Second album by Freestyle Fellowship, a Los Angeles hip-hop group composed of Aceyalone, Myka Nyne, PEACE and Self Jupiter. J-Sumbi aka the only one who understood something when he spoke, left the group precisely because his style was more understandable than usual.
Production is mainly done by the group itself and The Earthquake Brothers team of producers, in addition, some rhythms are provided by Daddy-O, Bambawar and Edman. In support, rather than being a band, there are some guys called at random to offer live instrumentation: JMD on bass and drums, Kevin O'Neal, Christy Smith, Alfred Threats and Robert Harris on bass, Don Littleton on percussion, Marvin McDaniel on acoustic guitar, Rodney Millon on guitar, Onaje Murray on vibraphone, Tom Ralls on trombone, Jon Williams on trumpet and Randall Willis on sax and flute. The beats are simple in their supposed complexity, funky boom bap, tight slow drum, some jazzy samples, nothing exceptional: like most of the scene of the time, the sound of the record is closer to NY than to LA.
Lyrically, the record is a big question mark: the lyrics are completely abstract, extravagant and without sense, their bars come out with no real direction, all a bit random. I don't recognize who's who, these dudes choose to perform their lyrics with different delivery styles on almost every track: if the whole project was played with a quick style, it could be a good album, nevertheless, rappers sometimes choose a slower delivery, sometimes lazy, listless, effortless, singing a few times. One of the few correct choices these guys have is having as few hooks as possible. I don't know what guests are adding, but it doesn't seem like much.
Overall, it's an arduous, exhausting and meaningless listening: the album swells up to 66 minutes of listening, with four skits and cuts that often unnecessarily exceed four minutes. Released on 4th & Broadway, which is covered in distribution by Island Records, the tape fails to appears to the Billboard charts: the commercial failure, combined with the indifference of the critics, convinced the group to disband and the individual rappers to start solo careers (Aceyalone will have better luck than the others). This eclectic and innovative effort is rediscovered in retrospect, being definitively appreciated as one of the most avant-garde records of its time: there's nothing incredible, it's pretty much mumble rap spit out faster and with some decent argument behind all the gibberish bars. These guys innovate, but it's a bit like putting peach tea in pepsi: yes, the taste is different, but that doesn't mean it's good.
Rating: 6/10.
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