In this week’s Time Out, I take stock of the Ron Browz phenomenon. The thrust of this piece was that dropping a single with Browz seems to have been the key to drumming up some hype for some long delayed albums by New York rappers (Busta, Jim Jones, CNN). Naturally, the next business day after this went to press, Busta Rhymes’ publicist contacted us to say that Busta’s Back on My B.S. would, in fact, not be coming out March 24 as planned (and stated in the article) but was postponed til “May.” What a business.

I heard Busta’s album last week and we should hope that, when it does finally get released, it still contains this one track produced by DJ Scratch called “I’ma Go & Get Mine” (or something like that). It’s easily Busta’s best song in years. Next-level production, as always, from the underappreciated Scratch.

Also in this week’s TONY, I advocate for a Hall and Oates revival.

BONUS JUNK: Great essay, with MP3s, on Sacred Songs, Daryl Hall’s little-known but awesome solo album (made in ‘77, released ‘80) produced by Robert Fripp.

“Let me take this time to say R.I.P. to Phyllis Hyman/Who never got the props that she damn well deserved…”—Phife Dawg, from A Tribe Called Quest’s “Baby Phife’s Return” (1996)

I’m a sucker for hour-long documentary shows so when I came across UnSung, the TV One network’s new series on overlooked and tragic Black musicians, I was hooked right away. The show (narrated by Al B. Sure!) is modest, with only four episodes in the first season: on the DeBarges, Donny Hathaway, the Clark Sisters and Phyllis Hyman. While it was fascinating to watch the sad tale of Donny Hathaway represented on screen, I was particularly affected by the story of Phyllis Hyman, who—just like Donny—ended her own life after a long bout with mental illness. Mainly because, unlike Donny, I’d never paid much attention to her music before. While I’ve enjoyed her uptempo cuts, like “You Know How To Love Me,” these are rare in her discography. Instead, Hyman is known for heartbreak-minded Quiet Storm fodder, the arrangements of which have always been a little too smooth jazz for my tastes (see her cover of Silky Smooth Grooves alumnus Bobby Caldwell’s “What You Won’t Do For Love,” an otherwise exquisite rendition tainted by Kenny G-style sax). However, after watching this episode and revisiting the material of this nature that Simone has compiled in our iTunes library, I’m open.

Watching the episode, I was struck by a few things. One, of course, being that you need to see her pipes at work live to see how serious they are. But also grace—this diva was certainly not a female version of a hustler. While she battled weight issues (among other demons, including drugs and alcohol) later in life, she was quite a stunning looking woman as well. Just look at some of these photos of a young Phyllis to see what I mean. Below, I’ve embedded a clip I feel really captures the essence of her greatness. It’s a performance of her signature tune, “Living All Alone,” from Nightlife, a short-lived late-night show hosted by comedian David Brenner (Check out the sweatshirt he’s wearing—it’s for Pips in Sheepshead Bay, the only comedy club in Brooklyn for many years until its demise about five years back. Also, who hosts a talk show in a sweatshirt?) Phyllis looks absolutely regal in one of her trademark crowns, and then proceeds to give a fascinating interview afterward (around 5:00) that Brenner probably didn’t deserve to get. Read the rest of this entry »

If you weren’t an avid watcher of rap video shows in the early ’90s, you might not recall Da Youngsta’s (sic) brief run. The youthful trio released four albums between ‘92 and nine-five, steering the Another Bad Creation/Kris Kross kiddie rap template in the direction of the grimy East Coast rap hitting at the time, like Onyx and Naughty By Nature. (In fact, KrisKross were actually the intended target of their diss track, “Crews Pop”) Looking back, some people have wondered how they released three major label LPs (plus one on Pop Art) in such a short span without ever selling much, or how they scored such a dope production roster (DJ Premier, Pete Rock, Marley Marl, Beatnuts) for their The Aftermath album. One partial explanation is that Quran and Taji were the sons of Pop Art founder Lawrence Goodman. Quran, now a producer, was a key resource for my piece on the Pop Art label in the new Wax Poetics. We spoke in detail about his father’s business, Da Youngsta’s, and Philly rap in general. Here is his story, in his own words:
Read the rest of this entry »