The Arsonists obviously took lessons from the Ultramagnetic MC’s’s, both stylistically and in their discography. Instead of trying to drop a full-length debut album with no recognition with the old “throw it at the wall and see if it sticks” philosophy, this NY underground crew has slowly built up a solid reputation by dropping one hot twelve inch single after another.

This philosophy shows what the underground does best – they respect the audience, and the audience blesses them with loyalty in return. In indie circles you’ll find few rated higher than D-Stroy, Q-Unique, Swel, Jise, and Freestyle. This album is a decision not to disappoint that stature by combining strong flows with acidic beats. This album has not been propped up with crossover remixes by Clark Kent or jeep anthems by DJ Premier – it’s self-produced and just like Organized Konfusion’s debut LP, meant to be that way. It wouldn’t sound as fresh otherwise.

The only thing which could potentially throw a curveball in their strike zone is the fact their steelo is mostly braggadocio. When you drop the kind of gems they do in “The Session” though, it’s hard to argue with that approach. Check Q-Unique’s wordplay:

“Poetical pack a punch like De La Hoya I’m switchin’ up the format, like Just-Ice did LaToya Slammin’ like Olujawon, rhymin’ like a marathon, on and on Forever it’s the 17th Letter, comin’ better”

If you can’t argue with the verbals and you like microphone gymnastics, then the only factor to swing a thumbs up or down on is the beats. This plate is not empty – it’s fat and loaded with calories. “Backdraft” simmers on an open flame; “Shit Ain’t Sweet” is tempered by an ominous 8-key piano loop; “Blaze” could easily pass for one of RZA ‘s best offerings, “Frienemies” is a sinister offering about peeps that play both sides; “Shaboing” has a pulsing migraine inducing bassline, and one of the best and most humerous tracks is “Rhyme Time Travel” where the Arsonists journey through hip-hop history and blend into each decade’s dominant New York style. The only song which might collide with common sense is “Pyromaniax”, which freaks a loop from the Sony Playstation game “Tomba” and comes off as almost silly in the process – you’ll either think it’s funny or hate it to death. Stylistically though it doesn’t seem to fit the rest of the album, either way.

In terms of 1999′s best underground releases, this should rate right up their with Mountain Brothers’ Self Vol. 1 and Peanut Butter Wolf’s My Vinyl Weighs a Ton. Lovers of pure up raw East Coast would be ESPECIALLY hard pressed to hate on it; although for this very reason it probably won’t crossover well on the Left Coast or Dirty South except on college radio. No shame in that if you make a good album and represent correctly with the elements. You may not hear it bumping in the jeeps or setting it off at the disco, but lift up your boy’s headpiece and you just might catch the vibes as “Worlds Collide” floating up from the eardrums. It’s addictive, hypnotic, and bound to cause SNS — Sore Neck Syndrome.