Rest in peace to Euphrates crew member Nofy Fannan, who, like many great talents ahead of him, passed before watching the world embrace his finest work.  This may be a strange gesture with which to begin a music review, but it’s the only conceivable way to respect the fallen architect of the most politically poignant hip-hop album in recent history.

The Euphrates DNA is not only unique in structure – two producers and one mc, but also in descent – all three are Iraqi Canadians.  Since 1998, biological brothers Nofy and Habillis, who unite as SandhiLL, have fused Arabic folk music with hip-hop aesthetics to bend soundscapes around The Narcicyst’s unapologetic consciousness.  Their compositions are fairly unprecedented, but are also more organized and accessible than most underground acts of their artistic caliber.

Stereotypes Incorporated is the follow up to the 2003 debut, A Bend in the River, for which Euphrates received international attention from both rap critics and mainstream media.  The new album is conceptually divided between “East” and “West,” which Narcicyst says is “because we don’t really have (just) one point of view.”  As Arab émigrés with roots and relatives in the Middle East, Euphrates delivers didactic feats from More...

The following review appears in The Source 20^th Anniversary issue currently on shelves.  Pick that shit up.  This, however, is the uncut version:

Fedoras off to the only Jay-Z album that heads everywhere – from clubs to campuses to corners – agree is a resounding classic.  Reasonable Doubt immediately preceded the underground-commercial schism, and, historically speaking, marks the first, last and only time that Hova’s creative genius was not at all compromised by hokey beats and senseless boasting.

Though he’d accomplished relatively little in hip-hop before Reasonable Doubt, on his debut Jay-Z came off as a superlative statesman.  Couture braggadocio was in its fetal stages, and, on tracks such as “Feelin’ It” and “Can’t Knock the Hustle,” Hova introduced a newer, more sophisticated type of player.  Not to mention one who spit full clips alongside B.I.G. on “Brooklyn’s Finest.”

There are too many exceptional moments to mention.  On “Ain’t No,” Jay and Foxy Brown freaked More...

Nicolay & Kay / “Time: Line” (Groove Attack)

Netherlands-bred, North Carolina transplant Nicolay is steadily approaching the top of his potential. One of hip-hop’s next great beat makers, he’s evolved bounds since getting drafted by Little Brother’s Phonte to produce his Foreign Exchange venture, and even further since dropping his own mediocre mixtape, The Dutch Masters, and his follow-up solo outing, Here. In Kay, Nicolay has found a relatively unknown Houston MC who’s not only as linguistically competent as Phonte, but who shares Little Brother’s burden of showing subterranean rap fans that not all hip-hop from below the Mason-Dixon is cough syrup-inspired balderdash.  On twelve tracks, Kay jets past formal introductions and gets intimate. The grandiose horn-inflated “What we live” pedals through his rap experience, while more playful cuts such as “Through the wind” flash his romantic side. It’s a team effort; only two synchronized souls could concoct a song like “Gunshot,” a guitar and drum stew so celestially dynamic that it takes several listens to realize that it’s as lyrically significant as it is sonically astounding. Critics are sure to note that Kay has some vocal resemblance to Kayne West and/or Lupe Fiasco, but he’s actually much more humble and endearing than either of the aforementioned gimmick rappers. The other difference, of course, is that thanks to Nicolay, Kay’s bangers weren’t jacked from familiar pop classics.

Grayskul/Bloody Radio

Grayskul’s Deadlivers debut dragged heads lobe-first through the sort of psychotic trenches and latent boogeyman paranoia that only two gloomily sophisticated Seattle rap purists could possibly conjure.  Their follow-up, Bloody Radio, is equally dark and graphic, but decidedly less figurative.  JFK and Onry’s capes come off on the introductory “Virginia N.M.2,” leaving them to pillage on as civilians.  Familiar frantic mandolins and gypsy twinkles surface through the crack list, and the lexicon remains advanced (“Religion is gangbanging and fighting over which God to blame”), but most cuts here are more Frank White than Frank Zappa.  Likewise; drunken space motifs and demented chipmunk soul blips still linger, but lyrical sprints such as “Bloody Radio” bumrush “DJs with crates full of shit” instead of cruising over heads.  The winning moment is “The Office” with Aesop Rock and Slug, the latter of whom we can thank for greenlighting this triumphant sequel despite Grayskul’s not reaping half the stacks that Brother Ali, Atmosphere or even Eyedea pull in.  The fact that they’re continuing to allow JFK and Onry to pump murky blood beneath hip-hop’s skin is a testament to Rhymesayers label head Siddiq’s commitment to dropping kind products – even when teenage chicks and indie rock reporters don’t finger themselves silly over said products.

El-P / I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead (Def Jux)

Figurative wizard El-P is hip-hop’s Josh Baskin.  And ever since he woke up with a big dick, broke up Company Flow, moved out on his own, and founded Def Jux to unrelenting critical acclaim, I’ve been the guy in the MacMillan boardroom saying, ‘I don’t get it.’  Not because I completely misunderstood P’s robot bug rhymes, his purpose on Fantastic Damage, or even the compass he strapped to Mr. Lif and Aesop Rock’s careers, but because my neurons ceased firing like they did on my extended honeymoon with Co Flow’s genre-probing Funcrusher Plus.  That album was conceived in a stylistic vacuum, so when every eccentric Lower East Side whiteboy co-opted said vacuum, the dramatic novelty that accentuated El-P’s early crack expired.  On I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead, El-P returns to Funcrusher form, but spits with an evolved global perspective that finally differentiates him from the science rhymers who haven’t studied rap music’s basic elements.  In addition to busting some of hip-hop’s most compelling post 9/11 dialogue to date, tracks such as “EMG” also mark a conscious return to the barebackdrops that define the era that preceded New York’s castration.  And considering his “Poisenville Kids No Wins” encore has saliva heavy metaphors sailing across what actually resembles a headnoddable melody, it looks like El-P might have finally found Zoltar after all. 

I'll Sleep When You're Dead is available at Amalgam Digital for $8.99.  Download it here 

Devil'z Rejects / "Necronomicon" (Dynasty Muzik)

Note: This review was published several years ago in Elemental Magazine (RIP).  In the time since, Jus Allah has re-joined Jedi Mind Tricks, and Bomshot has moved on to working with Wu-Tang affiliates including The Holocaust and GZA.  This article was never meant to instigate beef; I was simply narrating an intriguing story that’s been relayed in East Coast underground hip-hop circles for years.  Enjoy, and please feel free to add your two cents at the bottom if you have any input.

Here’s how it went down: Bomshot first met Jus Allah while on tour with Jedi Mind Tricks back in 2000, around the time that Babygrande Records founder Chuck Wilson signed the group.  After leaving his mark on Violent By Design, Allah also left (and dissed) JMT, effectively sparking the nomadic infamy that he’s been known for ever since.  Fast forward to 2005, when Bom claims (and unanimous Boston heads back up) that More...

Badnewz / “Falling Down” (Strezzed Out)

In more than one way, you might have to hit the block to get this one.  But it’s worth the risk; in terms of Boston’s street rappers, coke talkers and gat holders, Badnewz is next.  Forget that his latest joint says “mixtape” on the cover; “Falling Down” is a complete album with biting production, forward moving conceptualization and zero filler.  True to his moniker, Badnewz broadcasts from the jungle, where shots fly, drugs kill, and, as he so eloquently puts it, bitches lick his dick vein.  The WMS the Sultan produced “Its Whatever” featuring BR displays Newz’ Darwinian instincts, while “Growing Pains” shows that he’s mortal enough to eloquently paint his vulnerable side.  For straight lyrics, the self-titled “B.A.D.N.E.W.S.” is acronymic pandemonium: “The ‘B’ stands for broke black babies bandaged with bandanas, biscuit busting, blowing black out of Backwoods, bubbling base in big batches, bagging bundles of bills, bitches in Benzes, barrels banging and bullets buzzing.”  So watch out for this dude – he’ll be the one “walking the block with a bop like John Travolta in Grease.”  And for anyone who for some reason thinks that New York and L.A. rappers are the only ones licensed to bring it from the curb, turn on the tube or grab yo’ self a broadsheet; they’re both full of this dude. 

Sean Price / “Jesus Price Supastar”

In the eighth grade, I got a back seat blowjob on my class trip to Philadelphia.  Years later, on a Greyhound ride to New York, I convinced a cool orthodox Jew sitting next to me to sniff Special K. 

Until the listening party for Sean Price’s new album, those were the two best times I’ve ever had on a bus.

Before most rappers drop new releases, their publicists host preview parties.  The events are usually held at clubs, lofts or studios, where critics are given multiple drinks, and sometimes smoke and grub, while they listen to the album.  If we’re lucky, the artist will surface, and maybe even reluctantly offer some generic quotes (i.e. – “Hip-hop needs this album right now, knawmsayin’”) before disappearing behind velvet ropes to spit champagne with his entourage. More...

 
Somewhere on a corner in Queens there’s a thug who’s been waiting for this since before white kids shot up schoolyards.  The Testament is Cormega’s first full album, recorded for Violator/Def Jam between ’96 and ‘97.  After Nas and the rest of the Firm crew ditched him for payday with Dr. Dre, Mega stayed in Queensbridge with producers like Sha Money XL and Havoc.  The LP was ultimately shelved, but a lot of people, including me, thought they copped the complete fruits of his temper on mixtapes and Limewire.  To our surprise, Cormega emerged as the only one with a complete master.  The release features classics such as “Dead Man Walking” and “Angel Dust,” but also promises some unleaked bangers and rare archival gems like “Love is Love.”  Other notables are “Testament” and “Montana Diary,” on which Mega showed his first signs of allegorical prowess.  Since recording this album he’s independently released four LP’s and two mixtapes, all of which have been bloated with Cormega’s unique brand of mellow thuggetry.  But even though his entire track record has consistently bumped for “overachievers and young thugs born to hold heaters,” The Testament is without-a-doubt his most authentic throwback to New York hip-hop at its finest moment.

Ripshop / Playtime’s Over (Commonwealth Records)

Real MCs don’t stop rapping. Just because your local college station dropped an artist from its playlist doesn’t mean he enrolled at ITT, changed careers and left the block. For dudes like Dorchester leatherthroat Ripshop, time spent out of sight is time to survey street life. Things have definitely been slow for Rip since the Lyricist Lounge era, when he dropped the Mr. Lif assisted “Shoplif” on Fat Beats and “Versus” on Rawkus. But while his live performances and guest spots have been limited, Rip has sporadically surfaced to remind hood rappers that they’re full of shit and backpackers that they’re straight bitches. You can call the span between his Rawkus negotiations and new deal with Commonwealth playtime, which, I concur, is officially over, though it’s clear that Rip spent his hiatus steadily evolving. His trademark gruff and machete flow have sharpened, and tracks like the divinely skeptical “Change” and “A Betta Day” mix experience and enlightenment with Rip’s hood savvy worldview. Factor in producer Reel Drama’s tough bass lines and simple drums tailored to hug Rip’s throwback panache, and cameos from Boston notables Jaysaun, DL, Krumbsnatcha and Cool Gzus, and there’s no doubt that a long overdue Beantown relic has finally arrived.