Rjd2 - "Dead Ringer" (Definitive Jux, 2002) 9.5/10
Cex - "Tall, Dark, and Handcuffed" (Tigerbeat6, 2002) 8.5/10

Notwithstanding outstanding releases from Blackalicious, J-Live, and El-P, to name just a few, 2002 may go down in hip-hop history as a year whose most memorable contributions came from white folks. Noteworthy platters from the likes of Eminem, DJ Shadow, and Princess Superstar have each garnered considerable attention since their releases this winter or spring; the latest two to catch my ear are the current releases from the Ohio-born Rjd2 and the 20-yr-old Baltimorean upstart Cex. (If you notice a similarity in their cover art, that would be Cex giving smirking props to Rj, whose record dropped this summer.) Whether or not it matters if you're black or white is an issue still up for debate among the hip-hop community; but let's set the socio-political implications of my observation aside for the moment and peep the music.

In both cases, what has me so hyped about these two records isn't so much their innovation, vocabulary-wise, as the sheer energy and vitality they bring to a genre that has had its share of premature death knells and that can seem mired in a wasteland between the banging but ephemeral pop-rap last embodied by the Neptunes and the clunky, abrasive, political esthetic of Def Jux, Anticon, et al. In their point of origin these two records are closer to the latter milieu [Rjd2 is on Definitive Jux, the bastion of what's derogatorily termed backpacker hip-hop - ie. strictly for the college kids - though his sonic approach is markedly different from most of the label's output; Cex, whose previous outings have been primarily run-of-the-mill IDM and gleaky tweaking, makes his home at Tigerbeat6, the label best known for the manic shenanigans of art-prankster Kid606], but I can easily imagine many of these cuts bumping at Paces alongside Nelly and ilk, and everyone involved would be the better for it.


Until now, Rjyan Kidwell, a.k.a. Cex, whose new album's artwork belies at least part of its title, had yet to release a record to approximate the bombast and gleefulness of his not-to-be-missed live show (in concert, he just hits start on his PowerBook and lets loose on the mic; if Kate Duffy requests it, he'll even freestyle about Mr. Peanut.) His self-programmed beats are simple and hard-hitting, but quirky enough to be fresh despite their occasionally limited sonic range. Further production elements, ranging from the inevitable scratching and horn hits to some sweet jazzy guitar work, a striking harp sample, and the fly r'n'b vocalising of Craig Wedren, ensure that every track is at least aurally interesting, and make the majority of them are catchy as hell.

But the real attraction here is Cex's flow. It's measured (as he puts it: "each line i spit was born with 20 brothers/in order for him to live i had to sacrifice the others/i love 'em like a mother from the moment that i wrote 'em/but still regulate the heat of my babies like a scrotum") but far from pretentious or pedantic (he admits: "I've been scared by my lack of gravity/but that's long past"); merging the easy-going populist tale-spinning of Q-Tip with quirkiness of Kool Keith. His subject matter encompasses fairly standard rap bravado, most notably on the triumphant opener "Brutal Exposure" (whose chorus slant-rhymes "honesty," "apostrophe," "Socrates," and "wallet, see"), as well as the predictable off-kilter sexual shockers, but also affectingly fresh topics such as grade school (on "K-12 Days of Hell," in which each grade gets eight bars) and bike riding (on standout track "Ghost Rider," which he told me in April was "already a hit in Thailand.") Injecting his own wry sensibility into an essentially traditionalist hip-hop record (complete with brilliantly devised self-effacing skits between tunes), Cex's position relative to the rap community at large may be ambiguous - is he, ultimately, merely a laptop dilettante, a hip-hop outsider? - but the vitality and fun of this record is anything but.

Rjd2 (presumably no relation to R2D2) fashions instrumental hip-hop, very much in the vein of DJ Shadow. The comparison is inevitable (and Rj splits the difference between the haunting, atmospheric genius of Endtroducing and the more lighthearted, eclectic Private Press), but whereas Shadow tends to linger and meditate on his samples, allowing his tracks to unfold gradually, Rjd2 is more likely to keep things moving, layer on more elements and switch up his arrangements, eradicating any possibility of monotony setting in. The process of sample collage, practiced by both artists, is more readily apparent here - if Shadow is more adept at cutting and pasting his samples so finely that they become completely subservient to his musical ends, the occasional sloppiness of Rjd2's technique lends many of his tracks an improvistory quality that translates into pure exuberance and excitement, as is perhaps most evident on the 70's soul party mash-up "Good Times Roll pt. 2."

Elsewhere, Rjd2 conjures up spy-movie sinister-synth (on lead track "The Horror"), laid-back blues, compelling trip-hop, and straight-up rap (with fine guest spots from MCs Blueprint, Jakki the Motormouth, and Copywrite), always with countless layers of intriguing texture, and never straying far from a sense of funk which is far more satisfactory and organic than most of Shadow's work. My current favorite cut (though it changes with each listen) is probably "Ghostwriter," which lays a blustery brass section and a choral sample from Elliott Smith's "I Didn't Understand" over a bed of acoustic guitar and a mellow but funky hip-house two-step. Besides a great knack for sampling, Rjd2's finest asset is probably his marvelous compositional sense - even the instrumental pieces (which form at least 80% of the record) feature intelligently plotted song structures that make them as rewarding for serious listening as for dancing. Achieving a balance between listening and dancing is perhaps the ultimate goal of rhythm-based music, and on this debut outing Mr. d2 accomplishes all the prerequisites common to both activities: variety, creativity, fun, and groove.

Pulp "We Love Life" (Sanctuary/Rough Trade 2002) 6.5/10

You might not remember this, but four years ago, before you came to college, there was a girl in your high school who wanted to sleep with Jarvis Cocker. She probably had dyed hair. (You know Jarvis; Pulp's bulgy-eyed but apparently sexy lead singer.) And there was that Anglophile on your bus route, reading an issue of New Music Express, with "Party Hard" in his headphones, thinking about how great it would be to play that at a dance party (but let's face it: the guitar just drowns out the beat too much.) You might not have been aware of it at the time. Or maybe that was you.

In any case, that was a long time ago. That's how long it's been since Pulp released This is Hardcore, doubtless one of the most intense and idiosyncratic masterpieces of the late 1990s. Four long years, and now Pulp are petitioning for you to allow them back into your headphones, sex fantasies, and/or obliviousness. That's pretty presumptious, if you ask me. (Okay, to be fair, We Love Life, Pulp's seventh full-length if I'm counting correctly, was released in the UK over a year ago; the delay stateside is at least partially due to label snafus of some sort.)

Right. So, what do they have on offer? Outsider anthems, unnervingly seedy sexuality, and tales of socio-economic disparity - the favored lyrical themes on Hardcore and 1995's social-dancing manifesto Different Class - are all represented, though somewhat toned down, and joined by something new: a fetishization of nature and natural life, whose manifestations range from slightly disturbing to simply but earnestly uplifting. The album opens with a two-part epic declaring "We are weeds!"; a sort of horticultural reworking of Class's opening anthem "Misfits." From there on in, tunes heartfeltly (and often too sappily) celebrating trees, birds, and sunrise (with and without relationship metaphors) trade off with numbers like the monologue "Wickerman," an eight-minute saga of nostalgia and untapped potential that comes off as a far more wholesome variant of "I Spy;" and the album's centerpiece and title track, with the life-affirming (um, literally) refrain "I love my life/it's the only reason I'm alive."

Musically, Cocker and Co. hit the mark somewhat less than in the past, but they still render their anthems plenty hummable. The arrangements, heavier on strings and lighter on synths, are in general refreshing, and only occasionally suffocatingly lush. The catchiest rock song here, a moving little story called "The Night That Minnie Timperley Died," steals its central riff from Led Zeppelin's "Over the Hills and Far Away," and lays it over a typically Pulpian bed of cheap beatbox and richly layered guitarwork, while the touching failed-relationship ballad "Roadkill" features a sparse setting with prominent acoustic guitar and subtle ambient strains of horn and cymbal. Despite laudable new directions, though, We Love Life does sound quite a bit like the last few Pulp albums, and it's just not always that convincing.

Jarvis Cocker is 39 this year. His sex symbol days may or may not be through (who knows what's going on over there in the UK), but it seems he still has some cache as a rock star. Pulp may have moved beyond the hedonistic impulses of past albums, and it may now be even less clear whom they're addressing with these urgent anthems, but they have somehow managed to retain much of their relevance, and most of their melodic sense. I guess four years isn't that long if you're a tree.