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Jason Thornberry Rants: |
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Anti-Pop Consortium - "Tragic Epilogue"
Hip-hop is a funny thing. Just when you’re about to
throw up your hands and swear that you’ve heard it
all, that there isn’t anything new that can be done
with it along comes something else. I’ve been into
hip-hop since the first grade—roughly when it first
emerged as a type of music. The Bee Gees and disco
music in general were acting out the public’s need for
a 1970’s phenomena. Like grunge, poodle-haired 80’s
metal, the boy-band crisis, rap-metal, McPunk, or diet
rock, that were significant parts of the tiny eras
they were/are inhabiting. Hip-hop’s timing, at the
peak of Travolta and disco fevuh only made the many
naysayers seem like they were correct. When Disco
expired though, and hip-hop proved through Grandmaster
Flash, UTFO, and LL Cool J (among others) that it was
only *beginning, it confused a bunch of prog-rockers
and/or closet racists who only wanted to enjoy white
music made by white people. To them, James Brown is
just that funny, black dude who pops up in movies like
Rocky 34 all the time, and sweats profusely, even at
night. Their music collection is probably so sanitary
and perfect, so lilly-white, that even the thought of
having Run DMC’s Walk This Way on the television when
their friends popped over unannounced was a major
source of embarrassment. A blow to their sense
of…sense. "Is Mike okay? Some black rap bullsh*t came
on the radio yesterday, and he didn’t change it right
away like he usually would."
The Anti Pop Consortium don’t make a lot of…sense.
First off, their name: They don’t have a bitch-killah
moniker that lets people know that toying with them
will put somebody’s momma in a black dress in a few
days. Plus they don’t loudly exhale pot-smoke on Skit
#3002 of their quadruple cd (each disc having over a
half hour of "intros"), and 89% of their album isn’t
one big, long boring diatribe about A) how they are
just preposterously endowed, and make mules
self-conscious B) the mind-boggling quantities of
p#$&@ that gets thrown at them daily, C) their names
and faces being on every police blotter in the world,
even in places they’ve never been, or D) they’ll kill
you two times for daring to make direct eye contact
with them. Then they’ll give your momma an*l Sexual
Healing. On your coffin. "My *ick is so big it has
it’s own zip code." If I was an A&R man that’s the
kind of lyrics I’d expect to get from either High
Priest, Beans, Sayyid, or Earl Blaize. Instead of
that, I hear "Shark infested water, message in a
bottle, no man is an island. Individual visual MC. Me?
I love life".
I’ve always had a list of what I thought were the
best hip-hop albums of all time (in no order they are,
thus far): It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold us
Back (by Public Enemy), 36 Chambers (The Wu-Tang
Clan), Endtroducing (DJ Shadow), Tical (Method Man),
3030 (Deltron), Hard to Earn (Gang Starr), and ATLiens
(Outkast). Dr. Octagonecolgyst (Dr. Octagon) has,
since it came out in 1996, to me, been the ultimate,
the Pet Sounds of hip-hop. Having said that, I
consider Tragic Epilogue the rap Revolver.
By Jason Thornberry, CanEHdian.com
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