The Atlanta cats (Chrisco, Nat Porter, The Judge, Marcel, etc.) responsible for all of the first and a great deal of the second are getting our act back together. We’re in the process of getting the archives for World Famous up here and trying to get the rights to our work for Elemental to put here as well.

If all goes according to plan, we should have the archives up in the next couple weeks and start contributing new material on all our favorite music and artists shortly thereafter. So stay tuned to this space. In the meantime, register with us so we can keep you up to date and you can become a part of our project. We’re looking forward to it.

On his own debut album, Three Chords and the Truth (or 3CATT), David managed to sidestep the common neo-soul mistake of emulating one’s old-school mentor. He could have easily turned into a technicolor Bill Withers, but David seems to have mastered the fine art of being himself. The sound that he creates on 3CATT is a uniquely southern, contemporary soul vibe that blends diverse musical influences. David has eased quietly into his niche as soul music’s cool, wise, guitar-strumming uncle, but the fact that he doesn’t go out of his way to make a splash doesn’t change the fact that Acey Ducey’s approach to making music sets him apart from many soul musicians of his generation. In the brief time I got to spend with him, David’s mellow manner and common sense view of being a professional artist had me thinking about things a little differently. We touched on many subjects, but there are at least three commonly held biases that he gently crushes.

#1: No good can come from giving your phone number to some dude who tries to holla at you in the street.

Ok, so they weren’t exactly in the street, but Anthony David did meet his close friend and musical partner, India.Aire, at Underground Atlanta where he struck up a conversation with the then unknown singer. He had just left the army and had decided to settle down in Atlanta and maybe make some music. At the time, David was a poet who liked to make up songs, but he had yet to master the guitar and was less than confident in his singing voice. Soon after arriving in Atlanta, David took a trip to Underground and bumped into a girl he thought was cool and struck up a conversation. The rest is history. Both singers were only just finding their voices at the time. It was years before they began to work together on music. When things started to take off for India, she took him with her on tour and began using his songs. He soon blessed her first album with “Part of My Life” and her second with the hit single “Butterfly.”

#2: Once a musician, always a musician.

Though he has always had a creative streak in him, many would be surprised to learn that Anthony David the musician did not emerge until the early 1990’s when the young poet picked up his first guitar. He was 23. But David doesn’t feel that being a bit of a late bloomer makes him any less of a musician. “I don’t even trip about that, I’m not going to get embarrassed and try to fake like I’ve always been doing this. It’s not a big thing. I’ve always been involved in something creative.”

Once he did learn to write and play music, David was off to a running start. He met his El-Pus band-mates who were also new to guitar and helped them craft their rocked-out hip-hop stage show. “At the time they just needed somebody to play while they jumped around on stage, and I was looking for something new to do. Something different. These guys were so crazy. I just wanted to be crazy with them for a while. I never wrote any of their stuff, though. I wasn’t writing raps or anything,” says David.

After performing with the band for a while, David began to focus more seriously on putting out his own music. He got the ladies’ attention with his ode to southern women, “Georgia Peach.” His talent as a performer, says David, rested almost entirely on his lyrics. “Because I was playing acoustic, it’s all about the words. You can’t hold somebody’s attention just sitting there playing guitar if you don’t say something that’s relevant to somebody sitting in the room. I’m not doing a whole lot of stuff. It wasn’t about the beat. I’m not dancing. I have to say something.”

#3: Music is in bad shape right now and needs emerging soul artists to save it.

It is sort of a theme in music journalism to deride modern soul and refer back to some far away golden age when artists were artists and everyone was original. Almost every article written about David so far has begun with the writer lamenting the state of music and looking to him as a possible savior. Anthony David, however, doesn’t feel the need to don his cape just yet. When asked if he felt like his music would change the industry standard, he replied humbly, “I don’t need to. I think that because anybody can record now, there’s a lot more music out there than ever… not all of it’s good. Not all of it has a message. There are so many different styles and types. I’m still exploring the different styles and playing around with them.”

But it seems like the underground soul scene is rebelling, ready to overthrow mainstream radio’s cookie-cutter R&B. Considering his fan base and the artist he works with, David must have noticed the revolution that is brewing. “India’s got a mission statement, and she’s my friend, but I don’t get that kind of stuff. Maybe I’ve got low expectations, but I just like to make music. Some of the problems people say they have with music… I’ve always found good music. I don’t have to listen to the radio all the time. I know where to go to get good music. I don’t have a problem with the state of music today. I just really like music and I know where to get it. If I don’t like 103, I’ll turn to 88.5.” According to David, if you have music-savvy friends, community radio, and the internet, there is no reason to complain about a shortage of good music. There is no need to be radical and militant about instilling higher professional standards. What revolution? “The most rebellious thing I’m doing is being normal. I’ma bring that back,” he chuckles.

So if he does not intend to change things though his songs, what does Anthony David want? “I want to make good music. I want to play what people like and what people will feel.” Beyond that, he couldn’t explain. He seems not to be concerned with who the audience is or how to reach them. “The same stuff I get from music, like Anita Baker and other artists that I listen to that I like, I want to give [people] the same feeling that I get when I listen to music. It’s so general and loose and people interpret stuff the way they want to anyway so I can’t really focus too much on it. I just know I’d like to do something good.”

The new album, Red Clay Chronicles dropped September 9th, but with a heavy touring schedule, David has had plenty of opportunities to try out his new material. He explained that he intended for this album to get back into an old southern sound and really explore his musical roots. When asked how the audience reacts, he eased back with a bashful grin and said, “They like it. I mean people tell me, ‘It’s good. Keep doing it.’ That kind of shit.” That seems to be just what he was going for.

I could not have been more wrong. You see, Gene is as complicated as the music he makes. He’s 71, but looks likes he’s 50. He seems well-read, but claims to have read only one book in the last five years. He spends five nights a week in a Karate class, and in the last twelve years he’s spent more time writing screenplays than he has songs. When writers try to describe his music, they usually use a lot of hyphens. Unheard of genres like “jazz-folk” and “gospel-blues” suddenly appear whenever his music is in a magazine. “My music has always been different,” he explains. “I don’t know why, but I like it that way.” Well, his music is different because Gene is different. “He was too smart for us,” explains Les McCann of their first meeting in L.A., “He knew more than we did. He knew how to read and everything. He knew how to talk to people with high educations. And I had never met a brother from Nebraska before, and I thought that was a little strange in itself!”

When he first met Les McCann, Eugene McDaniels was the athletic, six-foot, country boy son of Booker McDaniels, the bishop of the Church of God and Christ in Lincoln, Nebraska. As you can imagine, by the time he arrived on the L.A. jazz scene in the late ‘50s, he had managed to turn more than a few heads. “We were all jealous of him,” says Les. “Good looking, smart,” and according to Les, he could throw a football almost the entire length of the field. He also had a penchant for physical altercations and fast automobiles. Les remembers his first and last motorcycle ride like it was yesterday: “[Eugene] came by one day to show me his brand new motorcycle, and he insisted that I go for a ride on it with him.” Les got on, and the two peeled off through the narrow streets of Hollywood. “We came around the hill and hit a United Parcel Post truck, head on.” Les McCann was instantly thrown over Gene and ended up with a neck injury that still bothers him today.

Despite the accident, Gene and Les became inseparable. Gene sang with the Les McCann Trio six nights a week at popular L.A. nightclubs and hip coffee houses like The Lamp. “We owned Hollywood,” McDaniels proudly states of those days, “It was unbelievable.” But it wasn’t all glamour and glitz. For his first two years in L.A., Gene had a non-musical day job. “I stuffed pillows,” he says without hesitation, “But, believe me, I was the best pillow stuffer in L.A.” He was in fact, so good, that after two years, his boss offered him 50% of the business just to drop music and become a full-time pillow stuffer.

Thankfully, Eugene McDaniels decided to stick with music, and in 1960 it paid off for him. Liberty Records offered him a recording contract and without thinking too much of it, Gene accepted. There was only one problem, Les, who was already signed to Pacific Jazz, was planning to do his next album together. “Les was planning to do this album with me,” explains Gene, “but he didn’t talk to me about it!” When Les found out that his partner had signed with another label, he was really hurt. “I was young and dumb,” admits Gene today, “and didn’t understand protocol, and I screwed up our relationship. It was horrible.” Les McCann was so angry, that the two friends didn’t speak for the next five years.

As Gene embarked on his relatively impromptu solo career, he soon managed to crossover with a hit record called “A Hundred Pounds of Clay.” Of course, the song’s success didn’t do much to help his situation with Les, or to impress his L.A. jazz peers. “We knew what he could do,” explains Les, “and at that time jazz was moving along quite well, and we thought of guys who took on the context of popular music as like, ‘selling out.’” Although Gene ended up with five hits in the top five, becoming a pop star was something that would haunt him for years to come. “The music he was singing was very anti-what he was all about,” explains Les. “Pop music - I don’t know his involvement or the people he got tied up with, but it sure changed his whole life for a long time.”

Eugene McDaniels left L.A. and moved to New York under the management of a man named Jilly Rizzo. Rizzo had a club in Manhattan called Jilly’s Place, and Gene was booked there five nights a week, and lived upstairs. “I had some hell of experiences around that place,” laughs Gene today. The highlight was a phone call at midnight: “Geno, get dressed. The boss wants you downstairs… And look nice, okay.” An eerie late-night limo ride with Jilly and his bartender and bodyguard, Big Mike, followed. “Were driving and driving and driving and I’m saying ‘Oh my god, they are about to kill somebody and it might be me.’” Gene’s fear turned to paranoia when they pulled up to an abandoned building in Redhook, Brooklyn and flashed their headlights. The door in front of them opened and the limo pulled in. “It was like a movie,” chuckles Gene today, “I mean, really. It’s silly. Those guys are so dramatic.” Once they were inside, everyone got out of the limo, including the reluctant Gene. “You got the goods?” they said, “Yeah.” “Let’s see it.” One of the guys opens up a suitcase full of money that was soaked in blood. Big Mike put the suitcase in the trunk, they shook hands and got back in the limo and headed for Manhattan. As the clock approached 2am, the limo pulled up to the National Bank of North America on 5th and 51st. Big Mike got out, rang the doorbell, and the bank manager answered the door in an impeccable 3-piece suit. He led them downstairs to the vaults, and pointed them towards the big table in the center of the room. “Then they dump the money on the table. Blood and everything, and then Jilly asks me, ‘Geno, How much money is in there?’” Gene nervously guessed a million bucks. “Good guess!” laughed Jilly before making an unusual request. “Get up on the table.” After some protesting, Gene reluctantly got on the table. “Now sit down on the money.” Confused, but still scared, he sat down on the money. Then Jilly said with the straightest face possible, “Now don’t let anybody tell you that you’ve never sat on a million bucks!”

As the late ‘60s approached, Gene felt like it was time for him to get back to his roots. He left Jilly Rizzo, stopped performing his hits, and briefly returned to the jazz clubs. Immediately after Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated, he left America in disgust, and ended up in Copenhagen. A pissed off and frustrated Gene channeled his rage and wrote one of his most powerful songs ever. He called it “Compared to What” and after five years of silence, he decided to contact Les McCann. “I called Les and I just said look, you’ve got to forgive me, I’m a country boy, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I was just trying to do the right thing for my life.” Les McCann decided to accept Gene’s apology and agreed to listen to his new song. Gene caught his first flight back, and played it with for Les, who still remembers thinking, “I thought it was Bob Dylan trying to talk me into something!” A year and a half later the song was not only a hit, it went on to become Les McCann’s biggest hit.

“I think I’ve never heard a song that he’s written that I didn’t like,” professes Les McCann, who watched Gene write more than fifteen tunes for Roberta Flack, and produce several albums for folks like Melba Moore, Nancy Wilson, and Shaft star Richard Roundtree. His biggest hit with Roberta Flack was called “Feel Like Makin’ Love” and got him nominated for a Grammy. “There’s hardly much to say,” Les explained towards the end of our interview, “because it doesn’t take a lot to describe what a great human being and musician that he is.”

Well, as I found out, and continue to find out, you sell yourself short if you try to categorize Eugene McDaniels. He is not quite what you think he is. He’s not anti-American, anti-government or even a flag-burner. He’s never gone to jail, never been blackballed, and isn’t bitter. He’s not even the recluse he’s rumored to be. He’s just a six-foot tall, 71-year-old man, who’s still just trying to provide for his family and make his mama proud. “Gene’s a wonderful son,” beams Ms. McDaniels, “I tried to show him a lot of love and tried to teach him the right thing, and he’s done pretty good!”

“If he wants to do something, he’ll get it done,” says Fabian Ammon Alston, Carlos’ long-time friend and partner in the group Ammoncontact. “When we were in high school and he thought about getting a radio gig, he started moving in that direction. Next thing you know he’s got a successful show that he’s been doing for close to ten years. When we were first making beats and I bought my first ASR-10. At that point, I was like, ‘Ok, we’ll make a couple beats and laugh at them and whatever.’ But he was already talking about making an album, and it happened… When he puts his mind to something, he gets it done, no matter what.”

The radio show is Spaceways on KPFK (90.7fm) in Los Angeles. For more than a decade, Carlos has brought his vision of music to his listeners. He says, “I play music that I feel is soulful. I play music that I feel is worthwhile. I’m not really into music that sounds good on a certain level, but then has no content. I really try to support music that is about being courageous on all the levels because I feel like it’s all connected.” But beyond providing him with an outlet to express his musical ideals, his radio program has served as a foundation for Nino’s varied excursions into the world of music. “All my relationships started there,” Nino says of his show. The radio show allowed him to network with like-minded artists. At a very early point in his radio career, Spaceways also provided an introduction that would yield one of Carlos’ most important relationships both musically and otherwise.

Carlos Nino met Dwight Trible backstage after one of Trible’s shows with the Pan-African People’s Orchestra almost ten years ago. That much both say. But their recollections of the events are a bit off. “I approached him after I first heard him,” Carlos remembers. “I got my way backstage at a concert and asked him to come on my radio show… When I heard [him] and we first started to connect, it was evident that we would be working together for a long time.”

On Trible’s side of things, the initial connection took a little longer. “We were doing a concert over at the Vision Theatre,” Dwight recalls, “and Carlos came up to me and was talking to me about how much he loved and appreciated what we just did and he asked me could I come on his radio program. Of course, ten years ago Carlos was very very young and so I figured he had a radio program in his school or something. So I told him, ‘Hey man, if I can get the guys in the group to come then we’ll do it.’ But I figured that when I called all the guys in the group, that if it wasn’t about a paying gig, then most likely they would tell me no and that would be my way of letting Carlos off easy. So I called all the guys in the group and asked them what they were doing on that night and I told them about a radio program and they all said they was free. So I said, ‘Ah shit, now I got to go.’”

The difference can be chalked up to their perspective. Nino was, and to some extent remains, an unfettered idealist. He believes in the power of music, and cooperation between the people who create it. Trible on the other hand is a veteran of the ‘70s era music scene, where people weren’t always what they claimed and the artist all-too-often came out on the bottom of virtually every deal. But this young kid taught him something almost right away.

“So I told Carlos that we could do it,” Dwight says. “I still didn’t have any idea what type of radio he was talking about. To my surprise Carlos, this young kid, had a radio program on one of the biggest public radio stations in Los Angeles. And I’m like, ‘Ain’t this a bitch.’ This guy’s running this radio program and I was just astounded. Then I started getting nervous like, ‘Oh shit, we’re getting ready to go do a live concert on the radio and everybody in L.A. is going to hear it.’ That was one of the times that really let me know that you have to give everybody their due respect.”

The relationship that began with a wide-eyed kid and a cynical music veteran has become a fundamental one for both men. “Our relationship has been part father-son, partially collaborative, partially producer-artist,” Carlos says. “But in general, we’re friends and he’s been a major part of my life.” Trible is even more effusive about the younger man saying, “He’s my angel… just an amazing amazing amazing man.”

Musically, the pair have seldom worked completely separately since their introduction. Dwight has either been featured or guested on virtually every project Carlos has been involved in. From Ammoncontact, to Life Force Trio (which sees Carlos partnered with Trible’s long-time drummer, Dexter Story), to Build an Ark, and Hu Vibrational. Yes, I just listed four different acts that Nino plays a leading role in. That’s not to mention the work he does producing for other artists. The man keeps a lot of plates spinning. Or as Trible says, “The guy is never not busy.”

From a musical standpoint, Nino’s work can best be summed up as “substantial.” The music he creates means something. Both to him and he hopes to the listener. From the hip-hop dominated Ammoncontact, to the soulful jazz of Life Force Trio, to the more spiritually tinted Hu Vibrational and Build an Ark, Nino wants to touch people. “I’m trying to be an example,” he says, “of what I would consider a very conscious and open and loving vibration that I feel like we all need to experience and allow to come through us as much as possible. All the stuff we write about like ‘Love is the answer’ and ‘Peace with every step’, all these themes are the themes we’re living by in our lives and that’s why we do the music that we do… I’m very interested in trying to make music that’s coming from my heart.”

Is it idealistic? Of course it is, but when he says it the cynic in you melts away and really believes him. When Carlos tells you, “It’s not about money, or fame, or worldly ambitions,” it is not only incredibly refreshing to hear, but also absolutely in earnest. He believes with all his heart that he is on Earth to create meaningful music. The stuff he calls “the most powerful healing force.” If that means riches then great. If it means poverty, that’s fine too. At one point, Alston makes a point that illustrates Carlos’ commitment to his course. “Just to show you his dedication,” Alston says, “he had a great gig here as far as running the Temple Bar circuit [Temple Bar, Little Temple, and Zanzibar] and that was a great paying gig for him. But he left that because he wanted to dedicate himself to what he wanted to do in producing music.”

Apparently, what Nino wanted to do was work with everyone all at once. Asked about his hectic work schedule, he downplays it. “When you work with a bunch of different groups and things all work well,” he explains, “you kind of think to yourself like ‘I really want to go in this direction and fully develop this and travel all over the world and make a bunch of records’, but then you realize that there’s time to do it all.”

What you have to remember when thinking of Carlos’ prolific musical portfolio is that this is not work to him. It is literally the only thing he’s ever wanted to do. And in doing what he feels called to do, he is empowered. “I’ve always known what I was here to do,” he says. “I’ve felt a very strong calling to do exactly what it is I’m doing in my life since I was able to remember anything or had any kind of real consciousness. I always knew it was going to be in this field, in this kind of way. So I find a lot of strength in the faith I have that I’ve been right in listening to that call.” Music is his continuity. It is the defining thread of a man rapidly approaching his 30th birthday. Music is what connects the 6th grader that started collecting records to the young man who teamed up with his best friend to make music to the full-fledged grown-up who is dedicated to infusing everything he does with a conscience.

Trible sums Nino up neatly, saying “He’s not from the school that I come from. After you’ve been through as much as I’ve been through with the business, you don’t expect very much and you have a tendency to think that nothing’s going to materialize. But Carlos, he does not understand the word ‘can’t.’ That’s not in his thought process at all. I’ve never seen him have an idea that he’s not able to pull off. It’s amazing really.”

Alston adds, “You might think something’s a little too grand, but give him just a little bit of time and he’s there. It’s done.”

His dual nature is unlikely. Progressive idealism is not often paired with blue collar work-ethic, much less in a musician. But as in so many other areas of life, it is the rare nature that facilitates the success. Carlos Nino works hard without getting worn down. He thinks large without becoming an unproductive dreamer. But most of all, he loves music and he makes music for other people who love it as much as he does. It means something to him and that’s what makes it so special.

With that in mind, imagine what I thought when I read a line in the press release for Nicolay’s new album that called it “the most romantic album of the year.” Well, at least it’s got a theme. “I wasn’t aware of that,” Nicolay says of the romantic line. “I don’t really think it is though.”

Now that we know what it isn’t, let’s talk about what Here is. It is one of the most coherent producer driven projects I’ve heard. From start to finish, the album is about Nicolay’s musical vision. Of course, maybe that shouldn’t come as a surprise when you consider the Dutch producer spent the first part of his musical journey as a band leader. He’s use to plotting the course.

Nicolay is as much composer as producer. Sure he can chop and loop samples, but beyond that, he can play and arrange instruments. “I always want to make sure that my music alone can stand on its own two feet,” he explains. “So even before there’s any thought of vocals, I want to make sure that you can tell that it’s 100% a musical product.” His work comes already completed. Add a vocalist, if and only if, they can fit as an element of the larger work. Nicolay does not work in the old paradigm of half music, half vocals. His work aims at a coherent whole that is greater than its individual parts.

Nicolay’s ability to compose instrumentation is what led to his big break. You probably know the story. He and Phonte (of Little Brother fame) came across each other on the Okayplayer message boards. They started exchanging tracks and vocals via instant messenger. Nicolay produced “Light It Up” from Little Brother’s stellar 2003 debut, The Listening. But his connection with Phonte was only beginning as their computer-facilitated collaboration blossomed into the partnership dubbed Foreign Exchange. The pair’s debut Connected hit in 2004 and along with allowing Nicolay to quit his day job, it made his musical reputation. All that while “having never been in the same room with each other.”

But what led Phonte to Nicolay on a message board that has as many bedroom producers as ?uestlove has afro-picks? “The composing side of his sound is what drew me to him in the beginning,” Phonte says of his screen introduction to Nicolay. “I felt like he was doing something different. He was covering a base that my team didn’t really have covered as far as the composing aspect. Between 9th [Wonder] and Khrysis, there’s nothing we can’t do as far as sampling. If I want any kind of sample flipped, I can just drop it off with 9th. But the composition Nicolay was working on was in line with where I wanted my sound to develop.”

Following Foreign Exchange’s debut, Nicolay put out an instrumental album (City Lights Volume 1.5) as well as Vol. 1 of his acclaimed Dutch Masters Mixtape. Every record further established his ability to pair what he calls hip-hop’s “joy in repetition if you will” with his more complex musicality. “I am a musician,” he explains, “and I have a lot of things that I can bring to the table musically and I always like the fact that I can use that to balance with the power of a really good loop.”

In May, Nicolay packed his bags and headed for the U.S. But he didn’t land in either of the twin music industry hubs of New York or Los Angeles. That would have been too typical for a producer who makes his living off incorporating the unexpected change into every track. Instead, Amsterdam’s loss turned into Carolina Beach, North Carolina’s gain.

The Carolina address only makes sense. He made his name with Phonte who lives in Raleigh. The new album features not only Little Brother, but also extended crew members Darien Brockington and Yahzarah. Can you think of a better crew for a producer to live near? “It’s funny, because sometimes I take it for granted,” Nicolay says of his affiliation with Little Brother and fam. “Just the fact that all of them are so incredibly talented. There’s a difference between working with them and working with other people. No matter which of them you’re talking about, it’s the work ethic of these people that I admire a lot. They’re all people that are willing to go that extra mile and go above-and-beyond in whatever it is that they do in this music thing. That’s something that’s truly admirable.”

You can tell that Nicolay respects and admires his most frequent collaborators. But what about the other way around? Well take this as example. At the New York release party for Here, every guest vocalist was in attendance ready to perform and not one of them was getting paid to be there. “We share a genuine love of music and that makes the world a smaller place no matter where you’re from,” Nicolay says to explain the ease with which he’s fit into the NC-based musical family. “I’m a very different person than a lot of those people and I come from a very different background. But at the same time, my love and appreciation for music is very much the same as all these people. So we share that and that is bigger than any difference we may have.”

Now that his touring for the new album is nearing its end, Nicolay is focusing on a series of sequels. A new City Lights project, another Dutch Masters mixtape, not to mention the follow-up album from Foreign Exchange. But wait a second; Nicolay and Phonte are in the same state now. “It’s funny,” Nicolay admits. “We’re working on the second album and since I moved it’s going to be far from a foreign exchange.” So is a name change in order? Not so fast. “He’s still like three hours away,” Phonte laughs.

An in-demand producer is sitting out in the countryside of North Carolina. He’s keeping his head down and getting a great deal of work done. As we finish talking, I ask Nicolay if the album’s title is a play on announcing that he’s finally “here” following the move. That’s when he hits me with it. He admits that the title comes from something he and his girlfriend say to each other: “The only difference between here and there is the ‘t’.” I guess there’s something behind that romantic line after all. Maybe I’ll play Here on my next blind date and see if it can work some magic “there” as well.

“Everything that I’ve ever listened to is a part of me”

Treading the well-beaten path of hundreds of soulful singers before her, Algebra’s vocals were developed in the church choir as well as at home. “My mother and my granny sang with a gospel quartet,” she says. “They did a lot of gigs.” When asked whether her upbringing was more spiritual or secular, she mildly resents the division. “That’s always the dividing line, one or the other. Secular seems so… negative, so bad. Our household was a musical one; we listened to gospel, we listened to rhythm and blues, to soul music, funk – everything. My mom is a bass player so the funk was it! But my mother is also a minister, so she understands the balance of music. It’s about living life, spirituality is very important. You have to have your relationship with God.”

The young Algebra also found solace in her parents’ music collection. “I get inspired every time I listen to them, to this day,” she beams. “Nina Simone… that lady speaks to me. Donny Hathaway, Stevie Wonder of course. Aretha Franklin. A lot of older acts that are still around today. Some newer acts are a very big inspiration to me as well: Brandy, Erykah, D’Angelo, Joi… anything that moves me.” And what moves her isn’t only classic and contemporary soul artists. Algebra will take inspiration from anywhere or anybody and lists artists like The Doobie Brothers, Michael McDonald, and Bach as favorites. “If it’s just a melody or a simple lyric, whatever it sparks in me.”

Algebra attended music school growing up and lauds the experience as eye opening, exposing her to aspects of music she would have never been aware of otherwise. While there, her love of true musicianship through orchestration blossomed. “Thanks to music school, I kinda dabble in every instrument that I can because I would rather be really good at a lot of things than be great at just one thing. But sometimes it works the other way around.” Fans are most likely to see her on stage with a well-decorated guitar. “I play guitar, I didn’t learn in school or anything, I just picked it up a few years ago. I’m not Santana or John Mayer. I don’t do all that. To me it’s another pencil, more paper. I use it as a writing tool. I play with it on stage sometimes but I don’t hide behind it. It’s not my thing. What I say and how I present it is the most important thing to me.”

“I feel close to God on stage. I feel like I’m at my most honest on stage.”

Her response is confident when asked at what point in her life she realized she would become a performer. “I’ve always done it,” she replies. “Some people look at music and artistry as another type of life versus a 9 to 5. To me it’s the same thing. You do what you’re passionate about. Don’t get me wrong, some people are very unhappy at the cubicle, but some people are very excited about getting up at 7 and being home by 4 or 5 o’clock to work in the yard, or be with their families. That’s passion too.” Her foresight of a life spent performing in the limelight didn’t come with all the details clear. As a talented dancer, musician, writer and vocalist, Algebra wasn’t always sure of which avenue to pursue, but just like her approach to instruments, she found comfort in practicing them all.

“My mom named me that!”

Her mathematical moniker is indeed her real name. “My grandmother loved math. I was named after both of my aunts. My first name is Algebra, middle name Felicia and my last name is Blessett, I’m happy with my name!” In scholastic circles, algebra is known as a branch of mathematics focused on the study of structure, relation and quantity. Algebra breaks down the roots of her given name, its Egyptian/Arabic origins, invented as a way of understanding the unknown, and putting together things that most wouldn’t usually think to compare. Further research of her name reveals that it was also invented to help solve love problems in fluctuating circumstances, not exclusively for calculating train arrival times in different cities like Mrs. Pendleton had me believe back in the sixth grade. Algebra conducts some studies of her own on her upcoming album. “We’re talking about pride, friendship, relationships; whether man and man, man and God, man and woman. A lot of love on different levels.”

“The name of the album is Purpose. The reason I named it that is because it’s a transition album. I’ve been through so many different emotions and I’ve found that through it all, I have a purpose. Not only in the traditional ‘purpose driven life’ sense. I’ve noticed that the smallest setback can seriously hinder your whole life. But at the end of the day you really have to define what your purpose is and continue on. You can’t let anyone or anything, nothing, change your path.” Algebra casually downplays past instances where others have tried to manipulate her career, image, and vision. “I know who I am”, she adds confidently.

“The industry has forced me to be more creative.”

“Every industry has its bad side,” Algebra says, “but at the end of the day, we have to recognize that it’s a business. It’s a tug-of-war because you want to be this creative entity so much, but then on the business side they’re stressing artists. The music industry has been good and bad to me. It varies, but it’s leveled.” With respects to outside influences affecting her style, Algebra finds herself conflicted in her view, “I find myself not wanting to sing over anything that’s not Algebra, not me. And to define Algebra… it’s simple, but it’s not. Everyday we wake up and look at ourselves in the mirror, we think we know ourselves but really we don’t cause we’re changing so much. The music has got to be honest. I try my best to have conversations in my songs, and tell you how I feel or try to relate a feeling that someone else has. Lessons I’ve learned, I share them with love… along with my anger and the negative stuff!”

“I’ve gotten a lot of good advice”

Having shared the stage and toured with the likes of Kem, Keyshia Cole, The Roots, Common, Anthony Hamilton (with whom she has a duet on Miri Ben Ari’s album), and other talented musicians, a strong sense of accomplishment surrounds Algebra. “It’s been a very good journey; different characters that I’ve had the opportunity to open up for and these people have shared the stage, their space. I’m so humbled by it because they didn’t have to.” She’s accomplished, but she remains ambitious. “I want to work with legends,” she says, “people that our parents listened to.” She continues genuinely, “I wanna get in the studio with Earth, Wind & Fire, or George Clinton and just watch. I don’t have to say nothing, I just wanna watch and get a whole new technique. I’m willing to work with anybody because you never know. Sometimes you just want to see what might happen.”

Every year music aficionados are introduced to a slew of new artists with very little variance between their styles and sounds. I ask Algebra how she feels she stands apart from the masses. “I don’t think there’s a difference. I see it as a likeness. There’s a same drive, a same passion. I don’t think God would allow artists to make it, to touch so many people if he didn’t call them to do it. I think there’s a shared passion for the music, for the stage and for the artistry. I honor that more than anything else. I’m grateful for all the friends I’ve met along the way.” Her frank yet modest response is true to how she presents herself; happy to be playing the game, but in it to make an impact. She admits, “I want the accolades. I want the recognition. I want that. As a people, we all want to be accepted and appreciated. However, I’ll know physically, mentally and emotionally that I’ve made it when I can say nothing else matters. Right now there are things I have to do. I gotta get right with God. I gotta pay this car note. I gotta eat! I’ll know I’ve made it when my faith is no longer tested.”

If you’ve already heard some of the singles like “Big Fame” and “Nasty You” or the legendary internet bootleg that supposedly got them signed, you know that SA-RA is… well, different. The infectious, head-nodding beats, silly lyrics, and weird-but-cool vocals come together in a way that is not only sonically impressive, but also – and this is rare – fun. Taz, Om’Mas, and Shafiq’s unique individual talents, when fused together, marry all the benefits of each man’s classical musical training, extensive production experience, and crazy natural talent. Maybe that’s because, like any good marriage, this one started out with a friendship. Shafiq, who has been bouncing between NY and LA introduced his NY studio partner, Om’Mas, to Taz, whom he had met at their mosque in LA. The guys loved each other’s work and shared a common vision about soul music’s glorious past and where it should go in the future. They became fast friends, and it shows in the music. “That seems to perplex people,” says Om’Mas, “that we live together, work together, and play together.

When I met SA-RA for this interview, I decided to test this friendship and see just how much the fellows had in common. Luckily, these cats are good sports, so they didn’t mind playing along. Remember the old game show, “The Newlywed Game”? Couples would go into separate rooms to answer a series of questions. Then the host would bring them together to judge their compatibility on how well their answers matched. Well, yeah, this is sort of like that, except nobody wins a washer-dryer combo, and nobody gets his booty privileges revoked for showing a national TV audience that he never listens to his wife. Let’s begin.

1) What’s so great about SA-RA?

Taz: “Thus far, this is a group, that embodies…the different eras of creativity for black people, from the Negro spirituals all the way up to, like, drum and bass… all of it… hip-hop, soul music. The fact that we’re doing something to raise the bar creatively, that’s not what’s so great about us, but the great part is that we have a platform to speak and be heard while we’re doing this creative music because music is suffering right now. Music is pretty mundane, cookie-cutter, hit-chase. The fact that we have gotten to this point is a very big accomplishment… Another great things is that we’re free. We’re striving for freedom, and we’re not afraid. We’re not afraid to express ourselves and to charter into unmarked territory to move around in spaces that haven’t been explored yet.”

Shafiq: “I don’t know. We just do our thing.”

Om’Mas: “What appears to be great to people about us is that upon people’s initial experience of us, either through music or fashion or both is that they are experiencing something they have not heard or is somewhat nostalgic.”

2) How did SA-RA sneak into the industry?

Taz: “Business savvy. A lot of artists are not inclined business wise. That’s a big part of how we got this record deal and got distribution and how we got hooked up with Kanye… Hard work.”

Shafiq: “The approach, the attitude, the mentality… how we view ourselves and our approach to making this brand of music and that it can be commercially viable. It’s not that everyday, finger-snapping thing, but we can make that mainstream. The dope shit, as they say.”

Om’Mas: “I’d say 99.9% of it is a direct manifestation of our level of confidence in ourselves and our product and our belief system and what we do. Initially you have to sell your music, and in selling your music you have to exude confidence in order to start the brainwash to get people to believe when they don’t know what to believe.”

3) What are your individual roles within the group?

Taz: “Om’Mas is a technical wizard. His background is in jazz drumming, and he picked up different instruments along the way. And he’s funny as hell. Shafiq is funky. He’s all about the beat. It’s that black, raw, shit. I’m a visionary.”

Om’Mas: “We have this interchangablility that is very unusual… three people that are essentially equals in every right in that we have all been successful producers and business people. Shafiq has this amazing ability to be creative all the time. Taz’ abilities on a social level are just phenomenal. So much of our initial recognition among our peers was directly a subsequent of Taz being out and in people’s face. I’m classically trained, so I bring kind of a structure - this classic old-school mentality of record production by studying the masters.”

Shafiq: “Taz is the true socialite of the group. Om’Mas is the theroist. He is the trained, classical – he came up with jazz musicians in the house. I just build shit.”

4) Will you change the mainstream?

Taz: “Definitely. That was the inspiration for forming this group. The mainstream used to be real good to me, but now I don’t feel that same thing when I listen to music. There’s not a lot of original thinkers out there trying to push the envelope.”

Shafiq: “Take sound. A lot of people use certain keyboards and drum machines, and even rhythmically how they sing, they feel like it has to be formatted the way everything is on the radio. A lot of people aren’t freed up enough to make this kind of music.”

Om’Mas: “We are going to add musicality to a very raw form. Old-school popular songwriting techniques applied to the beat generation.”

5) What is SA-RA trying to give the audience?

Taz: “We’re trying to take them somewhere positive where they can be themselves and be more in tune with their nature.”

Shafiq: “Bringing some consciousness back to the music, but yet people need to feel like they can be free. You have to be yourself.”

Om’Mas: “We’ve got some lessons for them if they want to listen, about empowerment, about succeeding. Whatever brothers and sisters want to do, there’s a way to ensure success.”

6) What artists would appear with you a “Best music of 2006” compilation?

Taz: “Li’l Wayne, Bilal, Kanye, Outkast, D’Angelo… not a lot of people come to mind.”

Shafiq: “Georgia Ann Muldrow, Bilal, Mos Def, Ty and Cory… I’m picky.”

Om’Mas: “I don’t listen to anything that’s out now. I can’t. I don’t have time.”

7) What artists would appear on your G.O.A.T. compilation?

Taz: “Duke Ellington, Willie Strayhorn, John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk, Jimi Hendrix, Prince, Michael Jackson, Quincy Jones, Bill Lee, Afrika Bambaata, Egyptian Lover, Fela.”

Shafiq: “Stevie, Jimi, Sly, George Clinton, Miles, Joni Mitchell, Ricky Lee Jones, Gilberto Gil, George Ben.”

Om’Mas: “Steely Dan, Parliament, Marvin Gaye, Thelonious Monk, Michael Jackson, Sly Stone, Rick James, Prince, Nile Rogers.”

What are you trying to accomplish?

Taz: “Like with this fashion thing. I’m really into fashion. I want people to be able to be themselves and wear what they want, do want they want, and be free.”

Shafiq: “To make dope shit. It’s like Mos Def said the other night, ‘If you’re dope, you’re dope no matter what you do.’”

Om’Mas: “To be the best person I can, to enlighten myself, to stay healthy, to exercise every day. I want to empower my child to be a master of her universe. I want to do the Capitol Hill thing. I definitely want to contribute to this world on a political level and use this money I know I’m about to make for positive things.”

If I can divine the formula for their success from what I learned after hanging out with SA-RA for an hour, it would definitely include a healthy dose of jazz appreciation, an encyclopedic knowledge of music production, a healthy disdain for modern pop music, business savvy, and genuine artistic integrity. It also wouldn’t hurt to have a close-knit, creative team of like-minded individuals who are each about their business without needing to be told. Om’Mas says, “People don’t realize that success, not only is it harder to achieve by yourself, but it’s not as fulfilling if you don’t have brothers with you to help you get there and to share in it with you.”

So the secret ingredient is love? SA-RA seems to think so. Though their answers varied in our little Newlywed Game, these brothers consistently agreed on the fact that they came together to enlighten the people and free them intellectually. The marriage of their talents was inspired by their love of music and their love for their fellow man, and from that bond, the group SA-RA was conceived. The name SA-RA, depending on how you translate it, can mean “child of the most powerful.”

No matter how big she gets overseas, back home Gwen McCrae stills shops for her own groceries and cleans her own car. She goes to church every Sunday and sits quietly among the clergy of Pastor John Miller’s Warrington Baptist, singing hymns she’s loved since childhood. “‘Holy, Holy’ – You remember that one,” she asks excitedly, before belting out a few bars. “I love that one.” This music is second nature to her now. Back before she could walk, Gwen was singing these tunes with her mother, Ms. Minnie Moseley, on the piano. “I really didn’t want to do this,” she explains of her present profession. “I didn’t want to do no R&B. I was wanting to do some gospel, singing church songs. But then this came up on me.”

What “came up on her” is what we call secular music. It pulled at Gwen McCrae just like it pulled at Ray Charles. Nobody wants to blaspheme, and the struggle between non-secular and secular music will always be there. It’s the reason she still has trouble performing her hit “Damn Right It’s Good.” “I just couldn’t bring myself to say that word,” she explains, “and now I never really sing that song.”

When she turned 20, Gwen met her match. She fell for a sailor named George McCrae. They were soon married, and while Gwen was fronting two gospel groups (the Independent Gospel Singers and the Lafayette Gospel Singers), George was constantly begging her to join his burgeoning R&B group called the Jiving Jets.

Finally, in a moment of weakness, Gwen agreed to perform with the group. It was a quite a departure for her. For the last twenty years she’d performed only in the church and in church-related functions, and now she found herself in dimly-lit and occasionally seedy nightclubs. But, it was in these clubs that Gwen discovered her true calling. The Jiving Jets were eventually pared down to just George & Gwen and the duo decided to move its operation to West Palm Beach. “We did a lot of work around West Palm,” Gwen remembers. “We did Sunset Lounge, and that’s how I got my break. A lot of people saw me and they like me, but like I said, I wasn’t into [R&B]. But when I saw that they liked me I said ‘hmmm, this is good!’”

As Gwen began to get more and more comfortable with the R&B style of singing, more and more people began to take notice. One night, Brooke Benton came up to her and told her she was going to be a star, and another night, Betty Wright met her backstage at The Riviera and told her that she was “baaaad.” Betty then went back to Miami and convinced Brad Shapiro of TK records that he should check her out. A week later, Gwen and George were recording for TK in Miami. “She did some background work,” remembers label owner Henry Stone, “and of course, I heard her voice and I said ‘hmmm. Maybe we should record her!’”

The rest, as they say, is the stuff of legends. Her first sessions were leased to and released internationally on Columbia Records. And although her first hits were slowed by an ill-timed disc jockey strike in 1969, she continued to thrive locally, outshining her husband in the process. By the early ‘70s, rumors of infidelity swirled around the couple and the George & Gwen McCrae show soon became the Gwen McCrae show. “Everybody knew that I was bad,” Gwen laughs about it today. “Remember, I’m the show monkey. I’m the one who carried the whole thing!”

Now, at this point, the only thing that could make their rocky marriage even rockier was a hit solo record by Gwen McCrae. Her bad/good fortune would come one day, when Gwen arrived at TK and heard a tune she liked. “When I pulled up to the studio and I heard this guy JT singing this song and he sounded terrible! I said, ‘Darn. Why can’t I ever find a record like that?’ So as I walked into the studio, JT saw me and said ‘Hey Gwen. How are you doing?’ I said ‘Good.’ He said ‘You like this record?’ I said ‘Yeah’. He said, ‘Do you want to do it?’ and I said ‘Sure, why not.’ And he gave me the record.” The record was “Rockin’ Chair” and it was a smash hit for TK. It quickly topped the international R&B charts and even made it on the pop charts, but not everyone was happy about it. “Boy, you can imagine what I was going through with that one, can’t you? [George] told me, ‘If you’d have shut your damn mouth, all this wouldn’t be.’”

Gwen’s husband became more and more envious. “He was always jealous. Not like a man of a woman, but like a woman of another woman.” When the money from her hit record started rolling in, George McCrae began to get violent. “He probably knocked me on every end,” she explains. “I was hurting. I was hurting real bad.” Just before she recorded a song about dangerous dependency (“90% of Me is You”), George McCrae cheated on her with a white girl named Judy (whom he ended up marrying). “Man that one hurt so bad,” Gwen says. “It still hurts. Do you know no matter how much you try to shove things deep down inside… but if you don’t talk about it, and if you don’t bring it up sometimes it’ll kill you. It’ll hurt you.” She cried her way through the session, and the result was the incredibly dark “90% of Me is You” and the appropriately titled “It’s Worth the Hurt.” “I was really thinking of George, inside,” reveals Gwen McCrae today. “Because I was being hurt, but I never told anybody. I just sang it, and it came out like that.”

Although Henry Stone insists that the couple were nothing but professional in the studio, on the road it was a different story. On one tour, things got so bad that George gave Gwen a black eye. He told her not to go downstairs because “somebody might see her.” “So I’m laying in the hotel room,” she remembers, “and I can’t pull the curtain back because my eye was all messed up and the light would have killed me. And some woman called in the hotel looking for George and I said, ‘Well, I’m his wife!’” While Gwen was upstairs nursing her wound, George was apparently sleeping with a woman in another hotel room! The next night, when the band saw her black eye, the tour was almost cut short. “The band was going to quit that night, because of what he did to me.”

Gwen and the band managed to finish that tour, but after a string of incidents including George firing the band while Gwen was in Vegas, then canceling her credit cards while she was in Chicago, and later even accusing her of hiring two men to rob him in New York, Gwen McCrae finally decided to divorce George. “I had to,” she states simply. “He was a dog. That boy really hurt me real, real bad… But I’m over it now, baby!”

She returned to her humble beginnings in the church and eventually even became an ordained Pentecostal minister. Gwen sold the house in West Palm with the heart-shaped swimming pool that she’d once shared with George and moved her three children to Orange, New Jersey for a fresh start. There, she was already signed to Atlantic Records and soon began working with producers like Kenton Nix and Webster Lewis. The result was a series of successful albums and another smash hit called “Funky Sensation.” Gwen McCrae became one of the few 70’s R&B artists to not only survive the disco era, but to thrive in the synthesizer & drum machine-laden backdrop of the ‘80s.

But, just as quickly as Gwen McCrae rediscovered success, she turned her back on it. She left Atlantic Records, left the record business, left New Jersey, and brought her kids back home to Pensacola. “I did a very unselfish move,” the essentially-single-mother explains. “I gave up that to raise my kids. That’s what’s more important to me than anything.” She never remarried, and managed to raise three beautiful kids on her own. “I don’t have to have a man by my side,” she proudly states, “and you know what? I don’t need one. I’ve got Jesus. That’s all I need.” She’s intensely proud of her kids, more so than any of her hit records. Sophia, Leah, Alex, and first grandson Dominique, are Gwen McCrae’s crowning achievement, despite what London or Miami might have to say. “Here I am,” she reflects on her long, good life, “and like my momma used to say, ‘I’m still here!’”

This article started when we were sitting around and someone asked, “Hey, what happened to Bilal’s album?” It’s a question that’s been asked a million times by a million different people since Love for Sale got leaked early this year. At one point there was a release date in February, then a new one in May, promos were mailed out, and then… well, then everything got murky.

Rumors began to surface about the album being shelved because of the extensive internet bootlegging. No one wanted to believe it and neither did I. It had already taken more than five years for Bilal to follow up his incredible debut, 1st Born Second. I didn’t want to believe it would be still longer before we heard a new record, but I was starting to come to grips with the possibility.

So I set out to find out. The logical place to start any investigation into a record release is at the label. So I began my search for the missing Bilal album at Interscope Records. It was not a promising start. Here’s how it went:

Me: “Good afternoon, could I speak with the publicist for Bilal’s project?”
Interscope receptionist: “Who’s project?”
Me: “Bilal’s project, Love for Sale.”
IR: “Bilal who?”
Me: “Bilal Oliver. He’s a singer. Last album was called 1st Born Second.”
IR: “Hold on a second.”

(((30 seconds or so elapse)))

Interscope publicist: “Publicity.”
Me: “Good afternoon, I was trying to reach the publicist handling Bilal’s record.”
IP: “Who’s record?”

So right about there you get the point. After getting the correct publicist’s name, I was told that she was on maternity leave but that I could e-mail her. So I sent the pregnant publicist an e-mail asking how I could go about arranging an interview with Bilal. I get an automated out-of-office response that confirms she is on maternity leave. The e-mail is helpful enough to list the publicity staff who will be handling her accounts until she returns. There’s a publicity person next to virtually every artist signed to the label, but guess what? No mention of Bilal or who might be publicizing his record. I called Interscope back and asked if there was anyone that could help me set up an interview with Bilal. No luck.

So I’m still trying to put together an interview with Bilal when Omar’s publicist Somaya says she can link me to Bilal’s manager, Hawk Burns. Burns provides the first bit of evidence that Love for Sale is still coming out. “It’s not shelved man,” Burns tells me. “You got to understand. [Interscope] has 50, G-Unit, Eminem… we’re not really a priority. But it’s coming out.”

A week or so later, Burns arranges the interview. The professional journalist side of me wanted to lead into the record being shelved slowly, but the Bilal fan side won out and so my first question was something like, “Man, when is the album coming out. It is coming out isn’t it? Don’t tell me the internet stuff got it shelved.” “The stuff that got bootlegged was like the demo versions,” Bilal assured me. “I’m finishing up the album right now in L.A. A lot of the stuff got bootlegged, but the stuff that got bootlegged wasn’t even finished. So it’s all good. That just shows me that there’s love out there and that cats are still checking for me.”

But what about the label promos that were mailed out along with the first release date? “I don’t know about that,” he says. “As of right now I don’t have a release date. But it should be out around the top of the year I would say.” But wait, there were two official release dates. Both times they got bumped. That much I remember.

But Bilal isn’t bothered by the details of his release date/dates. As a matter of fact, he’s not even admitting that there is a completed album. As far as he’s concerned it’s a work still in progress. “I don’t really know what’s going on the album at this point,” he says, “because I’ve recorded about 82 songs. So I don’t really know. Which album are you talking about?”

So I’m no closer to finding out what happened to the original release date. I’m no closer to finding out when Love for Sale will finally be released. It’s an infuriating place to be. And yet this is exactly the uncertain position that a rabid base of Bilal fans are waiting in patiently.

Why do people feel him so much? He’s an amazing singer. Classically trained, jazz oriented, with more ability than even his first album hints at. People who have seen him perform live become evangelists for his cause. He evokes passion.

“I’m just the artist,” he says modestly, addressing the intensity of people’s reaction to his music. “I don’t really try to decipher it. I just try to make it as true as possible. What people make of it is a beautiful thing, but I don’t sit around and think [about the response]. I just try to stay true and make the most honest music that I can.”

Pressed further he admits, “I’m something that’s different and also accessible to the people. I’m left, but I’m also in the middle. I’m different. My music has some strange qualities, but it also has accessibility to it. It isn’t so strange that people don’t understand what is going on. I’m really just trying to open up people’s minds and get people out of hearing the same type of thing… I’m just trying to bring variety back.”

The music is about variety, but the artist’s goals for the record are familiar. “Platinum sales my nigga,” Bilal laughs before continuing. “It’s already a success in my eyes because I love the music and it’s good. At this point, it just needs to come out, have a killer tour, and dope sales. One million. Three zillion. Thirty-five zillion.”

Bilal’s goals mesh with his fans goals. Both want the album to come out, both want a killer tour, and both want a million copies of Love for Sale to… well, they want it to sell. So why can’t we all just get together and get the album to the people already? Is there a petition available to sign? Can we free Bilal’s music?

The artist isn’t letting the delay bother him. He’s sitting in L.A. recording, perfecting, and deciding which of those 82 songs will make the record. But he’s not quite as focused on getting out the final product as we might like him to be. “I’m working on my 83rd song,” he laughs before adding a teaser that should console fans just a little bit. “At least once this album comes out; I can drop the next album right after that.”

Exodus is a production project based on the catalog of Galt MacDermot. Alapatt is the connection between Madlib’s little brother and the man behind the music from Hair. Galt’s work has proved familiar sampling ground for Stones Throw’s artists since Eothen’s arrival at the label. But while the original connection isn’t his, Oh No’s sheer enthusiasm is the catalyst behind this record.

The original idea was to have Oh No make a couple tracks based on Galt’s work. He came back with a couple dozen. Inspired by the same MacDermot that served so memorably in work from Busta Rhymes to The Beanuts to Beck, Oh No thrives. Think a talented producer enlivened by his source material, add a list of the underground’s finest MCs, and you have a pretty accurate idea of Exodus.

Med is here, Dudley Perkins is here, Roc C is here, Aloe Blacc is here, everyone you expect is on this record with the possible exception of either Madlib or his alter-ego Quasimoto. Where Oh No has really outdone himself on this project is by dragging cats like Wise Intelligent out of the shadows to which they have irrationally been relegated. Wise Intelligent rewards Oh No with one of the albums best vocal turns on “Black.”

But my favorite song on this album comes from an artist I’ve never heard of. Maybe you know who K Jay is, but I don’t. But I’ll be checking for whatever he’s on from now on. He takes a beautiful production effort and knocks it right out the park on “To Be an MC.”

So despite the fact that these type production efforts are becoming ubiquitous what with every jazz label’s catalog getting remixed including Blue Note’s by Oh No’s own brother, Exodus is a project you should make a point to pick up. The reason is that it’s a hip-hop record. Oh No hasn’t gotten bored making rap music. Instead he’s continually upping his game. Don’t think of this as Galt MacDermot reworked. Think of it as a dope hip-hop record that samples some great records.