Southernunderground [Deluxe Edition]

Southern rap is one of the most distinct subgenres in existence. Searching for buried booty or bass? I'm sure some guy named Papa Dadfather or Gold Card Grinder can point you in the right direction, but hold on to your alligator-skin bathrobe, Bear Bryant-- the crimson tide has turned! By way of Georgia, Kentucky, and Florida, the CunninLynguists have been operating in a different hip-hop realm than their geographical brethren. Will Rap For Food (2001) was a solid, accessible debut, filled with clever rhymes and tremendously consistent production, and the deservedly strong support system it garnered had fans hoping Deacon and Kno (now accompanied by SOS) would someday realize their potential and drop a certified gem on the masses. When Southernunderground was finally announced for this year, eyes widened.

Kno proves himself one of hip-hop's preeminent producers on this record, handling the beat duties on nearly every track. He exquisitely sets up backdrops to match the lyrical subject matter: the bass heavy first-half of \x93Raix94 props up a drifting piano line, soon pushing into a splash of building cymbals. And just like it's hot, everything drops out into Sir Elton John crooning, "Wise man say/ Looks like rain today." Captain Fantastic has never sounded so distressing.

"Falling Down" is Kno's masterpiece, tracing three separate tales of domestic and workplace woe, each exploding midway into perverted destruction. Devoid of any subtlety (gunshots and screams abound), the kick-drum goes berserk as each emcee snaps. This is a drum-and-bass firestorm that practically drowns the vocals of Deacon doing his best Michael Douglas impression: "Muthafucka is my one car really halting movement?/ I got some powerful shit in my trunk, want me to use it?" Other production highlights include the slippery jazz guitar in "Doin' Alright", as well as its blissful second interlude-- just thirty seconds of that shames a horde of current beatsmiths. It makes the RJD2 contribution "Seasons" (incidentally the lead single) sound lazy and heartless. Domingo's title track feels redundant after just one verse. With all due respect to Deacon and SOS, the CunninLynguists would be nothing without Kno. He is in a league of his own-- when it comes to production.

The point of contention on Southernunderground is the vocals. On a technical level, Deacon, SOS, and Kno (yes, rapping) are all lyrically adequate, and there isn't much to complain about delivery-wise, either, but the downfall to this album is something the dudes can't help: their voices. Deacon and SOS are virtually indistinguishable in tone, not to mention vocabulary; at times, Kno begins to sound like the Swollen Members' Madchild (and that's not a compliment). His sincerest lines can fall flat, even over the most disquietingly affecting tracks. When he tries to come through on upbeat party jamz ("The South"), all I hear is a clumsy excitement that sounds like someone scored Mom's Lexus for Friday night. Also, sampling brutally distinct voices between their own (Big Pun, Andre 3000, etc.) makes the guys sound even less convincing.

Call it contemptuous, but Southernunderground finds ways to get under my skin in its subject matter as well. After hearing lines like "Let me rub some lotion on your cleavage," how can I take contemplation on romantic depression ("Love Ain't") seriously? Look at the beginning of "Old School" too: "New jacks?/ Y'all some new jacks!/ We Old School." While the song humorously delves into hanging out with Henry VIII and Einstein, early "teacher" posturing always turns me off. Couple this with the album title, and all I can be reminded of is an MTV2 commercial showing a bunch of goons on Market St. drooling out phrases like "Yeah...underground. Elevate the music...beats and rhymes." Aligning themselves with this generic self-reference and "authentication" is superfluous.

I don't want to sell this album short, though: Southernunderground contains the most reliable production of the year thus far. Yes, the CunninLynguists are capable on the microphone, and their voices could go over just fine to you. If you subscribe at all to the theory that "an album is only as good as its production," buy it. Apologies if the group poured their blood, sweat, and tears into this one, and I don't know it the means to it are maturity or Kno ghostwriting, but mark my words: some day, the CunninLynguists will release a flawless record.