Every year, the hip-hop spotlight seems to shine on a different city and its distinct style. After the national success of "Still Tippin'", 2005 was all about the H-Town sound. Then, "Vans" and "Yadadamean" turned our attention to the Bay area and the hyphy movement. So where to next? There's no way to know for sure, but all signs point to Chicago. The recent mainstream success of Kid Sister and Flosstradamus - not to mention the latest bestselling albums from Lupe Fiasco and Kanye West - have inscribed the "Chi sound" and Chicago style on the consciousness of hip-hop nation. It's arty, minimalist, clever, consciously old-school, immediate and appealing to indie rockers, alt-rappers, hip-hop heads, and commercial radio listeners alike. And no group epitomizes Chicago's sound and stance more than The Cool Kids do.
Their debt to classic rappers (Rakim, EPMD, A Tribe Called Quest) is apparent in every record they make; their first single borrowed Nas's promise to "bring '88 back". With their baseball caps, tight Run-DMC jeans, and big shades, Mikey Rocks and Chuck Inglish look like old-school emcees. But like much of the music that's currently come from the Chi, their singles are so straightforward, assured, and approachable that they feel daring, cutting-edge, instantly appealing to adventurous listeners. "Black Mags" has been in heavy hipster rotation ever since its release last autumn; Pitchfork loves it (their set at the 2007 festival hosted by the magazine was a huge hit), and, prompted by the success of the song, Rolling Stone called The Cool Kids one of the ten acts to watch for 2008. But don't mistake this duo for a crossover act - they're pure hip-hop, and they've got the associations to prove it. Last year, they collaborated with reigning titlist Lil Wayne, and they've been touring the country with M.I.A. No upcoming album is any more anticipated by rap fans than theirs.
While we're waiting for When Fish Ride Bicycles to drop later this year, we've got the singles and their accompanying videos, and they're fantastic: propulsive, immediate, brassy, dripping with style. Joe Esquivel's visually-stunning black and white clip for "Black Mags" heightens the duo's mystique and situates them within a vital rap tradition. Just as the Houston emcees have their Cadillacs, the Pack have their sneakers, and Lupe has his skateboard, Mikey and Chuck have their BMX bikes. They boast about them, walk them to the curb, and cruise through the city streets on them, passing highways and stop signs, freight trains, crumbling brick warehouses, alleys, ancient Midwestern tenements. There's plenty of fantastic bicycle footage in the "Black Mags" video, and the group of trick riders who back up the emcees are impressive street-corner talents. But the emphasis here is on the two emcees, who, whether on their bikes or off, address the camera with confidence, attitude, and good humor. Esquivel spikes the video with off-kilter and slightly unsettling animations: a cat on a stoop, a bumblebee buzzing around the handlebars, a crowd cheering from atop an overpass, a gigantic plane soaring above the tower blocks. It's a gritty world they inhabit, but one filled with cartoonish irruptions, weird magic, wit..
The members of The Frantic are certainly young: they've been playing together in their Chicagoland hometown since they were 9, and they're still all teenagers. But their youth and exuberance isn't the first thing you'll notice about the band. Instead, they lead with their furious pop-punk guitar attack and their memorable riffs and melodies. The Frantic write songs that jump out of the speakers, grab listeners, and don't let go - and frontman Kyle Dee is the sort of arresting presence on the microphone whose voice, once heard, can't easily be forgotten.
Consider "Audio & Murder", the lead single and title track from their upcoming debut. The song really is one giant, glistening hook: a slice of three-chord punk majesty reminiscent of Alkaline Trio at their most direct. The band cuts right to the chase, giving listeners an irresistible shout-along chorus, an explosive beat, and a manic, invigorating performance by Kyle Dee and crew. And like all great punk songs, it's over before you know it - it blows in on a gale of guitar distortion, makes its point with emphasis, and ends at just above the two-minute mark, leaving you hungry for more.
Exaggeration? Well, surely a little. The New Rivals don't really have a road vehicle that contains extra-dimensional space. But over the past three years, they have been bringing the party wherever they go. The Sayville, New York combo has gigged relentlessly, tearing up small clubs across the East Coast with their high-energy set; this November, they'll be sharing stages indie rock legends The Lemonheads, and also with punk progenitors Stiff Little Fingers. Even the notoriously hard-to-please Rafer Guzman of New York Newsday has given the group his nod of approval ("disc to look for," . . . "fans of NOFX, Blink-182, and Green Day won't be disappointed"). Fire For Effect, their debut EP, was a four-song rush of adrenaline that left listeners asking if the Rivals could sustain that sort of intensity over a full-length. Wonder no longer: the band's first full-length for Sobe Entertainment is a non-stop rollercoaster ride. Even the "Love Song" turns out to be formal satire. "Ready for a ballad?", asks the band, before replying to their own facetious question, "yeah, neither are The New Rivals".
But make no mistake: these two-fisted rockers are no lunkheads. On the contrary, singer and lyricist Toby Bevis is brash and witty, and favors a succinct, economical address reminiscent of Fat Mike or Billy Joe. We're sure NOFX would love "Mudslinging", a smart, literate get-up-and-go charger that breaks out of the gate like a runaway colt and never slows down. The clip perfectly captures the vibe of a party gone berserk: the van screeches through the streets of Brooklyn, seemingly fueled by the force of the rock within. The New Rivals are ruthless screeners - four scantily-clad car-washer girls make the cut, as does a legit skater, but ugly old dudes are left on the outside, forced to chase the van. Bevis and his bandmates don't mind being homewreckers, either, as they pluck good-looking women from the arms of dweeby (or geriatric) boyfriends, load them in the van, and drive on. At the end, they all hit the open road, Empire State Building in the background, adventure dead ahead.
The Portland trio has ascended to the ranks of America's best-loved punk bands, and they've done so with their wit, their critical detachment, and their conceptual and political sophistication intact. Singer Hutch Harris is outspoken as a rule, and he's used his position as the voice of the Thermals to question authorities of all kinds, pillory the Bush Administration, and shake up the status quo. On 2004's critically-acclaimed Fuckin A, he led the band through twelve furious - and often very funny - broadsides against the powers that be. The Body, The Blood, The Machine raises the stakes considerably: here, The Thermals follow a young couple, on the run from a future Christian-fascist American government not all that much more invasive than the one we currently have.
To tell this detailed, dystopic story, the Thermals haven't changed their approach at all. They still deliver irresistibly catchy and thrillingly blunt indie-punk, and Hutch Harris still writes with directness and an emotional honesty remarkable among modern rockers. The trio has proven it's possible to put out a super-smart concept album while staying true to punk's brevity, force, and economy. Consequently, The Body, The Blood, The Machine has become a favorite of skate-kids, indie-music fans, and veteran critics alike. "Narrative and prophecy", insists Robert Christgau, "alt needs, held together and moved ahead by its forthright hooks and beats." "These tracks land like bombs", raves Amanda Petrusich in Pitchfork, who goes on to call the album "weirdly terrifying, totally Orwellian, and grander, louder, and more electrifying than anything the Thermals have spit out before."
"Returning To The Fold" comes at a pivotal moment in the story: the protagonists are having misgivings about their flight from the Church-dominated government. Out of the context of the narrative, it's a powerful statement about the manner in which the abuses of organized religion can turn a penitent away from his own spirituality. Masterfully produced by Brendan Canty of Fugazi, "Returning To The Fold" begins with a ringing guitar riff and ends with a wild plea for salvation. In between, Hutch Harris howls, hollers, and testifies - radiating charisma, urgency, desperation, and good humor as he does.
No matter how serious their subject-matter can be, Thermals videos are invariably playful. The clip for "Pillar Of Salt", the lead single from The Body, The Blood, The Machine found the band "checking in" for duty on a stage set, tearing it to pieces, and then, the day's work done, calmly clocking out. The trio's terrific sense of humor gets another airing in the "Returning To The Fold" clip, much of which captures the band's endearing hijinks in front of an ever-changing green screen. The video opens with a slo-mo pan along a country road; the members of The Thermals are flung before the lens as if they've been heaved there by a catapult. Undaunted, they get up and begin to charge after the camera as it recedes. Later, the three cram into a kid's buggy (with instruments!) as it careens through the city streets; the toy car capsizes, of course, but the musicians get right up and begin to chase the filmmaker once again. The indestructibility of The Thermals's enthusiasm is made manifest: no matter what happens, they keep getting the message out. Don't miss the final shot - it's a loving homage to the clip for "Sweater Song" by Weezer, another band that paired fun-loving punk with serious commentary to winning results.
Choose a playlist