The Rake Magazine

Tag: Brother Ali

  • Muja Messiah's Debut Album

    "Don’t wait for the critics to jump on this dude before you start giving it up," says everybody’s favorite Albino rhymer, Brother Ali. He’s speaking about Muja Messiah, the latest local rapper to make a big splash in the national underground hip-hop scene. "Muja is the shit. The man is right with his."

    So this is your last chance to go grab (download…) Muja’s debut album Thee Adventures of a B-Boy D-Boy and enjoy it for yourself, before I ruin it with tempered, analytic praise.

    Ready, go. Now come back. We can have a nice discourse in the comments section below. We will agree with each other, all of us emphasizing each other’s opinions in a positive, supporting manner. Which happens.

    Okay. Let’s start with Bro Ali’s statement that "Muja is the shit." If being ‘the shit’ – and making an album that is also ‘the shit’ – necessitates putting forth an unbroken series of successful songs, then indeed there’s something gorgeous about Muja Messiah. Thee Adventures cycles through a medley of styles. The production ranges from the jazzy slow jam to the upbeat to the downright krunked, the rhymes from egotistical to introspective. And Muja effortlessly navigates from track to track, rapping convincingly over the varied beats – it’s not just like he wrote a rhyme and a producer made a beat and they synced them up and smashed them together; rather his flows seem actually to be linked with the rhythms.

    Overall, his style has a bit more of an edge than most Minnesotan rappers’. Just when I thought the local scene was as saturated as it could possibly be – this is a small city to have as many big names as we do – Muja is able to inject it with something that, if not completely new, is at least new to us.

    Though he expertly tackles the self-conscious and political rhymes that have filled several albums on the Rhymesayers label, Muja Messiah (whose album is put out by Black Corners) is most on point when he’s rapping about his life on the streets of North Minneapolis. (Not to say other rappers here haven’t dabbled in this milieu; it’s just that, to my mind, Muja is so far the most noteworthy.)

    On "What’s This World Coming To" (which features Slug) he’s all like:

    "I was conceived in a mustard green Cutlass Supreme/
    lucky me at the time I was the youngest of three/
    til my big sister drowned in a river/
    years later my brother got gunned down and they never found the killer."

    As this verse shows, he handles his personal history with frankness and even a little bit of humor. It’s his trademark mixture, and proves to be engaging on every track. One gets a sense that Muja is rapping about some important, personal issues, but where applicable he’s able to see the absurdity of his situations. I think that might be called scope.

    What’s maybe most endearing, though, is an inferiority complex that hovers over the album, in regards to street credibility. While Muja Messiah raps about the toughness of his childhood, the murder victims he knows (including his brother), and his absent dad – this is the stuff of Tupac, let’s remember – he still seems to need to validate himself and the city he grew up in.

    On the Lil’ Jon-inspired "Get Fresh," he’s all like:

    "Niggaz backstabbin’ my city
    like it’s all backpackin’ and hippy
    like it ain’t crackin’ in my city
    We don’t be rappin’ about rappin’
    We rap about what be happenin’
    in the streets."

    Likewise, Thee Adventures features guest verses from Black Thought (The Roots), Slug, and I-Self Devine; his beats are produced by guys that have worked with Eminem, Nas, and De La Soul; and yet it seems like Muja’s ego still needs some propping up. It’s sweet, kind of. Coming from the state that labors to make sure everyone knows that Bob Dylan was born here, the self-conscious ego seems a very Minnesotan thing. The overall effect works in Muja’s favor: Because of its insecurities, his thuggish style of rap is accessible even to guys like me.

    At the end of the day, he can’t ignore the fact that Kenwood and Linden Hills are as much a part of his city as any other neighborhood. Seeing as how he’s the wordsmith here, it’s not surprising that he puts it best himself:

    "I’m from a pasture where the grass is greener
    started as a rapper and emerged as a leader…
    I’m down with Black Thought
    I’m down with Black Blondie…
    I am the Black Honkie."

     

    **CD release party Sunday, July 27 at First Avenue**

  • 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*****