Posted in Album of the Month, Music chat

JULY HIP HOP 50th ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL: Reachin’ – Digable Planets

Some records come into your life in the perfect Time & Space (see what I did there), and to listen to them is to be transported back to that very special place.

And so it is with my choice for my favourite hip hop album of all time. Of course, choosing one is crazy, a ridiculous idea. How could I not choose IT TAKES A NATION OF MILLIONS? How can you ignore BLACK ON BOTH SIDES? What kind of idiot doesn’t go for PAUL’S BOUTIQUE? I bounced around between some obvious big hitters, but all the while, I could feel the pull of what eventually became the very clear winner: REACHIN’, the 1993 debut for Philly via NYC trio Digable Planets. Man, what does this album mean to me? Let me count the ways, and let’s start by tracing my journey to that record.

Like a lot of 80s indie kids, my first introduction to hip hop actually came via John Peel, who regularly played everything from Biz Markie to Public Enemy on his show. The first song that really got under my skin, and indeed the very hip hop song I ever bought was the 7″ single of Eric B & Rakim’s Paid In Full – or to be clear, the Coldcut remix, sampling the Turkish singer Ofra Haza’s haunting vocal.

I flirted with a few other artist, but then fell pretty hard for Public Enemy’s IT TAKES A NATION OF MILLIONS, which felt vital and angry but also surprisingly accessible and full of strong hooks and powerful beats. But it was the herald of the Daisy Age and the flourishing of the Native Tongues bands that led me headlong into hip hop as something I listened to on a daily basis. No need to restate the genius of De La Soul or A Tribe Called Quest, but what strikes me now about their music is their playfulness and willingness to experiment, their lack of bravado bullshit, and their plundering of jazz music as much as old soul and RnB tracks.

When I went to Uni in the early 90s, I ended up making a friend with a proper jazz head, and strange though it feels to recount now, I had a year when I learned all about classic be-bop era jazz, and got to know everyone from Wes Mongtomery to Art Blakey to Dexter Gordon. Armed with this new love for a genre I didn’t previously understand, I then spent a year in the States in 92-93 as part of my degree (in American Studies). There were too many highlights to mention, though seeing Clinton getting inaugurated in Washington DC was pretty cool. But it’s the music that’s stayed with me now. Fuck me, I can remember every album I listened to that year.

The US was overflowing with grunge and post grunge at the time, which I absolutely hated with a passion. Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, all those guys. It was everywhere. I retreated into random corners, discovering Brazilian music via David Byrne’s Luaka Bop label, and getting into Afro-Belgian accapella group Zap Mama (yeah, I know, nothing’s changed!). But there two hip hop albums that year that became constant friends. One was Arrested Development’s debut, which was HUGE. And the other was Digable Planets. I remember walking onto the record store near the uni campus I was on, and they were playing Cool Like That. I recognised the Art Blakey sample, and on top of it floated this playful, almost feminine male vocal, rapping with such style and panache that it blew my head off. Needless to say, I left the store with that album.

DIGABLE PLANETS were – or rather are, now they’re touring this album again! – a 3 piece from Philadelphia who moved to New York. They seem to arrive fully formed as a concept – 2 men and 1 woman, all of shared rapping duties, and who sold themselves as interplanetary insects – Butterfly, Doodlbug & Ladybug. Their album, Reachin’, felt immediately like a manifesto for a new kind of hip hop – one that was as influenced by jazz and Blue Note records as James Brown or the usual sources. One that felt slick and cool and effortlessly stylish. Both opener It’s Good To Be Here and monster sunshine groove Where I’m From seemed to welcome the listener into their world. Grooves were funky, jams were slow, lyrics and rhymes seemed to flow so perfectly with the music that it was impossible to imagine they’d ever lived apart. I was absolutely besotted.

But it wasn’t all just good vibes, even if it always sounded that way – La Femme Fetal – is an utterly blistering attack on abortion rights told through a first person narrative that builds to a wider political point, and it’s, for me, one of the most articulate and brilliant political hip hop songs ever written. I know every line. I never thought, 30 years on, that it would be even more prescient now than it ever was then.

At the end of my year in the US, I went home clutching my Digable Planets tape. No one – and I mean NO ONE – in the UK had even heard of them. Everyone was listening to Suede and Britpop was riding over the horizon. But this album has never left me, and it never will.

It’s interesting comparing this to Arrested Development’s debut, which I think has fared less well with the years. That now sounds like a kind of pop-rap hybrid who’s appeal was really obvious, but it doesn’t sounds that revolutionary today. THIS album still does – fresh, vital and forward-thinking.

The band only made one other album, the completely excellent and more overtly political BLOWOUT COMB, before disbanding. Ishmael ‘Butterfly’ Butler went on to form the highly experimental Shabazz Palaces, who I lover and and I think everyone else on the pod hates! But they mostly disappeared from sight. And though this album went Gold in the US and they won a Grammy for best song in 93, Digable Planets seem to have got lost somewhere in the conversation about hip hop greats, which is crazy, because so many other hip hop artists have acknowledged the influence this had on them – from Mos Def to The Roots.

It’s so nice to see so much positivity about them now they’re touring the 30th anniversary of the album, so maybe people do finally understand that if you wanna get Cool like Dat, y’all need to dig Digable Planets.

Posted in Album of the Month, podcast

Podcast Ep. 34 | Durand Jones | Wait Till I Get Over

In Part 1 we get to grips with the enchanting ‘Wait Til I Get Over’ by Durand Jones. We talk all things soul and share our opinions. In Part 2 we play a one-off version of Spin It or Bin It that we’re calling ‘Love/Hate’. We each pick a track that we love but we think the others will hate.

Part 1 | Album of the Month | Durand Jones | Wait Til I Get Over

It’s David’s choice this month and he’s chosen an album by and artist that none of us have any history with or knowledge of. The album is very much a soul album in every way that you could possibly define that word.  If you want it to be, it’s a very easy to listen to soul album that fits nicely into the sun we’ve been enjoying. But it’s also a deeply personal and emotionally moving album if you go a little deeper.

  • Go listen to the album – Here
  • Go watch some videos – Here
  • Go buy some of their stuff – Here

Some links that we reference and recommend; 

  • ‘The Show on the Road’ this is a great interview! – Click Here
  • ‘Bedroom Beethovens’ … another interview – Click Here
  • Sound and Vision interview that we reference – Click Here

Part 2 | Spin It or Bin It | Love/Hate

So. This is a new one. We all pick a track that we love and will defend to the hilt … but that we think the other 3 of us will hate. It sounds easy, but it’s actually not.

Here’s a handy playlist of the 4 chosen Love/Hate tracks

In order to chose our tracks we create a long list, then a short list of 4 tracks each. Each of our 4x track short lists are collated here … have a listen … but approach with caution, this makes no sense whatsoever!

*** Enjoy the episode ***

Posted in Album of the Month, New Albums

June AOTM | Wait Til I Get Over | Durand Jones

It’s been quite a few years for soul music, which feels like it’s undergone quite the revival, with everyone from Mercury Music Prize winner Michael Kiwanuka to Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings to Raphael Saadiq to Nao to Cleo Sol, and very notably of late, Anderson .Paak, making music that can squarely be described as soul or neo-soul or retro soul or whatever the heck else you’d call it. And even on hipper projects like Sault, so beloved of us 4 on the podcast, you could make a strong argument that soul is right at the beating heart of its sound.

But it’s also a tricky genre to navigate – the history of soul music is so wide and so breathtakingly diverse, and its influence is so embedded in our musical culture, that it can be hard to find a space to make anything that genuinely feels new, and there is a lot of stuff out there that treads very heavily on existing formats. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but that old discussion that we’ve had on this blog/podcast many times rears its head once again – how can you best homage to the genre you’re working in, while moving music forwards?

I should say, for the record, that soul music has been one of the bedrocks of my musical taste since I was first leant an Aretha cassette by a friend in my teens. Like a lot of folk, I first gorged on Motown, Jackie Wilson & the 60s girl groups then headed into 70s soul territory via Stevie, Curtis, Marvin, Sly Stone and the rest, and by the time I was at Uni, I was getting into contemporary stuff like Mica Paris, Young Disciples and some of the acid jazz scene of the Brand New Heavies and Galliano era. I suspect my love of late 90s/early 00s R’n’B – and boy do I love that stuff – comes from the fact that it is a souped up, dance floor friendly take on soul music – which is arguably what RnB has always been! The vocals, the arrangements, it’s all in there, just with a hefty bass and drum kick.

Cut to the chase: I’m a sucker for soul music. But in the modern era, the more ‘traditional’ the soul revival sound, the less I’m personally that engaged with it. So I don’t mind a bit of Sharon Jones, but I preferred Raphael Saadiq when he’s got a bit more R’n’B in him and he’s not just sounding like a retro soul revivalist. Ditto, Kiwanuka got more interesting when he became more experimental and had the likes of Inflo on board pushing his sound into a more contemporary space.

I first came across Durand Jones via his band Durand Jones & The Indications via their big breakout single Witchoo, which I loved. However, at the time, when I dug into the rest of that album, Private Space, I found a band and a vocalist that felt a LITTLE too enamoured of Philly Soul and 70s soul disco vibes, and the exercise felt a bit too retro and stale for me to really connect with. In comparison to Anderson .Paak, for example, who seemed to be absolutely tearing the floor up at the same time with something steeped in those same influences, but felt so fresh!

Fast forward 2 years and I’m looking for an album to choose for this AOTM. I’m struggling – there is nothing that’s been recently released that grabs my attention. And then, while flicking through Metacritic, I see Durand Jones – but this time a solo album. And the reviews are INSANE. I stick it on, and from the very first track, and that gorgeous liquid string arrangement on beguiling opener Gerri Marie, I knew I was listening to something pretty special.

I’ve devoured a bunch of podcasts and interviews that the TINH brothers have shared (and that we’ll share with you in the links section!), and what first strikes you about Durand Jones, apart from his fierce intellect and strong personality, is how much this record means to him. This is him coming to terms with himself as a Queer black man from the Deep South – I think the first time he’s openly referenced that – in the astonishing confessional ballad, That Feeling (bloody WordPress won’t let the video embed in a working fashion, but go and check out the video on YouTube). It’s openly confessional, trying to make sense of his and his family’s life in Hilaryville, Louisiana, a town formed by former slaves given the land as part of most emancipation reparations – once ‘the place you’d most like to live’ according to his grandma, but now decimated by drugs and poverty.

First thing to say is that this album is constructed in classic album format – a sprightly, tight 41 minutes, moving opener leading to chugging banger Lord Have Mercy. The entire set is a homage to the entire breadth of soul music, with so many highlights that you could name any track as one. Sadie is a slice of plaintive doo-wop; Wait Till I Get Over a straight-down-the-line gospel track that suddenly drifts off into an ambient finale; See It Through a catchy AF soul jam that will surely be another single:

The closing tracks of the album are particularly strong. Someday We’ll All Be Free is a Stevie-esque ballad that mix political and emotional yearnings that surprisingly bursts into a rap in in the middle of the song – it’s a real album highlight. Letter to My 17 Year Old Self is a rather leftfield ballad, full of musical experimentation, that reminded me of Parade-era Prince. Like earlier slow jam I Want You, it wants to play with the form as well as celebrate. Finally, we end with the gorgeous, mournful Secrets, before the set ends and we just hear the sound of water, presumably the Mississippi river. Are the secrets being washed away? Or is Durand being reborn in the river? Either way, the sound of tides lap against the listener until it fades out.

This album has got under my skin like no other this year, save for Young Fathers, and like them, it’s a personal real AOTY contender, and certainly a top 10 shoo-in. So why does it work so well? I think the fact that band recorded so much as live in the studio gives it the most ridiculous energy. It’s like you’re listening to a live performance. Despite that, it somehow never feels like an exercise in retro-soul. I think that comes down to the breadth and skill of the songwriting, as well as at the very modern persona and emotions of the record’s protagonist, Durand J. He drags every inch of emotion out of every song like a force of will! Finally, the arrangements are deft and smart throughout – in particular the use of crunchy, heavy rock guitar is a genius move, and works against it sounding neatly soul-like. Listen to it muscle its way in at the end of Lord Have Mercy, for example, and it adds such a punchy layer that takes the sounds somewhere new. The whole thing is an exercise in how you make a soul record in 2023 that feels vital and relevant. Durand, we waited, and you sure as hell got over!