It's been a while since I heard from the Coup. I was in middle school when I first saw the video for "Fat Cats, Bigga Fish," a ghetto allegory about exploitation and corruption in the big city. I was immediately drawn in; I think it was the first tape with a parental advisor sticker that I bought on my own (after a few denials at the CD store, I found an apathetic clerk who gave in). What I got for my 10 bucks was an early dose of revolution, and a tape that wasn't out of style a year later (or the year after that).
Fast-forward six years to 2001. The Coup releases "Party Music," only to have it recalled before it hit the shelves. The reason was the group's controversial album art and the timing of its release; I don't need to tell you the date. This is not at all surprising; the Coup is as radical as hip-hop gets these days, and it is unapologetic about its strong left leanings. If you need proof, look no further than the group's latest release, "Party Music," a masterpiece of educated, directed rage.
Sporting the Coup's finest production to date, the kerosene tongue of lead MC Boots, and the flint that is DJ Pam the Funkstress' beats, "Party Music" is not for the faint-hearted hip-hop fan. It's a love letter soaked in glycerin that doubles as a fuse. For those who define progressive hip-hop as raps about getting "lifted" and traveling through the "lyrical cosmos," the Coup may not sate your palate. But for those who believe that progressive music should promote some kind of "progress," "Party Music" may be up your alley.
The album is hip-hop music that you can nod your head to, not just in time to the beat, but also in assent with the message. The Coup's leader is Boots, a self-described "proletariat funkadelic parliamentarian" whose goal is to open the eyes of oppressed black people everywhere to the slavery of our current corporate state. He says that "every single is a bomb threat," a "ransom note with proposed legislation."
His lyrical prowess seems to have grown leaps and bounds since 1994's "Genocide and Juice," the aforementioned tape which changed this writer's personal outlook. On tracks like "Ghetto Manifesto" and "Ride the Fence," Boots shows how far his "revolution rhythm" has come. Though the group mostly goes it alone, it does call upon fellow radicals Dead Prez on the rousing "Get Up" to great results.
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The memorable lyrics are almost too many to quote; nearly every one has a grain of truth. One stand out is on "Ghetto Manifesto," when Boots raps in response to lyrics about the joys of getting high, "The trees we got lifted by made our feet dangle / so when I say 'burn' what I mean is star-spangled / let's all get high from the income angle / and bump this at the party even if it ain't the single."
And for those tired of lyrics in hip-hop that disrespect black women will be surprised by their conspicuous absence on this disc. From Boots' words of advice to his young daughter "Wear Clean Draws," to his tale about teenage pregnancy "Nowalaters," he makes clear that he believes all were created equal, not just for "all men." He even advises his daughter "when you play pretend house / let the man clean up."
It is lamentable that this album came around at a time when criticism of the government, even in the black community, has become somewhat taboo. But while the current crisis that our country is facing has made voices like the Coup's somewhat less fashionable, but no less authentic.
Regardless, people may not have been ready for the Coup yet, anyway. The truth is that this album will probably not sell many copies; the album's title is almost certainly ironic. But from the way "Party Music" sounds, the sales are not that important. The Coup would probably give it away if they could get it to everyone who needed to hear it. Maybe Don Rumsfeld has an extra plane he can spare to fly a different sort of "relief mission" over America's inner cities.
Probably not.