RJD2: Since We Last Spoke

Reviewed by REBECCA BARRY

(Herald rating: * * * * *)


It's rare that a musician successfully breaks the rules. RJ Krohn has not only managed to curb classification, he's done a Madonna and reinvented himself. Risking his hip-hop kudos since the sample-heavy debut, Deadringer was released, the Ohio-based producer has turned his style on its head with this mesmerising, baffling and unpredictable late-night collection.

Since We Last Spoke is moodier and more challenging than its predecessor, lurching from murky indie rock to honky sleaze-jazz and cheesy 70s funk - a versatility that veers more towards the eclecticism of David Holmes than the blinding skill of DJ Shadow, with whom he gained favourable comparisons on his last effort.

Just when you think you've got a track sussed, he'll plunder the manic moments with silence, pour eerie synths over seedy elevator vocals or mix classical piano with hip-hop, genre-busting stuff that shouldn't work but does beautifully.

Perhaps it's because his forward-thinking production doesn't stifle the authenticity of the instrumentals.

Listen closely to the spine-chilling Iced Lightning and you'll hear everything from the faint crackle of vinyl to the loose funk of a rhythm section jamming in a smoky bar. During the rocky guitars of Exotic Talk he bends them like they're playing on a cranky cassette.

Along the way he embraces wobbly brass-funk on 1976, (a track that would make a great Sopranos theme song), melancholic pop on Someone's Second Kiss and Making Days Longer and steamy gospel on To All of You.

Altogether it's not easy to digest, and after several spins the sense of unease never subsides. Likewise, the result is as warped and wonderful as a David Lynch film.

BREAKIN WRECKWORDZ

Breakin Wreckwordz

(Shock)

Disciples of underground local hip-hop will already be familiar with the stars of this fledging label and it won't take long for Breakin Wreckwordz to get out.

This is the official debut album from the crew who hinted at their potential on last year's F*** Music mixtape, and it's a gritty and diverse follow-up.

Featuring three of the country's MC Battle champs - Cyphanetik, Tourettes and Tyna - it was always going to be a venomous affair, a theme summarised on the tongue-in-cheek How To Be A Hater (with Cyphanetik and Con Psy of Frontline). But when the Insomniacs spit, "Take my right fist, embed it in your iris/ Air my nightshift adventures over the wireless" it's clear most of these writers have more up top than a chip on the shoulder.

PNC, in particular, is a lyricist whose effortless flow is reminiscent of Jay-Z. The Insomniacs on the other hand ride the beat with an Eminem quality. Meanwhile, Tyna gets ready to defend the quality cuts with a gripe about tall poppy syndrome on Shimmy: "I'm not mad at no cats, your nut sack's in a vice and I'm tighter than that".

The production explores similarly fun territory, from the slow-fused burn of Muse's My Two Cents, to the Middle-Eastern vibe of West Auckland's the Usual Suspects and DJ CXL's incendiary club track Bang Your Head that could happily get a dancefloor cranking in New York.

But if there was any doubt as to the origins of the compilation, Tyna and JB's lush and soulful My Way puts it to rest: "I miss my family so far away, back in Napier, Palmy and Tolaga Bay".

Aotearoa hip-hop for real.



Label: Definitive Jux