#26: Geto Boys — The Geto Boys (1990)

Def American Recordings — Houston, TX

As we slowly shift towards an expanded, less NY-centric panorama of hip-hop, we meet the first of many illustrious southerner artists we’re bound to see. This is a bit of an outlier, given that it’s actually a remix album, consisting mostly of reworked songs from their second album, Grip It! On That Other Level (1989) with one additional track from their first one, Making Trouble (1988) and two additional brand-new tunes; alas, this is apparently the one that really made them, the one that put them on the map, so according to this review series’ modus operandi of going for importance over sheer quality, this is the geto boy I’m picking. All thirteen songs were re-recorded and remixed by m̶y̶ ̶m̶o̶r̶t̶a̶l̶ ̶e̶n̶e̶m̶y̶ Rick Rubin and his sidekick Brendan O’Brien, whose blunt, aggressive approach to production reportedly went hand in hand with “the group’s fuck-everybody attitude and simple straight-forward music” (The Source, 1990).

Now folks, in order to talk about the Geto Boys, we need to talk about southern rap as a whole. With the west coast ascension in the late 80s, the scene was divided on a national level between the LA area and the NY area, with the rest of the country as a whole mostly left on the background; however, at that same time, there was a slowly growing underground scene throughout all of the south, from Houston to Miami, from New Orleans to Atlanta and everywhere in between. By the mid 90s the southern rap scene would achieve its well-deserved nationwide relevance and solidity, and many consider the GBs the single most fundamental group in that due to the sheer influence their style of rapping, performing, producing and most of all their approach to lyricism — the unabashed hedonism, the remorseless apology to violence, the unhinged attitude — would have in that next generation.

Upon gazing at the cover, we are greeted by the visage of four rugged hustlers, four gangbangers straight out the streets of Houston — DJ Ready Red, Scarface, Willie D and Bushwick motherfuckin’ Bill (R.I.P. rest in power) — with a look as menacing as it is disturbing. One the bottom, a little disclaimer put there by the recording label, warning about the album’s “violent, sexist, racist and indecent” content; an alerting message, but is it fair? Dear reader, I tell you now that it surely, without a shadow of doubt, is. Good lord but do these guys say some of the most egregiously absurd shit I’ve ever seen. See, one of the main hallmarks of southern rap is the so-called horrorcore, not necessarily a formal style in itself, although it does stem mostly from hardcore rap, but rather a certain approach to certain themes, namely those of violence and depravity in general, sometimes focusing on stuff like occultism, or antisocial behavior, or psychosis, or drug abuse, or just straight up violence for the sake of it; it is highly controversial, its lyricism sometimes getting compared to slasher movies, horror literature and death metal, and the shock value being sort of its main gist as a whole. There are many examples and offshoots of this style, and as far as I can tell they all, directly or indirectly, take a page from the Geto Boys’ book.

If there is one thing they make sure to really rub in your face is how unhinged, violent and crazy they are. Fuck ’Em, the first track, sets the tone, both regarding their pride and aggressiveness — “Before the Geto Boys came around/ You can’t front on it, clown, H-town was no town” — and their fearlessness when it comes to tackling scandalous subjects — “You call yourself teacher, but what’s bein’ taught/ How to fuck kids and not get caught?” — , as well as generally throwing menaces around, the usual. Next up we have Size Ain’t Shit, all rapped by Bushwick Bill, who excels at coming up with clever punchlines, most of all about his height: “And while you’re gettin on your knees to fuck/ A nigga like me’s still standin up […] Liftin weights’ll make you bigger/ But lift me you’ll be a dead ass nigga”. You catch my drift, right? It’s all pretty threatening and in your face, with explicit threats of violence and so on.

Nothing, however, prepares you for the third track, the infamous Mind Of A Lunatic. See, this is considered by some one of the first horrorcore songs, and for good reason: this shit is absolutely absurd, it’s in a level where it’s hard to even take it seriously. Bill opens with “Paranoid, sitting in a deep sweat/ Thinking, I gotta fuck somebody before the week ends/ The sight of blood excites me, shoot you in the head/ Sit down, and watch you bleed to death”, and it only gets worse as the song goes on. They go on to explicitly and exhaustively describe scenes of gratuitous murder, rape, torture, et coetera, which I won’t transcribe here, leaving the listener with a decidedly unpleasant aftertaste. However it is sort of their whole thing, so it’s hard to criticize it too much when they make it clear from the get-go that they lyrical personas are unhinged psychos with murder on their minds.

It seems to me like their overall style of rapping is less about being technical in that eastern vein and more about the overall attitude and vibe, with added attention to clever punchlines and references, which I believe to be a technical achievement in its own right. They’re crazy and they’re loud and they’re proud of it! One good thing to come out of it are the constant memorably absurd bars and verses all throughout, such as the part on Gangster Of Love where Bill ends his verse by shouting-out a certain Cathleen Johnson for being the first to introduce him to the mysterious delights of getting your ass ate — down with toxic masculine insecurity, I say! On Talkin’ Loud Ain’t Sayin’ Nothin’ they address the hypocrisy of “stupid-ass parents” who’ll be scandalized at their lyrical content yet let their kids watch Schwarzenegger movies and not bat an eye, and in Do It Like A G.O. they talk more broadly about the generally sorry state of black music in the U.S., how it’s been taken over by “tie-wearing bitches” who only care about “cash roll and politics”. In that same track they go on some tangents about politics:

Some of us make it to college
And take a test to the highest degree with limited knowledge
Most of us won’t pass the bitch
And those rotten-ass motherfuckers know this
I’m not Malcolm X or Farrakhan
After this one, I’ll guess I’ll have to pack a gun

The opposition between the awareness of the black political heritage and the immediate rage and necessity for violence is particularly interesting to me. There are not too many moments throughout this whole thing where they enter such tangents, but when they do it’s surprisingly elaborate and profound, something one wouldn’t expect given the general idea of this record. City Under Siege is perhaps where this line of thought shines the most:

Now let’s go back to the past
The motherfucker who needs to be tried is Ronald Reagan’s ass
Appointed Bush to the C.I.A
(That shit was cold
Put Noriega on the payroll)
All of a sudden shit changed
Right after ’88 (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
Hm — ain’t that strange?
Some think I’m goin too far
But if you wanna go to war, I take you to war

The tracks themselves, while following a well-defined aesthetic and poetic line, are fairly diversified in their own right, and many of them are admirably memorable and unique. The production, while not terribly creative, is pretty efficient all throughout and pairs with the general vibe pretty well. What can I say, ole’ Ricky got it right this time around! Some of it sounds somewhat dated, yes, but you gotta remember that this consists mostly of remixes of songs from 2 years before. Almost all songs are sprinkled with samples from the same two or three lines from Scarface, which gets decidedly a little annoying after some point, but apart from that there are no bad beats in here, but few amazing ones too if I’m being honest.

All in all it’s a fun listen, if pretty harrowing here and there with the explicit references to slaughter and dismemberment — but nothing a seasoned extreme metal veteran can’t handle, right? Beyond its aggressive, psychotic visage, this album is inhabited by a surprising variety of themes and poetics, with some great performances by the four members of the crew. You can certainly see how important this was during the early days of southern rap, how they came to define an original attitude, reminiscent of stuff from other areas, the west coast most of all, but wholly original and theirs. And, well, given the importance that southern hip-hop would eventually have in today’s hip-hop and pop music as a whole, I don’t think their influence can really be overstated.

Favorite tracks

Size Ain’t Shit: What I love the most about this one is Bill’s relentless, merciless shit-talking. As stated before, he’s at his best when hitting you with a veritable torrent of jabs, pokes and lowbrow jokes about how you’re a limp dick little bitch and he’s so much better than you, and boy does this one deliver. Bonus points for probably being the first hip-hop track dedicated to the empowerment and representation of disabled people.

Trigga Happy Nigga: Holy shit it’s really hard for me to think of a rap song with an intro as incredible as this one, and the rest of the beat doesn’t lag behind at all. Incredibly groovy and soulful but also potent and bold at the same time, which goes very well with the generally obscene but considerably less tasteless lyrics and intriguing rhyming. This certified bop is not about nothing in particular, but its general storytelliness puts everything together nicely and makes for my favorite track on this record by far.

Life In The Fast Lane: Simply relentless beat, relentless rapping, relentless lyrics, relentless storytelling, all by the man Scarface himself, it really does live up to its title. One of the most different tracks on this album for what it’s worth.

Least favorite track:

Let A Ho Be A Ho: It probably says more about me than about rap itself, but one of my least favorite subjects is when the dudes are being condescendent and moralistic about chicks (yes, I am a male feminist, how can you tell?). Beat is OK and the writing isn’t terrible, but overall it just doesn’t do it for me. I would add Read These Nikes to this list as well, but honestly it’s not that it’s bad really, it’s just that it’s mostly irrelevant and doesn’t catch my attention one way or another.