Published on Feb 9, 1999
Ok, Atlanta chumped big time at the Super Bowl. Starting with
Eugene Robinson’s debacle with an undercover police officer and
ending by the beginning of the second half of one of the most
boring games in recent memory, Atlanta may need some cheering up.
And it won’t come way by reading Tom Wolfe’s latest book, “A Man In
Full”, which depicts Atlanta in a semi-negative light, but no more
negative than any big city.
No, if you want a quick pick-me up in regards to what Atlanta
has to offer, look no further than
Aquemini, the latest album by Outkast. The third album by
Atlanta rappers Big Boi and Andre Benjamin is as inventive and
out-there as their last album,
Aliens.
The “which coast is better debate” is now ran its course for
rap. And it looks like the south rose in 1998 with the rise of
Master P’s army at No Limit Records. However, the Outkast shine in
their region far brighter than anyone in the No Limit arsenal
(sorry, Snoop Dogg) for refusing to obey any set format. From the
reliable old-school funk of the 70s funk bands to obscure as hell
musical additions for rap (harmonica),
Aquemini is full of diversity and more important, mad
flow.
Yes, mad flow.
Aquemini is so good in some areas, it makes a total white
bread boy like myself use “mad flow” for the first time in any of
my reviews. Highlights include the breathless word flow of songs
like “Rosa Parks,” “The Art Of Storytellin’ (Pts 1 and 2) and “Skew
It On The Bar-B.” The entire album is so funky, I had trouble
picking out when the great George Clinton dropped in for a cameo
appearance (“Synthesizer”).
But for all the fresh outlets that
Aquemini offers, it does resort to the typical “playa”
fantasy of many male-oriented rap albums released in the ’90s.
Makin’ dough, gettin’ the honeys and keepin’ your game in check are
all themes covered extensively in
Aquemini.
But Outkast is not souly concerned with “makin’ it.” They want
to enlighten your ignorant ass as well with different, mad beats,
as they say in one of their interludes. Unfortunately, my car
stereo is no more, so I only got a chance to listen to this album
about three or four times. Which is all right,
Aquemini is well worth the price of a CD, and I’ll probably
shell out my $15 as soon as my state refund comes in. Until then,
I’ll have to deal with the hooks of “Chonkyfire” and the chorus of
“old school playas in new school fools/Say I be Got damn it the
done change the rules” going through my head. Beleive it, the album
is addictive, even for non-rap fans.