| As far as busdrivers go, Busdriver is more Otto than Skinner, the LA emcee taking you to school with manic-mouth'd rhymes and free-associative freakdom, hitting the hip-hop road at a dangerous double-time, cutting in and out of lyrical lanes with little regard for passenger safety. How's his driving? Dangerous! So get envious; Go turn Green as he refuses to Stop, running through Red as the needle bumps into it, pedal put to metal and clock thrown out the window. Busdriver wants to see time fly and to fly through time; "Map Your Psyche" finds Bus bursting out the blocks, the clock only ticking eleven times on its way to the ground as he tears up the tarmac with this double-time double-clutch diarrhea - something like: "I did that record before you / And sure of course it was a tour de force / Now you can afford a Porsche / Go to the Source awards / Get some tour support / Do all sorts of warped things / Get a smorgasbord / With a hoard of whores / Snort some more / Leave a horrid corpse / You're so corporate endorsed that when I record a chorus / You said you co-wrote the grand corpus" - in just eleven seconds, his lawnmower mouth sounding more like a pneumatic drill as he drills the phonetic rhythm in a jittery pitter-patter. And, whilst saying such may run against warnings the world over, I'm gonna invert that advert, and exhort: "Kids, Try This (Verse) At Home!" Good luck matching the Bus on the clock, and better luck having the throat to match Driver's delightful delivery; his guffawing voice makes him sound like every rhyme he delivers is a punchline, a thought that sometimes - as on the stoopid-silly freestyle of the intro "Yawning Zeitgeist Intro (freestyle)" ("Oprahnize my novel / As you can see / It sells very prominently in Colorado") - isn't entirely off the mark. Marking off much more than the less-than-a-handful grab he groped on his previous Cosmic Cleavage disc (which, in almost emo-hip-hop-esque style, was filled with far too many fuck-yous to ex-love-interests), Fear of a Black Tangent is a full cup, one that runneth over as he runs all over the road, running late for the morning bell, his defying of time, and his time-flying, not making things run on it. But, even arriving belated, Busdriver still careens into the required stops, stopping for the beatmaking made by the likely likes of Daedelus, Danger Mouse, and Prefuse 73 (the latter now a brand new Angeleno), letting lyrical ideas get on and off and rarely bothering to check their tickets. This is a free ride where wide-eyed wild-eyed wildness rides wild and free. - Neumu |
1XLP/Out Of Print