs age poorly, and feel heavy-handed, simplistic, and maudlin in retrospect. The fleeting, pedantic verses and sloganeering choruses are better fitted for unintentionally hilarious PSAs destined for YouTube cult status.

I loather to wander into the eternal debate over whether or not artists should feel obligated to indulge in proscriptive propaganda. However, I find myself drawn to songs that describe the nearly unintelligible sense of helplessness when one lives in fear of getting got. I can recount dozens that accurately depict the frustration attached to living righteously in a degenerate milieu. The best ones comment further on the unfounded but understandable sense of superiority one feels when examining the life decisions made by those embroiled in the street life.

Such efforts feel appreciably human, and their messengers seem that much more likable. Rapped responses to social disorder are typically unsatisfying as policy recommendations but supremely superb as songs. Few citizens are equipped to dole out nightly vigilante justice or work proactively to alleviate the root causes of crime. It is thus refreshing to know that my favorite musical genre rarely shies away from engaging current events in explicit but creative ways. Critics of rap who remain horrified at the genre's fixation on violence routinely fail to share my appreciation, but that's another discussion for another time.

Main Source's "Peace Is Not The Word To Play" is every bit an intellectual exercise as any rap song revered by the literati. The bespectacled rapping producer Large Professor flips not only the music of his sample source but also the theme of said record. He engages in virtuosic observational wordplay, invoking multiple uses of the word and its homophones at every turn. But the song's brainy approach does not distract from its core of torment. Large Pro decries the reduction of the peace sign and greeting to a ubiquitous yet morbidly ironic reminder that the post-D.A.I.S.Y. times are fucked the fucked up. His exasperation at man's indecency and hypocrisy is tangible.

EST of Three Times Dope is similarly bewildered by the situation in his native Philadelphia, which in the late '80s and early '90s boasted a murder rate three times as high as New York City. The self-proclaimed "greatest man alive" is decidedly less avuncular than Large Pro, opting to speak to his audience more as a streetwise everyman than a neighborhood activist. His instructions are simple: sit back and soak in his pragmatic yet flavorful message of brotherhood. It's hard to take issue with his reasoning. The song's laid back vibe can win you over, as if designed to tranquilize, and the choice to sample two slain peace lovers (Marvin Gaye and Martin Luther King, Jr.) is mighty clever.

Guru never eschews soapbox speechifying, but "Soliloquy of Chaos" is a change of pace nonetheless. His commentary focuses narrowly on the type of violence that erupts at rap shows. He expresses concern and outrage without breaking character or resorting to a reactionary anti-youth pose. Much like EST, he appeals to common sense and shared values to champion peaceful living, suggesting that violence only succeeds in ruining a good time. Like Large Pro, he registers just enough disgust at knuckleheads to seem authoritative, and one is inclined to take his plea seriously. While I doubt that these songs actually stop career hoodlums from mixing it up, they remain relevant to those of us who have no choice but to navigate our living spaces with caution and restraint while the usually suspected unseen forces and trends do what they do. 

And they're really, really dope.  -- Thun

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Tri-Pack Wafer: Ghostface, Xzibit, Royal Flush

Ghostface Killah "All That I Got Is You"

Royal Flush "Family Problems"

Xzibit "Carry The Weight"

"I hope one of his peoples could hook him up with a tri-pack/ That's three different flavors/ Chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry wafers" -- MF Doom, "Kookies"

The above quote is taken out of context from a typically elaborate low-brow extended metaphor courtesy of MF Doom; "kookies" represent different "flavors" of porn stars but also slyly references web browser "cookies." For our purposes however, the tri-pack wafer is simply a convenience pack of three related but distinctly enjoyable songs. Today's selections are culled from the same era (1996-1997) and each one is claimed by its respective narrator to be an autobiographical account of an impoverished, unstable upbringing. 

I tend to be skeptical of criticism that suggests that rap lyrics, or any life-writings,  can ever exist in a form that is unsullied by fictive manipulation. It is a stance that belittles both critic and artist and flirts dangerously with the logical fallacies intrinsic to voyeuristic racial tourism. Who are these rappers to tell us that they are singularly impervious to the temptations of nostalgic revisionism or self-serving discretion? Conversely, who are we critics to presume that rappers are incapable of knowingly and creatively playing with the facts? With that said, I  love these songs precisely because their unwavering claims of authenticity are occasionally shaky, and I am loathe to debate the unknowable plausibility of such recollections. 

Today's songs are framed more as confessionals or psychotherapy sessions than rosy-hued remembrances, and mostly avoid the saccharine platitudes that plague most "back in the day" songs. They are not entirely free of melodrama, however. Ghostface's "All That I Got Is You" is an unapologetic R&B tearjerker filled with tales of roach-plucking and pissy mattress sharing so fucked up they practically redeem Ghost's now-trademark effusiveness. Royal Flush is nearly maudlin as a blatant if convincing Ghostface impersonator and comes across as rather desperate in his attempt to maintain a facade of stoic realness against a musical backdrop suited for his emotional, graphic account of domestic abuse. 

Xzibit's reminiscence steers clear of sentimentality in such an overdetermined manner that he actually sounds much like the angry, introverted adolescent he describes. While Ghostface and Royal Flush rhapsodize about their struggling mothers and hint at the eventual acquirement of a healthy adult perspective on pressing life matters, Xzibit just grumbles. He frames his past as an explanation of present behaviors, dysfunctional or otherwise. There's a detectable trace of self-effacement for its own sake in his suppressed emotiveness. In each of these cases, the narrator's central concern is the public's current perception of his legitimacy as a spokesperson for the impoverished collective. Childhood is merely a reel of stock footage edited for the purpose of propaganda. 

And it never sounded better.

 -- Thun