| Anyone who kicks off their album with tracks entitled "Yawning Zetigeist Intro (freestyle)" and "Reheated Pop!" can't be all bad. Here we have LA indie-rap underdog Busdriver: a man The Independent dubbed "some street crazy." He should take it as compliment. Fear of a Black Tangent - note the humorous Public Enemy reference folks - will appeal to those who love Doseone more than they do Snoop or 50 Cent. Take "Befriend the Friendless Friendster" for example. Busdriver becomes a frenetic, gonzoid, scatter-gun word machine that leaves your head spinning and your gob fixed into a happy, bemused grin. He is part TV continuity announcer, part MC roots man, and part pterodactyl. But it's not just the timbre of Busdriver's tonsil acrobatics that impress, it's the rhythms. He spits out lines like they're drum patterns, dealing with subject matter such as racial bias, tacky commercialism, liggers and superficiality. What's more, he has humour and cerebral sharpness in spades. The music elevates the delivery even further. Busdriver's choice of Daedelus, Danger Mouse, Thavius Beck, Omid and Paris Zax as producers is inspired. "Unemployed Black Astronaut" for example, is infectious, summery, country-pop-hop, whilst "Avantcore" is cutesy, Sesame Street hip-hop with a neat wobble. On "Wormholes" you get a skittery, rolling oddity, while "Map Your Psyche" is Lalo Schifrin (Dirty Harry soundtrack) on Mogodon doing a silent era horror flick. Then there's "Cool Band Buzz" - sort of Fiddler on the Roof with a neat, phat and floppy bass. "Low Flying Winged Books" could be rap's equivalent of Sonic Youth; a cosmic, buzzing slice of ascension and hypnotism. Even a cursory listen to Fear of a Black Tangent raises the question - why isn't mainstream rap this varied? Well, Busdriver probably has a ten thousand-word dissertation somewhere on that one. He grew out of the LA underground scene based around the Goodlife Cafe, but deserves to transcend those humble beginnings by light years, not least because he pokes fun at the culture industry. Yep, here is a man eager to bite the hand that feeds and make us question our own attachments to scenes and labels. May his fifteen minutes begin. NOW. - Play Louder |
1XLP/Out Of Print