One of those dirty, banging straight-up HARD rhythms like Gunz Up or something, sirens, yelling, clapping, urban militaristic thud every bar, and Capleton does his ODB-style wavering growl, laughs at himself with quick inhalation-gasps, sings the hook with what sounds like malevolent joy. There are harder tracks out there but this will do for now, everything else sounds so happy this year. For instance:
This is one of those organic sounding rhythms with er “real” instruments, acoustic guitar, (vocodered?) R&B chorus. The new TOK album is really great, this is just OK, and its not on the album thankfully. I dunno I’m not so into this traditional sounding shit really, I like it when the rhythms hurt my ears. This is nice and sugary though.
I love this, infectious syncopated clapping-stomp rhythm with buzzing bass and stoic little modal bells chiming in the background. Martina sings about how she likes to dance, “back it up and push it,” so you know she’s got it going on. That “private dance that he loves to see.” Clap, clap, clap.
I’ll talk about the TOK album a little later on, it’s very good, one of the best albums I’ve heard this year. I’m sort of talking out my ass when it comes to dancehall, I love this stuff and listen to it pretty compulsively but my perspective is a little skewed, Ragga Ragga Ragga collections from the past couple years, whatever records I could scoop up at gramaphone (they don’t really have much of a selection when it comes to dancehall, although they seem to like this Kevin Lyttle cat) and the stuff i get from my friend Monique who is the big expert, plus the internet. I think the folks at Spizzazz seem pretty up on dancehall, check them out for a somewhat more informed perspective. (I don’t know much but I know what I like etc.)
This song is like musical quinine balled up in my stomach, eerie does not begin to describe the sinking feeling in my chest listening to this track, and B.G. says “you scaaaaared” and I feel like he’s underestimating the nausea, the spine-tickling fear that grips you, it’s total rat-trapped claustrophobia. These ain’t no fucking jingle bells, they shift slightly downward in pitch, a musical asthma attack. Fuck. B.G. raps in a low voice, braggadocious shifting into creepy confidence, “Cracking a pen and pad is all I had.” Homebwoi sounds appropriately freaked. Whats ya heart beatin for?