How upsetting to parents is a rap group that misspells their gun-manufacturer referencing moniker? Shit I was hiding my Wu-Tang and Busta Rhymes cds, and my poor mother had a hard enough time with punk that sounded like "being electrocuted." Although I was allowed to own classic violent video game Doom after writing an impassioned fifth grade (?) letter detailing my maturity and desire to overstimulate my understimulated suburban senses.
Anyway, this is a record that, although heavy on the jazz samples favored by A Tribe Called Quest, et al, is fucking hard. Also, there's some great patois for all of the Erik and Dans of the world.
The minimalism of Da Beatminerz production on this record feels like being carbonized in a street while dust and debris starts to cake up on your lips. And the crackle of Hellucination evokes weed dreams of swimming in New York sewers discovering new forms of life. Dick ridahs endure a relentless tongue-lashing while I dive into manholes.