#25: Brand Nubian — One For All (1990)
New Rochelle, NY — Elektra Records
After last week’s veritable festival of sizzling, sweat-inducing west coast ass whooping we return to the frigid wastelands of New York, which is now about to get its permafrost melted by the sheer funk of Brand Nubian’s own Grand Puba, Lord Jamar, Sadat X and DJ Alamo. Now folks, BN is widely considered one of the top hip-hop groups of all times, both in quality, originality and influence, which only adds to my shame as I find myself forced to admit that I have never listened to a single song by them. You know how every music fan has this one band, more often than not of a fundamental status within their favorite genre, that they inexplicably have somehow never listened to? Like, I don’t know, an old school death metal fan who’s never jammed Gorguts, or maybe a Beatles fan who’s never spun a solo Ringo album? Yeah, that’s me and Brand Nubian.
It was, then, with that shame and determination in mind that I pressed play, empowered by my decision to shed light into this embarassing blind spot in my otherwise proud trajectory as a hip-hop aficionado. And folks, let me tell you, this thing is long. Clocking in at almost one hour and fifteen minutes, it’s by far the longest album we’ve seen so far (even the deluxe version of The Devil Made Me Do It, with all the bonus tracks and such, is still significantly shorter), which I regret to say definitely does not work in its favor for the most part. Unless you’re a really big fan of this specific type of rap, at some point it’s just bound to become a dreary, monotonous experience, no matter how good the tracks themselves might be. Without a doubt this record’s biggest dealbreaker for me.
However, it’s not like there aren’t plenty of redeeming qualities. What caught my attention the most in this, by far, was, well, the first thing you’d guess: the rapping. These guys, Grand Puba most of all if I’m being honest, have a very original, skilled and fun way of rapping: it’s disgustingly sleazy and loose, but not so much as to become awkward or ill-fitting; it’s cool through and through, be it in the fast, hyped tracks (which are still significantly more laid-back than what was the norm at the time) or in the mellow, loungier songs to be found all throughout. I’d hazard saying that Puba, by the way, while not being this album’s main character per se, does get in under the spotlight quite noticeably, and for no bad reason: his rhymes and raps are consistently tighter, groovier, more precise and very well-written. Not saying that Sadat and Jamar can’t rhyme, quite the opposite, but GP seems to be consistently at an advantage — not an entire notch above, but like a quarter to a third of a notch.
Nevertheless, the three compliment each other very well, and no doubt this would feel very different and less sophisticate if it were a solo album, irregardless of by whom. Their general gloating comes off somewhat abstract, liberated, going into different unexpected tangents here and there; whimsical and light, but not silly, which is a very welcome changeup. It’s to a point where these tangents sometimes temporarily develop into whole themes in themselves, with the bragging looking like little more than an excuse to exercise their poetic freedom and technical expertise.
Now, as we power through this behemoth we come across a theme which we’ve seen some times before: that of afrocentrism, mostly associated with black nationalist and islamic organisations in the US, of which the Nubians were mostly part of. References to such themes can be found in practically all songs, ranging from discrete and casual presentations to thematic tracks that revolve around, as they themselves put, “civilizing the uncivilized”, the eighty-five percent, evangelizing the word about their asiatic ancestry — not a theme I dislike in principle, although I sometimes find it kinda dull. The way they deal with the theme is more akin to how the Jungle Brothers do it, treating it kinda like a divine immanence rather than a completely material and historical thing, which is how Paris does it. My disconnection to the way the theme is treated, and, admittedly, also a bit to the theme itself, made for somewhat of a monotonous experience here and there, but, as stated, they seldom go too overboard with it and mostly manage to talk about it in cool way.
I want to make it very clear, though, that this stuff about being preachy is 100% a personal hangup of mine, and by no means do I intend to pose it as an objective critique. There are lots of people who are very much into this kind of shit, in this case I do think it is a matter of taste.
Such themes are delivered in a markedly preachy, holier-than-thou tone, and I often find it annoying and disinteresting, even moreso when we’re faced with the unfortunately not few stretches and parts where the idea comes off, well, scummy to say the least. Casual misoginy is unfortunately a big part of rap still to this day, so much that it’s pretty much unfazing to me in most situations, but the contrast with the regular spewing of woke makes it a little more on-the-nose, so to speak, and it threw me off a bit more than normal. Such an example is in To The Right, a song with an especially intriguing beat, interesting, if a little disjointed, general structuring and a great first verse by Puba. Suddenly, though, Sadat just randomly says some shit about knocking a girl out because she was all up in his shit, and then adds that he’s “not a wife beater, not a girl cheater”. What on earth is up with that? That’s the most egregious out of some examples, but you catch my drift: it simply comes off as gratuitous and unhinged — which, again, has its effect potentialized due to the contrast with the wholesome sermonin’.
Still, I wouldn’t by any means say that those defects pointed above are deal breakers. The preaching is a little annoying but also usually more lowkey and discrete than the usual, and can be easily ignored for the most part. And, finally, I just have to comment on the stylistic importance of this: at a time when most of rap was still based on straight beats and stiff flows, the level of soulful funkiness presented by Brand Nubian, among others, was nothing short of game-changing. It was them and their peers from Native Tongues (of which they were a peripheral member) that first put this style forward and made it popular, and as such were of undisputable relevance in the rap scene.
All in all this is, to me, essentially a quality record with a few minor issues (the preachy tone, the erky bits here and there) and a major one (the overbloated, overfilled, poorly-structured body of work). I particularly admire the constant permeating feel that at the end of the day they’re just shooting the shit and decidedly having a lot of fun. I am definitely curious to finally check out their later stuff, and I’m sure some early seeds of their later greatness are very present here. Not something I see myself really spinning front to back a lot, but there are definitely half a dozen great gems in there.
Favorite tracks
Ragtime: It does start right off with a joke about hitting a chick, but the rhyming and rapping are simply superb, very technical and tight but also whimsical and light (yo I made an incidental multisyllabic rhyme). It’s not about anything in particular but also has this sort of general cohesion, which is always a point in my book. Cool little beat to boot.
Dance To My Ministry: Good lord what an owning beat, it’s this straight up, relentless, seamless afrobeat loop which reminds me of titans such as Fela Kuti and Manu Dibango. The rapping is done in a notably looser manner, sounding almost like spoken word at times, which goes well with the general preachy theme to be found here, which is nevertheless not as annoying or overbearing.
Who Can Get Busy Like This Man…: Lmao we got Puba putting on his best fake patois for this dancehall tune. It’s obviously lesser than proper ragga songs from that very time in history, but not bad by any means, with P’s masterfully theatrical intonations and flexions here and there giving it some cool flair, even though his rastaman impression can get a little jarring at times.
Least favorite track
Feels So Good: Beat is remarkably irritating, the verses sound rushed, some bars gave me a mild temporary case of second-hand embarassment, and the structure, while aiming for “free and loose”, managed to hit just “disjointed and irregular”. I think there was another least favorite track but upon re-listening to the album I don’t think there’s anymore that deserve this dishonorable spot.
