TRU, "Tru 2 Da Game" (1997)

Percy Miller grew up in New Orleans' notorious Calliope Projects. After dropping his dream of a pro basketball career, Percy moved to California, where he studied business at a junior college in Oakland. Two deaths would change his life.

First was his grandfather, who passed as a result of medical malpractice. His wife received $10,000 from the hospital, and she bequeathed the money to her grandson. He would use this to open a record store, called No Limit Records, in 1988.

Then in 1990, his brother Kevin Miller was killed during a robbery. Percy turned No Limit into a record label, releasing his debut album (as Master P) in 1992. No Limit would go on to sell millions, make millions, and spend millions.

Tru 2 Da Game is not the most successful album in label history, but it's up there. Likewise, while it's not the ugliest NLR album cover, it is way the hell up there. Arguably, it's more useless than unpleasant. Why do the rapper names appear over each masked-up face? Those aren't even actual people, those are radioactive jack o' lanterns. That are on the verge of robbing Heaven, apparently.

"Intro"--Eavesdropping on ghetto homework with Master P and son Li'l Romeo. Over descending piano and gunshots on the four, the "ice cream man" teaches his child how to detect and deflect hoe-ass ways.

"No Limit Soldier"--Master P, calling himself the Colonel, provides a roster rundown. No questioning the man's accomplishments as a mogul; as a rapper? He's at least better than his brother Vyshonne, who commits vocal misdemeanors under the sobriquet Silkk the Shocker. He rhymes, more or less, but he couldn't keep on beat with Gorilla Glue. (He's also absolutely the type of MC who'd reference a quarterback with an 0-4 Super Bowl record.)

Guest Mia X ("first lady" of No Limit) is better than both men, easily.

"I Always Feel Like…."--Mia rejoins the guys to kick paranoia over a hi-hat-heavy instrumental. Mo B. Dick croons the Rockwell-inspired chorus. Silkk's frequently-clowned verse features the following:

"And I be seein' shit that ain't there/It ain't there, but I be seein' shit."

Which is fine if uttered in a psychiatrists office. In a vocal booth?

"There Dey Go"--Begins with P namedropping half of America, emitting a constipated battle call and wasting this time of mine. Silkk pops up to tell some buster that he's "more cheese than some cheddar."

"I Got Candy"--Starting a song with Silkk the Shocker is like starting a sentence with "I'm not a racist, but…." This Cameo interpolation veers way left right quick, thanks to a tuneless bass line and Sega Genesis sound effects.

"Ghetto Thang"--Big Ed is the guest speaker for this ode to self-preservation. The beat is smooth and Master P forgets to OD on ad-libs.

"FEDz"--C-Murder is the best rapper of the Miller Bros., which sounds like a backhanded compliment. Mia X provides the hook (why wasn't she the fourth member of TRU?) and Silkk is his standard shit self, reminding us he's "twisted like a Twizzler" with "mo' stakeouts than a Sizzler."

"What They Call Us?"--Master Percy laments advice unheeded. (Jay-Z's most recent album is his attempt to succeed where P failed.)

The drums are knuckles rapping on an exposed sternum while the keyboard attempts to mimic dramatic movie music.

"Smoking Green"--Get high, get through more than one minute.

"Gangstas Make the World"--Unsurprisingly features a wealth of gangster namedrops, including "Machine Gun" Kelly, a man who in reality never committed one murder, much less murder one. Most of the instrumentals on No Limit albums were cooked up by Beats By the Pound, a production team who treated music like McDonalds cooks treat burger patties.

"Swamp Nigga"--A Master P solo track. Ad-libs and accidental sounds add to the goofiness inherent in a song titled "Swamp Nigga."

"Ghetto Cheeze"--Silkk's flow, his syllable emphasis, his accent choices. You're a killer? Good. Kill me.

"Heaven 4 a Gangsta"--West Coast whine. On to disc 2.

"Tru 2 Da Game"--Remember beepers? Guest Mr. Serv-On injects some humanity into the project. Leave it to Silkk the Shocker to reference the greatest QB to never win a Super Bowl.

"Freak Hoes"--With Mia X on riposte duty, so the song's not misogynist! My fave, for sure. How can you freak to a beat made with a spoon and frozen aluminum foil? I look forward to finding out.

"Tru ?'s"--C-Murder in storytelling mode.

"1nce Upon a Time"--Everything about the track--low-riding synth, slasher strings, incidental thumps--tries much too hard.

"Pop Goes My 9"--Watery as British baked beans.

"It's My Time"--Mia X could beat up Adrian Peterson, and probably she should.

"Torcher Chamber"--Nice play on words (I'm assuming). Everything else is like I'm hanging out with Dirk from the Rutles.

"They Can't Stop Us!"--Percy, I never once doubted your business acumen, please stop yelling at me.

"The Lord Is Testin' Me"--C-Murder deals with the effects that criminal life has on his loved ones. Silkk the Shocker's flow is, within this context, God.

"Final Ride"--No Limit Records really is an inspiring rags to riches story.



Just don't feel you have to listen to the music for the tale to be considered complete.

Why Pray For Me When You Can Fix Me A Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich--Intro

The only musical genres I've zero time for: reggae and ska. Reggae is a dull, repetitive style of sound best enjoyed--arguably only enjoyed--by the well-stoned. Ska is the white version of reggae, which should say it all.

Anything else, I've at least a few minutes to spare: rock, pop, metal, classical, bluegrass, country recorded before 1986, hip-hop. The idea of reviewing my top 10 hip-hop albums tempted me. I figured it would be a nice change of pace and face for the blog.

The idea of not being so goddamn predictable held even stronger allure.

I still wanted to talk hip-hop…but not a top 10 faves, or a discography review of an MC or group. One evening, I found myself on a "crappy rap album covers" kick. There is no shortage of putrid selections, or websites willing to compile lists. I was amused to note how many of them came courtesy of one company.

Pen 'n' Pixel is a graphics design firm based in Houston, TX. Started by brothers Aaron and Shawn Brock, P 'n' P were responsible for some of the gaudiest images to ever (dis)grace a CD case. They provided scenes of faux-opulence and hyper-violence for rappers both struggling and thriving, eventually becoming the in-house designers for Master P's legendary No Limit Records.

Much like the music they helped promote, the works of Pen 'n' Pixel gave hip-hop purists the heebie-jeebies, what with its abundance of bitches, booze, blunts, bling and blickies. I'm intrigued by the intent of such ludicrous lavishness. How many of the rappers were laughing along? If not done in the spirit of parody or satire, were the three-dimensional embraces of materialism meant as a "fuck you too!" or a "you can do it, too!"?

Over eleven years, Pen 'n' Pixel produced in excess of 19,000 covers. Contrast that with the 18,000-plus comic strips Charles Schulz drew up in fifty years. Unlike Peanuts, I haven't laid eyes upon every single thing out of the P 'n' P camp. I have seen hundreds of their works, though, which I feel qualifies me to select ten standouts. Not just subpar, not just absurd, but intriguingly so. Further, I resolved to actually review each of the ten records, track by track.

(I like grape jelly best.)

Some Stay Buried

Between 1999 and 2013, each of the Big 4 bands released multi-disc compilations. In this post, I will take a fairly quick look at each of them.

MUSIC BANK
10/26/99

Alice In Chains had the actual gall to include already-released album tracks in this box set full of demos, b-sides and three never-released tunes.

The '88 demos are a glance at their glam roots, including a phenomenally great "Sea of Sorrow." The spidery, sinewy "What the Hell Have I" (taken from the soundtrack of the unfairly maligned Last Action Hero) appears in "remix" form--although I'll be damned if I can hear a difference. Still nasty as maggots on coconut cream pie. The people who hear "Barracuda" and "Straight On" and just go, "nah son," well, those trash taste-havin' motherfuckers can revel in the alt-mix of "Brother." The trio of New! songs are unremarkable, save for "Get Born Again," a tilt-a-whirl on homemade milk.

LOST DOGS
11/11/2003

Pearl Jam's dogs want to live free, damnit, I say let them live free! A shit-ton of b-sides, fan club singles, compilation tracks and album outtakes (mostly from Binaural) over two discs. Highlights include "All Night," "Sad," and "Black, Red, Yellow," all fine examples of what a lifetime of gritted teeth and knotted hands can do to a person. Oddities include "Whale Song" (best use of animal sounds in a song since "Midwest Swing"), "Sweet Lew" (the "singing" debut of bassist Jeff Ament, since he couldn't trust anyone else to convey the profound disenchantment of meeting a basketball hero) and the hidden track, "4/20/02," a bitter tribute to Layne Staley that calls out the corpse-pecking phonies whose guilt may be assuaged by his death.

Lost Dogs is also home to two of the biggest hits in their history: "Yellow Ledbetter," which is still a rock radio staple, and a cover of Wayne Cochran's "Last Kiss" that is the biggest-ever hit by a grunge band, peaking at #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 in the summer of 1999.

WITH THE LIGHTS OUT
11/23/2004

The Nirvana box was all set for 2001. Then, Courtney Love stepped in, arms crossed and scowl etched. Krist Novoselic and Dave Grohl planned to include "You Know You're Right," a song from the band's final recording session. The widow Cobain insisted that the track had such hit potential that placing it on a box set, to make it one of dozens, would be a waste. Hence, Nirvana, a single-disc greatest hits compilation released in 2002.

The long-awaited box set finally hit stores two years later: a 3 CD/1 DVD mammoth packed with radio sessions, live performances, home demos, b-sides and rehearsals, including material dating as far back as 1986. At best, a fascinating look into the creative process. "Anorexorcist" is one of the earliest tracks and that bitch rips like a cactus on a motor scooter  "Even In His Youth" shows what a brilliant instrument Cobain's voice could be (and, with polish, could've knocked "Scoff" off Bleach). "Sappy" is basically the Beatles with fibromyalgia.

Makeup-free versions of "Polly" and "About A Girl" prove the old adage that practice makes perfect. "Dive" is still bad-ass with busy drums and trauma-free yelling. "Drain You"--with Dale Crover!--sounds great despite being recorded in the world's largest washtub while a neighbor sidearms fish bobbers at them.

Unless you're a Nirvana freak, you don't need to hear most of the tracks here more than once.

ECHO OF MILES
11/24/2014

Three CDs, and still nowhere near a complete collection. The scatting leg-sweep "Sub Pop Rock City" kicks it off, followed by the serial killer lullaby "Toy Box." "HIV Baby" and "Cold Bitch" are stupider than I'd suspected (the latter's too pretentious to be offensive). The bleak clamor of "Birth Ritual" is a welcome antidote to the likes of "Black Rain" (a pointlessly cryptic hodgepodge of hackneyed imagery and half-decent U-turns of phrase) and especially "Exit Stonehenge," which conspired with "Spoonman" to comprise the stupidest single in grunge history.

The covers are mostly successful--including two Beatles songs--but their interpretation of Devo's "Girl U Want" is befuddling. Don't believe me, ask Gerald Casale.

Although I haven't heard anything concrete, the possibility of a more thorough Soundgarden box set within the next five years must be pretty high. At least, higher than it was before the shocking death of Chris Cornell on May 18, 2017, mere hours after Soundgarden's gig at Detroit's Fox Theatre.



Meaning, Eddie Vedder is the only singer of a Big 4 band still alive.

The legacy of each of these bands should not be tragic ones. The music they gave to the world should (and I suspect, will) endure beyond the extraneous. Soundgarden will be remembered as the virtuosos, the caterpillars of the community; Nirvana, the most revered, the door-smashers; Alice In Chains as proof that metal can make a valuable ingredient in the right hands; and Pearl Jam, hailed for their endurance and integrity.

I thank them all for their individual roles in shaping my life.

Them Again

LIGHTNING BOLT
10/15/2013

10 albums over 22 years, eh? So close!

"Are Pearl Jam a salient band in this day and age?" is a dumb question. "What is 'salience' in this day and age?" is my response. (Only a slightly less-dumb question.)

"Getaway"--Inoffensive lifer-rock. Pleased to exist. Pearl Jam remain a band for the people--just, less people now. "It's okay." If you insist.

"Mind Your Manners"--Sweet beats. The ol' 1-2, in less than three. Whatever loosens the tongue and gets the finger to jabbing is fine by I.

"My Father's Son"--Least-dumb query yet: Is Eddie Vedder restrained by choice? The answer is unimportant, so long as the kid's caustic.

"Sirens"--Are shitty alarm clocks.

A rolling Stone, though? Straight cash, homey.

"Lightning Bolt"--I know the "she" in this'un. She was in the audience at the 9:30 Club, waiting patiently to be Bored, enduring the percussive pus-y maelstrom. She was the only audience member who didn't take a step back when the pounds and squeals began filling the finite space. She was a credit to her gender. She would be deaf if not for excess ear wax.

"Infallible"--Haha, that cat's named Spots! That fat guy's nickname is "Stringbean"! Best to just lean.

"Pendulum"--A Backspacer leftover. A one-car crash beneath the underpass. Fading gray is really faded green.

"Swallowed Whole"--Drifts from fluttering wings to winking stars.

"Let the Records Play"--Hand claps! Struts about like an SOB with PCP wishes and SOS dreams.

"Sleeping By Myself"--A re-do of a track that appeared on Vedder's Ukulele Songs. I wouldn't kick it out of bed for eating crackers. I wouldn't let it in my bed to begin with.

"Yellow Moon"--A reminder that the best we can hope for is to embrace the formless, and wait to feel the pulsation.

"Future Days"--An acceptable acoustic ditty.



The marvelous return to form will probably never materialize. Does Pearl Jam still matter? To the world at large, I suppose not. I'd argue, however, that art is supposed to make you think about the world, not vice versa.

Hurry Up and Die

THE DEVIL PUT DINOSAURS HERE
5/28/2013

The "big return" went gold--in fucking 2009, meaning technically it went platinum--so here's Layne-less Alice for a second go-round, reeking of Omega 3.

"Hollow"--Even though it finishes 120 seconds past the limit, I'm impressed by how "Hollow" scarred up its own nut-sack.

(Some fabrics shouldn't be cymbal-washed, though.)

"Pretty Done"--Cackling over bone dust.

"Stone"--Not-Layne possesses the presence and potency of an emphysemic parrot. Shame, since Layne could have coaxed up a spook from that puddle.

"Voices"--Hemorrhages lameness. Shouts the pathetic truths of middle-school journal keepers.

"The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here"--Nostalgic atmospherics for a timely tackle of God's most desperate children. Why is it six and a half minutes?

Christians oftentimes make proclamations so child-like that they should be imprisoned for criminal misuse of oxygen. They deserve pummelings no shorter than 60 seconds, and no longer than 180 seconds.

"Lab Monkey"--No thanks, I'd rather listen my neighbors talk at length about summertime lawn care.

"Low Ceiling"--Low standards, as well.

"Breath On a Window"--Finger me out a good one, then. Wait, that sounded wrong. Come on, you've never blown on a window and written your name? Once more for my people in the back…this song is too long.

"Scalpel"--To the neck? Sounds dangerous. Proceed.

"Phantom Limb"--Seven minutes and…one of the few good songs on here. Good, mind; it's not sneezing into its hands and eating it or anything.

There's an 80s metal box vibe to that riff, one containing ninety pounds of dynamite powder. This is the kind of fever that deserves to be fed, so that it may grow ever more vehement.

"Hung On a Hook"--Mashed potatoes--hey! Sweet potatoes!

What a tornado of sow slop and Scrabble squares.

"Choke"--Like Nickelback playing in a room reeking of lemon Pledge.



Dismal. Most of the tracks here have the agility of Jabba the Hut and the focus of a starving chimp.

Lazy Lions

KING ANIMAL
11/13/2012

Unlike Alice In Chains, Soundgarden had actually called it a day--then a night, for good measure.

Chris Cornell solidified himself as one of the greatest male voices of his generation. He released four solo albums (some more adventurous than others), took over Zach de la Rocha's spot in a renamed Rage Against the Machine, and performed a Bond theme. Matt Cameron joined Pearl Jam. Ben Shepherd lost a fiancee, gained a pain pill jones, and continued playing music. Kim Thayil stayed in the ring as well, perhaps most prominently as a member of the reactionary punk group No WTO Combo (alongside Jello Biafra and Krist Novoselic).

Thirteen years after watching the jersey ascend, the members of Soundgarden reconvened to ascend the rafters and rip that bitch back down. Another two years passed by before they re-took the field.

"Been Away Too Long"--So on the nose that it begins burrowing into the motherfucker. High-octane rock-demigod maneuvers on display. Has it truly felt so empty without them?

"Non-State Actor"--Masterful meerkat boogie, featuring those oddball time signatures I've always loved them for. (Soundgarden, not the meerkats.)

"By Crooked Steps"--The abominable snowman walks with a limp and talks with a lisp. Thus, he doesn't do much of either. He envies the likes of Chris Cornell. He'll never open his mouth and hear doves soar. He thinks being "addicted to feeling" is a positive.

"A Thousand Days Before"--A defanged coppermouth is a coppermouth, regardless. Defiance in isolation is awesome since it impresses the exact number of people it needs to impress.

"Blood On the Valley Floor"--The sun's having its period, then. Or perhaps it was stabbed. How much blood, I wonder, and how thick. If I want to smear some on my face and run screaming into a bank with a bouquet of fallen tree branches, will my demands be met or will I be laughed out of the lobby?

"Bones of Birds"--Look, this is the 21st century. Don't pull the thang out unless you plan to bang.

"Taree"--Written in the 90s, recorded in the 00s. Therein the problem splays. Disheartening modern rock pablum with an anemic chorus.

"Attrition"--Tire-tester working a double shift. All's on the level.

"Black Saturday"--"Kill me right away if I start to get slow and don't remember how to separate worms from the apple."

People are here on this planet to be bothered by one another. Don't forget that.

"Halfway There"--Various questions. I've answers for several. Most people are born to a life of mediocrity, talents and efforts be damned. Makes as much sense as flavoring a cup of coffee with a splash of apple juice. Yet, that's what I'm hearing here.

"Worse Dreams"--Wandering room to room, wiping hands (and worse) on doilies and spooking old women.

"Eyelid's Mouth"--Christ, that is such a Soundgarden song title. And such a Badmotorfinger b-side.

"Rowing"--Onward. Ever so. Don't stop till you get too much.

I'm glad the final song on a Soundgarden's final studio album is super-sparse and ruminative. Honors them well.

"Rowing is living/And living is hard/But living beats losing all that we are."



I'd advise strongly against castigating a man for changing his mind.

Vulgar Display Of Hubris

BLACK GIVES WAY TO BLUE
9/29/2009

After album three, Alice In Chains went on a hiatus. Jerry Cantrell released a solo album in 1998 that was essentially an AIC record without Layne Staley. That same year, the sincerely struggling vocalist managed to record two songs with the band. Earmarked for Cantrell's second solo, they wound up instead on 1999's Music Bank box set. A live album and greatest hits collection followed, with no discernible signs of a new studio record.

Cantrell's sophomore effort came out June 2002. In an interview given March of that year, Jerry expressed hopes that the band who made it possible for anyone to give shit one about a Jerry Cantrell record would get it together.

A month later--April 20th--Layne Staley's partially decomposed body was found in his Seattle condo. He'd fallen victim to a deadly speedball, self-administered two weeks before.

In 2005, AIC's surviving members reunited in Seattle for a benefit concert. Various vocalists filled in for the late Staley, including longtime supporter and friend Ann Wilson. Next, a VH-1 concert honoring Heart. Among the fill-ins was Comes With the Fall singer William DuVall, who so impressed the guys, they asked him to stay on the mic for the series of reunion concerts they'd planned for 2006.

Interviews expressed ambivalence towards the idea of recording new music under the Alice In Chains name. Whether their decision to keep the name showed admirable bravery or alarming indecency is up for debate. The band, for their part, acknowledged reluctance among the fanbase while reminding people that no one outside of Layne's family was harder hit by his death than they were, and no two people grieve the same, etc.

Accusations of avarice were inevitable and funny, considering that anyone in this century who releases music with the expectation of earning a living deserves every dollar they don't get. For my part…I expected very little from this reboot.

"All Secrets Known"--Right off: William DuVall's voice is okay, but his projection is sorely lacking. Mad Julian Lennon vibes. (Better than Tim Owens vibes, confessedly.)

Rest of the band whip up a nice swirling red spot. "No going back," hell, they said it.

"Check My Brain"--This big rock radio hit is also far and away the brothel's Employee of the Year. The main riff is an armor-crushing monstrosity, a hearkening back to the best of alt-rock at its commercial peak. The chorus looks and feels like Alice In Chains.

"Last Of My Kind"--Still stuck in the decade prior, and still, I've no beef to cook. The new guy, yeesh. His flourish game leaves much to be desired. Dude makes Aaron Lewis sound like Nick Drake.

"Your Decision"--A lazy massage through a nylon tee. The band, taken as a whole, sound great. Which didn't stun me, it's not as if Layne Staley's death meant Sean Kinney's hand-foot coordination would suddenly go missing. Soul is lost quicker than technique…and impossible to relearn.

"A Looking In View"--This seven-minute stomach drop was the first single. Those patented vocal blends are still here, with a distinct difference: Jerry Cantrell dominates DuVall in the mix. True, the new guy isn't a powerhouse, but he should still get his fair share of the air.

"When the Sun Rises Again"--Mostly acoustic. I need to watch The Seventh Seal and cheer up.

"Acid Bubble"--Another seven minutes? Those picked notes don't pull wool. Ain't no fudge brownie in my hand; just a muddy boot on my foot.

"Lesson Learned"--Was it, Jerry? Was it really?

Mr. Cantrell's relocation to L.A. gave him one great song and a bunch of decent riffs. Introspection without a decent razor leads to sunken eyes and unsightly bumps.

"Take Her Out"--A girl? A dog? A coke mirror?

"Private Hell"--Purgatory defies passionate analysis, explaining why it's mislabeled here.

"Black Gives Way To Blue"--Elton John on the piano.

Elton fucking John.

On the fucking piano.

Elton fucking John on the fucking piano.

When Jerry found out that his band and Elton were recording in the same studio, he was struck by an idea: wouldn't it be amazing if one of the world's most popular piano men could play on the song Jerry wrote in honor of his departed friend? Layne Staley's first-ever concert was Elton John! Jerry sends a tape of the song and a brief note. A week goes by. No word. Then, one of Jerry's "people" informs him that Elton would be interested in a meeting. Turns out, he's a longtime fan of AIC and would love to contribute.

This homage to their evaporated soul could have understandably stretched out. We've already had a number of songs in excess of 300 seconds on the album. "BGWTB" takes only three minutes, though, and is better for it.

The more I listen, the more the circumstances of Staley's death piss me off. Not the cause (how many rock star OD's have been truly unexpected?) but the fact it took two weeks for him to be found. It took a call from to a former manager from his current accountants before anyone thought to check up on a suffering man.

In other words, it took money for someone to give a damn.



I'm not the type who considers the continued existence of Alice Of Chains to be problematic. Word of a new album didn't fill me with such anger that I had to step outside and crush a leaf with my bare tongue. I believe in giving fair shakes. And in all quaking fairness, Black Gives Way To Blue is (barring one exceptional track) a dispiriting slog.