It’s as if they thought we would never notice.
Did they really think triteness and chestnut lyrics would give them forgiveness from once-adoring fans? Were they under the impression that the washed-out idea of hybrid music was never able to walk on two feet?
Well, yes and no.
In the pantheon of seminal hip-hop groups, Cypress Hill has their face pressed against the looking glass. In 1992, their cannabis-infested, loco gangster sound resonated with everyone from the underground hip-hop bourgeoisie to the customary grunge denizens of Lollapalooza to fringe teenage suburbanites. It was novel and right for the time. B-Real, Sen Dog and DJ Muggs rode the resurgence of marijuana into the American mainstream into two fairly inventive multi-platinum selling albums, their self-titled debut (1991) and Black Sunday (1993).
Then the bottom fell out, and since they’ve been throwing the public bong-harvested smoke screens of passé hooks and rather poor attempts at blending rap and rock. In the past seven years, Cypress Hill has essentially lived off of touring to the amusement of fans so tremendously stoned to the point of retardation to notice the depths that the music has fallen.
The trio’s latest installment, Stoned Raiders, is much along the lines of their previous debacles, yet is eerily listenable due to decent production. The album spends two-thirds of the time regurgitating Cypress Hill’s non-inventive hoodlum lyrics and the rest of the time showing their recent stab at synergy with heavy metal.
Their attempt at uniting the genres is not the first, nor will it be the last. Beginning with Public Enemy with Anthrax and Ice-T and Body Count, the pseudo-genre reached its peak with the Judgment Night soundtrack, inspiring such marginal acts of Limp Bizkit and Korn.
Cypress Hill tried the rap-metal formula on their Skull and Bones album and failed miserably, and they do it again — this time to a greater degree. Rather than use the guitar riffs effectively, B-Real and Sen Dog bring their lyrics to such a low-brow level that would have even the most belligerent deviant in the mosh pit discontinue the recklessness and with a look of bemusement wonder if these are the same artist that once penned “Latin Lingo.” Tracks such as “Amplified” and “Catastrophe” employ crass melodies that mix with Cypress Hill’s East Los Angles accents like oil and water.
The tracks that adhere to the group’s usual smooth, up-tempo beats are, believe it or not, remarkably listenable, which isn’t really saying much.
It’s evident that since the group’s inception, the true talent was D.J. Muggs, who has his own solo album and has collaborated with the upper echelon of the hip-hop world. His selection of beats and interludes is quite smooth and bass-heavy, sounding very Dre-esque in shape and form. Mugg’s ability to blend beats is exhibited well on the first single “Lowrider,” where he concocts a beat that is both velvet and harsh.
With all the excellent production ability Muggs brings to the tables, it’s a shame that B-Real has become nothing more than paranoid, ultimately pedestrian lyrics. In one of the more dense tracks on the album, “Kronologik,” B-Real takes us through a self-pity serenade of the ups and downs of the group’s career. One would assume that this could be a real attempt to show that Cypress Hill has come full circle, but it comes off as whiney and ultimately nothing more than a griping ode to industry fickleness.
One of the only tracks that can be deemed above average is the remake/remix of “Here is Something you Can’t Understand,” which features the always animated Kurupt and actually lets Sen Dog and B-Real sound as if it was still 1993, when they were sporting flannels, and the rest of the music world actually cared.
