Tag: Atmosphere

  • A Rakish Interview: Big Quarters

    In the Jasmine Deli, Zach and Brandon Bagaason – the brothers that constitute the rapper/producer team Big Quarters – don’t mess with the menu. Regulars well-acquainted with the selection at this Vietnamese spot on Eat Street, they ordered without consulting the dual-language laminated pages.

    Regularity, it might be said, is what defines Big Quarters – their work ethic, at least, if not their actual music. After the 2007 release of their debut album, Cost of Living, they’ve been working relentlessly on a number of mixtapes and EPs. Now, having devised a producers’ sort of Holy Grail, they’ve found an effective means to release them. On September 5th, they will introduce their monthly subscription system – Big Quarters Direct – where for five bucks a month you’ll get five new tracks a month, sent to your email account.

    “People have been talking about how albums aren’t relevant anymore,” Brandon said. He speaks in a drawl, as if he chews his words a little, flattening them, before spitting them out. “So this is a way to maintain a connection with fans. People who want our stuff will have it instantly.”

    Recently, a number of musical acts – most notably (and most successfully) Radiohead – have been reaching audiences by releasing their work online. Last December, Atmosphere put out Strictly Leakage for free download; earlier this year Big Quarters made the Fall in Love EP, produced in conjunction with Mux Mool, available online for free.

    (An interesting tangential story, paraphrased, because my tape recorder stopped working at some point during the interview: Zach and Mux Mool used to work together at the now-defunct Discount Video on Hennepin [its spot has since turned into a cell phone shop]. On Saturdays, only one of them would be scheduled for a shift, but both would show up, and they’d trade turns clocking in. Then, while one of them helped customers and stocked shelves and did what video store clerks do, the other would be in back, recording audio clips from the in-stock movies to use later for production. The store, Zach estimated, had over 40,000 titles, and they ended up with an unwieldy amount of samples, which they are now turning into a series of Discount Musical tracks, some of which will possibly be released – and now we get back to the main body – on Big Quarters Direct.)

    “It’s the first time we’ve been able to speed up the process of releasing music,” Zach said. He is more soft-spoken than his brother, his sentences maybe dampened by the beard that haloes his face. “We want to put out quality music every month, because now we have that capability.”

    Their compositions aren’t made for passive fans. Rather, they produce with the hope that their music is something to interact with. After Cost of Living, they released the Cost of Living Construction Kit (yours free when you sign up for Big Quarters Direct), which is actually a dissection of the original album, with both a cappella and instrumental versions of the songs laid out for other producers and MCs that might want to use them. Beyond that, though, Big Quarters hopes that people are able engage with their tracks on a more personal level.

    “Everything’s about telling our own story,” Brandon said. “Communicating, storytelling, we like to try and do that through rapping, and through our instrumentals.”

    Fittingly, their lyrics are marked by introspection. They explained that when they write about personal experiences, that’s when fans pay the most attention. The line that’s gotten them the most renown, off their song “Everyday,” is “Home of brown babies and white mothers” – an embrace of their own mixed-race heritage.

    Carrying their music over into their professional lives, Big Quarters try to promote the curative aspects of storytelling in their (our) community. By day, Zach and Brandon work with a number of youth groups – at the Hope Community, at IDDS, at the Minneapolis YMCA – teaching kids to DJ, to put together a song, and most importantly, to unleash their personal narratives.

    “It’s about therapy,” said Zach. “We hope that people can relate to us, find similarities even if their story’s not exactly the same.”

    Discerning a story from their instrumentals is a bit murkier of a task, but certainly there’s a narrative element to their production. None of their beats relies on a simple loop; rather they stoke a melody throughout the track, layering and collapsing it in progressions that never let go a listener’s ear. As far as actual sound, one might compare their production to some of the stuff RZA does for Wu-Tang Clan – full-bodied and sour and vaguely kung-fu-ish – though the recent Fall in Love EP seems to try and crack through this, bordering on pop.

    “The goal for us when we’re producing,” Zach said, “is to take something people might know, and play with it and break it down until it’s not really recognizable anymore. That’s when a beat sort of becomes our own, and we can begin to tell a story with it.”

    (If you listen to this, it’s easy to see what he means.)

    September 3rd, 2008 @ Turf Club.
    Performances by: Big Quarters, Mux Mool and DJ Anton
    21+ / $4 / 9pm

     

  • Hip Hop at the Fitz

    first published on realbuzz.com

    The crowd did not want to sit.
    I think it’s safe to say that, for the most part, these were the Converse-and-thick-glasses-wearing
    underground hip-hop fans more accustomed to the open floor space of
    First Avenue than to the rigidly rowed seating chart of the Fitzgerald
    Theater. So when Brother Ali came out to play his first set — "Truth
    Is" and "Uncle Sam Goddamn" (the latter dedicated to Reverend
    Wright) — grooving torsos mashed awkwardly against seat backs. Pretty
    soon everyone stood up.

    Intricate
    and articulate, Brother Ali performed his typically political songs
    to a sympathetic (that is, democratic) crowd. What’s nice about the
    Fitzgerald is its acoustics are much better than most other venues,
    and Ali’s lyrics tonight were especially fluent and clear. Several
    times, BK-One, his dj, would stop the beat and just let Ali go a capella,
    with no loss of musical richness.

    Then
    came Chuck D. (Of seminal rap group Public Enemy, for those who
    don’t know.) The crowd sat down quickly, just so they could give him
    a standing ovation. Which he quickly patted away, and then sat on the
    black leather couch on stage discuss, with a local radio dj, his life
    and career and car (a vintage ’95 that his daughter hates).

    As
    this is a review, I suppose I should to some extent critique Chuck D’s
    performance. If he’d been rapping, I would say that he ‘rocked the
    crowd.’ But as his portion of the night was limited to discourse,
    all I can really say is that he was incredibly engaging, and enthusiastic.
    ("This is better than anything on TV," he kept saying, as much observer
    as participant.)

    "What
    I always tried to do on tour," he said "was learn something about
    the places I was playing. And not just before the show — it didn’t
    stop there. I mean really talking with the people. So many rappers get
    bummed out when they have to go places. They’ll say something like,
    ‘Aw man, I have to play this show in Topeka, Kansas.’ And that’s
    the wrong attitude. You can’t act like you’re better than your fans.
    People in Topeka know damn well they’re in Topeka. And they don’t
    care you’re from New York, they just want you to put on a damn good
    show."

    Living
    up to his credo, Mr. D made the evening incredibly personal, seasoning
    his speech with Minnesota sports references. (On the current NBA playoffs:
    "You guys should have no sympathy for the LA Lakers. They left you
    a long-ass time ago." [They were originally the Minneapolis Lakers,
    way back when.]) There were no notecards, or even any stuttering;
    meaning, there was no feeling that Chuck D. was trying to pander. His
    tone the entire night was genuine. At intermission he got off the couch,
    and sat with his legs hanging off the lip of the stage, signing autographs
    and posing for pictures.

    After
    the break, Slug, of Atmosphere, came onstage and played an acoustic
    set from his new album, If Life Gives You Lemons, Paint That Shit
    Gold
    , which comes out this week. (For the uninitiated, Slug basically
    has hero status in Minneapolis.) His performance was basically ‘Slug
    Unplugged.’ I’ve seen him concert probably ten or so times, maybe
    more, and this is the first time I’ve ever heard him sing. His choruses
    consisted of melodic scat, and Slug, a bit surprisingly, nailed them.

    It
    was also the first time I’ve seen him with a little bit of stage fright.
    A notorious egomaniac (sorry, sir), there was a catch in his voice to
    whole night, as when a 7th grade boy calls the girl he has
    a crush on for the first time, and ends up having to talk to her parents.
    In fact, Brother Ali was the same way. It seems the presence of a pioneer
    like Chuck D injected a bit of humility into the rappers who brag so
    often of sleeping with your girlfriend.

    And maybe because of this timidity, Slug’s performance suffered a
    little. His posture was slouched (he was sitting down, which is unusual),
    his hand gestures were nervous. Strange, but he sounded best when he
    was humming-or-whatever the choruses, as opposed to rapping, which on
    any other night would be his strength. (Maybe it had nothing to do with
    Chuck D. Maybe it’s because this was on the first night of the Jewish
    holiday Passover, which asks, "Why is this night different from all
    other nights?" The answer this evening being, ego gave way to introspection.)

    Another
    discussion session with Chuck D and Slug ensued, equally entertaining
    as the first. What may sum it up best is to say that Chuck D, front
    man of Public Enemy, political activist, dour Knicks fan, at several
    moments of the show, leaned back and giggled.

    5 stars*****