Each decade of hip-hop music has had a producer that refused to remain grounded within the bounds of conventional production, abandoning any and all traditional rules of music, and forging their own way ahead. In the 80′s it was the Bomb Squad, who backed Public Enemy’s political agenda with immense sample collages, while in the 90′s it was the RZA, who redefined the word “dirty” in hip-hop drum production, churning out a handful of classic Wu-Tang Clan releases. Sure enough, while every other A&R slept, only Rick Rubin and Steve Rifkind believed in these groups that both chose to go against the grain with their sound, and both Public Enemy and the Wu-Tang Clan saw an unprecedented amount of success, not only within the hip-hop massive, but also reaching a wider (whiter) audience, outside of hip-hop’s innercity boundaries.

If things do indeed go in cycles, then enter the millennial answer to Shocklee, Sadler, and Diggs - Emerson, Lake, and Palmer - better known to most as El-P. At first listen to his long-awaited solo project, Fantastic Damage sounds like a lot of random noise backed by the angst-ridden rants and ramblings of El Producto, but after a few listens, once the patterns of the beats are realized, so is the brilliance of this release. Not only does his production step up a notch from Cannibal Ox’s The Cold Vein, but also again reinvents the sound of underground hip-hop. “Blood”, brilliantly push the envelope while simultaneously channeling “Rockin’ It”, while “Deep Space 9MM” takes drum programming to a whole other plane. Meanwhile, the evilution of songs like “Tuned Mass Damper” and “Truancy” will blow your mind by the time three minutes expires, if the nutzoid “DeLorean” doesn’t do it first. And with the addition of the incredible DJ Abilities on the turntables, the camaraderie between the two is without a doubt the best heard since Guru and Premier .

El certainly does have his own creative vocabulary (think: Ghostface Killah), and while a lot his lyrics will fly straight past you (as you are hypnotized by the production), there are other times when he’s straightforward as he wants to be, with lines that jump out of the songs and bite you in the face. Looking to distance himself from the wick-wack and wanna-be abstract who all call him stepfather, El sets it off on “Constellation Funk”: “Rap is quite confusing / I know white rappers who claimed they’re more artistic and advanced than the innercity tuners / now you fucked up and can’t move units / cause you know nothing of the culture that created hip-hop music / stuck in an authenticity contest with a bunch of cats who grew up in the exact same place that you did / now where do you fit?”

And that’s really what separates El from the rest of the legions of “next-level” or “experimental” rap set - the b-boy essence of growing up the 1980′s Decepticon era of Brooklyn, New York City, which manifests itself throughout this album. He reflects lovely on “Squeegee Man Shooting”, and takes the “Delorean” back in time with Aesop Rock “to when motherfuckers could rock”. While it may not seem like it upon first listen, El’s album is truly future-primitive. It not only pays homage to when hip-hop was more concerned with Reaganomics than economics, but also shoes in the sound of tomorrow.