Words by Jenn Walker • Photos by Roderick Cooney

It’s a quiet Saturday night in New Era Park. Smack in the middle of this seemingly lifeless block between D and E streets is the firehouse, a distinct two-story brick building with ghostly white faces engraved above the front entry. This is the home of SoundCap Audio, the tracking and mixing studio that has produced albums by some of Sacramento’s top hip-hop artists. I’m here to meet with Sacramento’s veteran MC Mean Doe Green. You may also know him as Doey Rock.

Soon enough they’re getting ripped, and Green is answering my questions with more and more ease. Next thing I know he’s getting stuff off his chest, stuff about the commercialization of hip-hop and about the passion that fuels his songs. The following gives a taste of the conversation.

When do you think [Shade Proof] will be done?
It’ll be out on the 21st, because that’s the date we set, and I don’t have a choice. And when it’s out I’ll be happy with it, because I work well in pressured situations for some odd reason. But I’ve been MCing for so long at this point finding comfort zones is different now, because quite frankly I’m not in the same hunger state that I was in four years ago.

What do you mean?
Yo, MCing is about hunger. This shit was created because people didn’t have shit to do when they was starving and they wanted to put their talents on display. That’s what MCing is about, “I have something to say, hear my voice.” The greatest artists were hungry artists, if you think about whether it’s Tupac and Big, or go back further, Run DMC or Raekwon or Afrika Bambaataa, or whoever. They was starving, not only for attention, but: “Yo, I have a talent to put on display, I have a message. This is my style.” Hip-hop is about your style and your energy as a person. So me doing this for so long, and doing it successfully, you have to find hunger, you have to have a reason. Driven… I have pockets of, “Well I don’t even like rhymes,” because I don’t have shit to say. I done fuckin’ made it to the suburbs. That nigga from Elder Creek? Where I’m living at? Damn! I’m so realistic with my music, I don’t have anything to cry about or complain about, so it’s hard for me to find pockets of hunger. But let an MC think he’s better than me. Those are my driving forces now. It’s different driving forces as a real MC, because I’m not going to write no fabricated shit. I’m not going to rap about binges and mansions and luxuries, this, that and the other. Now I’ve got to find pockets of, “Oh, I feel hungry,” or “Oh, I heard a Chuuwee song, damn that little mothafucka tight! I gotta do that.” But it’s healthy competition, not like I’m hating on him, but that inspires me now.

What were you thinking about when you wrote [“Merlot Murder”]? I felt like there was some anger in that song.
Anger toward hip-hop, right?

Mhmm.
You know what? As much as I felt like I gave to hip-hop, and I tried to stay true to it, I felt like it kind of stabbed me in the back in ways. I feel like it didn’t afford me opportunities that it should have. I don’t know if it was being from Sacramento, I don’t know what it was, but I feel like honestly, as true as I stay to this sport, look at what hip-hop is right now. You got a lot of pop bullshit out, you know, it’s just so watered down.

What’s the ultimate example of watered-down hip hop to you?
When you want a better life for your family and where you come from, I don’t blame people for doing what they do to make money. I guess I’m just so personal with hip-hop that I hate that it comes at the expense of hip-hop. So, watered down to me would be—and it’s a thin line when I say this and it’s a slippery slope—anything that goes commercial to the point that you know what you’re broadcasting is not from the heart. The problem with saying names is you don’t know what their family situation was, and I always am careful about that… See it’s a lot of driving forces as to why we do what we do in this game. The problem is, look what hip-hop has become because of the money and because of the bling-bling era. I guess I would lay the blame there, the bling-bling era of hip-hop fucked it all up. Anytime you give people with nothing a vision of people that didn’t have nothing and now they got something, anytime you broadcast that too much, it becomes, now the people with nothing are rapping about shit they don’t have because they want to look like that. And it just misconstrued every damn thing.

Why do you think you weren’t [rapping about personal stuff] before?
I just wasn’t. I was just on the MC shit, let’s focus on the art and this and that. We’re not going to talk about the street. I didn’t want my gimmick to be street shit or gangsta shit, I don’t claim to be a gangsta in the first place… I’m not doing it for any specific reason. I guess at this point I just feel like I should get it off my chest.

Doey Rock will celebrate the release of Shade Proof (out March 13) on March 16, 2012 at Harlow’s. You can listen and download the the album at Audiomack.com/artist/doey-rock. The show starts at 10 p.m. and will cost $10. To order tickets in advance, go to Harlows.com.

Post from: Submerge Magazine

Words by Blake Gillespie • Photos by Vincent Vredenberg

Villain ft. Yae (prod. by Nicatyne) by task1ne

Superheroes assume secret identities that symbolize the life of the common man to protect themselves and the lives of those around them. The secret identity keeps the gifted rooted in reality. Following superhero archetypes, Task1ne is a rapper who protects his passion for music by doing accounting work for the state under the name Corey Lake Pruitt.

Pruitt takes the light rail to work and sits in the back. At the state office, he processes documents while quietly rapping to himself, which draws ire from his hard-nosed boss. He’s well known at the comic stores and strictly wears comic book T-shirts. At home, he has two cats that are disinterested in him unless it’s feeding time. He enjoys comics (a lot) and reviewing films. “I’ve seen Captain America 12 times,” he said. “It’s as good as a Captain America movie could have been. Is it the best comic book movie? Hell no. But, they captured Captain America, unlike Green Lantern, which was the worst piece of shit I’ve ever seen in my life.”

But, when the clubs open and the mics are plugged in, he transforms into Task1ne, a loud-mouthed, nerdcore rapper that speaks street Wookie and reps a crew called Skynet. He’s also poised to join the elite local ranks. “I’m extremely slept on,” he said. “I feel like I’m the underdog of Sacramento because I started out when everyone was already established.”

Like most superheroes, he had to polish his special powers in order to shed his colt legs. Remember Spider-Man’s first attempts with his webbing? Bad things happen to heroes not quite accustomed to their powers. Bad things like getting humiliated in a rap battle against Mahtie Bush. “I completely lost my lyrics,” Task1ne said. “It was three years ago, but to this day people call me ‘the guy that lost to Mahtie.’ It’s like what do I have to do to get people off of that?”

Determined to never lose a rhyme again, Task1ne took to mastering the art of freestyling. He freestyled at work. He kept instrumental CDs in his car to rhyme over. If a mic was offered at an onstage cipher, he seized it, until his skills off-the-dome became notorious.

“I stepped my freestyle game up,” he said. “I’m a geek, so my brain is going different places. I try to rhyme crazy things, like one time I rhymed about Pirates of Dark Water, the old cartoon. Or I said, ‘I swing from tree tops like I’m an Ewok.’ It’s in my brain. That’s what I do.”

But freestyles and a mixtape compiling a year’s worth of guest verses titled Task1ne Verses the World were not enough to earn him the Sammie nomination he sought, or a shot at a Submerge cover for that matter. Task1ne had to prove he could join the ranks of Random Abiladeze, C-Plus and Lostribe by dropping an album in 2011. “I did a lot of work last year,” he said. “I went from being in a group to being solo. I changed my style up a little bit and people started really liking it. So I started getting thrown on other people’s songs [including DLRN’s “Trill Cosby” with C-Plus]. Didn’t get nominated. That kind of hit me.”

Task1ne began working on District 916 a year and a half ago at Sound Cap Audio. He took a neutral stance for his solo record in order to work with whoever would send a beat his way. The only criteria was the producers had to be from Sacramento, which earned Task1ne beats from Lee Bannon, Adam Bomb, Nicatyne, Rufio and Jon Reyes, among others. “The whole album I wanted it to represent Sacramento,” he said. “One of my favorite movies is District 9. I feel like we as hip-hop here in Sac are kind of like that. In the movie the aliens are trapped there, and they feel like they have no way out. I kind of feel that way. But at the end one of them finally escapes out. I’m trying to be the one that escapes out.”

Task1ne has unbridled pride for the local scene, which filters into his philosophy on collaboration. He’s dieting, but his natural presence offers a well-sized frame to put the city on his shoulders. District 916 is a melting pot of crews that included working with Nicatyne and Yae of Fly High in Natomas. “Nobody really messes with them,” he said. “They do their own thing. There are a couple of groups they work with, but for the most part no one really does stuff with them. I wanted to. Got a beat from Nicatyne, which became the track ‘Villian’ featuring Yae—another Fly High member. Yae hit me up about doing a song about us being super villains. I said, ‘Here’s the beat. Start!’ That’s probably my favorite song on the album.”

The album is a balance of nerdcore references prepped for the battle circuit and everyman storytelling. The track “Bounce” breaks down the true story of Task1ne’s first groupie experience, in which he reacts like any normal dude with a state job and raps on the side might—mistake fleeting groupie love for the real thing. “I jumped to all these conclusions, thinking about a relationship, but she’s trying to leave. And I was just left like ‘Where are you going?’ So I tell my boys about it and they were like yeah, those are groupies.”

His daily routine of riding light rail inspired him to write “Back of the Bus,” a song pondering why young black men still sit in the back of the bus despite the privileges Rosa Parks made possible. “We’re a new generation. We can’t really relate to that. There’s no real answer to why I sit in the back. It’s just an automatic thing that I do.”

On “Introducing the Greatest,” Task1ne ponders what it takes to get a Sammie. And while the answer is power-bombing social networks with self-promotion, he needn’t wonder any longer—his name was included in the Best Emcee list of 2011. “I got it this year, thank God,” he said.

Implementing a no-days-off policy, he is planning his next project to be a free EP produced entirely by Adam Bomb, who produced three tracks on District 916. Task1ne maintains his secret identity beyond the common traits of superheroes. He holds his state job as a reminder to not give up his quest to be one of Sacramento’s greatest rappers. “I’m glad I work there because I see what I don’t want.”

In District 9 the alien that escapes takes the spaceship with the intentions of returning to those left behind and bettering their situation. Task1ne intends to do the same with a fall tour along the West Coast. In October he’ll play shows in Portland, Seattle, San Diego and Los Angeles. “I’m actually scared; I’m not going to lie,” he said. “Most rappers act cool about it, but naw, I’ve never done this before. I’ve never been to Seattle or Portland. A lot of people feel like it’s hard to find a way out, even though there are ways out. A lot of people feel trapped here and can’t branch out.

“I want to go up there and establish the Sacramento name, so the next time I come I can bring people with me. Like in the movie, the guy left and he’s going to come back to get his people.”

The District 916 CD release party will take place at The Blue Lamp in Sacramento on Sept. 15. Performing will be Digital Martyrs, JRas of SouLifted, Dregs1, Sleeprockers and of course Task1ne. For up to the minute info, follow Task1ne on Twitter @TASK1ne.

Post from: Submerge Magazine

Sacramento hip-hop trio Aquifer has a new album online for free called Don’t Die Waiting, and I strongly suggest you go download it at Aquifermusic.com. Members Nick Bianco, Tommy Fox and Brannum Goldsmith have truly honed their craft, releasing their most polished material to date. Don’t Die Waiting is a well-focused, honest and illustrative view of the times we live in with glimmers of hopefulness and optimism sprinkled in for good measure. Aquifer will celebrate the release of the album on Friday, May 20, 2011 at Sol Collective. Also performing will be Greyspace, Medl4, Defeye, Adder and the night’s host, Task1ne. The show is all ages, doors open at 8 p.m. and there’s a $5 cover charge.
-J. Carabba

Post from: Submerge Magazine

Words by Adam Saake

On the first try to get Nate Curry, aka N8 the Gr8, of Sacramento’s legendary local hip-hop group the CUF on the phone for an interview with Submerge, he was tied up with some music business.

“I’m at Western Union wiring Gift of Gab some money right now for a verse. Can you call me back in five minutes?”

Curry is a busy man. Besides being one of five members of the CUF, he’s also a producer for up-and-coming R&B singer Marryann Hunter, hip-hop group Lost Tribe and his cousin, rapper MAK. His head has been immersed in those projects, and it wasn’t until recently that his focus turned once again to making music with the CUF.

“Truthfully, in the last year, we were kind of losing our motivation a little bit. I ventured off into some other stuff,” says Curry.

There’s no behind-the-music story, no band beef or silly drama. It’s just that the group has seen so many opportunities over the years come and go that delusions of grandeur were hardly taking shape.

“We’ve had so many different labels and so many different things that we’ve dealt with and it’s always just turned into shit. So none of us really expected anything,” explains Curry.

But the journey’s been a good one.

In 1993, a hugely important year in hip-hop that saw the release of such albums as Souls of Mischief’s 93 Til Infinity, Wu Tang’s 36 Chambers, Snoop Dogg’s Doggystyle, KRS-One’s Return of the Boom Bap and so many more (seriously, Google it), the young MCs known as the CUF were beginning what would become an 18-year-long musical career. Sacramento, sadly, was a lot like it is now in respects to clubs and music venues having little interest or tolerance for hip-hop or rap music. As Curry explains, there’s been no shortage of a few knuckleheads ruining it for us all with “plenty of people getting shot and killed at clubby club shows.” This was working against them, but a greater force was and has been ever-present; a strong Sacramento music community. Can’t book a hip-hop show? Well then play with a rock or a ska band.

“We got in with Filibuster, Steady-Ups, Diseptikons, Storytellers and those guys…and we’d get into venues that they’d have never let us play at,” recalls Curry.

These mix-and-match shows were part of one of the most active times in Sacramento’s local music scene. Venues like Old Ironsides, The Distillery, The Press Club and the original Capitol Garage all played host to the CUF, but now rarely if at all welcome hip-hop shows. Listeners who may have never stepped foot in a hip-hop club were now exposed to the sounds of the CUF playing alongside some of their other favorite groups. Well aware of this fact, Curry and fellow MCs Crush, Brotha RJ and Pete (Lil N8, aka Taktics, would come later) sharpened and fine-tuned their lyrics and beats to make sure their sound was clean and their voices be heard.

“We perfected our stage show because we knew that no one knew our music,” says Curry. “We made it to where we’d speak clear on the mic and the beats weren’t super cluttery and jumbled.”

Crowds were quickly won over; seeing the CUF on a bill without a single other hip-hop act was pretty commonplace. Plus, it didn’t hurt that the group had an anthem track appropriately titled “Sacramento” that listeners quickly memorized the lyrics to and would frequently request at live shows.

It wasn’t always difficult for hip-hop in the River City. There were all-ages venues throughout the years, most of which are no longer around, that were instrumental in keeping the scene alive and well. The Washington Neighborhood Center on 16th Street hosted frequent hip-hop shows, as did the now defunct and legendary venue Joe’s Style Shop. The upstairs art space and basement music venue on J Street was regularly throwing some of the most amazing shows that continued the theme of mixing and matching the artist community. Dub DJs like Wokstar opening for Filibuster with the CUF rounding out the bill was commonplace, and Sacramento was there in full effect, supporting the diversity and loving it. Later, Scratch 8 in Old Sacramento played host to such acts as Zion I, Crown City Rockers, The Grouch and many others. Again, the CUF was there laying down their signature sound and remaining an integral presence in the waxing and waning hip-hop scene of the late ‘90s and early ‘00s.

As other bands have throughout the years, the CUF also found homes for its hip-hop sound in other cities in the Bay Area and Southern California. A monthly club being thrown in Oakland called Unsigned Hype was a showcase for independent hip-hop talent making waves, as well as up-and-coming acts like the CUF. Bills would often include artists like Saafir of Hobo Junction or Souls of Mischief of Hieroglyphics. A fateful evening at the club paired the CUF and an unknown Mystik Journeymen from another large hip-hop group called the Living Legends as openers for A-Plus. The club that night was treated to impressive sets from both opening acts that left the crowd speechless—literally.

“It was weird because we put on an awesome show and everyone just stared and looked at us. I don’t think they were ready,” remembers Curry. “RJ and Sunspot [Jonz] chopped it up, we linked up and ended up going over to their loft and the rest was history.”

That history would include multiple tours with the Living Legends up and down the West Coast as well as guest appearances on each other’s albums. But even with the taste of scenes in other cities that had thriving hip-hop communities, the CUF could never leave Sacramento behind. It’s always been their identity.

“Sacramento is our home;” says Curry proudly. “That’s the reason our music sounds the way it does; it’s the reason that we are who we are.”

For residents of the 916 who aren’t familiar with the CUF, who over the past few years have kept a low profile, their chance to discover a hip-hop gem hasn’t passed. With a new album just released on April 26, 2011 titled CUF Caviar Vol. 1, the CUF is, to put it frankly, back and better than ever. A truly funky record with intelligent production from Curry, who has been responsible for 90 percent of the beats on CUF records, CUF Caviar is just plain fun to listen to. The album took two years to complete and the production value certainly shows patience. Songs like “Don’t Ask No ?’s” plays heavily with a punchy funk drum sample, a Ceelo-esque hook and auto tune vocals… It works, and frankly I wish the crap on the radio that employed similar techniques sounded half as good. CUF Caviar is a more refined, more polished version of what the group has been all along. It’s rare nowadays to find musicians who define a sound for themselves and are able to gracefully age and mature it without compromising the original ideas. The CUF has done just that.

“A lot of the stuff we did before was just us vibing out. We’d write a 16, the beat’s dope, let’s jump on it and find a hook and make it fat,” Curry explains. “[Now] it’s on a totally bigger scale.”

The title of the album, CUF Caviar, is the perfect reflection of this new “scale.” Curry says that when naming the album, the CUF wanted to stick with the fish theme that has always been their logo as well as the incorporation of the band name in the title. Past records have included CUF Daddy, CUF Baby and CUFilation as well as the earlier tapes Federal Expressions and Cuffish that are collectors’ items among diehard fans.

“We basically were thinking that caviar are fish eggs. They’re fish babies, but they’re more refined. It’s something that you’d want if you had an ear that’s more refined. It’s not no little kiddie hip-hop. It’s something for grown folks; sophisticated ears,” jokes Curry.

One of the more humorous things about the maturation of the CUF is the actual acronym itself. Commonly referred to as California Underground Funk or Californians Under Frustration, the guys have become family men now and a new meaning has come to pass: Cousins Uncles and Fathers.

The rejuvenated CUF will be taking CUF Caviar on the road, playing spot shows with Z-Man, Equipto and Mike Marshal. May 12 at Harlow’s will be the CD release show and Curry says that there may even be a Blackalicious and CUF tour on the horizon as well. If you’re not a CUF fan or if you’ve always been, make sure you cop the new album and hear what the fellas have been up to.

Post from: Submerge Magazine

Words by Jenn Walker • Photos by Amanda Lopez

Chaz Wheeler, better known as C Plus in the hip-hop community, remembers his first experience making a mixtape. It was recorded over an old-school computer mic with a program called Record Producer, a $50 purchase at Office Max. He was right out of high school.

It might have looked strange discussing the hip-hop biz with a renowned local rapper over tea in a coffee house on a Saturday night. Nonetheless, here’s an excerpt from our conversation.

The album is All C.I.T.Y., right?
Yes, C.I.T.Y. is an acronym. It stands for creative, intelligent, troubled youth.

Why did you choose that?
“All city” is kind of something that always stuck with me. Since I was a kid I used to be really into skateboarding. I still am, to this day, I still skate. Kareem Campbell was one of the most popular black skaters when I was coming up. He came up with All City [Campbell’s skateboarding team was called All City Skateboards]. So that term, that phrase always stayed with me, and then I got older and I found out what it meant. Another part that stuck out to me is that as Mos Def said, “It’s all city like Phase 2, and hip-hop will amaze you” [from Mos Def’s song “Hip Hop”] And I found out later Phase 2 is one of the most popular graffiti artists in the early ‘80s. And he was “all city,” which meant, five boroughs of New York. He wasn’t relevant in just one borough, he was like, all of New York. He was everywhere. So my whole thing, we were just talking about how I did State Cap, I did Neighborhood Watch. Now I’m with Turf Hop, and then I’m part Live at the Dojo. And then I also do Dope Fix! with Matt Cali. I’m kind of everywhere. I’m all over the map.

Now the acronym, was that something you came up with?
I came up with the acronym.

So why the acronym?
Because that really represents me, I feel, to a T.

Creative Intelligent Troubled Youth?
Yeah.

That was a pretty powerful first track, where you’re talking about leaving a piece of yourself, giving people something to relate to, representing creative, intelligent youth and having hope to inspire and all that. Did you want to talk a little bit about that or tell me if that’s sort of what you’re trying to aspire to or…
I would definitely say my pursuit of music as a career has been for material purposes. But it’s material in the sense of I want to buy my mom a house. And I want to be financially stable. So it’s like, yeah I want jewelry and nice cars and all that too, but I focus on music as a business for that reason. I came in really listening to conscious rap, and I grew up on A Tribe Called Quest and Talib Kweli and all that stuff. But I grew up and I got older and my life experiences started reflecting different stuff. I got a lot more into other types of hip-hop—I don’t want to necessarily say street or gangster rap or anything like that. So I always find it weird in interviews and stuff, when I talk about the “conscious stuff” like that. But that really definitely is my main focus, to inspire people. Especially like I’ve always said, I feel for the mixed kids. Because that’s always one of the biggest things I struggled with when I was younger, being a mix.

I liked “Captain Kirk.” Do you smoke a lot when you write?
It’s part of the creative process.

But when you write?
Yeah. I usually smoke while I write. I actually don’t write. I write, but I don’t write. I always like to touch on this because a lot of different artists have different writing processes, and ever since The Black Album came out, everyone’s like, “Oh yeah, you know, Jay-Z doesn’t write so I don’t write my lyrics. Yeah I do my shit in my head.”

I actually recite the whole song in my head. I don’t touch paper, don’t write in my phone. And I have the entire verse synchronized to the time and lay it out.

Then there’s the one after that, “Money Train?”
That’s just talking about, not just struggle in general, but more so just knowing that there’s a reason that you have to go through the motions. Like even when you’re at the lowest of the low, there’s always light at the end of the tunnel. I know that sounds so cliché. Especially for young people. I find that a lot of the stuff that I talk about in my music, because it’s drawn from a lot of the experiences I had when I was younger, especially when I was 18 to 22, for people in that age bracket, it’s not really cool to talk about that stuff. You don’t really talk about it with your friends. It’s kind of taboo, some of that stuff.

Like what?
Like being really broke, having problems with your family, stuff like that.

You talk about Sacramento a lot, though, in your songs. Or at least you give several shout outs to Sacramento.
I love Sac to death, because I feel like I’m hella cool. I know that sounds extremely cocky but I look at myself from a third-person perspective, like I really went through shit.

I feel like I’m so cool and all this because of Sacramento.

That’s why I have State Cap tattooed on my hand, even though it’s hella faded. Every time I’m out of town that’s the first thing I say on stage is, “I’m from Sacramento, California. The capital.” [Laughs] Because a lot of people think it’s Los Angeles. A lot of people think the capital of California is L.A. That shit is scary.

C Plus’ album release party for All C.I.T.Y. will take place at Beatnik Studios in Sacramento on April 23. Pre-sale tickets are $15 and can be purchased in advance at Thirdletta.eventbrite.com. Pre-sale tickets include a copy of the album.

Post from: Submerge Magazine

Post from: Submerge Magazine

Nicatyne
MidDay Marauder

Words by Blake Gillespie

The femme-bot voice from A Tribe Called Quest’s classic album Midnight Marauders taught me that seven times out of 10, we listen to our music at night and that “marauder” means someone who loots. Tribe was marauding for listeners. Sacramento’s Nicatyne is out for the remaining 30 percent with MidDay Marauders.

At 21 years old, the Natomas producer-on-the-mic has produced two solo albums, a collaboration album with JoEL and two records with Illecism—both of whom are members of Fly High crew. In a sense, MidDay Marauders is Nicatyne’s sixth record, which is an impressive resume at such a young age. His flow is not as swagged-out as E-40’s braggadocio, but Nicatyne bears some style similarities that make MidDay Marauder feel like shark bites (as in the faux pas of “biting”) on the Bay Area. As Nicatyne states on “12s,” a dedication to 12-inch speakers, there’s only one reason his music has that bass for your trunk: “I knock because I got—12s.”

The album title will feel deceiving, given the young rap community’s recent insistence on reinterpreting the golden age classics (i.e. Fashawn’s Ode to Illmatic). MidDay Marauder is not one of those records.

Nicatyne, like many producers who rhyme, is better at one of his trades—the reason the term “producer-on-the-mic” was coined. Opener “One Morning” is abstract and minimalist with its plumber-banging-on-pipes percussion and dog bark samples, while the East Indian bounce of “Dhalsim” (featuring JoEl) has anthem potential with its “My cash stretch like Dhalsim” chorus chant. Nicatyne’s soft-spoken and nasally flow on “My Way” meshes well with his crawling production that rides a pixie-like vocal sample. Five songs deep into the record, Nicatyne is on a creative tear, but “The Man” disrupts the momentum to a point that the album never recovers its swagger.

Nicatyne lags into whatever rappers are calling the clubby-hyphy style songs these days. Slap? Blap? Someone call it. No matter the slang, I am not ready to accept the track “Deaf Star” and its Comic-Con-meets-night-club format.

MidDay Marauder closes strong with “It’s a Wrap,” which features Illecism, and the barbershop-slap of “Real Banter” is another minimalist banger built around a phrase that might replace “real talk.” The not quite chillwave, not quite R&B production on “Forever” is a close call between lapsing into the corny side of The Dream or the trendy side of Nite Jewel—either way I’ll be answering for that comparison in hell.

I’m still waiting for a Sacramento record that feels as though it was conceived strictly with a Sac-Proper state of mind. An identity crisis is spreading like a plague on the scene. It’s time for a sound to be identified as pure, instead of pandered toward the greater Northern California region.

Post from: Submerge Magazine

It’s coming back around. Young artists are expecting more from their culture. Take the art of Kehinde Wiley, for example: He paints the stereotypical street hustler in gentlemanly poses against backdrops of elegant tapestries, juxtaposing the ghetto with the affluent. Sacramento’s DLRN is analogous to Wiley’s vision of celebrating the complexity of hip-hop culture.

Hip-hop has reached a reputable age, and decades deep it has its own version of royalty. As of late though, it has become less of a culture, less of an art form and more of an economic commodity. Sean La Marr, under the nom de plume 5th Ave, sees a potential for change without leaving the sleepy city of Sacramento. La Marr’s video for the song “Dear Langston” is a testament to his hometown pride, as it used Wiley’s art as inspiration—showcasing the city’s talented inhabitants mimicking the regal poses of the elite—the same poses present in Wiley’s portraits.

It’s clear La Marr loves Sacramento hip-hop with the sincerest of hearts. Our interview was intended to discuss the new record his group, DLRN, is dropping this week. Yet, it was during our post-interview hangout session that he revealed his passion for the local scene.

Last year DLRN dropped its No More Heroes record with the intention of introducing new heroes to the hip-hop canon and creating an alternate narrative not traditionally found within the genre. “From an MC standpoint, I was very disillusioned with it,” 5th Ave said. “I came to the realization that a lot of the faces of hip-hop these days I do not relate to. I don’t see them as role models or the influential voices that they once were.”

DLRN, formerly known as Delorean, consists of MC 5th Ave, born Sean La Marr, and producer Jon Reyes. DLRN is retro-fashioned and reactionary, operating in a space that is not quite conscious rap and not quite club rap either. “We’re a product of different time periods and different people, that’s part of how we came up with the name Delorean,” Reyes said.

Unfortunately, a Spanish trance-pop had already claimed the Delorean moniker.

“Our tastes are more eclectic than most acts you’ll hear,” La Marr said, which means they were aware of a possible conflict in their future if they kept the name. By dropping the vowels to DLRN, the group hoped to dodge any cease and desist suits or mistaken-identity tour dates.

“It’s funny because we knew about them when we decided to go with the name,” La Marr said. “We just decided we better blow up before they do. But, then they were on ABC, they had a national tour and became Pitchfork darlings.”

La Marr continued with an anecdote, “We almost didn’t get booked at a show in Seattle because they played at the same venue two weeks prior. We’ll have stuff posted on our Facebook page about events that they’re doing and vice versa.”

Reyes added, “We can’t really hate it, because they’re a really talented band.”

The duo is excited about the switch, citing MGMT and MSTRKRFT as other successful bands that dropped the vowels. Sacramento is now tallied at two non-vowel band names (the other being CHLLNGR) with potential to join the celebrated ranks.

The topic evolved into a discussion over the ethereal trends in cycle of kindred band name themes—such as bands named “wolf-something” or rappers named Lil’. Apparently, there was a birth explosion of Deloreans around the early Naughties. “We thought about adding a word to make it Delorean Brown,” La Marr said. Reyes interjected, “A good reference to one of the greatest wrestlers of the modern era, D’Lo Brown. “ La Marr continued, “But, it turns out there was a Delorean Brown already in Sacramento. Here I think we’re being clever.”

With a new name, DLRN sought out to craft its followup to No More Heroes. The Bridge was recorded at Pinnacle College in Rancho Cordova, which La Marr described as a “sterile” environment in comparison to Omina Labs, where No More Heroes was recorded. It took time, but DLRN enlisted the help of its student body to help them settle into the new digs. “It’s good working with people that you’re friends with outside of the music,” Reyes said. “It makes for very chill sessions.”

Reyes described the recording process for The Bridge, out July 20, 2010 as a free download, as a humbling and surreal experience. The students that volunteered were mostly fans of DLRN prior to the sessions. “Those are the people you’re making it for and they are sitting right next to you,” he said.

Accessing the privilege to hear the new record has been kept to limited company—possibly on a “nothing leaves the studio” policy. The reasoning is DLRN has a purpose with its messages. It’s encoded in the video for “Dear Langston” and on The Bridge. The two releases reference one another, and provide insight into the already planned third album. When I asked the name of the next record, I was met with stoicism and a round-about answer. “There is a hint in the last song,” La Marr said. “I hate to not tell it to you, but when you hear the next DLRN project it will make sense.”

I did not hear the hint in my exclusive The Bridge listening session. But I did hear a reason alongside the Cloud City record to be excited about local hip-hop in July. The Bridge’s first video features Prometheus Brown of Blue Scholars, while the record has further appearances by Hopie Spitshard, Illecism and Chuuwee. That’s all I am allowed to disclose.

DLRN has major plans to kick off August by celebrating the release of The Bridge in what La Marr hopes will be the biggest hip-hop event of the summer. After hearing the words “tequila tasting,” “kegs of free Miller High Life,” “free sushi” and “the Miller High Life girls,” I am not opposed to declaring it the event of the summer either. “I’ve been to a lot of hip-hop shows and I’d hate for this to be just another hip-hop show,” he said. The release party is Aug. 6, 2010 at Beatnik Studios.

In my brief tenure with Submerge, I’ve met a lot of local rappers, most of which have this ambition, rooted in frustration, to overcome their surroundings. It is a career plan that includes reaching or leaving for the Bay Area and Los Angeles markets. La Marr never once spoke with a belittling tone toward his hometown. Instead, we sat for an extra half-hour talking about our favorite Sacramento rappers, putting me on to a great local joint by Blee featuring Doey Rock. “You know what, come to the show and I’ll have a mixtape for you of all my favorite Sacramento shit,” La Marr said. I left thinking, it’s that kind of dedication to the scene that makes someone the founder of a collective such as the Neighborhood Watch. He’s got our best interests at heart.

Go to Beatnik Studios on Aug. 6 for DLRN’s The Bridge record release party. Free Tequila tasting and beer for those 21-and-over will be available. There will also be VIP wrist band bottle service. Come dressed as Alice in Wonderland and get in free. Prize awarded for best costume.

Post from: Submerge Magazine

With the recent death of legendary MC Guru of Gang Starr, nostalgia is running strong in hip-hop for the golden era sound. Gang Starr’s simplistic formula of Guru lending his commanding voice only to DJ Premier’s gritty boom bap production was a staple of an era that would be followed by meandering albums with a gang of producers tugging the sound in all directions.

So it goes, with every death there is a birth. Local rapper Chuuwee wasn’t born yesterday, but he was barely an infant when Gang Starr’s Step Into the Arena first hit the streets. Out to get a rep, Chuuwee is only 19, but his mind is old. Case in point: I never expected the first influence he mentioned to be Big L, another late great-just like I never expected Chuuwee to be underage when I inadvertently invited him to meet me at a pub. “Am I allowed in here?” he asked sheepishly, but I shrugged it off and guided the kid to the beer garden-he looks old enough.

On “6 Feet Deep,” a track Chuuwee played for me, he harks back to the Nas lyric, “I keep falling, but never falling 6 feet deep,” like he grew up on Illmatic. With the right influences in place, Chuuwee just needed his Premier, his Large Professor, hell, even his DJ Jazzy Jeff, to provide the proper backdrop to his voice. He found his complement in Lee Bannon, who is three years his elder. “There’s been duos throughout time and usually the producer is older,” Bannon said. “I look at it like we’re part of that tradition-the classic way of doing it.”

Bannon is neither a household name, nor a certified buzz name on the streets or blogs. Such credentials are inconsequential since it’s only a matter of time until the honors are added to his résumé. Bannon has lent his sound to Inspectah Deck of the Wu-Tang Clan, Talib Kweli, the Bay Area’s The Jacka and Los Angeles’ U-N-I. He has also produced numerous solo instrumental records. Like most producers, his sound can carry further than the name. Too often we appreciate the voice, but neglect to look to the maestro assisting the voice. As we continued to listen to music, Bannon would name drop producers like DJ Muggs and Madlib as styles he aimed to mimic.

Typically, when a producer does this, I nod politely, but consider the comparisons a stretch. But, as Bannon played beats to an upcoming project, it actually had DJ Muggs qualities, like an off-kilter bounce and the sharp chop of cacophonic samples.

The two met by chance at a local beat battle. Bannon took the initiative, reaching out to Chuuwee before the battle and giving him a beat to perform over. Initially, Chuuwee wanted a single beat from Bannon, but Bannon challenged the young pup to write a record. “I got a call from him unexpectedly,” Chuuwee said. “We started kicking it at a homegirl’s house and he got inspired by a pizza box. It all started falling into place from there.” Titled Hot ‘n’ Ready, the collaborative album has taken a wildly creative turn with a unique limited run in packaging. Forty pizza boxes filled with T-shirts designed by 12ftdwende, stickers and the CD will be available at urban boutiques like Havoc and United State, as well as other Midtown/downtown locations. “It will be a scavenger hunt-type thing,” he said. “If you seriously want the project in the collector’s box, you have to search for it. It’s a really cool idea. I ain’t never had nothing like that before, so I’m pretty excited about it.”

Bannon’s creative marketing strategy, matched with Chuuwee’s infatuation with concocting well thought out projects (a sensitivity sparked by his Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), make Hot ‘n’ Ready a unique project. The marketability of CDs is a dying art with the shift to digital formats. Bannon intends to intrigue new and old fans alike by presenting his music as a collector’s item before it’s even out of print and up for high-dollar auctions. “I’m trying to push the envelope with every project I go into concept-wise,” he said.

The pizza theme is not limited to the packaging, as Chuuwee said the concept loosely runs through the album, as evidenced by the closing track, “Last Slice.” “I wrote it in three-and-a-half weeks,” he said. “I don’t want it to seem like I rushed it. I’ve got extreme OCD, so my projects are always overly thought out. I only wrote it fast because [Bannon’s] beats were so inspiring. It just flows out.”

Chuuwee said he’s been stuck in the ‘90s since he started rapping. For the project, he requested that Bannon cater the beats to that style. “I’ve heard his first mixtape and it had a huge range,” Bannon said. “He did stuff over Neptunes, Dr. Dre and Common beats. It was a big spectrum of taste, so I knew I couldn’t make it all ‘90s boom bap, but a lot of it is that style.”

Bannon is more than a producer when it comes to conducting his business. A PR team is hardly necessary. His inspired approach with Chuuwee is just one of many projects with intricately thought out publicity plans. He is in talks of possibly having unplugged Chuuwee sets at local pizza parlors-although it’s a mystery as to how hip-hop can go unplugged. “What’s the biggest thing you’ve seen come out of Sacramento in the last five years?” Bannon asked, to which I could only reply Brother Lynch Hung. “It’s been a minute, and I think we can get into the masses like that. With his talent and my resources, I’m hoping to duplicate the past success I’ve had except through his words, instead of just my production.”

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Old Ironsides was a rocking boat April 18. Old friends were conversing and new friends were connecting, and for those who were rusty at socializing, the bar was there to hug. Lee Bob fans spoke fluently with leftover Bucho fans as Happy Mayfield heartthrobs conversed in familiar circles with Righteous Movement aficionados. It was clear that everyone in attendance had gathered for the same reason: to have a good time.

If there are two styles of music that are all about having a good time, they are hip-hop and funk. Historically speaking, one came from the other and so it seems so natural that they cross-pollinate. With that said, you need look no further for one hell of a good time than a bill that includes the aforementioned Righteous Movement and Happy Mayfield. If you are from Sacramento, then you’ve most likely seen Righteous but might not be familiar with Happy Mayfield yet. Happy Mayfield, a funk band to be reckoned with, is a harmonious marriage between singer/songwriter Lee Bob Watson and The Park (ex-members of local favorites Bucho). To my delight, I discovered upon viewing the stage that The Park was set up to play with Righteous as well. Hip-hop shows take on a whole new life when live instruments are part of the equation, and the boys in The Park were nice and warmed up after a stint at SXSW where they backed artists Alice Russell, Keelay and Zaire in the buzzing city of Austin, Texas a few weeks back.

Righteous Movement’s set began with no introduction. Derek Taylor laid right in to the kit with Josh Lippi on bass, Ben Schwier on keys and Ross Grant on guitar following closely behind. Each backbeat groove was laid out with ease for the three (usually four) MCs to do what they do best: rap their asses off. The energy pouring from Old Ironsides’ small, dimly lit stage was almost overwhelming as the seven-player-deep ensemble blasted their way through a continuous set of funk-powered hip-hop tracks. Verses were traded back and forth, and each delivery had its own voice while still achieving that barbershop quartet harmony that Theek, Tais, Skurge and S.O.L. have carved out for themselves. The rhymes were well thought out, the hooks were fun and the gentlemen had a stage presence that exuded personality and experience. Righteous’ own DJ Tofu even made his way to the stage at one point, charismatically raising his poison of choice in a celebratory gesture. The audience, as thin as it had become at that point, needed no persuasion.

At the bar earlier that evening, The Park’s bassist Josh Lippi had told me that, “…Happy Mayfield is Lee Bob’s alter-ego.” We laughed and I didn’t think much of it until Lee Bob hopped up on stage wearing a pair of retro frames wrapped around his face, a faded T-shirt and a pair of bellbottoms to finish it off. Now don’t get confused, they weren’t all dressed up like a cheesy ‘70s cover band. Happy just had a funky style, man.

On stage, Lee Bob became this alter-ego. He was some sort of a shaman, writhing and whipping his head back and forth as if possessed by the spirit that he sought to conjure. The defining song of the evening found him screaming, “Happyyy!” at the top of his falsetto lungs—the band behind him pumping away, yelling more and fueling his hysteria. “You can’t get this at no corner store,” he cautioned his congregation. Taylor’s machine gun snare fills stuttered through Lee Bob’s mantra all the while Schwier’s keyboard cried and moaned to the crowd, which hung on every last note, their eyes ablaze and wishing strangely for the song to end but not knowing how; sadistically enjoying the agony. Lee Bob expelled his guitar, sprang onto the dance floor and erupted into an involuntary dance that then sent the rest of the movers and shakers into like positions. Local guitar guru Mike Farell, who had been looming in the audience, made his way to Lee Bob’s guitar and struck up a solo that built as the band swelled, and heavy-washed cymbals filled the spaces in between. Lippi’s solid bass playing anchored it all down. This was funk music in its most raw form.

I finished my Pabst and walked the four blocks back to my apartment feeling…happyyy.

Post from: Submerge Magazine