Unlike other mixes for his Crosstown Rebels imprint, Get Lost finds label chief-cum-DJ Damian Lazarus (and his CR compadre Matthew Styles) gliding through multiple takes on smooth minimalism. Lazarus is known for fusing electro and rock influences into his house and tech-house mixes, but Get Lost hearkens back to the fleeting mid-‘90s rave daze. Ost & Kjex’s “How not to be a Biscuit” pulses with the kind of throbbing, spongy bass you’d see girls worshiping speakers for, while Trickski’s “Sunshine F**k/Part 1” strips a beat down to its most rhythmic essentials. Where my glowstick at?
Venetian Snares Cavalcade of Glee and Dadaist Happy Hardcore Pom Poms
Unlike many experimental artists who are lost without song structure, Aaron Funk chooses his quirkiness with precision, skipping over conventional ideas of rhythm and beats. Detroit melodies haunt this Canadian’s broken snares like rowdy ghosts, only to plummet into a mad crescendo of carefully phrased noise. “Pwntendo” jumbles and tumbles an odd mish-mash of everyday sounds, but it’s Funk’s emotional pull that stitches his lack of coherence into something appealing. Even amidst dark, horror-film-like overtones and splintered beats, the drum sequence on “Vache” is something stirring-which helps you see past the painful album title.
Masta Killa Made In Brooklyn
Masta Killa turned some heads in 2004 when he delivered No Said Date. Though Wu alums RZA, Mathematics, and Choco are jettisoned for external producers Pete Rock, MF Doom, and PF Cuttin, it‘s essentially more of the same: good enough to impress Wu devotees, but probably too true to early ‘90s hip-hop for those who’ve moved on. Purists, however, will revel in the bangin’ lead single “Ringing Bells,” and the raw drum track that Nature Sounds’ honcho Dev 1 lays beneath “Brooklyn King.” Even in a year saturated with Wu releases, Made in Brooklyn is definitely worth a few spins.
Kashmere Stage Band Texas Thunder Soul 1968-1974
There’s no question, after listening to Texas Thunder Soul, that thirty-odd years ago, Houston’s Kashmere High School had one of the meanest school bands of all time. The revolving crew of 14-to-18-year-olds rips through funk nuggets like Dennis Coffey’s “Scorpio” and Isaac Hayes’ “Do Your Thing” (and some originals) as if their last names were Stubblefield, Parker, and Wesley. But does this archaeological dig have to cover two discs, with studio and live versions of many of the same songs? Just sayin’. Essentially, this is highly funky material from high school kids who definitely knew something about jammin’ on the one.
Voicemail Hey
Best known for their Bogle tribute “Wacky Dip,” Voicemail is a three-piece dancehall unit with a tendency towards R&B/hip-hop crossover á la TOK. Hey plays like the follow-up to TOK‘s Uncommon Language: The dancehall anthems like “Bring Ya Body Come” and a remix of their hit “Ready To Party” are catchy and credible. It‘s just the other stuff on here that‘s hard to digest. “Crunked” is basically an update of Nelly and Jagged Edge’s “Where The Party At,” and “One Wish” is a cringe-inducing piano ballad. “Back To Basics” is the best tune here-and a mantra that Voicemail should have followed.
Ike Yard 1980-82 Collected
Ike Yard’s songs, culled from ostensibly “lost” tapes from the early ‘80s, intoxicate by locking into mechanized voodoo rhythms, electro-basslines that maraud the streets, and synth noises that resemble hallucinations heard during your tenth consecutive sleepless night. “Loss” and “Half a God” should’ve been classics for Front 242 and Skinny Puppy to rip off. The only catch is Stuart Argabright’s undead-Ian Curtis monotone: it can sound fittingly numb and soulless at times, but often grows tiresome. Otherwise, this record is a trove.
Otto Von Schirach Maxipad Detention
Maybe it‘s safer to not ask what the noises of copulation, dogs, cows, babies, and a toy drummer gone thrash metal all mean on Otto Von Schirach’s “Submarine Mammal Milk.” Other monstrosities here, like “Alligator Waltz” and “Tea Bagging the Dead,” show how computers can bastardize yet enhance heavy metal. Highlights are the old-school noisecore gore of “Three Billion Electron Volts” and “Cantaloupe Syphilis Gravy,” a hypothetical meeting of Autechre and Pee Wee Herman. On Maxipad Detention, Von Schirach indulges his usual psychosexual shtick, but we now know that he has a thing for reptilian women, anyways.
Dr. Who Dat? Beat Journey
Jneiro Jarel got his feet wet in music as an MC more than a decade ago, but he has since grown into one of the most remarkable hip-hop-rooted instrumentalists around. Recording under the moniker Dr. Who Dat?, Jarel produces a wide palette of soulful creations here, ranging from chunky, undulating hip-hop (“B-Boy Portrait In Spain”) to Brazilian-tinged jazz (“Braziliant Thought”). Without the help of any MCs or guest vocalists, his Beat Journey is an uninterrupted quest into both the familiar and furthest regions of sound.
Pigeon John …And The Summertime Pool Party
If Pigeon John represents a “new generation of just regular dudes,” then hip-hop is in for a promising future. While this Angeleno’s last album, Pigeon John Sings The Blues, was heavy on self-deprecation, here he exudes pure confidence with producers RJD2, DJ Rhettmatic, and newcomers supplying the uptempo heat. On “Freaks! Freaks!” John tells females who paid him no mind, “It’s the boy that you laughed at/Didn’t give me a chance now I drive a Cadillac/So what, it’s 12 years old/Baby, it’s still cold.” With his head held high, he humorously reflects on the many ways he’s been fired (“I Lost My Job Again”) and even grills God on why he let the world take a turn for the worse (“As We Know It”). Free of reservations, this regular dude brings forth his best album to date.
Chief Kamachi Concrete Gospel
In Chief Kamachi’s world, there aren’t a whole lot of good times going down. On his sophomore solo shot, this fiery-voiced Philly native unleashes an onslaught of solemn ghetto scriptures atop the darkly tinged yet bumping production of DJ Huggy and E. Dan. As overcast as tracks like “Death Choir” can appear, Kamachi does a masterful job of capturing the ongoing struggles that the black community faces in the inner city. But beyond merely reporting on his surroundings, Kamachi lets it be known (on “Little African Boy”) that he’s “in search of a cure for the poison coming off the streets.”
