#30: Cypress Hill — Cypress Hill (1991)
Los Angeles, CA — Ruffhouse Records
As we reach the end of our third ten-album cycle, we are greeted by yet another all-timer record from an all-timer group: Cypress Hill, straight outta South Gate, CA. I will say that I have been a Cypress Hill enjoyer for some time now, so do not expect this review to really be impartial in any capacity; however, my main CH jams have always been Temples of Boom, IV and Los Grandes Éxitos en Español, and I actually don’t really remember a lot about this one, which I reckon it’s been the better part of a decade since I last jammed. So it’s not like I’m coming into this with a clean slate but it’s not really set in stone anymore either, and this is gonna be as much a revival as a discovery of something pretty much new.
At the time, as it still is today, the group counted with two rappers, B-Real and Sen Dog, both possessors of great skill and unique styles. The first thing that got my attention here is how much B dominates the spotlight, leaving Sen to more of a support role, in a markedly different trend from some of their later albums, where they shared the available space in a mostly equal manner. Another thing that feels remarkably different here is the general vibe — while their later stuff is way more moody and dark, this has a positive, hyped-up style with beats still more reminiscent of the late 80s. As far as I can tell, this shift in style took place roughly between Black Sunday and Temples of Boom.
The production was all handled by DJ Muggs, who stayed with the group from its foundation in 1988 until 2004, and is himself a household name for rap fans everywhere. As expected from an artist who would later go on to collaborate with an extensive roster of rappers, the beats here are of consistent quality, mostly due to the exquisite, almost experimental sampling. They still have kind of an old-school-ish late 80s flavoring of sorts, but with the beginnings of a distinct 90s boombappy feel to them, in what sounds like a transitional moment of sorts: remarkably groovy, funky even, but with a constant slightly weird feel to them, an uncanny little thing constantly fluttering in the back, you know? I guess that’s not the best explanation I could have come up with, but it really is a kind of ineffable thing — think of a jazz song that’s mostly perfectly loungy and laid-back, except for that little weird, slightly jarring note or chord that plays just every now and then, and you might get what I’m trying to put into words here. One thing that I strongly feel, though, is that Muggs often goes the extra mile to avoid just looping some drums and samples and calling it a day: many of the tracks in here actually have pretty complex structures to them, with all sorts of little sections and breakdowns, and overall it sounds like the beats are put together around the raps just as much as the other way around.
It pleases me much to say that the raps, too, are of consistent quality all throughout. As stated, B-Real does most of the heavy lifting here, with Sen Dog being relegated mostly to a support role here and there, which is not really a bad thing since S doesn’t seem to be at the level he’d eventually attain a couple of albums later. If I had to pick one word to summarize Real’s rapping it would probably be fun: his characteristic voice and intonation, very reminiscent of Danny Brown, lend themselves perfectly to the general tone and mood of the lyrics (more on that later), and his irreverent delivery has everything to do with the lyrics in general — pretty hardcore, yes, with nonstop references to gangbanging, criminal activities, drug use and anti-cop ideas, but, diffferently than what the gloom-looking cover art on this album might suggest, not with that somber seriousness found in acts such as Paris or Ice-T. No, in here there is always a slightly tongue-in-cheek thing going on, some fun and engaging banter, which lends itself to building up this atmosphere that’s as gritty and urban as it is humorous and quirky.
And one thing that these guys can do very well is atmosphere. It’s not that it really pulls you in as much as it gently coaxes you into feeling the vibe and gradually getting more and more wooed by that latin west coast swagger; ultimately it almost feels like you really are sitting on someone’s porch in the hood, puffing on some blunts and shooting the shit under the warm California sun. The storytelly character to be found here is surely a big factor in that; however, it’s not that they really tell whole stories with beginnings and endings, but rather that there’s always a prosaic quality to the discourse, almost mundane in a way. The writing is not really linear, sounding almost kind of disjointed sometimes, like they’re shooting in all directions, but it still somehow coalesces into a coherent thing within each song, no doubt a lot due to that constant colloquial imagery. That might sound like it’s not too noteworthy, but in my opinion it is not an easy feat to be constantly talking about different stuff and not maintain one single main topic for the majority of the song and still be able to make it feel coherent and pleasant to the ears.
The rapping itself, from a formal standpoint, is not very technical and complex, but in my opinion that works perfectly well here. Their thing is about images, ideas, punchlines and bars, ultimately shaping up to a solid, complex vibe and scenario, and not really about rhythmic-linguistic skill in itself. The writing, though, has this distinctive “modern” feel to it; I guess it’s kinda hard to really put my finger on it, but I feel like this brand of lyricism — more about ever-shifting ideas and bars than about linearily developing upon one main gist — feels like a very 90s thing to me.
It felt great getting our first sample of the illustrious “subgenre” of latino rap via such a great record by a group I’m so fond of, and even though this is different from the later Cypress Hill I’m more used to, it is just as good and pleasant to the ears. The main elements of their identity are already solidly established here — some more incipient than others, such as the constant prideful references to their identity and language, which is no doubt one of CH’s most famous main defining characteristics — and overall it was really nice coming back to the beginnings of such a great group. For sure one of the most fun and engaging listens we’ve had so far.
Favorite tracks:
Hand On The Pump: Outstanding choruses and hooks are surely one of this album’s big selling points, and this one might be the greatest of them for me. The way the lyrics manage to be gritty and hardcore but also fun and light-spirited at the same time is a true feat, making this a veritable vibe colossus.
Hole In The Head: Another tushy whooper with a simply magnetic hook and hardcore street lyrics, it’s perhaps where their gangsta anti-cop mentality shines through the most. The raw, funky, disjointed, almost psychedelic sounding beat puts it all together into an all-time head-nodder possessing some of the most dense vibes all throughout. “Madman gonna gat cha, quick with the cuete/ See a gang, no there ain’t no jugete/ Rollin’ like a psycho with the windows rolled down/ Who you lookin at, you tryin to fade me clown?/ Plato, si mon, you want static/ When you reach for your gat to load your automatic/ (Boo-yaa!!) Spittin’ out buckshots/ Homie say blood claat, so you can call a pig/ ’Cause no one could handle, aguanta en loco/ Insane to the brain, you get the bullet and…”
Stoned Is The Way Of The Walk: One among many of Cypress Hill’s zaza anthems, and a disgustingly sleazy, almost sludgy one at that. Beat is somewhat minimal and jazzy, atmospheric even, which perfectly compliments the almost surrealistic lyrics about a hazy, confusing, lethargic and slightly paranoid smoke sesh. “They wanna’ scruff but, they’ just so rinky-dinky/ I’m the freaka, the one who freaks the funk/ Sen got the Philly, and he’s gonna light the blunt/ Sippin’ at the kufu make me go cuckoo![…] I’m the Buddha-Real I take a trip ta hoota’ville/ I’ll throw ya out the door… of my big blue Seville/ Then light another joint, this ain’t no exploitation (point)/ For we are the ones strollin’ in the ways of the masters”
Psycobetabuckdown: Crazy sci-fi-ish disco-ey funky ass beat with unnecessarily egregious switchups and breakdowns, complete with some of the finest bragging this cycle has seen. Perhaps the most fun track in a remarkably fun album, an admirable achievement in and of itself. “See I’m from South Central, bustin’ out my metal/ Rapid-fire petal, fuck is making me get mental/ Yo, it make no sense, so here son the scalpel/ Sen start the massacre as I get nasal/ The phase’ll be like a murderer’s maze yo/ You won’t find B-Real, inside any kind of cage yo/ Sen is the gangsta, me I’m just a pimp/ Broads swingin’ off my dick like a chimp, simping”
