Minneapolis' Doomtree let a bunch of their hydra heads have a turn in the spotlight over the last year or so, and the ensuing solo releases were a solid indicator of just how multifaceted a crew they could be. But of all the records that had the potential to raise the collective's profile-- including rapper/singer Dessa's coolly strong Castor, the Twin, Sims' feral, heavy-hitting Bad Time Zoo, Lazerbeak's indie pop-friendly Legend Recognize Legend, and Paper Tiger's intricately soulful beat record Made Like Us-- it was, of all things, a mash-up record that blew up. Funny thing is, the concept behind the Cecil Otter co-created "Wugazi" project wasn't just some blog-baiting crossover stunt-- it's a way to look at where Doomtree got their early inspiration as an entity, somewhere between the form-like-Voltron Wu-Tang enclave's early underground mythbuilding and Fugazi's community-building independence.
But the easy-sell concept of Shaolin punk doesn't even really come into obvious play with No Kings. The hardcore continuum isn't as readily acknowledged as it was on P.O.S.'s solo work, while Lazerbeak's Plastic Constellations background doesn't figure in his productions much, either. (The most traditionally and superficially "punk rock" sound on the album is the surfer-hoodlum riff that opener "No Way" builds around, and that's sourced from an early 1970s soundtrack-library album.) And not even Ghostface in full-blown manic stream-of-imagery Supreme Clientele mode was as relentlessly evasive and tricky to parse as some of the verses on here. Loosely alluded-to themes about camaraderie and identity get buried under waves of abstract allusions that leave behind little narrative impact on first listen, other than the vague sense of some victorious resilience.
Fortunately, that vague sense has some intrigue beneath it. Sims, Cecil Otter, Mike Mictlan, P.O.S., and Dessa all share a beat-poet sense of tightly-packed extended abstract metaphors, which they vary to subtle enough degrees that differentiating their voices seems beside the point. That's not to their detriment, and the aforementioned solo releases are proof enough that they can each go in their own distinct directions. But as a unit, they complement each others' talents naturally, each providing their own variations on allegorical stress-rap. "Team the Best Team" might be the best example of how all five MCs switch up their approaches-- P.O.S. as sincerely intense slow-burner, Sims's slick-flowing, machete-sharp delivery, Cecil Otter throwing pinpoint darts with deadpan calm, Dessa's deceptively cool-headed, subtly melodic shadowboxing, and Mike Mictlan's agitated yet precise internal-rhyming intensity.
Those qualities are easier to pick up on when they shake you away from the duty of parsing their lyrics, which, unbound by typical battle-rap punchlines or persona-building, at least manage to sell their cryptic insights as rallying calls. The dense weight of verbiage on No Kings actually welcomes uninitiated listeners, rather than siphoning them out for not being advanced enough on some impenetrable ultra-battler shit. And for the scattered talk of 10-year tenures and the occasional fuck-these-other-rappers declaration, the album's tone of flag-planting resistance builds off something deeper and more universal than political beef, star status or personal style. The trespassing-as-liberation undercurrents of "Bolt Cutter", the solidarity anthem "Bangarang" and the self-realized, apocalypse-flip-off "Own Yours" are all introspective in their own ways, but they're too busy staring you dead in the eye to gaze at their own navels.
And it's easy enough to give the lyrics plenty of time and space to sink in-- or even just roll off your back for the time being-- when the beats are this up-front and anthemic. With a production that largely draws off the strengths of their two primary beatmakers, the individuals' highlights-- Lazerbeak's grimy, garage-psych-infused "String Theory" and "Punch-Out"; the Super NES prog of Cecil Otter's beats for "Beacon" and "The Grand Experiment"-- are as much a collective triumph as the group efforts, like the co-produced bookends of motorcycle chain-swinging mini-suite "No Way" and the digital brass blowout of "Fresh New Trash". Doomtree have been comfortable inside their own space for so long that their individualistic pride in it has grown from defiant to triumphant. That one-off bootleg drew all the attention-- No Kings damn well better keep it.
