I’m not a morning person, something that was painfully obvious even as a grade schooler. Back then, my dad would occasionally drag me and/or my brother out of bed at 2:00 in the morning, if not earlier, so we could go with him on his paper route. Thought painful at the time, especially during the winter months when hauling bundles of newspapers out to the truck, I actually do look back on those times with some nostalgia.

Of course, there was the time well-spent with my father, especially when we went out for breakfast afterwards. But I do remember the experience of it all, of sitting there in the Nissan King Cab in the very early hours out there on the western edge of Omaha, an area that doesn’t exist anymore due to urban sprawl. I also remember trying to find something, anything to listen to help offset the tedium of rolling up newspapers. Of course, the truck’s radio was of the analog variety, so it was something of an art to try and get the needle in the exact right spot on the spectrum.

In those early hours, before smog and clouds filled the sky, when the atmosphere was at its clearest, you could pick up AM transmissions from Colorado and everywhere in between. Sometimes the needle would land somewhere between two stations, and you’d get a ghostly mix as the broadcasts fought eachother amidst the static, one overriding the other only to be drowned out in the next moment, until you couldn’t tell where they began and ended.

Arche-Lymb, Depth Affect’s first full-length, could be thought of as an almost random sampling of radio broadcasts, as if the French quartet has sent the needle scudding across the bandwidth and collected everything they picked up for record fodder. Hip-hop vocals collide with icy new wave synths, which then run up next to Vince Guaraldi-esque piano melodies playing hopscotch with reggae guitars while handclaps, glitchwork, wheezy accordions, battered acoustic guitars, clipped vocal shards, and drifting ambient whispers add to the dense, kaleidoscopic, and rough-hewn framework.

And I think it’s the rough-hewnness of it all that makes it feel so alive. Certainly plenty of hours were spent in all manner of sound-tweaking software to achieve some of the sounds that can be heard on Arche-Lymb, if only to manage the myriad layers of rhythms that keep the disc moving. But there is nary a cold, artificial moment on the disc anywhere. It could be the constant presence of acoustic guitars on tracks like “Honey Folky” and “Blinzeln Blume”, or the frequent use of vocals, be they MCs (both Cyne and Anticon’s Alias lend their rhymes on the disc) or cut-up vocals (such as the mixture of Jamaican beatboxing and b-boy callouts on “Dani Guimauve”).

There are certainly moments where the whole delirious mixture gets away from the band, where the individual tracks’ personalities get lost in the endless shuffle. But that only makes the moments where everything comes together, the stars align, and the myriad sounds employed by Depth Affect display an amazing amount of synchronicity all the more breathtaking.

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I’ll confess… I was tempted to write off Where’s The Beef? almost within the first 30 seconds, partly because of the silly title (which conjured up all sorts of bad notions) and partly because of the cheesy Casio trumpet fanfare that begins the disc on a rather whimsical note.  However, in Økapi’s case, that sense of whimsy is by no means a liability, but rather the disc’s saving grace.

Although the band’s sole member, one Filippo Paolini, is listed as handling samplers, turntables, tapes, and CDs, this is no wannabe bedroom hip-hopper.  Rather, the often amusing collages and soundscapes are more inline with the dazzling constructions of, say, The Avalanches.  Although the compositions on Where’s The Beef? are nowhere near as intricate and convoluted as those on Since I Left You, Paolini shares the same interest in taking the most disparate of sounds—be it the “bah” of sheeps, sweeping string arrangements, slivers of glitch, meandering horns, Spike Jones-like breaks, chopped up newscasts—and apparently juxtaposing them in the most un-obvious manners possible.

The results are sometimes a bit off the mark—I’d estimate that nearly a third of the disc is more filler than anything else—but then it works, the songs on Where’s The Beef? can yield some startling results.  For example, the evocative passage of “Chetamomil(la)”, whose plucked strings, piping flutes, and lazily-strummed guitars conjure up scenes of chilling on a tropical beach, relaxing with a cool drink in hand whilst basking in the golden setting sun.  “Stek-House” is full of percolating gurgles, glitches, and stuttering beats.  At times, it seems reminiscent of Pizzicato Five’s driving Shibuya pop pastiche, only in a much more muted form.

“Prufolli” is reminiscent of Plone’s whimsical, playful analog melodies, with shimmering synth sounds playing off more humorous, random noises that, for lack of a better description, sound like clown horns.  However, “La Fuga Di Sandokan” takes on a much darker, more serious tone—exotic textures and tabla-like percussion combine with orchestral stabs and spiralling strings to create a piece that might function quite well as a score for an espionage thriller.  And some garbled voices, which sound like intercepted transmissions, only add to the effect.

Adding to the disc’s overall mercurial nature is the fact that this piece is then further reinterpreted and re-imagined.  The insistent rhythms and textures are there, but new sounds are slowly worked into the mix—elegiac guitar drones, some subtle breakbeats, slightly more skewed strings.

It’s this sort of playfulness, this willingness to experiment and tinker with even his own compositions, that ultimately proves to be Økapi’s true appeal.  Sure, there are times where you have to wade through some fluff and dross to get to the good stuff, but the good stuff is there, if you’re willing to be patient.

That being said, part of me wishes that Økapi would settle down and get a bit more focused.  He hints at so many fascinating sounds, tinkering with them for only a few seconds, perhaps a minute or two at the most, before jumping onto the next one like some hyperactive kid—and I wish he’d more fully explore some of them.  But at the same time, I realize that Økapi becoming more focused could easily rob his music of the very spontaneity that makes it so intriguing (and frustrating) in the first place.

With mainstream rap going the way it has recently, with rappers focusing on their gold teeth, flashy bling, big cars and hot women, it is reassuring to have an artist like K-Os who opens the window of hip-hop’s dank basement to let in some sunshine.  His sophomore album, Joyful Rebellion, continues where his debut, Exit, left off.  K-Os, in a gentle, nasal flow of intelligent lyrics, reminds his listeners of the true roots of hip-hop.

The real beauty of this album is that K-Os can rap, sing, and play guitar—he can do almost anything.  It’s not like Eminem singing, where it’s sufficient enough to press on an album.  K-Os’ singing treads the same line as Lauryn Hill’s rapping.  Clearly his talent lies in rapping, but his singing adds that folk feel that brings the hip-hop back home.  In fact, almost every element of this album smacks of urban folk.  Most of the tracks contain primarily acoustic instruments, and the ones that sample do so in an old-school style.  Outkast, The Roots, and N.E.R.D. have all used this genre-hopping style of song-writing, and K-Os continues the innovative hip-hop art.

The album opens with “EMCEE Murdah”, a track lamenting the dying throws of hip-hop.  He tells of his disappointment that the top emcees of today are found quickly on commercials, but tells of his revelation by a supernatural source and relates himself to Noah, building an ark to save hip-hop from the coming floods.  The track is very well written, comparable to a flamenco ballad, and comes complete with a backing orchestra.

Another highlight of the album comes from track 3, “Man I Used To Be”.  This track clearly grabs influence from old Michael Jackson LPs.  The beat brings reminiscent memories of Mr. Jackson moon-walking over self-lit slabs of cement, and as K-Os does one of Michael’s famed “WooHoo” cries, the listener understands that this rapper isn’t afraid to go back to basics.  The track ends with a beatless free-style with guitar accompaniment.

The singles on this album are very radio-friendly, which is something that wasn’t really found on Exit.  The major single on the K-Os debut, “Heaven Only Knows”, didn’t even have a beat, but rather guitar accompaniment.  The single was a great song, but had little radio appeal.  The two singles on his second album, “Crabbuckit” and “B-boy Stance” are both very strong radio entries.  The first has a swing beat, and is interpolated by a great jazz sax sample.  The latter harkens to ‘80s rap, but uses enough modern influence to keep it interesting.

Other highlights include but aren’t limited to the latin march of “Commandant”, the ballad “Hallelujah”, the tabla-backed “One Blood (Jiggy Homicide)”, and the mariachi-style “Papercutz”.  This album has such international appeal and tip-toes on cultural boundaries.  The true beauty of this album, however, is that this international approach is done in earnest, and not as a gimmick.  His earnestness and honesty speaks volumes of the character of K-Os, and I certainly hope that he is the deliverer and savior of hip-hop.  I can’t think of anyone more fitting.

Written by Guy Thillet.

When people hear the term “hip-hop”, they tend to think of the folks who call themselves rappers on the top of the field. Folks like 50 Cent, Lil’ Jon, Nelly… utter shite. Plain and simple, that is what commercial rap is. And it’s what makes people like Rakim, KRS One and Grandmaster Flash feel sick to their stomachs. If people ventured from their MTV or stopped listening to mainstream radio, they might find some new voices out there, trying to get their points across. Their message coming to the forefront. One such MC (I’ll use the term that is still widely used, but abused as well) is Brother Ali.

Brother Ali is hard to categorize. When I first heard his album Shadows On The Sun, it was a fresh of breath air. Not that I don’t hear many good rap albums out there. You just need to know where to look. But Brother Ali hit home. He spoke from a different level of consciousness. Weaving intricate stories of raising his son, to being a practicing Muslim, to being shortchanged by a hip-hop promoter, he doesn’t rap about bling bling. It’s more about the mind and real life, which is hard to come by today.

He just released an EP called Champion to tide people over until the new album, which he’s making as we speak. A 40-minute EP tends to be a little too much for some people, but not Brother Ali. From start to finish, it’s a solid undertaking by one of the premier MCs nobody knows about.  The first track is a remix of one of the best songs on his last album, “Champion”. Not as good as the original, if you want my opinion, but a good solid opening track to get the ball rolling. With tracks like “Bad Ma Fucka” and “Heads Down (You Haven’t Done That Yet)” all the way to the last, emotionally-laced track “Rain Water”, hip-hop has a new king that should be crowned.

With all the garbage that pollutes the airwaves, is mass-produced and sells millions of copies, why don’t you try out a new artist that will truly change your life a little? Or if not change your life, give you a little understanding as to what hip-hop used to be like in the glory days.

Written by James McCormick.