Junk Culture: “West Coast”

The name of this one-man mash-up machine is certainly appropriate.  Like a Collyer brother, Deepak Mantena hoards samples from a vast array of sources. Unlike a Collyer brother, he actually puts his collections to use.  In compositions that might initially seem like Garage Band whims, Mantena, from Oxford, Mississippi, frustrates expectations in the best way possible.

My roommate and I listened to “West Coast” multiple times, trying to predict the introduction of a new element or shift in the beat.  Measures would go by, and we were sure the next would have to bring a change.  But then another passed, and a little more confusion ensued.  In his playlist for the New York Times, Ben Ratliff wrote that he “can’t figure out whether I like it or not.  Like that about it.”  I can’t figure out why I like it.  And that’s what I like about it.

Some hail Junk Culture as the next Girl Talk, but that’s not a fair description.  Sure, he’s signed to the same label and shares a few tour stops.  But Girl Talk makes it too obvious that he’s mashing.  Not so with Junk Culture.  There aren’t any real vocals, and each composition feels more organic than the forced introductions of samples in Girl Talk songs.  Mantena even records some of his own sounds to play around with, including white noise from a bar and guitar bits.  It wouldn’t be out of place as some lounge music, but something about it just might inspire a little dancin’.

“West Coast” begins with what one might think to be a stuck record.  Then the record gets stuck a few more times, and at the forty-second mark the principal sample comes in.  Mutating ever so slightly, it gives way to another sample at the perfect time.  Look back on the track as a whole and you might wonder how there are over four minutes of it.  As you’re listening, however, the only thing to do is wait for the changes to come and be pleasantly surprised—they’ll come not when you want them to, but when they should.  If the man from Mississippi has caught you hook, line, and sinker with this track, also check out “City Side.”

The Roots: “How I Got Over”

The Roots became the house band for Late Night with Jimmy Fallon in March of this year, but, thankfully, their musical talent has not slipped to the meager comedic level of the host.  They’ve yet to make an equivalent of Fallon’s disastrous Fever Pitch, and their newest work, whose release date is slated for sometime in November, comes after a 2008 proclamation that the album Rising Down would be their final record.

?uestlove and Black Thought, original and constant members of an ever-changing lineup, produce the new album, entitled How I Got Over.  ?uestlove has produced, on his own or with others, previous albums and this fact bodes well for the group.  Billboard has reported that the album will include an eclectic lineup of songs expected of the group:  a Frank Zappa cover and another cover of a Cody Chestnutt song, whose song “The Seed” provided the basis for the Roots’s “The Seed 2.0.”

“How I Got Over” marks the group’s return to the style of albums like Things Fall Apart (Achebe!), The Tipping Point (Gladwell!), and Phrenology (Gall!), which showcased the eclectic and adventurous spirit of a group of hip-hop musicians.  Yes, hip-hop musicians—who play instruments at live shows!  This track’s superb drum beat propels but never overwhelms, and tasty organ and guitar fills complement the verses of Black Thought.

Sometimes Black Thought’s lyrics in this track are too much; “it’s always more than a slight reminder/ we living in a war zone like Rwanda” clearly warrants the label of unnecessary hyperbole, and the chiasmus attempt “we dyin’ to live, so to live we dyin’” seems trite.  But he redeems this bleak portrait of urban living with other lines.  In the chorus he dismisses the notion that “the first thing they teach us: not to give a f*ck/ that kind of thinking can’t get you nowhere/ someone has to care.”

While other hip-hop acts will embody the former attitude, The Roots take the positive, latter approach.  In their music, too, the group seeks to increase the hip-hop discourse by bringing in elements of soul, funk, and jazz.  But the best part is that they bring these elements in not merely as samples but in their own compositions.

There’s one lyric where Black Thought tries to capture the plight of the urban youth by saying that “we uninspired/we unadmired.”  While it can serve to convey the grim nature of life “out on these streets,” it certainly does not reflect on a group that has made great strides since its inception in the early nineties.