Similar to Los Angeles’ role in supplying the 1980s with drugged-up glam rock and spandex metal, northern Florida, for some unknown reason, has established itself as one of the premier breeding grounds for the modern rock hybrid infamously known as rap metal.

Combining the lyrical delivery of hip-hop with catchy bass lines, distorted guitars and syncopated drum hooks, the general public has had to find a way to deal with this slightly awkward music style since Jacksonville’s Limp Bizkit hit the metal scene in 1997 with “Three Dollar Bill, Yall$.”

After the Woodstock ’99 fiasco and the seemingly hundreds of suburban copycats that emerged after the release of Bizkit’s “Significant Other,” rap metal encountered a self-implosion that led to the demise of many bands after just one album as a result of the phenomenon known as “consumer record-sale natural selection.”

Enter 2003. With overall record sales down, the popular music scene looking like an interconnected, crossover “Gong Show,” and most newly signed bands experiencing a survival time shorter than the combined half-lives of chemical elements 110 through 118, the prominently country-music oriented Nashville label Curb Records has seemingly gone out on an unstable limb with supporting an unknown Tallahassee-based rap-metal quartet simply known as Presence.

With its first major-label debut, Rise, hitting CD racks during such unpredictable times, singer Jay Slim, guitarist Dan Fulmer, bassist D.J. Stange and drummer Nick Wells are fully aware that while the odds are vehemently against them, years of relentless touring have prepared them both mentally and physically for the damage that the record industry and stereotyping consumers may try to inflict upon them.

While the current hard-rock/metal scene seems too interested in propagating songs of childhood abuse and betrayal, Presence’s first single “Tonz of Fun” helps to lighten the mood and crack a smile out of any listener. Over Stange’s intense slap-bass lines, reminiscent of the early work of 311’s P-Nut, Slim ingeniously intertwines a morning-after ode about a skinny boy who unknowingly becomes prey of a larger lady after a long night of drinking.

But the seriousness and dedication of this talented band can be heard in its current single “Remember,” which functions as a tribute to one of the members’ fallen comrades. Through the use of solid lyrical verses, an infectious chorus hook and a goose-bump-inducing bridge, Slim and company create a modern-rock eulogy as hard-hitting and touching as Sevendust’s “Angel Son.”

Unfortunately, these highlights of Rise do little to elevate an album that seems to drag on with only a few moments of pure musical ingenuity.

Too many rap-metal clichés and a sparseness of lyrical dynamics summarize Rise as 10 minutes of “Wow, that’s new” and 50 minutes of “Didn’t I already hear this on a Bizkit disc?”

If you’re interested in buying Rise and have a high-speed Internet connection, first check out the band’s website (www.presencemusic.net), which contains full streams of the group’s trademark songs, then decide whether or not it’s a disc worth adding to your collection.

On the other hand, if you have a chance to see these guys live, do not hesitate. Those who have seen Presence live know exactly why this band has earned its name. Watching Stange play his bass behind his head, Fulmer pound his neon mohawk, Wells dominate his drums and Slim motivate the pit beyond the breaking point is more than worth your hard-earned money — even if you are not a diehard metalhead.

With a few more innovations, Presence has the potential to break out of the rap-metal sludge pit, but until then, the group has to face the fact that it is living in the shadow of Fred Durst.

Grade: B/C

Lack of ‘Presence’

by Alex Larson, ArtsEtc. writer

Similar to Los Angeles’ role in supplying the 1980s with drugged-up glam rock and spandex metal, northern Florida, for some unknown reason, has established itself as one of the premier breeding grounds for the modern rock hybrid infamously known as rap metal.

Combining the lyrical delivery of hip-hop with catchy bass lines, distorted guitars and syncopated drum hooks, the general public has had to find a way to deal with this slightly awkward music style since Jacksonville’s Limp Bizkit hit the metal scene in 1997 with “Three Dollar Bill, Yall$.”

After the Woodstock ’99 fiasco and the seemingly hundreds of suburban copycats that emerged after the release of Bizkit’s “Significant Other,” rap metal encountered a self-implosion that led to the demise of many bands after just one album as a result of the phenomenon known as “consumer record-sale natural selection.”

Enter 2003. With overall record sales down, the popular music scene looking like an interconnected, crossover “Gong Show,” and most newly signed bands experiencing a survival time shorter than the combined half-lives of chemical elements 110 through 118, the prominently country-music oriented Nashville label Curb Records has seemingly gone out on an unstable limb with supporting an unknown Tallahassee-based rap-metal quartet simply known as Presence.

With its first major-label debut, Rise, hitting CD racks during such unpredictable times, singer Jay Slim, guitarist Dan Fulmer, bassist D.J. Stange and drummer Nick Wells are fully aware that while the odds are vehemently against them, years of relentless touring have prepared them both mentally and physically for the damage that the record industry and stereotyping consumers may try to inflict upon them.

While the current hard-rock/metal scene seems too interested in propagating songs of childhood abuse and betrayal, Presence’s first single “Tonz of Fun” helps to lighten the mood and crack a smile out of any listener. Over Stange’s intense slap-bass lines, reminiscent of the early work of 311’s P-Nut, Slim ingeniously intertwines a morning-after ode about a skinny boy who unknowingly becomes prey of a larger lady after a long night of drinking.

But the seriousness and dedication of this talented band can be heard in its current single “Remember,” which functions as a tribute to one of the members’ fallen comrades. Through the use of solid lyrical verses, an infectious chorus hook and a goose-bump-inducing bridge, Slim and company create a modern-rock eulogy as hard-hitting and touching as Sevendust’s “Angel Son.”

Unfortunately, these highlights of Rise do little to elevate an album that seems to drag on with only a few moments of pure musical ingenuity.

Too many rap-metal clichés and a sparseness of lyrical dynamics summarize Rise as 10 minutes of “Wow, that’s new” and 50 minutes of “Didn’t I already hear this on a Bizkit disc?”

If you’re interested in buying Rise and have a high-speed Internet connection, first check out the band’s website (www.presencemusic.net), which contains full streams of the group’s trademark songs, then decide whether or not it’s a disc worth adding to your collection.

On the other hand, if you have a chance to see these guys live, do not hesitate. Those who have seen Presence live know exactly why this band has earned its name. Watching Stange play his bass behind his head, Fulmer pound his neon mohawk, Wells dominate his drums and Slim motivate the pit beyond the breaking point is more than worth your hard-earned money — even if you are not a diehard metalhead.

With a few more innovations, Presence has the potential to break out of the rap-metal sludge pit, but until then, the group has to face the fact that it is living in the shadow of Fred Durst.

Grade: B/C