On this album the challenge takes the form of Themselves and German glitchpop band The Notwist trying to combine their musical approachs without the result sounding like a compromise. Unfortunately, whilst the results are always atmospheric, often pretty and sometimes startling, the alliance is not a particularly assured one, and you can often feel the rough edges of tracks created after only a day or so in the studio. Tellingly, it is the tracks that might have been created by one of the groups on their own that hit hardest; The Notwist’s voices shining on the warmly throbbing Men Of Station and menacing intimacy of Perfect Speed, and Themselves all taking to the mic for the wonderful Soft Atlas, a sing-song concept track wrapped in Dose One’s murmuring.

   Other tracks straddle the divide unhappily; although not bad, they seem lacking in definition either instrumentally or lyrically (strung out over the seven minutes of Superman On Ice, Dose One seems more a lost wanderer than the track’s focus). As a result, what might have been a genre-bending explosion ends up an occasionally delightful curiosity that never fulfils its potential for more than a track at a time. It would have been lazily easy to predict that if you loved Dose One or The Notwist, you’d love this album; but the truth is you’ll probably just like it at best.

     That’s not to say that the beats here sound in any way low budget; rather, the Count’s finely honed sound trades in the same dusty jazz loop aesthetic as Madlib, albeit worked into grooves as deep, mellow and smooth as a D’Angelo record. The voice and piano of legends Nina Simone and Weldon Irvine duet across “Nina & Weldon”, an interview with bass virtuoso Jaco Pastorius raises a smile on “Gimme A Gig”, a player’s need to keep himself surrounded by women is criticised on “The Mingus Sextet” and on the two-part “Kumbuka Watu Penda Pesa” D ‘fesses up “I don’t love dough/I like it, though” and advises “make life not war/make wife, not whore.” Farrell even takes a break from his laid back but extremely confident rhyming style to sing a bit on the great “Down Easy”, a song only made more affecting by the fact that he’s not exactly Sam Cooke.

     If you can put up with the eccentricity of someone who packs 16 tracks into less than half an hour and sticks his intro 2/3rds of the way through the recording, only to follow it immediately with the outro, then this is a dope taste of a genuinely overlooked talent. The True Ohio Playas project with J.Rawls can’t be out soon enough.

     Having paid for the hook-ups out of his own pocket, Herren certainly gets his money’s worth of MCs: honours are mainly split between the Def Jux crew (Camu Tao on the regretful slacker romance of “Now You’re Leaving”, former guest Aesop Rock swearing hilariously at his car on “Sabbatical With Options” and El-P on single “Hide Ya Face”) and Shaolin soldiers, with Ghostface rhyming El-P straight out whilst the more equally matched Masta Killa and GZA rep the Clan over a granite hard boombap break on “Just The Thought”. Beans turns up briefly to vent very graphic sickness; assisting on a track apiece, Herren’s tour DJ Nobody and indie-hopper Pedro also contribute from behind the hip-hop boards, .

     You’re as likely to encounter Tyondai Braxton wailing like a beatboxing monk or sampladelic hobos The Books laying down some banjo for Herren to splice, however, and arguably the album’s high points are those featuring the gorgeous vocals of On!Air!Library!’s delectable Deheza twins, such as “Pastel Assassins”. Yet the beats themselves always retain soul under their twisted gleam, and stay funky despite the fractures. What’s more, at 21 tracks in an hour, something different and surprising is always sliding into view, so leaving the radio dial in Herren’s hands is a no-brainer. Like Aesop says: “I’m going to point you in one direction. All you have to do is go, I’m not even going to steer.” For a summer soundtrack as luminescently romantic as it is brashly invigorating, point yourselves in Herren’s direction.

   Showtime is an album of schizophrenic extremes, from the ominously smothering walls of bass and threatening lyrical paranoia of “Graftin’” or “Face” that are pure grime (“I’m a lovely lad/I’ll give you the loveliest beating/you’ve ever had”) to the kiddy playground optimism and tuneless singalong of “Dream” and the lovely, mellow thoughtfulness of “Imagine” which asks his audience to put ghetto life “in perspective”; if they were “sipping wine” in a country mansion, would they “shiver at the robberies” instead of wanting to be gangsta?

     Despite the, er, rawness of his sex talk (“when I penetrate/I cause mass hysteria/and pleasure-pain”, from “Girls”) and more sights-raising advice (“If you know you’re from the slums/keep reppin’/no doubt/stay ghetto if you must/just remember/to get out”); between the R&B choruses of “Get By”, where Dizzee supplies more memorable lyrics than Kweli managed for Kanye, the Rascal is much closer to Eminem than Nas. He can be manic, dark and vicious, and he spends more time than strictly necessary defending his fame, though he does it insightfully. Crucially, however, he’s also charming, witty and frequently funny, if in a more understated way than Mathers.

     While at first, some may not like his high-pitched voice or his, at times, almost indecipherable, high-speed flow, but by the end of this colorfully busy album you’d be hard pressed to deny that he’s both talented and as real as anyone in the game. Despite what he may claim, it needn’t kill you to respect him; this is flawed but undeniably dope.

     This third solo joint sees Boom Bip moving further away from conventional hip-hop than ever; no samples are used, as everything is played live by
multi-instrumentalist Hollon, there are no MCs on the record, only a couple of tracks with pronounced beats, and nothing you could drop in a club without getting smacked straight off the decks.

     What you do get are a bag of pretty, simple melodies, a spread of intircate, atmospheric explorations that take in everything from bubbly Asian triphop (the cheekily vibrating “Girl Toy”) and illbient folk to Kraut- and cosmic LA rock, and one of the most beautiful songs you’ll hear this year, “The Matter (of our Discussion)”, where Hollon’s strings, auto-harp and guitar drift shimmeringly around NY songstress Nina Nastasia’s gorgeous voice.

    Hollon has made a very personal record that will not appeal to everyone; many of the slowly developing tracks here are too subtle to pull you in without careful repeated listening, and he’s at least as interested in making the listener feel uncomfortable by being eerie and menacing as he is good at conjuring a soft, joyous glow. Those willing to be drawn in, however, will soon be captivated by the tactile wonder of this immensely human music. A dreamily strange, quiet album that only gets better as it’s turned up.

   In, are a sparser, grimmer, rockier backdrop (including contributions by Thavius Beck and System Of A Down’s Serj Tankian), lyrics charged with a rough’n’ready energy and short, focused songs that showcase a Saul eager to get up close and spit (or even scream) in your face. This is “Penny For Your Thoughts” Saul turned up to eleven: scared, bleeding and frantic with desperation.

     At first listen, these defiantly bald and grinding compositions can be hard going, but give them time and it becomes evident that Saul has left behind neither his penetrating insight nor his lacerating honesty, and he stills channels his extraordinary world view through brilliant turns of phrase that place him amongst the premiere MCs of all time. One could quote almost of all of “Telegram”, his State Of Emergency address to hip-hop (“Please inform all interested parties that cash nor murder have been added to the list of elements”); go on about the way “African Student Movement”, in a mere four minutes, captures the ongoing history of atrocities towards African peoples of all kinds over crude hypnotic bass that’s revealed as essentially African; analyse how the Zach De La Rocha-featuring “Act III Scene 2 (Shakespeare)” welds hip-hop into literary tradition whilst making an impassioned “call out to the youth”: none of this would capture the intensity of Saul on record. Nor would I have mentioned “Black Stacey”, the most intimate and intelligent dissection of racism since “Clear Blue Skies”, that builds from simple ragtime piano into a lush string-led anthem with a killer beat  and an instantly memorable chorus.

     This is not a perfect record, either musically or lyrically (Saul still gets lost in his own wordplay sometimes), but it is easily the most passionate hip-hop album to come out this year, and the most powerful (both politically and emotionally) if you’re brave enough to listen. No other MC will make you reconsider the world around you the way Saul Williams will. He hasn’t changed.

     However this is not to say that Rob Sonic fails to carve out his own musical identity. His beats may be stark and synth-based, but rather than mimic El Producto’s sprawling, self-destroying sound, he keeps things simple and potent; the treated blasts of opener “Strange Hammer”, and the rapidly
pulsating basslines that sweep through the pounding rhythms of “Super Bowl” and “Dylsexia” may be dark and slightly alien, but they’re also undeniably funky breaker soundtracks.

     Rob Sonic’s delivery of his enigmatic multi-syllabics doesn’t vary much (neither, for that matter, does the tempo of the tracks), and the feeling that he’s often being clever rather than meaningful can be slightly frustrating. But every couple of bars redeemingly poetic and evocative lines stand out, as he deals with the contemporary working mindstate (“80 hour weeks and you speak like a stone”, or “all work and no play makes me American” from the driving “Shoplift”) or ponders his lonely place in a crammed society where “you’re not a human/you’re a sardine that knows too much”: his “sanity’s a patron on a dollar bus” whilst he remembers “carving *I was not here*/during an air raid/so it’s under the desk”.

     Taken as a whole, Telicatessen is rather monotonous and could do with more guest spots like “Sniper’s Picnic”, where Hangar 18 and DJ Big Whiz rip things up alongside Rob. When Rob Sonic is direct enough to bid you “all/face that wall/embrace that raw/taste for adventure? Then break that law” and those basslines get pumping, though, his energy and determination are hard to resist.

    “It feels like my head is about the size of the sky” goes a sample over the rustling organ groove of the epic “Works”, and this sums up the loose drifting of Diplo’s anything-goes instrumental approach nicely. The eight minute “Summer’s Gonna Hurt You” starts out with the sound of an orchestra tuning up, then a groove slowly builds over the looped string sample, with shuffling percussion and double bass plucks being joined by muted horns and effects as the track’s gorgeous sampled vocals enter. Then the fat beat mashes in, all crisp Timbaland  jerks, and the bass goes fluid and circular. Diplo lets things coast into a breakdown before bringing in an equally lovely South American vocal to make a pseudo-duet, before stretching it into a massive soft cloud whilst electro synth stabs round off the bassline.

     If this description sounds eclectic and challenging, in practice this stew of jazz, funk, rock, electronica and Indian strings remains immediate and fun; Diplo’s not trying to be obtuse, just himself. Yet he plays very well with others, as stand-out collaborations with the strangely uncredited Martina Topley-Bird (on the deliriously sensuous “Into The Sun (ft. Martina Topley-Bird)”) and P.E.A.C.E. of the Freestyle Fellowship prove. “Diplo Rhythm (ft. Sandra Melody / Pantera Os Danadinhos)” is a slight disappointment though, as the slow percussion seems strangely at odds with the massive, ondulating bassline; the whole crying out for an increase of tempo to really catch fire, whilst the toasting is slightly lacklustre.

     Overall though, in a scene that still sucks for the same reasons it did in ’96 (made fun of here with the help of a candy-selling schoolkid on “Money, Power, Respect”), this is a strangely wonderful and staunchly individual record. Warm your souls and your subwoofers, journey to “Florida”.

     The album’s title refers to mainstream’s seeming fear of crossing into new territory, whether with respect to the nigh-infinite possibilities of sampling, or MCs’ subject matter. As such the album is split into three roughly grouped themes, “Consequence”, “The Future” and “Drugs, Sex And Knives” (well, two out of three ain’t bad). Everything kicks off with Akbar challenging competition and “kill[ing] three MCs with one poem” over an enjoyable rock-tinged joint whilst at a swimming pool. Sinnagi then describes the cost of becoming a crack junkie over a fresh power chord/electronic track, “Rush Cowboy”, that evokes both Rick Rubin and Def Jux (and which slows down cleverly for the aftermath of the rush). Stronghold crew members Breez Evahflowin and L.I.F.E. Long both come hard, the former ripping the haunting strings of “Test” whilst the latter satirises both corny sell-out MCs and their audiences on the superb “The Puppet MC”.

     Elsewhere, Hangar 18 (Alaska & Windnbreeze) drop their tight scifi flow over the cinematic “Evolve”, Rob Sonic conjures a semi-autobiographical tale of family violence on “One Last Stab” and fellow Def Jukie Vast Aire tells the graphic tale of a weed pickup gone awry over a great smoked out, India-flavoured beat on “Some Seeds”. Best of all, though, is the hilarious “Sex And More”, where Slug excels himself depicting a drunken one night stand that goes fantastically wrong (“Making out with a half-naked mental patient/outside whilst waitin’ for your ride/is way underrated”). Anyone who has him down as a whingeing emo rapper needs to hear him ride the dirty dramatics of Fred’s beat with evil delight.

    Phobia Of Doors proves with style to spare that, if the old staples of dope beats and skilled MCing are intact, hiphop can take you anywhere you want.

     Rather than Edan’s distortion-heavy madness, though, Insight’s production tends more towards the jazzual, underpinned with tight, thick percussion. Across these variously boombastic, pretty, cheerful and soulful backdrops,  Insight spits intricate knowledge on matters varying from the historical events that led to the present form of hip-hop (“Time Frame”), to the way we’re kept mis- or uninformed by modern government (“Forced labour on Dominican sugar plantations/are responsible for 15% of the US trade nation”, from “Lots of facts about Control”), and the way most peoples’ careers and lives seem to be going nowhere (“Another Cycle”). There are concept cuts like “Daily Routine”, which follows a plethora of interconnecting city lives, “Inventors”, wherein he imagines life were the inventions of black inventors (and how many do YOU know about?) to disappear, or “Seventeen MCs”, where he basically delivers a vast posse cut on his own, in 17 different voices. Amazing.

     Add to this the mentalist apocalypse of Edan collaboration “Unexplained Phenomenon” and a very dope bonus track previewing forthcoming project Midnight Shipment, with fellow Bostonites Dahga and Adad, and you have an album as impressive and thought-provoking as it is enjoyable. After hearing this you’ll want to hunt down a copy of his Electric crew’s Life’s A Struggle, released earlier this year, not to mention Updated Software 2.5 from a few years back. You’re now in the blast radius; don’t let ignorance ‘save’ you from this bomb.

    The Japanese edge stems not from rap or singing (apart from the traditional chanting on “Slit Of Cloud”, also home to some great live sax), but rather from the use of instrumentation; album opener “Still Island” is one of several to feature some gorgeous bamboo flute, wafting over the looming beats and brooding atmospherics like mist over a midnight sea. “Storm Cloud” features some beautiful live piano, whilst “Univearth” augments Krush’s beats with some Todo drumming, and the 6-minute “Decks-athron” pits him against fellow deck technician Tatsuki for an eerie electro-tinged scratch’n’effects cut that pretty much demands toking up.

    The only two tracks with MCing are held down by Def Jukies Mr Lif and Aesop Rock, with the still largely slept-on Lif in particular murdering the stalking pulse of “Nosferatu”: “I got ta hit Tokyo/with another dark and lonely flow/language barrier/like a carrier/aircraft, when I move my physical form/you’ll hear math/numbers crunch your bones well/struggle  through your own hell/pray you weren’t alone/when your dome fell…” Aesop sounds right at home on “Kill Switch” spitting his  righteous lyrical nightmare sprawl as Krush wraps the rhythms round his words and adds some dope scratching, though as usual he’s an acquired taste.

     All in all, this would be a perfect soundtrack for either late-night smoking up or Ghost Dog-style assassination hits; not a hugely fun listen, perhaps, but a rewarding, haunting work of martial art. If “Jaku” means exceedingly dope, then he’s bang on – the wonderful artwork and rarity only making this more of a must-check for collectors.

     Unfortunately this unity is not spearheaded by any stand-out personalities behind the microphone, and whilst nobody is bad the performances are usually reasonable without being particularly meaningful, insightful or amusing. Whilst there are moments of impressive skill display (rolling multisyllabic flows unfolding with rapid precision on “Birth Control”), these are balanced out by a lack of memorable voices or quotables, and the occasional inept line (“We can have your club looking like 9/11 right now”… ouch).

     The production is of good quality throughout, coming off like a meeting of Fat Jon’s jazzy smoothness and musicality with the chunky jeep beats and bass of Jay Dee (the latter best displayed on “Heavy Medal”). However, whilst the beats themselves impact nicely in your chest, they’re kept too loose, which along with the reasonably slow and spacious feel of the backing tracks means that nothing ever builds up enough steam to really bang hard. The grin-inducing vibes and lyrics of “Team Player 2″ aside, there also seem to be problems bringing the two sides of the crew together: the tales of rape and murder on “Heartless” sound bizarre against its slowdance backdrop and Jon Lucien sample, and whilst the MCs do double-time rapping well at the beginning of the record, they fail to do so against the rougher, faster live instrumentation of closer “The Rip”, and consequently sound slow and out of place – not ripping it at all.

     This isn’t a bad album, but the Athletic Mic League are going to have to put a lot more training and focus into their game if they want to attract fans from outside their home state.

“Bring back/what hiphop lacks/with lyrical contact.” Thus the lyrics of a 10 year-old on Chick Tha Supah Latin & Fam’s “Contact”. Modern mainstream hip-hop, for all the beauty and precision of modern production, for all the musicianship of the ubiquitous Kanye West, for all the girl-friendly club beats, is severly lacking in one of its key original attractions: raw, unpredictable, in-your-face energy. This collection of tracks showcasing hip-hop’s currently neglected 5th element, beatboxing, certainly provides a welcome serving of organic contact and rough textures back to your ear, but it’s also a great introduction for those who want to find out all the forms that beatboxing can take, and a wake up call for those who’ve been sleeping on some of the truly amazing talents the scene has to offer.

Indeed, whilst The Roots’ Scratch still amazes with his vocal scratching and cavernous bass on “Start’n’ From Scratch”, lesser (or un-) known artists steal the show. Kmillion blasts his way through “Grindin’” as well as loads of oldschool beats in truly fresh style on “Heat Rocks”, before starting to backwards loop himself. Rising beatbox phenom B-Shorty conjures an entire triphopesque track with beats, scratching, bass and (polyphonic) Arabian chanting from his mouth on “Category 3: Versatility”, whilst Kris Jung’s fun “Liquid Butterfly” peppers rock guitar fireworks with high-speed vocal percussion and Chile Diaz’s “Peruddha” features startling, glass-like pan flute imitation over scat pyrotechnics.

Yeah, that damn Knight Rider noise does crop up a few too many times, yes, there’s a puzzling absence of some beatboxing giants (Rahzel, Doug E Fresh, Killa Kela – all absent), yup, some of the rapping isn’t of a very high standard and detracts from rather than adds to the beatboxing, and yo, putting anyone up against Q-Bert’s scratching is just asking for trouble. But for anyone who isn’t satisfied with Timbaland going “wikki, wikki”, this is a solid, enjoyable collection with some great surprises to damage your jeep speakers with.

     Necro produces the entire LP, his simple but hard-hitting drums outlining fluid tracks that include live piano, congas, Fender jazz bass, guitar, and the sweet backing vocals of Cenophia Mitchell and Antwon Lamar Robinson. These more subtle and organic beats fit Sabac’s back-to-the-roots approach perfectly, and the three spoken word “Revelation” tracks featuring Black Panther member Jamal Joseph fit in seamlessly when they would have stood out like a sore thumb amongst Non-Phixion material. This is not to say that Sabac has distanced himself from his fam in any way; everyone on Uncle Howie drops at least one verse, as does Jedi Mind Tricks’ Vinny Paz. Everyone comes tight, with the face-off between Sabac & Necro differing beliefs on “Positive & Negative” being particularly intriguing, offsetting Sabac’s optimism and quest for unity with his label owner’s selfish attitude of raging nihilism.

     Other highlights include Sabac’s remake of a certain Bob Marley revolutionary anthem on “Protest Music”, where he switches between the slower chorus (“Gats up! Guns up! We gon’ never give up the fight!”) and much higher speed verses; the intense, complex lyricism of “The Scientist”, where he imagines himself into the shoes of a fundamentalist, supremacist white Christian creating the AIDS virus; and the gorgeous closer “I have A Dream”, where he and Dash Mihok flow beautiful over Necro’s cascading pianos and horns- a more urgent “P.A.I.N.T.” that fades away into a sample of the legendary words of the title.

     Whilst Sabac has neither the voice nor the charisma of, say, Immortal Technique, he drops so many gems of righteous   wisdom here that his refusal to focus on himself over the issues he’s discussing that you feel all the more compelled to join him, even if the album feels slightly impersonal on occasion. Forget Lil Jon for a while and support someone who’s doing and saying the right things, for the only right reason: because he believes in it. With so much meaningless, aimless music out there, hip-hop must, in his words, either “stand for something, or fall for anything”. Choose.

   Technically, The Anti-Mobius Strip Theory is impressive. The beats are always sharp and intelligent, with plenty of punch if very little bounce. Glacial strings soar and waves of synth burble and surge, creating a vibe halfway between a sci-fi movie and an intellectual horror flick – Pulp Fiction, Dogma and The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy all get sampled. Blockhead’s three contributions fit in seamlessly, as do Jestoneart’s two and Blueprint’s “Intricate Schemes”.

   The level of MCing is also high, with Cryptic’s flow bringing unrelenting pressure, battering you with a ceaseless flow of intellect, dramatic imagery and battle raps. His guests all maintain, too; Aesop Rock with a commentary on the current situation of the (hip-hop) world on “Apocalypse Zone” and Hangar 18 (Alaska & Windnbreeze) repping the crew with their ludicrous flow on “Tempt Fate”.

   The flaw in this potential indie classic is its mindset; unremittingly grim and serious, it proves wearing over an entire album, Cryptic’s “meatcleaver-sharp wit” and clever narratives not-withstanding. He attempts to show that, although “evil repeats itself like history” and the world is doomed to move in cycles, things are not entirely one-sided (hence the title) – that despair can be fought with moral determination. “See who wins the fight – flowers and bunny rabbits, or power, money and bad habits”: Cryptic One’s talent is undeniable, but the listener will wish he would cheer up occasionally and quit shoving harsh truths in their faces.