Still looking for romance? Here's why: you're not French. Perhaps it's not the only reason, but no matter how scrawny, ugly or foul-smelling you are, if your lips manage to pronounce those delicate, lilting tones of the language of love, it is on. Promise.
Some of my best friends are French-- they have, like, ten dates a night, usually three or four at a time. Unfortunately for TTC, though, hip-hop isn't about romance. Unlike making love, French language skills tend to be a liability in the world of beats and rhymes. You know what I mean; just imagine a French accent on badasses like Rakim or Jay-Z: "how you say-- errr-- Beeg Peemping?" Not quite.
Despite the disability, hip-hop has followed in the footsteps of another traditionally African-American art form-- jazz-- in gaining a substantial following with the Gauls. But probably owing to the reasons noted above, American audiences have yet to pay a return favor to French acts, notwithstanding the critical acclaim showered on torch-bearers like MC Solaar. TTC hopes to put an end to the trend with their first-rate sophomore effort, Ceci N'est Pas un Disque.
Chances are, if you're considering a TTC purchase, you won't be making it for the lyrics. In light of that, allow me to brief you for a moment on the beats. They're a superb and diverse bunch, evidencing influence of American old-school and underground hip-hop alike. From the playfulness of the opener, "Nonscience," to the spooky sci-fi of the El-P inflected "Subway," it's all inventive and surprisingly well-produced.
The DJ Vadim-helmed "De Pauvres Riches" utilizes a sparse, quirky beat built on a curious bass clarinet melody and accompanied by almost comically intermittent orchestral embellishments. The unique "Pollutions" opens with four measures of a bass-lipped human beatbox, which is joined by an organ melody that is almost the exact replica of the background music from Abba's "Dancing Queen," as well as the crackles and pops of vintage vinyl. The odd blend of two worlds (disco and hip-hop) delightfully provokes concurrent nostalgia and head-nodding.
The album's finest beat appears on "Ensoulevant le Couvercle," knee-deep in thick production. The dark, ominous beat rests on a foundation of simple, downtempo drums, with synth horns and organ insinuating a chilling background "melody," if you can call it that (it sounds more like an echo). The song plods along, a more pervasive pipe organ gurgling intermittently along with the rhythmic ambience of creaky floorboards. It's better described by the emotions evoked: doom, confusion, and funk.
In terms of lyrics, it's anyone's guess. I can tell you this: one of the MC's, who I dubbed "Ad-Rocque", struck me as rather annoying. He sounds like your run-of-the-mill white-boy MC who tries to affect a voice he doesn't have. As for the others, I have no problems with them, even though I don't understand a damn word. Which brings us back to the opening point; except for two English cameos (Dose One on "Pas D'Armure" and Yara Bravo on "Ensoulevant Le Couvercle") the album is entirely in French, so don't expect the kids in Bushwick and Bed-Stuy to be stocking up on copies of TTC. But should you? Think of it this way: TTC scores an 8.0 on beats alone. Hand the mic to Del, and we're probably staring at a 9.5. Hand it to Gwen Stefani, and we're back down to 7.0. Either way, you get the point-- you like beats, you buy this album. End of story.
