Even though the EP’s length is under 30 minutes, it manages to leave a lasting impression long after the final song concludes.  The opening track “Twilights and Teardrops” sets the mood immediately with a warm chord progression, slinky bass pattern, and rhythm guitar accents.  Straight out of the gate, Unwind’s instrumentals possess the unquestionable cool factor of Sade’s backing band.  “Endless You” continues the seduction with a slow and sexy shuffle as live percussion dances over programmed beats.  The percussion is used sparingly as a light seasoning, which adds an organic feel to the composition.  “Breathe” adds a touch of Brazilian ambiance from the sonic spice rack, the steady shake of a maraca providing the anchor and ensuring that the groove won’t set sail prematurely.

DJ Unwind’s masterful arrangements recall the work of Thievery Corporation, a D.C.-based duo that has perfected the delicate balance between the rough and the smooth.  “Night Foil” taps into that balance by crafting a rugged thump track that supports a sustained keyboard drone and the sound of a record stylus making contact with scratchy vinyl.  In some ways, that simple effect is an acknowledgement of Unwind’s history with sampling and the hours spent digging through his father’s record collection.  His collaborative spirit allows space for the exquisite vocals of Timotha Lanae, whose tones mix with the vinyl crackle so that it sounds like her performance was lifted from a recording made decades ago.  The wistful guitar playing of Joron Willz is icing on an already decadent cake, rich in emotion and adequate in its placement.

“Natalia’s Groove” is one of those involuntary head nod cuts.  The kick and the snare drum command you to sway to the rhythm while the clink of glasses loop themselves into an infectious melody.  Meanwhile, a string section swoops in to apply some cinematic luster to the song.

This EP is headphone-essential music, the kind you want to listen to closely so you don’t miss the subtle nuances within the mix.  Its brief length surely won’t be long enough for some, leaving listeners to ponder the places they’ll go when DJ Unwind finally drops another full album upon a grateful public.

Review by Jason Randall Smith

The high school hormones waste no time seizing control of this album, delivering a double-shot of decadence with “No Señor” and “Dat Ass (Feelin Like).”  The first relays a trio of failed pick-up stories from the bar over Latin-flavored drums and percussion.  Its follow-up slows things down to bump and grind speed, accentuating the low-end bass to compliment CTraffik’s devotion to the derriere.   With “Dem Mutz” leaving nothing to the imagination (“My car is like the Bang Bus, except without the cameras”), one can expect the ladies to be up in arms.  However, this fact is not lost on Linares, who takes a minute to allow them to voice their opinion on a skit entitled “Girls Gone Wild.”  Holding nothing back, they give CTraffik the business (“It’s because of chicos like that that women invented fake orgasms!”).

T&A factor aside, The BumRush is far more than an ode to street liquor and nice butts.  It’s only a matter of time before what’s fleeting gets put aside in order to examine bigger issues.  “No Lie” asks some tough questions regarding organized religion and makes his final stance clear when he states, “I don’t believe in heaven or hell.  Does this song bother you?” Politically speaking, the more things change, the more they stay the same.  With Arizona’s new immigration law sparking controversy and debate, several songs from CTraffik’s debut are as timely as ever.  “Ole Ole Ole” speaks towards the hypocritical nature of deporting Latinos when everyone other than Native Americans can be considered immigrants.  The urgency of the horn hits in “This Is For My…” forces the listener to take heed to his verses.  Billed in the liner notes as “The Ghetto Emancipation Proclamation,” the song is a defiant reminder for his people to take advantage of every opportunity despite the racism that persists within their communities.

This album falls somewhere between the uncompromising flow of Fat Joe and the hyperkinetic energy of Cypress Hill.  With a pair of new albums slated for 2010, it’s easy to see how The BumRush was the springboard from which other collaborations and mixtape appearances would follow.  His love for hip-hop and for Miami can be felt throughout the album and it should be considered an important release within CTraffik’s career.

Review by Jason Randall Smith

The world of R&B is full to the brim with singers that equate riffs with emotion.  As a result, vocalists run lines as if they’re running a marathon, fulfilling the necessary attitude quota with mandatory head rolls, prerequisite finger wags and, should the need arise, just a hint of side eye.  Within the first five minutes of listening to Jennifer Lang’s latest album, 3 O’ Clock Saturday, you’ll notice something significant: no riffing and running, just straight singing.  It also helps to know something about what you’re singing about and it’s clear that sister Lang knows a thing or two about having loved and lost. 

There have been many crossover artists that have come out of the church and been able to make a big splash as pop, rock, soul or R&B singers (Aretha Franklin and Whitney Houston being immediate examples).  Jennifer Lang could be another one of those artists, but as beautiful in tone as her voice is, it conveys more sweetness than grit.  Considering that a majority of the album’s songs deal with losing the game of love, the pain and sorrow that comes part and parcel with such experiences is not always convincing. 

Take “I Don’t Understand” as exhibit A, where she confronts her significant other on their past discretions.  Even while she’s singing “Say goodbye, ‘cause this is the last time,” you can’t help but get the feeling that this scenario will reoccur.  The fact that “I Don’t Understand” is followed up with “You Said” (as in “You said you’d always love me”) only reinforces that belief.  This is not to say that she absolutely has to sound like she’s about to slash some man’s tires, but evidence of a breaking point is slow in revealing itself.  

Nevertheless, Ms. Lang is capable of becoming one with the words on the page.  Credit is due in part to producer and multi-instrumentalist Cloyd Willis Jr. for crafting effective musical beds for Jennifer’s voice to rest upon.  “Hi” taps into the sweetness of her vocals, revealing her playful side.  “Falling In Love” is the best of these themed selections, as she dusts herself off over a shuffling drum beat accented with acoustic guitar and occasional horns.  “Betcha Thought” is one of the strongest offerings overall, set up beautifully with a warbling bass line from Willis and punchy flute and sax riffs that bounce under Jennifer’s strong delivery on the chorus.  “Hey Love” gets hypnotic with an airy, spacey instrumental and vocals that elude to the butterflies in your stomach when love is brand new. 

However, love is far from the only subject out there, so it’s good to hear her take the motivational route on “Keep Your Head Up,” which brings the album to its logical conclusion and steps into the spiritual realm.   “I Don’t Know When It’s Coming” is faith that you can feel.  In time, Jennifer Lang’s ability to express real pain and anger through her music may not be as strong as the promises of God she stands upon, but it will increase in conviction.

Reviewed By Jason Randall Smith

Imagine you’re in your mid-to-late thirties with a preschooler at your side and an impending work day breathing down your neck.  After fighting your way through your day as best you can, you arrive home to find a package inside your front door.  You open it up to find a CD from an artist you’ve never heard of before until that moment.  Imagine that, after the preschooler has been put to bed, you decide to make the album you’ve received a part of your wind down routine.  You begin to listen as you wash the dishes and prepare yourself for tomorrow’s daily grind.  Your ears take notice to the fact that the singer’s lyrics read like a list of breakup chronicles and you wonder to yourself if love is the only subject worth talking about anymore in song. 

Soon after that, however, it dawns on you that you are not the audience that this album was made for.  You take a step back to think things through objectively and ask yourself the following question:  Can you see a crowd of teenage girls knowing every word to these songs and singing along at the top of their lungs at a live show?  The answer comes back a resounding YES.

U.K. based singer/songwriter Candy Rose is going for broke with her debut album, A Rollercoaster Love, penning most of the songs on her own as well as producing and financing the release herself.  She describes herself as “camera shy,” so you won’t find one photo of her in the CD booklet, nor are there any snapshots found on her MySpace or Facebook pages.  A risky move, given that image is damn near everything in the music industry.  (FACT:  The first video aired on MTV was “Video Killed The Radio Star” by The Buggles.  You’re kidding yourself if you think that’s a coincidence.)  However, at the end of the day, image will only get you so far.  Sonically speaking, this album embraces pop music in all its forms, from dance music for the clubs to post-punk rocking out.

“Stop Talking” gets the album started on a high octane note as Candy lets her unfaithful boo know that it’s over.  Don’t be surprised if you see remix support from the dance community in the next few months.  “It’s You That I Love” seems like the perfect choice for a single.  Just shy of three minutes with a catchy chorus and sampled percussion as a drum loop, Ms. Rose reminisces on love shared and the combination’s a slam dunk.  Citing Fall Out Boy as an inspiration, she sets one song aside to let the guitars rip and sing the praises of “Patrick Stump.”  Outside of that, look towards the acoustic-led lament of “I Just Miss You” and the revelation expressed in “Tell The World” for engaging song arrangements.  Hopefully the combination of social media and the Internet will work to Candy Rose’s advantage.  May the artist and audience meet halfway and continue to build from there…

Reviewed By Jason Randall Smith

Every town has that band, the one that seems to rally the entire neighborhood.  In a way, it’s not unlike baseball: diehard fans of the sport are committed to root for the home team, win or lose.  Local bands can muster up that same type of spirit and camaraderie, especially when the hometown heroes can kick the daylights out of outside talent.  If you’ve ever been to a live show where the opening act damn near upstages the headliner, chances are that you have been caught up in the satisfaction of seeing regional acts make good.  One could imagine that Bump Kitchen instills that sense of pride for the residents of Tacoma, Washington.

Armed with soul, funk, and R&B, to say that this group performs like a well-oiled machine is to sell them short.  Their understanding of the groove goes beyond simply landing on “the one,” that rhythmic anchor that our beloved James Brown talked about.  Each member of Bump Kitchen plays with the maturity of an all-star league member, pushing the discipline of the group towards Dream Team status.  Head straight towards “4^th Monkey,” the lone instrumental of the album, for just a taste of what this band can do.  The slap bass of Joe Bevens signals the song’s first breakdown as Everett James supplies the foundation on the drums and Mark Bittler skips across the keys with a fluidity reminiscent of Jean Luc-Ponty on electric violin.  The guitar melodies of David Broyles and Jho Blenis are both diverse and engaging, ranging anywhere from jazz improv to fierce solo work with a hard rock edge, depending upon the song.

The addition of Tony Harper’s vocals to this ensemble is a godsend.  As a front man, he completes Bump Kitchen and is a formidable weapon within the band’s arsenal.  Their take on a Bill Withers standard (“Use Me”) is served up in a calm but tight fashion and Harper’s tones ride the groove with equal amounts of cool.  “Back In The Day” slows things down a bit to great effect, allowing Harper to throw a little doo-wop inspiration into the mix as he croons about childhood memories and the soul artists that supplied the soundtrack to his youth.  When it’s time to kick things up a notch, the lead vocalist is a commanding presence, particularly on cuts like “Mona Lisa” and “Use Me.”  “You’re lookin’ good,” sings Harper, sizing up the song’s object of desire.  “Who will the next fool be?”  “Tell Me” makes for a great companion piece, taking the energy into guitar-heavy territory that’s almost worthy of head-banging moments.  Harper matches the song’s intensity with pipes that evoke attitude and passion, placed alongside one of the best guitar solos on the album.

Bump Kitchen’s latest release will resonate with fans of funk and blues alike.  With a musical stew this delicious, listeners will more than likely come back for seconds once the album concludes.  As Tony Harper declares on the opening number, “Bump Kitchen’s got somethin’…”  And what they’ve got will surely satisfy.

Reviewed By Jason Randall Smith

The trouble with specialty genres is that, sooner or later, preconceived notions of what a particular category’s made up of will begin to appear more often than needed.  If something works once for the listening audience, it’s brought before the general public until they’re sick of it.  This can happen with any type of music and the Smooth Jazz format is no exception.  It’s a rare thing these days when an artist can produce an album within a genre that you swear you’ve heard a thousand times before and genuinely stand out above the rest.  Savio Rego’s All I Want is that kind of album.

Born in Bombay, India and raised in San Jose, California, Rego’s charisma exudes through each composition.  His style of guitar playing is a gentle caress that extracts a range of emotions, all of which complement his song writing.  Right from the first selection, your mind and soul are in good hands.  “Señorita” is a slam dunk of a single, bare bones Latin dance existing only in hushed vocals, melodic strums, and an understated thump.  Amazingly enough, that’s all you need to get lost in its mesmerizing rhythm.  As potent as the song is in its original form, it’s only a matter of time before it receives a remix treatment.  Lyrics like “hit the dance floor all night / to techno beats and flashing lights” is practically an invitation for ocean floor deep house enhancements.

Lyrically, the album deals heavily with love, lust, and obsession, so it’s nice to hear the last three  songs steer things in a different direction.  While still talking about love, you get to hear Rego’s take on breakups and falling out of love.  A perfectly placed instrumental (“Chai Time”) acts as a transition piece between the head-over-heels protagonist from the last five songs and one who’s loved and lost within the last two.  Incidentally, “Chai Time” could become a chill-out/smooth jazz staple.  Atmospheric without being droning, contemplative but not heady, it’s an all-encompassing wind-down tune that’s perhaps best experienced with the tea that bears its name.

“Movin’ On” plays on the 12 bar blues pattern in an upbeat fashion, jazzy and airy despite the fact that the relationship is clearly over.  Notice the breathy vocals of Rego as he croons with cool, “If you never really loved me / don’t tell me it’s my fault.”  As the disc comes to a close, a spotlight shines down on a man and his guitar.  “Love Me For Me” is Savio at his most vulnerable, singing sweetly and with remorse (in sharp contrast to the man who was “Movin’ On” just a song ago).  It not only concludes the album in grand fashion, but reminds you of the undeniable talent of this man.  In a world where Auto-Tune won’t die fast enough, what you see (and hear) is what you get with Savio Rego.  His music is skeletal in sound, but seductive nonetheless, and Adult Contemporary stations across the nation should be beating a path to his door.

Reviewed By Jason Randall Smith

Those that study hip-hop’s beginnings will discover that the music and other elements were used as a creative alternative to gang violence.  In that same spirit, Dallas-based rapper Wayne Savant uses words to heal the emotional wounds of his own life.  While the booty-shaking sounds of the Dirty South won’t fade away any time soon, Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object is an album with a different agenda, one where the message takes priority over the music.  Many a brain-dead rapper has been able to get over with intelligent beats to carry them through, but Wayne seems to be a student of verbal economics.  In short, he wasn’t put here to waste words.

Immediately noticeable is the stripped-down feel of the production, devoid of flash or the need to be stamped “club banger of the month.”  Mister Mods and Savant craft sparse, stark rhythms that force you to pay attention to the words.   Right from the opening track, “Ode To Duality,” Wayne comes out swinging with tongue-twisting verses that feel as if they’re running at twice the speed of its underlying beat.  The phrase “keep it real” applies directly to his unflinching vulnerability, especially on a song like “Make It.”  It is here that Wayne deals with broken homes, a stepfather whose idea of discipline is excessive force, and finding strength within yourself in spite of it.  The press release for UF/IO speaks of being accepted within the cipher, that circular safe haven where rappers release the stress from their chests.  It could be argued that Wayne’s strongest moments on the album involve him trading verses with other MCs, such as “Reality” featuring Smack Dab or “Precision” with C-Fleet and the bilingual Omy Santana.

The last two songs on the album contain his most political and passionate lyrics.  On “Sad To Say,” Wayne dissects the events of September 11, 2001, coming to the conclusion that “9/11 was an inside job.”  His rage against wickedness in high places turns to seeking a higher source as he reveals himself as a “soldier for Christ” on “A Roll Of The Dice.”  Allowing his faith to have the last word, things end on a hopeful note.  Persecuted but not forsaken, cast down but not destroyed, Wayne Savant emerges from his past both stronger and wiser.  Unstoppable Force/Immovable Object may not fill the dance floor, but it can deliver a message to those that need it most.

Reviewed By Jason Randall Smith

It’s been said time and time again that you can’t judge a book by its cover, yet still we find ourselves sizing up that which we think we have all figured out.  Upon gazing at the cover of Metta Effect, the new album by Hymnisphere, various images of peace and harmony come to mind.  We find a drawing of the earth and the meaning of the word “metta” in Sanskrit:  “loving kindness.”  With an album title that translates into “the effect of loving kindness,” some would immediately prepare themselves for new age music.  While Hymnisphere’s latest includes that, it encompasses so much more in terms of style and sound.

Hymnisphere is producer/composer/visual artist Cheri Chuang, who seems to have tapped into life-affirming harmonies with this album.  This is electronic music with the ability to shape shift from new age and ambient into a lighter shade of ethno techno.  There is an all-inviting aesthetic in its approach that finds sounds from across the globe coming together for a greater good and becoming its own sonic global village.  Such observations may not be readily apparent on the album’s opening track, “The Calling,” which eases you in with ancient mantras softly sung over cavernous chords.  Then “Bliss Immortalis” catches you off-guard with a rhythmic shuffle and gorgeous vocal harmonies.  It’s part Bel Canto, part Deep Forest, and enough to make you second guess your previous assumptions.  The title track floats on a cloud of tranquility, the orchestral arrangements acting as the ultimate silver lining.  Tambourines and tablas sit alongside finger cymbals on “Procession” while “Shakti” comes ready for the dance floor.  A light break beat kicks in about 90 seconds into the song and the buildup progresses with every layer of percussion, vocals, and orchestral swells.

An argument can certainly be made for Chuang’s vocals being the finest instrument featured on Metta Effect.  Handling both lead and background voices, her command of melody is striking.  This is perhaps best experienced on the shorter tunes like “Moyoni Mwake” and “Seraphymn.”  Both feature Chuang’s singing over subdued keyboard patterns, giving the vocals the attention that they so rightly deserve.  Another highlight is “Nata,” a tune with the seductive qualities of mid-tempo house music.  The drum programming gets chopped up from time to time, adding some friction to this heavenly piece.  Chuang rises from said friction and calms the waters with her always reliable tones.  Seated just above the instrumentation, her voice is a homing device, guiding us back to that secure place where we find love, beauty, and power within ourselves.

Word around the campfire is that Chuang is practicing the art of DJing, which is fantastic news.  Considering the warmth and scope of songs included on Metta Effect, one can only imagine the awe she’ll inspire with her DJ sets.  Until such time, the Hymnisphere full-length will keep us fully engaged.  With all of the madness the world can bring, let this album be a healing salve for your mind, body, and spirit.

Reviewed By Jason Randall Smith

The mind is a powerful tool.  When utilized for imaginative purposes, it can take you places while standing still.  Some choose to use external devices to assist in the journey.  While some choose to reach altered states through an array of street corner pharmaceuticals, others rely on music’s harmonies and melodies alone.  Depending upon the musician you listen to, you’ll either be traveling at the speed of sound or going nowhere fast.  Unless said composer or producer delights in the idea of being a sonic sandman, their mixture of harmonies and melodies ought to keep the listener engaged.  Georgia-based composer Dale White evokes emotional responses through electronic music on his latest album, Fade.  Perhaps the best way to describe it is rhythmically-inclined new age: compositions washed in ambience, but always anchored by a pulse or a backbeat.  Then again, an apt indication of the album’s purpose is captured by its subtitle: “Music For The Mind Traveler.”

White has expressed interest in his music being used for film and television, and there’s plenty here to suggest that his works would make a great fit for documentaries and perhaps science programs as well.  Can anybody else hear the album’s opener, “Better Day,” as the theme song for a hospital drama?  For Dale, the song represents memories of a day spent with his son.  For a network, the lone piano pattern accentuated by plucked strings and staccato bursts of static could be the next earworm for a hit show.  Sometimes the thing that catches your ear regarding White’s songs is the way in which different elements come together.  Some ingredients you don’t see coming, like the meaty bass line steering the course on “Faded Trip,” adding a bit of spunk to an already upbeat and positive tune.  “Eastern Signs” is arguably the best song on the album, its slightly tribal buildups giving way to hushed break beats underneath a wave of keyboards as well as Japanese and Thai vocal samples.

“Sister Liu Han Finds Her Rock” is another memorable moment, which includes a handclap cadence that proves infectious.  Focusing your attention to the small details within a song like this can make for a big payoff. The only real misstep on this album would be “Euro Time,” White’s take on European techno.  He readily admits that this song is “tongue in cheek,” but techno diehards may find very little to laugh about.  Even so, Fade makes good on its promise to provide a soundtrack for the places you go in your mind.  In terms of his TV/film pursuits, White’s album is his calling card, evidence of capturing mood and making new memories through song.  A few years may be the only thing separating him from a full-length feature film score.  There’s another area of entertainment that Dale may want to seriously consider:  video games, particularly the role-playing kind.  If the makers of the Final Fantasy series are working on a new title, they really need to give Dale a call…

Reviewed By Jason Randall Smith

Within the accompanying CD booklet of Abel Okugawa’s Dance Like A Speaker, you’ll find a figure walking the streets with a speaker for a head.  Are they a physical manifestation of the beats running through the artist’s own mind, dark and cavernous, the subwoofer of the subconscious vibrating with rhythms that hypnotize and cause involuntary head nods?  Nestled away in the confines of the Monkeyclaus recording studios of Roseland, Virginia, Okugawa wears the hat of sonic sorcerer, conjuring up spells with healthy doses of dub, hip-hop, and electronic music with cosmic sensibilities.  If you are one of the lucky few to get your hands on the limited edition CD, you’re immediately struck by the screen print cover art, both visually appealing and curiously tangible.  However, in a contemporary society that places importance on style before substance, perhaps one’s left to wonder if the music within matches the beauty of the packaging.  Have no fear:  with Okugawa behind the mixing board, you are in good hands.

Right from the album’s opening track, “Subtle,” you’re caught between the sensitive interplay of the rough and the smooth.  Waves of harmonic chords wash over the drum programming, assertive in its approach while still open to suggestions.  “Need UR Love” seamlessly weaves an audio bed for bedrooms worldwide, the loping percussion falling victim to the seductive soul loops above it.  “Peal” is wonderfully ethereal with a simplistic rhythm pattern, leaving room for a bass line from outer space to be sprinkled liberally, but never overpowers the track.  It’s obvious that Okugawa knows the sounds in his aural spice rack intimately and is able to create beat dishes that burst with flavor.  A handful of musicians provide their own well-placed seasoning, be it the guitar and bass work of Raphael Wintersberger or the immediately comforting tablas of Loren Oppenheimer.

Okugawa’s music is somewhat reminiscent of Tricky’s previous material, but there’s a glaring difference that’s worth mentioning.  Rarely will Adrian Thaws leave his production without his distinct Bristol rasp spouting stream of consciousness lyrics.  Outside of the dulcet tones of vocalist Rahimah von Briesen (whose singing can be regarded as another instrument within this album’s context), Okugawa’s brand of subterranean abstract blues stands on its own beats.  Selections such as “Mr. Moba” and “Roses” serve as evidence.  When words are needed, nothing is left to chance.  Featured artists Regime Change spit plain and bitter truths that act as the perfect accompaniment to Okugawa’s instrumentals.  The stark boom bap of “Fo Sho” is accentuated by orchestra swells and disciplined poetic waxing that praises motherhood and shines light on societal injustice.  Such bittersweet ruminations continue on “Reparations,” cushioned by inviting musical tones and rhythms inspired by the motherland.

Abel Okugawa has created a work of bold color and infectious melody.  To miss Dance Like A Speaker is to miss a life-affirming soundtrack.

Reviewed By Jason Randall Smith