Debut album by Us3, a group founded in London in 1992, consisting of New York rappers Kobie Powell and Rahsaan, British-Jamaican rapper Tukka Yoot, composer Geoff Wilkinson and keyboardist Mel Simpson.
For some weird astral conjunction, these amateurs have at their disposal the archives of the Blue Note label to create their own songs. Translated, it means that they can sample some of the greatest jazz musicians of all time: it's a great responsibility and it's a great artistic opportunity. In spite of everything, these dudes try to sound the ugliest and nastiest way possible. The samples are extracted from songs by Herbie Hancock, Lou Donaldson, Art Blakey, Grant Green, Melvin Van Peebles, Horace Silver Quintet, Curtis Fuller, Reuben Wilson, Jackie Mclean, John Patton, Bobby Hutcherson, Jimmy McGriff, Thelonious Monk, Donald Byrd and the Funkadelic.
It's rare to see such a large waste of such good samples: taken on its own, the sound of the samples comes out fluid and clear, at times bright, but Wilkinson, the guy responsible for fixing all the instruments, decides to combine the samples in a wedding with a drunk drum machine on New Year's Eve in Las Vegas. Divorce, alimony, loss of home and even custody of the children are inevitable. It's a complete disaster, and the samples can't do anything about it, the cause is to be found in the casino priest who officiated the ceremony for those ten dollars. And, indeed, Father Wilkinson has many serious responsibilities in this project.
From the single cuts emerges an often bland, gray and banal sound, enlivened by the excellent saxophone, which is the background to the rapping of this amateur trio: performers sound very poorly, but they're ahead of their time, they're mumble twenty years before mumble. Their delivery is dull, boring and monotonous, lazy and lifeless, with a soft style totally unfit with production. The album, 55 minutes for 13 songs that never go under three and a half minutes, isn't even totally jazz rap, boasting several reggae filler cuts in the second part, dance choices and even new jack / ballad.
In the latter, on a simple rhythm for which a Moroder synth was evidently taken, softened and looped perpetually in the background, the rapper proves he no longer wants to rap and delivers lazy, slow, talking, almost whispering. When the samples get more space within the track, we've the best results ("I Got It Goin 'On"), and the ridiculous hooks and bad lyrics can also be ignored, but most of the time the results are quite embarrassing: in "Knowledge of Self", simple track with slow drum, usual cheap hook and monotonous, weak, slow and exhausting delivery, this dude says "we don't stop" like he doesn't even know what he means, he says it casually, as if it were a cliché random phrase, as if it were a "hip-hop phrase" to be said almost necessarily.
Terribly soporific album, when the quality of the jazz samples drops and the rapping continues to be lazy, the little appeal that the album could have, immediately vanishes. There are so many commercially gross mistakes that you won't even try to listen to the next albums of this group. Despite having remained far from the charts, the single "Cantaloop" and the album are certified gold by the RIAA, then the disc went platinum in 1999, a sign that many people continued to buy it even after years and after the critics. So, probably, as well as Skinner going to a museum looking for Bart as if it were the most popular place to find a kid who is skipping school, I'm out of touch.
Rating: 4/10.
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