#34: Organized Konfusion — Organized Konfusion (1991)

New York, NY — Hollywood BASIC/Electra Records

Greeting us with maybe the single worst designed album cover we’ve seen yet, east coast conscious rap heavyweights Prince Po (in the foreground) and Pharoahe Monch (in the back) present their debut full-length effort, Organized Konfusion’s self-titled. Now I am somewhat familiar with Monch’s solo works, and I’ve heard of Po (which stands for Poetry by the way) before, but as far as I can recall I’d never checked out anything by them as a duo, so it was half-blind that I went into this.

Now, in the world of music discussion and such there are a few words that I think do get a bit, let’s say, overused: terms such as “underrated”, “overrated”, “experimental” and such are often used as easy one-size-fits-all generic (non-)descriptors that get slapped onto pretty much anything that moves and don’t really mean a whole lot at this point. One of these pervasive, quasi-meaningless buzzwords is “ahead of its time”, which my good friend Gloob applied to OK’s self-titled in his own little review of it. It really is a term I find a little meaningless sometimes, a little, you know, not especially descriptive and conceptually unsound. However, in this specific case, I am thoroughly convinced that the title bestowed by the man Gloob upon it is, indeed, accurate.

This is one of those albums that don’t really get a lot of traction in the mainstream upon release, yet slowly but surely build up a cult following in the underground over the next years. After securing a deal with Def Jam in 1989, they proceeded to hone their craft, and in, late 1991, Organized Konfusion was born. Entirely self-produced by the duo, this album showcases a level of versatility, of originality, of consistency, of both technical skill and vibeical whimsy that is honestly hard to find. Much like Main Source’s Breaking Atoms did to Nas, this album was responsible for introducing the world to the first ever recorded verse by illustrious rapper O.C., whose solo stuff we’ll be checking out in a few cycles from now.

The thematical range is pretty impressive, most of all for 1991. Topics range from the good old bragging about nothing in particular (Fudge Pudge, Organized Konfusion, Intro) to lighthearted whimsy (Walk Into The Sun, Who Stole The Last Piece Of Chicken?) to politically-charged sci-fi tales of horror (Releasing Hypnotical Gases, Prisoners of War) and essays on mysticism, consciousness and messianic narratives (Open Your Eyes). Storytelling isn’t the main thing here as much as it is on, say, Death Certificate, or O.G. Original Gangster, or The Great Adventures of Slick Rick, but it is present in a few tracks in remarkably different and well thought-out ways.

The Rough Side of Town, this album’s track that is politically conscious in a more traditional way, takes hip-hop’s tradition of descriptive storytelling and takes it to the next level with OK’s masterful rhyming and flowing. Roosevelt Franklin, one of my favorites out of this whole deal, features these crazy, unpredictable switches in perspective and way of telling the main story, itself a rich, intriguing mess: in the first verse, Prince Po whispers into the listener’s ear, almost like the classic little devil in one’s shoulder, about this Roosevelt guy who leads a perfect life, has all he wants and stole your girl; he then eggs you on to get violent, disproportinate revenge on the girl snatcher. Suddenly, then, comes Pharoahe Monch’s verse, which is now rapped from Roosevelt Franklin’s perspective, who is revealed to actually be a deeply unhappy soul, tormented by others and his own sick mind, unable to even keep track of his own life, such is his psychosis.

Also impressive, then, is the wit and knowledge with which they approach said themes and stories: they usually take them as seriously as possible, with a deeper message within, and not just a prompt to build rhymes upon. That does not mean, though, that the rhyming is secondary, because Jesus fucking Christ these guys can build some insane schemes and flows to boot. For an outstanding example, check out Monch’s second verse from Prisoners of War:

Wake up to the mathematics of an erratic rap
Rejuvenator of rhyme, that sort of come automatic
Poetical medical medicine for the cerebellum
I divert ‘em and flirt ‘em insert ‘em then I repel e’m
A breakdown, poetical shakedown
Fifty-two pick-up a stick-up so get on the floor facedown
The ammo to keep the people steppin’
Breakin’ open the vault because I’m like a verbal assault weapon
I’m mathematical, acrobatical
Attack the wack take rap to the maximum
You’re strung out you’re hung out when you heard the style
That I brung out of faint air must come out my mouth
Where I stick my tongue out in the at-mos-phere
Take a good look at what’s happening here
On the microphone, I’m rappin’
Pickin’-’em-stickin’-’em up, breakin’-’em-shakin’-’em up, and bashin’
The lyric dictator, the aviator of antonym
All beware to prepare for the guillotine
Rhymes go express, expert, extreme
Be up to par with wisdom and intellect
Detatching one’s head directly from one’s neck
Still I’ve been illin’ and drillin’ your brain
Like a villain I came in the darkness to spark the literature for sure
When I rhyme for the prisoners of war

It really needs Pharoahe’s flow and delivery for its genius to fully shine, but with a cursory glance you can already see why Talib Kweli put this in his list of the best rap verses of all time, right? The rhyme schemes here are so dense and complicated that it’s hard to even really notice them in full, and the wordplay doesn’t lag behind, as well as the double entendres and such. The flow generally works hand in hand with and to enhance the lyrics, constantly featuring little pauses and moments of syncopation, as well as unnaturally stretched syllables for the sake of dramaticity or musicality, and up to and including moments where they purposefully go off beat for a few moments — a specific trick I’m fond of, but only when it works, which, fortunately, is usually the case here. And to top it off, the delivery itself, excluding the flow and metrics, is fairly varied and creative — dramatic, serious, comic, angsty or lighthearted as it needs to, often enriching the narrative effects of the song to a considerable extent.

It’s easy to go on and on with examples and just gush nonstop at Po’s and Monch’s poetic prowess for many more paragraphs, and it would certainly not be undeserved, but it would just be exhaustive repetition of a point I believe I’ve already made quite clear here, so now I’ll leave you, dear reader, with my most express reccomendations to check this out for yourself, and go into an aspect of this album I’ve not yet covered: the production. As mentioned before, it was entirely done by Organized Konfusion’s two members, none of which were professional producers to the level of, say, Large Professor or even our old friends of the Bomb Squad, but that doesn’t mean the beats are bad. They’re often somewhat simpler, yes, but with many pleasant additions of little breaks and snippets here and there, which do a good job at adding in some extra spice where needed, not to mention the few and far-between but tasteful and enjoyable interludes and skits here and there.

All in all it’s easy to see why this record is considered such an underground classic, and it still sounds as impressive as I bet it did back in late ’91. Organized Konfusion would later go on to release two other albums before Po and Monch peacefully and cordially parted ways, more due to excessive recording company issues and commitments than to creative differences, and go on to pursue successful solo careers and make a lasting difference in the rich, sprawling territory of underground hip-hop; nevertheless, their debut effort as a duo will always be a brightly shining gem in their respective discographies.

Favorite tracks

Walk Into The Sun: Incredible sampling, beat straight up sounds like it’s from 2010 or something. As they themselves state, it’s about nothing in particular — “There’s no specific topic of speech in this rhyme/ I just wanna go on a ride” — but the energy here is at an all-time high, hyped-up but not too much, wise but not preachy, with just enough mellowness and positivity.

Releasing Hypnotical Gases: The one track that made me realize this was definitely not gonna be your typical feel-good early 90s conscious rap album, it’s got this crazy high sci-fi concept about viruses and chemical warfare and weapons of mass destruction and shit. Almost too dense at some times, it is nevertheless engaging and definitely locks your attention into it. “I am one who is one with all things/ Thus the unorthodox I am/ The paradox I am/ The equinox extending my hand into dimensions to unlock new doorways […] I’ll suck wind from the valley of death/ Here I come from the slums of Earth, the center/ I reveal myself as a beast within a/ Unbreakable shell, walking through the doorways of Heaven/ Or is this Hell?”

Prisoners Of War: Incredible, almost exaggerated levels of rapping, rhyming, flowing and storytelling in here. Its consistently tense, jittery mood, and its musicality alone communicates this pervasive sense of dread, of paranoia, which is only complemented by the not so subtle tie-ins between the lyrics and the current going-ons of the world at the time.

Roosevelt Franklin: I’ve already explained this one’s elaborate, impressive gist in this review’s fifth paragraph so I won’t do it again, but suffice to say this is probably one of the, if not the single most conceptually dense and impressive track not only on this album but maybe out of all our backlog so far. Not unexpected that I’m very much bowled over by this one, considering how much of a sucker for convoluted, recursive narration I am. “I’m takin’ the proper precautions (yeah)/ ’Cause once my mother told me she was gonna get an abortion/ I can’t keep track of the fluctuation of time/ Hallucinogenics keep abusin’ my mind/ Gotta pick up, gotta pick up, gotta pick up, gotta pick up/ More product, gotta move, gotta go, I can’t get stuck; not here/ Not if I wanna become Roosevelt Franklin: the employee of the year”