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DILATED PEOPLES
The Platform (Capitol)
Reviewed by Jason Thornberry
Just when Puff Daddy's stupid-ass had you convinced that rap had reached an agonizing nadir, and lapsed into self-parodying crap cover tunes, criminal records big enough to choke Jaws with, and stints in rehab that get more attention than most artists cd's and subsequent tours, along comes Californian guiding lights the Dilated Peoples. A new hip-hop album that surprised me at a moment when I thought for sure that all the good stuff for 2000 was already out (Ghostface Killah, Kool Keith, the Cenobites, and Canibus).
Evidence, Iriscience, and the fabulous DJ Babu show you what's happening on their Platform. It's good to see a turn-table expert taking center-stage on a rap album, rather than sitting in the background. Like the drums in a rock band, a DJ is an amazingly essential part of any good hip-hop crew. The fiercest rhyme power comes from Evidence who advises that "It ain't where you put your words, it's where you don't." There are a slew of able guests: The Alkaholiks, B Real from Cypress Hill, Aceyalone, Planet Asia, Defari, White E. Ford (Everlast), and Phil The Agony, but Dilated Peoples, for a change don't need much help.
The great thing about this combo, or group, or whatever, is that they're so quotable. From tasters about how hard they work ("My crew's more dedicated than Rocky trainin' in Philly.") or their convictions about the hip-hop climate ("I still get nauseous at shows."), or their personal vendettas against the increasing rap-apathy ("You'll never catch me preaching what I'm not practicing."), or just bragging about how die-hard they are ("In my sleep I metronome-click beats on my chest."), you'll find some of the better lyrics in rap today on a single cd called The Platform.
No lame re-writes of Kashmir here. No Ghetto Superstar crap, or defiling of the Police's catalog. Dilated Peoples, like I said before, don't need anyone to help them across the street. To douchebags like Will Smith, Evidence says "To me it don't matter how dope you write or look. MC's without a voice should write a book." That goes for so much of what is commercial in hip-hop these days: Poop Frogg, Eminem (don't even get me started. I HATE him), LL Fool J, etcetera. It's just as noxious now as the pop/pap landscape, with their midriffs, boy bands, frat-punk, diet-rock, noveau-metal (Alternica?), and crappy butt-rock/rap hybrids hogging the Used bins at my favorite record shops. "No. Not Limp Bizkit. King Biscuit Hour".
Does MC Evidence foresee the future of all of this? "I'll catch the story of your life on VH1's 'Where Are They Now?" I just saw a blurb on television about how the-still-alive-guy from Milli Vanilli is gonna try and make a legitimate comeback, now that Fab (or whoever) is cold. History repeating itself. Likewise, Vanilla Ice quit racing jet-ski's, and hooked up with Ross Robinson, the man behind Korn's sound, to rip them off, and re-do Ice Ice Baby, like he's a bad MF'er ready to smack some ho's. When I'm done projectile vomiting from my home onto his face (wherever he is), I'm putting The Platform back on. I've been listening to it CEASELESSLY for three days. Five stars out of five. * italics on this word
dilatedpeoples.com or: urbandirect.com/urbandirect/logs/url_log.cgi?/urbandirect/video.html/#dp
© 2000 - Jason Thornberry