Music

Home Schooled

By Jason Harper 

Something about the local economy allows musicians to keep cutting albums. Is it the mobility of the middle class? The increased spending power of the young? We're not sure how, exactly, in this age of digital dissemination, but Kansas City and Lawrence generated some real hot shit this year, most of it released DIY on a 99-cent-burrito budget with no distribution outside the bedroom. So consider these records not so much CDs but local works of art. Take a look at our favorites. Then, more important, determine your own.

Tech N9ne Collabos, Misery Loves Kompany (Strange Music): Misery Loves Kompany, and this kompany loves pussy. And partying and drinking and exhibiting badassery. And also, it loves the whole Kansas City area, few parts of which aren't mentioned on this album. Leader-not-leader Tech N9ne is joined by representatives from various area neighborhoods, few of them affluent: Right-hand men Krizz Kalico and Kutt Calhoun are present, along with D-Loc and Dalima from KCK, Skatterman and Snug Brim from 68th and 54th streets, respectively, and assorted others, all spitting over producer Seven's heavy, bolt-driving beats like rabid virtuosi. In contrast to Tech's latest solo effort, the autobiographical Everready, MLK is about the shared experience of MCs who came up on the same streets where you got this paper.

This year's great irony is that one of the biggest-selling independent hip-hop albums of 2007 anywhere is the most local. Following an opening skit in which some visiting dudes from Massachusetts are introduced to the mysterious and deadly "Kansas City Shuffle" by a local ho, the intense verbal overflow of "Midwest Choppers" lays out how serious shit can get in this part of the country. On a lighter and wholly unexpected note, "Sex Out South" details the prurient adventures to be had not in, say, Houston, but in KC's southern suburbs, from Grandview over to Olathe, where a particularly ravenous ho named Jenae does her thing. The album's poignant tour de force, however, is album closer "P.A.S.E.O. (The Poem Aaron Saw Extra Ordinary)," in which Tech, born Aaron Yates, navigates the Paseo from 85th Street to the Interstate 29 bridge, gangsta-reminiscin' all the way and ending with the arresting declaration If I die/Throw my ashes in the Misery River/Love. Never before has it been so clear that hip-hop has roots here as deep and rich as any other music that built Kansas City's culture. Download: "P.A.S.E.O."

(and watch this fan video)

Mac Lethal, 11:11 (Rhymesayers): If MLK (see above) is a historic document, a text of crew, then Mac Lethal's long-awaited Rhymesayers debut is a text of self, and it goes like this: My name is Mac Sheldon, I'm a fire-sign Leo/Alcoholic, anti-mall, anti-hero/Anti-soccer mom, anti-hipster/Probably eatin' Cap'n Crunch cereal for dinner/Pro-taking bong hits to cure your depression/And pro-demo CD, if you got one, let me listen/But never ask me what the hell I'm laughing about/See you later, I'm'a go take a nap on the couch, all right? Funny, incisive, confident and all in favor of getting drunk and making out, 11:11 is an arrival that's fun for the listener and triumphant for the artist. Around the time that Mac signed to the name-making Minneapolis indie label, his mother died. The ensuing drafts of his album, which will no doubt someday be available in boxed-set form, marked a two-year period of grief and recovery, and all of them were rejected. The version of 11:11 available now (finally) is as different from those earlier works as the Old Testament is from Superbad. No less profound for its hilarity, though, 11:11 carries the same kind of irreverent wit and cheerworthy one-liners familiar from classic comedy albums by the likes of George Carlin and Richard Pryor. But because Mac raps over window-rattling beats by Seven (the producer who also did MLK, above), his shit sounds like hip-hop — some of the finest this town has ever produced. If Jonathan Swift were alive today, he'd be getting crunk to Mac Lethal. Download: "Make Out Bandit"

The Rich Boys, $ (self-released): Time flies when you're punk. It's hard to believe that it's been, like, nearly a year and a half since the Rich Boys spewed onto the scene like vomit from the nostrils of an underage, shitfaced party girl. Led by snarling, shimmying frontman Mitch Rich (who's actually quite a nice chap), the Boys came correct on the live show front from day one. And now, the question of whether they can go into the studio and make a decent record has been answered. But beyond sounding competent, $ shows that Smithville's merry cannibalizers of 1970s glam punk have maintained their charm, sense of humor and churlish innocence after more than a year's worth of being KC's flagship youth-gone-wild party band. Download: "Commercial"

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