OutKast
Stankonia
»
OutKast
Stankonia
LaFace, 2000
RiYL: De La Soul, Goodie Mob, Prince Paul, Cool Breeze, Parliament |
In six years, he and partner Antwan "Big Boi" Patton have become two of the most talented lyricists and rappers of this era, what Snoop Dogg was eight years ago -- before he lost most of his creativity and charm -- Big Boi is now, simultaneously a confused sexist yet sweet and protective father. Meanwhile, the incredibly fashionable Benjamin is the black Elton John or new-school George Clinton, able to pull off Jimi Hendrix-type hippie bandanas, lavender pimp suits and huge white wigs just as flamboyantly as a simple baseball jersey or Nike hoodie.
Stankonia is really the culmination of the group's first three records, since it contains the Dirty South slang of their 1994 debut Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik, the atmospheric beats of 1996's ATLiens, and the pure head-bobbing genius of 1998's unconventional Aquemini, one of the 1990s' best and most important rap records. "B.O.B" (Bombs Over Baghdad), the first single, is the most instantly explosive commercial rap video in years, backed by mesmerizing electronics, glam rock guitar solos and deep, soul-cutting bass that most Southern MCs, (including Nelly, a No Limit or Cash Money thug and even OutKast proteges Goodie Mob), could never handle with such overflowing ease. While most rap artists try to make a hit and then repeat it over and over (Jay-Z, Jermaine Dupri, LL Cool J, Puffy Combs), OutKast are intensely more musically progressive than their multi-platinum status demands, filled with a diversity and even a contradiction that leaves Black Star's Mos Def as the group's only true rival.
Where "B.O.B." is pure jock adrenaline with a chorus of "Don't pull the thang out unless you plan to bang / Don't even bang unless you plan to hit something," "Ms. Jackson" is the polar opposite, regretfully mature yet macho, showcasing a chorus of Andre's "I'm sorry Ms. Jackson / Never meant to make your daughter cry / I apologize a trillion times" and Big Boi ranging from a paternally responsible "Let her know her grandchild is a baby and not a paycheck / Private school, daycare shit, medical bills I pay that" to a much less sympathetic "You and your girl ain't speaking no more cause my dick all in her mouth." This kind of tough-guy love song isn't uncommon for rap or even OutKast ("Jazzy Belle," "Da Art Of Storytellin' (Part 1)"), but its haunting piano, bouncy drums and catchy hook are just as important as the sincere alienation of Andre's: "Me and your daughter got a special thang going on / You say it's puppy love, we say it's full-grown."
OutKast are hip hop's version of Radiohead: the only consistently platinum act concerned with not only pushing the limits of their genre to another level, but moving music as a whole, because there's a confidence that no matter how unorthodox or challenging the beats get, it'll sell. And not to say this era of pop music is any more repetitive or boring than any other, but with the monopoly of boy groups and teen beauty queens turned "performers," stagnant R&B, and a lack of worthwhile rock bands, the pounding drums, wailing guitars and ghost-like vocals of "Gasoline Dreams" conjure the type of rap-meets-rock joint Kid Rock and Limp Bizkit couldn't write without a vigorous six-month training program.
There's also a believability here that nobody but Mos, Ol' Dirty Bastard, and maybe Common have, especially in a genre concerned with cash over honesty. Think how many times you've heard MCs wanting to "keep it real," yet it's painfully obvious they're more fake than Chyna's new breasts. BET's "Rap City" and MTV's "Direct Effect" are like watching Dick Vitale turn college basketball into a comic book or some annoying sitcom with all this pretentious hooting and hollering and overused, trite vernacular (Here's a thesis paper: Who's more stereotypically plastic- the hosts of rap shows or the artists?).
And maybe OutKast get too much credit, or perhaps Andre and Big Boi are simply better actors, but the lyrics sound genuine, no matter how unselfish (the slick, orgasm-inducing "I'll Call Before I Come") or frighteningly anti-women, illustrated by Patton's "You fucked around and knocked her up now you say she is the one / Nigga you sprung, you should have pulled it out and squirted on her eyelash / And let her face be holding the baby, now she's after yo ass!" from "We Luv Deez Hoez."
There isn't as great an evolutionary leap between Aquemini and Stankonia as there was between ATLiens and Aquemini, but that was to be expected. Just like there will be a greater difference between Radiohead's OK Computer and Kid A than Kid A and their next record, OutKast simply need to make good songs now since the artistic growth can decrease from monumental to just noticeable. The seven interludes are inconsequential, as are most of the guest MCs, including Killer Mike, Gangsta Boo, and Cypress Hill's B-Real, which is really strange given the outstanding quality of the dark and intricate beats (the furious "?" and majestic "Spaghetti Junction").
The only guest who really leaves a mark is Erykah Badu, who shines on the fabulous "Humble Mumble" (possibly because she's Andre's baby's momma). "B.O.B." is the joint but this is the jam, concurrently an entrancing, waterfall-like hypnosis and scratch-heavy dance song. And though Badu doesn't display quite the same soulful effect as on Rahzel's "Southern Girl" or the Roots' "You Got Me," Dre and Big Boi lose the gold digger paranoia and sound that much crisper with such a lovely female voice nearby.
ROB BERNSTEN |