Allow me to preface this review by stating my extreme admiration and unqualified respect for turntablists. Watching a master work the wheels is every bit as inspiring and transcendent as witnessing Tony Williams or Andres Segovia at their prime. If you've ever seen Q-Bert dissect an original break, draw out an individual beat from that break, and reconstruct that beat on the spot to build a wholly different rhythm, you know what I'm talking about. If you understand the myriad of scratches employed over the course of a DJ set, and how they build and play off one another, you know what I'm talking about. Although there are still those who would argue that the manipulation of prerecorded music doesn't require the same technical virtuosity as that of a traditional musician, I would argue that creatively harnessing an almost limitless sound palette is every bit as involved and difficult as moving your fingers up and down a guitar neck.
With that said, I also understand why turntablist albums have yet to garner as much commercial attention as other forms of hip-hop. For one thing, the art form is relatively new and the artistry behind it remains largely esoteric; for the most part, neither the mainstream music consumer nor the high-art, traditional music establishment has yet to grasp the nuances of turntablism. The deconstructive approach to rhythm and the cubist, cut-n-paste compositional arrangements sound cacophonous and random to the uninitiated and lack the rhythmic thump or lyrical immediacy of other forms of hip-hop.
With Sound Event, Rob Swift, who is one of the genre's greats, has succeeded in creating an album that has as much visceral impact as it does technical virtuosity, as much soul as it does science. It reaches for innovation while paying respect to the genre's conventions. It alternates between the round and soulful resonance of early 90s NYC hip-hop (e.g. Pete Rock and DITC) and the more mathematical angles of late-90s, ISP-inspired turntablism.
Perhaps the greatest strength of Sound Events, though, is its ability to incorporate other genres without diluting its own. On "The Great Caper", Swift enlists the help of Dujeous? guitarist Taylor Rivelli and bassist Alex Gale for a sweaty jazzy number that's a testament to Swift's ability to trade chops with the best of 'em. "Salsa Scratch", featuring legendary Spanish music pianist Bob James, may be the most satisfying turntablist composition in years. It's a family affair, paying homage to Swift's father, who came to the United States from Columbia, and featuring his mother on the track's introduction. The limitlessly talented D-Styles shows up and lays down a series of sublimely expressionistic scratches, and Bob James, who's worked with Freddie Hubbard and Grover Washington among others, graces the keys with his trademark Latino flavor. Sure, we've seen the turntable incorporated into countless xFC-metal, R&B;, and "experimental" jazz compositions, but rarely has the turntable been used as a primary instrument and mingled with other genres more naturally, or with as much subtly as it is on "Salsa Scratch".
"The Ghetto" finds Swift reflecting the paranoia, crime, and poverty that have claimed his friends. It may be a somewhat cliched theme, but Swift draws water from dry ground with his brilliant use of vocal samples. "Sub-Level", featuring J-Live, may be the most immediately accessible track on the album. Swift once again proves that he knows how to produce for an emcee, a skill that seems to elude lesser turntablists. He lays down a frantic, constantly morphing beat as the super-hot J-Live offers his opinions on the current state of underground hip-hop: "The rich act poor and the poor claim rich/ ...When you fronting on the mic, you still the industry's bitch."
The genius of this album is not only Rob Swift's skill, but also the restraint he shows in displaying his considerable talent. While every scratch and rhythmic twist is on point, Swift never allows his skills to overwhelm his compositions. The scratches are chosen and inserted for emotional resonance, and not as a self-indulgent display of turntable mastery. "Once you have an understanding that scratches are a form of communication," Swift explains in the liner notes, "you gradually realize that scratches are like words. Using long, dictionary words doesn't necessarily make you a great speaker. It's about knowing your audience and understanding that sometimes simple words make the greatest impact." I couldn't have said it better.
