Undoubtedly the most fully realized solo debut since Mos Def’s Black on Both Sides in 1999, Fantastic Damage thrusts El-P to the head of the class in what is turning out to be a new school of progressive hip hop.
El-P broke ground in 1997 with Company Flow on Rawkus records, but, like every other emcee on the label with a shred of talent/intelligence, he hopped off Rawkus’ sinking ship. The departure was less than amicable, evidenced by a rather blunt verse on “Deep Space 9mm”: “Signed to Rawkus/ I’d rather be mouth-f*cked by Nazis unconscious.”
So, what does a young, hard-headed hip-hop entrepreneur do when the big, bad corporations are holding him down? Why, start his own label, of course.
Definitive Jux, unlike many of its flash-in-the-pan compatriots of the late ’90s, found success thanks to reputable rookie efforts from Mr. Lif and Aesop Rock, loyalty from an eclectic fanbase and El-P’s persistent self-promotion.
Fantastic Damage can thus be seen as the manifestation of years of struggle, a mini-magnum opus at times as uneven and chaotic as the trials and tribulations of its creator, but always just as ruggedly adroit as you know he wanted it to be.
El-P bucks the recent trend of self-indulgent producer/emcees (put the mic down, Timbaland) by proving he is equally adept in both capacities. Granted, his style isn’t for everyone, but isn’t that the indie credo? Any first-time listener will no doubt be taken aback by his brazen disregard for structure and harmony, but those familiar with El-P’s eccentricities should be glad to hear the return of his syncopated percussion, Stanley Kubrick-meets-Jeffrey Dahmer samples and trippy synth backings.
El-P is at his experimental best on “Accidents Don’t Happen,” a track that purrs through layer after layer of ticks, hums and buzzes at different frequencies. Elsewhere, the prescient “Interlude” takes the listener through a sonic hallucination with minimal drums complemented by cartoonish distortions.
More often than not, though, El-P provides rhythm through carefully constructed rhyme patterns and machine-gun delivery. With lines like, “Fabulous four-finger ringer backflip discount mechanisms,” his lyrics would be a great argument for applying the “art for art’s sake” adage to hip hop, if only El-P didn’t load Fantastic Damage with beseeching messages and staggeringly inventive metaphors.
On “Truancy,” he gets frank like Oscar Mayer in calling out the present surge of self-righteous emcees trying to save hip hop from some vaguely unpleasant fate: “This is for kids worried about the apocalypse/ Do something, prepare yourself and stop talking sh*t.”
It may seem trite to be calling out wack emcees at this point in hip hop’s evolution, but El-P trudges through his debut with a refreshingly genuine angst that’s just as ahead of its time now as it will be in 50 years.
