I'm Sorry, You Call Yourself What?

Okay, this being my first exposure to CunninLynguist, a 3-man troupe from Lexington, Kentucky, a number of introductions ran through my mind;

‘CunninLynguist has created the type of album that just makes you feel good…’
‘CunninLynguist’s new album sounds like miracles, looks like gold, and smells like fat chicks when I’ve had too much to drink…’
‘CunninLynguist forewent it’s usual fare of beating around the bush and really decided to drill this album for all it’s worth…’
'This album has changed me; I now realize half my exes left me for guy’s who were more regularly down for some CunninLynguist…’

But the truth is that Strange Journeys: Volume 1 is so well-written, so incredible in it’s breadth and depth, that it really doesn’t need me to try to be funny. In a very real way, this album is what hip-hop is meant to be. I haven’t been this impressed since Ricardo showed up late to the party sporting stylized gashes in his face and tried to jump off a balcony, claiming red-wings gave him balls. Actually, it’s excactly like that, but completely different, and better.

So first I want to gush about how CunningLynguists incorporate a wide series of literary elements without too-heavy a reliance on any particular one. Not only can these guys throw down end rhyme (typical) and internal rhyme (getting more typical), but they’re able to make honest use of extended metaphor and poetic imagry. The best talent they have is wit and humor though. Brief snatches don’t do the work justice, but:

“I was a pimp, bitch, mixed with modern day romeo
But now my pimp look more like polio”

Out of 'Hypnotized' or

“When I fall in the front door and land in the backyard
Physics don't apply
Midgets in the sky
Skipping 'round my head, singin', 'Negro, you so high'"

On 'Never Come Down'.

The CunningLynguist crew also demonstrates the deceptively incredible skill at just telling a straight story. Seriously, the art of storytelling has been almost completely lost due to MTV's ability to make you forget you were actually listening to a song for some reason by simply flashing a shitload of girlflesh at you while some dude dances worse than a white-boy at prom with a stack of monopoly money in one hand and what passes for his ego in the other. 'The Distance' and 'Dance For Me' both feature a straight story of decline, told with a full plot, including denouement. While lesser acts can’t stay on the same subject for more than a couplet, CunninLynguist not only serve up material fit for Saturday cartoons, but it rhymes. How cool is that?

Cunninglynguist bring every talented indy-rapper ever, from the guys I’ve been digging since I was old enough to put shovel to dirt while jamming out The Box on an early-nineties stereo in my back yard (Slug, from Atmosphere) to the guys I was handed a sampler for free at a show two years ago and actually decided to buy their shit from iTunes (Grieves), and a bunch of artists my faux-friends have completely failed to inform me of (E-famm). Part of that’s because this album is a mixtape though, so it would be inappropriate to assume CunninLynguist outsources this much of their production on the regular. The point though is that they’re doing work with other artists of excellent taste. The cooperation makes great work legendary.

CunningLynguists think deep thoughts too. 'Die For You' is the closest thing to advocating chastity in a rap song I’ve ever heard. 'Don’t Leave' juxtaposes the hardships of being on tour with the family left behind. Even their political perspectives deserve credit; instead of going for the cheap ‘it’s whitey’s fault my community looks like that clip of Basrah they showed on the news’, they talk about the 2nd amendment and being left out of Obama’s economic stimulus. Sure they talk about drugs and corrupt pigs too, but the more I research it, the more I find myself being critical of officers of the law as well.

Most importantly though, these guys bring it. The first couple of songs on the track are heavy-hitters, songs that really get you pumped up to go out and move shit. There are party songs, work that’s fun to listen to because you can tell the artist really enjoyed writing the piece. And both of these genres are done without self-consciousness or hesitation.

So basically, these guys do everything. And they do everything so seamlessly even the most critical of reviewers can’t doubt their mastery of the craft. On my one to five scale I’m giving this one Aspergers, because it literally made most of its competition look mildly retarded- good enough to function in society, but the type of act you let win at checkers because if they lose they’ll throw a tantrum and shit the rug.