The stream-of-consciousness school, where rap is concerned, is hit and miss as a blind sniper. As a casual-at-best observer of hip-hop, even I, Gumshoe, can sense that lyrics aren't what they used to be. It seems many of today's beat poets — in the closest sense of the word — are more interested in looping together obscure vernacular to, in the parlance of our times, reach the metaphysical heights of hip-hop. This is all well and good, but for all the verses filled with descriptions of "diamond colored spines" and "armadillo armor," it'd be nice to sink my bazooka tooth into something a little more... meaningful, a little more Dead Prez or The Coup.
Coaxial, in ought-Sixzzle, the year hip-hop died (seriously wtf?), are one of the first to release a truly compelling album, though I've admittedly been slacking on my beat-mining chores. One of the most striking reasons to snatch up this self-titled slang soufflé is the lack of obnoxious b-boy choruses, the germ that killed The Streets' latest album deader than a rusted doornail. Rather than plant an out-of-place ode to repetition at the end of his verses, vocalist Beegs Alchemy simply lets the background take on new significance, which isn't such a strange move if you consider the popularity of instrumental hip-hop.
And his prose... god bless 'im, they make sense! Alchemy rattles his soul shaker and prattles about subjects most of us can relate to and even, god forbid, take inspiration from. The lyrics are even printed in the liner notes, such an advantage that I'm cursing the Wu under my breath for not doing the same all those years (so many days spent decoding drug-talk!). Skim to the first line of "Dragonsnot," for example: "The dusty warheads in the hands of clean cut individuals calm me none at all." Then try this one on for size while you're in the fitting room: "Fashion is mostly an outdated mechanism to convey false confidence." Or how-'bout this li'l nugget: "Since the night the stars fell out of the sky/ I hold my head in my hands thinking of ways to say goodbye." Granted (natch!!) this isn't early-period Celine, and is surrounded by several Aesop-ish lines that mean very little when you strip away the chrome plating, but overall, Beegs' narratives are crisp and rhythmic, never sounding stilted or forced.
The backing tracks, composed by David Krepinovich, are even better, sometimes flat-out gorgeous. Take heed of the lovely choir samples voicing their life's love over "It's Not My Voice"'s rote-by-comparison thump-thump-thump-thump beat. Gasp when an antiquated suspense-movie sample flips its wig over to reveal a simply dramatic clot of voices, strings, atmosphere, and, naturally, a rote-by-comparison beat. He might not be Daedelus where chopping up drum tracks is concerned, but Krepinovich is the navigator of Alchemy's "wastelands of idle turture," and his exploits lend the album the urgency it needs to transcend your standard, run-of-the-mill trip to Suga Hill.
You can't claim Coaxial as champions just yet, but with 13 tracks this rowdy, who knows what they'll be capable of in the future?
1. It's Not My Voice
2. Accept Your Insanity
3. Once Against
4. Recluse
5. Hello Andromeda
6. Collapse Of Polaris, The
7. Obscure Torment, The
8. Illusion
9. Dragonsnot
10. Strange Days
11. Document The Monster
12. Mold
13. Galactic Tsunami
More about: Coaxial
