Category: Music

There are many rappers out there who’d have you believe they have many dimensions – they’re a hustler, they’re a businessman, they’re this, they’re that – and yet the more they try to persuade you, the more contrived it becomes.

And then you have B. Dolan, a man who not only proved his worth in the spoken-word world, but also set up Knowmore.org, a consumer activist website. Not one to rest on his laurels, he signed to Sage Francis’ Strange Famous label and tore up stages at Paid Dues and Rock The Bells – if anyone has a reason to preen and pout, it’s Bee.

Thankfully, he doesn’t fall into that trap, instead he has teamed up with Alias to deliver Fallen House, Sunken City. I must say, as much as I’m not a fan of Alias when he raps, his production has always been good, be it straight up hip hop or more chilled out stuff such as his collaboration with Tarsier, but he has taken it to a next level on this release, from the slamming boom-bap of Reptilian Agenda to the almost I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead era El-P of the opening track Leaving NY.

With such a solid base to showcase his lyrical talent on, Dolan goes for the jugular right from the off with “I was told to pick my battles. This isn’t my war. My fight is with myself. I’m leaving New York” and continues at a similarly high-octane pace, lamenting consumerism and the acts of multinationals in Fifty Ways To Bleed Your Customer and showing an ability for story-telling that seems as natural as it ever could be in Body Of Work. His delivery is as impressive as his lyrics, putting his message across powerfully whilst not forcing the listener into uneasiness as the likes of Immortal Technique unfortunately do. No, it’s obvious Dolan is passionate, but he’s able to portray that as part of his album, rather than pushing that as the main focus.

Signing to Sage Francis’ label is bound to draw comparisons, which would be unfair. Certainly, Dolan is his own man and whilst Strange Famous feels like a perfect fit for this record, he doesn’t ever find himself in Sage’s shadow, which is a testament to both the content and the man himself. And, hey, he has a P.O.S. verse on there, you know I gotta thumbs up my Doomtree homies. This is an album that’ll surprise you in all the right places. Pick it up and savour it. And then look forward to checking him out in the UK throughout March.

Check out the video below to see what to expect.

Abjekt.

Thanks to the over-abundance of premature verbal gushers in music journalism I’ve developed some problems with the phrase ‘up and coming’. If something is up and coming already then what’s next for them? Wiping off their brief blogosphere success with a damp cloth and flaccidly play on to an already bored audience perhaps? Bands shift in and out of listener popularity oh-too quickly when the hype machine is turned up to 11 (I think the knob is stuck there?), and to describe Houdini Dax as simply an up and coming band from Cardiff would be an insult to the lads. They have an established live presence at a sickeningly young age, yes. They’ve already gained respect from the musical peers, correct. Houdini Dax are up, for sure; but the only thing coming in this relationship is the listener, again and again and again.

Let’s take their recent EP, The BBC Sessions as a sample of what to expect; there is an immediate comparison in the music to countless good British rock acts (the guitars meet at a synapse in which both The Beatles’ Rubber Soul and Blur’s Modern Life Is Rubbish are playlisted) but when Jack Butler’s sonically rich vocals swamp each track with a smooth prowess, each song becomes enriched with something that makes this not only very listenable but instantly replayable.

Robin You Lie is a simple, overwhelmingly catchy jam, packed with layered chanting and psychedelic rug-cutting evocation. But it effortlessly achieves something way beyond all the other twee faggots whispering crudely thought out metaphors over a fucking xylophone solo that whimsically thrive in the indie music scene right now. Houdini Dax are a much needed, not so much nostalgic as a refreshingly inspired fuzz-pop that will make dancefloors squeak and the soles of your shoes as smooth as the wet wipe you’ll need to calm your climaxing eardrums.

Stanley.