Culture .......
2pac 4U2 handle

2 much

RU still down?
(remember me)
Tupac Shakur

Amaru/Jive
Sometimes record companies go too far
in their efforts to move product. Most
hiphop fans would probably agree that
Tupac Shakur is an artist, an actor,
perhaps even a poet. But the Jive
Records press release doesn’t stop there;
it takes these earlier assertions a step
further, blithely dropping the word
legend into the mix. Legend carries some
heavy connotations, and should be used
sparingly. But in their desperation to
create instant icons, record companies
throw it and that other oft-misused
term, genius, around with such careless
abandon that these words soon cease to
have any real impact.

Maybe this sort of boasting rekindles
debate about what he meant to the
hiphop community and black culture as
a whole, but foisting such artificial hype
on Tupac Shakur less than two years
after his death is a shame because it
further distracts from what started him
on the road to fame in the first place: his
work.

RU Still Down? (Remember Me),
Shakur’s sixth album since 2Pacalypse
Now hit the streets in 1992, is a
posthumous double-disc set of previ-
ously unreleased material, and, while it
is a good album, even great in spots, it’s
certainly not legendary. As with many
other double-length releases, R U Still
Down? would have benefited had its

producers culled the weaker songs and
distilled the better material into a single
disc.

Disc 1, the stronger of the'two, opens
with ‘Redemption, a strange collection
of spoken-word samples built around a
bluesy acoustic guitar track that has a
vaguely Spanish air about it. When
listening to this intro, with its
cartoonish, lowered-pitch refrain, Thug
life, bee-yach, goin’ out like that, and
insane background laughter, it’s hard to
tell if Shakur is being serious or just
poking fun at his badboy image. Judging
by the rest of the album, the former
seems more likely.

Shakur raps about the ‘thug life’ so
frequently on this album that one gets
the impression that he is obsessed with
the gangsta lifestyle. This seems a waste
of Shakur’s talent, because he’s at his
most interesting when he stretches
outside of the thug image so many came
to expect from him and speaks about
topics other than guns, drugs and
bitches. It’s Shakur’s ability to humanize
the complexities of life on LA’s mean
streets that makes him a powerful force,
yet he only exercises this strength
intermittently. When he does, however,
Shakur conveys a very real sense of
desperation and anger on tracks like
‘Nothing To Lose’: The only way to
change me is maybe blow my brains out/
Stuck in the middle of the game. . . pray
to my God every day, but he don’ listen.

Much of the tension in these songs
lies in the juxtaposition of Shakur’s
seemingly unrepentant, hell-raising ways
and his belief in God, as on ‘Hellrazor’:

Mama raised a hellrazor/Stress gettin’
major/Lord be my Saviour. This is one of
the contradictions that make Shakur
such a compelling artist. Unlike his
more one-dimensional contemporaries
such as Spice-1, Shakur comes across as
genuine because he isn’t afraid to dig a
little deeper and go beyond the Willie-
the-Pimp caricatures that are so
prevalent in most gangsta rap. What's
frustrating about this collection is that,
just when things are getting interesting,
Shakur veers back to the thug life theme,
which starts to wear a bit thin by the
end of the first disc. It remains to be
seen whether this focus can be attributed
to poor tracking on this particular
release, or whether most of Shakur's
studio backlog is centred around this
well-traveled territory.

Thankfully, Shakur mixes things up
musically to a greater extent. The
syncopated funk guitar layered under the
straight-up backbeat of the Warren G.-
produced ‘Lie to Kick It,’ gives the tune
a James Brown feel, so it comes as no
surprise to find in the liner notes that
the track includes a sample from Brown's
‘Funky Drummer.’ “Nothing To Lose,’ is
driven by a relentless, catchy dance
groove, with production reminiscent of
the work on Skee-Lo’s, / Wish. Shakur
even veers to the pop end of the hiphop
spectrum with ‘I Wonder If Heaven Got
a Ghetto,’ which features a radio-
friendly piano refrain.

On the downside, things go slightly
awry when he ranges into reggae
territory on “When I Get Free,’ which
isn't so much unconvincing as it is just

Picking on Strawberries

Wild Strawberries.
Quiver

Nettwerk

Wild Strawberries (hereafter
referred to as The Strawbs) are
normal people. Between albums
and tours, this intellectual,
loungy husband-wife combina-
tion of Roberta Carter Harrison
and Ken Harrison prefer to work
day jobs in their chosen fields to
stay grounded.

The Strawbs gained critical
success and a loyal fan base in
Canada with their first studio
effort, Bet You Think Im Lonely,
The songs were low key, mellow,
and extremely hooky. The album art was
simple: duotone and sombre,
moodsetting and mysterious. Listening
to the title track or ‘Life-Sized Marilyn
Monroe’ is nothing short of sublime;
Roberta's smoky vocals floating over the
smooth-as-silk instrumentation put this
debut in the ‘can't-miss’ section of a
given collection. It was loungy before
lounge was cool. Ya know?

Second albums often bring out the
warts of a band, especially one made up
of normal people. Heroine, however, was
a brilliant step for the Strawbs. It was
more poppy than the first record, still
addictively hooky and even radio-
friendly. Roberta's vocals were even more
prominent, sprinkled over inspired
chassis and a guest appearance by Sarah
McLachlan on guitar. The album cover
took advantage of the fledgling lounge

PR rie ria

 

scene by showing Roberta, once again
muted in a duotone setting, in a 50s
pose with an antiquated vacuum cleaner.
It was retro lounge, just after lounge
started to be cool, ya know?

Third time's a charm, right? Well,
Quiver is a good album, but I have to
say it falls short of great. For the first
time, a few of the experiments on a
Strawbs album just don’t work. Sure,
there are the same hooks, the same
chemistry, and the same dizzying vocals.
Hell, Ash Sood, Brian Minato and Sean
Ashby (all from Sarah McLachlan’s
Grammy-winning band) lend session
support here. But there’s something
amiss. First hint? Album artwork looks
like a Japanese Adidas ad. Passé, you say?
I agree. Roberta again graces the cover,
this time with her disembodied head on
a playground spring, quivering. What a

great way to display how personable
these folks are: disembody them, ya
know?

Quiver has its share of moments.
‘Pretty Lip’ is a great little song
about sibling jealousy; “Concho Y
Toro’ is catchy, addictive; “Thirty
Two’ and ‘I’m Not Going To Cry’
round out the end of the album in
classic Strawb ballad fashion. But
(here it comes) there are a couple
songs here that sound as if the band
is consciously attempting to create
current sounds: ‘Speak of the
Devil,’ for example, starts off with a
rippin’ distorted bassline and
circling drum riff. It sounds good,
but just doesn’t work with Roberta's
restrained vocals, One of Roberta's

_ gifts is her ability to deliver a relaxed

refrain, even when dealing with a harsh
subject or running with a fairly uptempo
beat. But on “Devil’ and one or two
other trax, she’s stifled too much, Let her
saaang, ya know?

Strawb fans may have to stretch a bit
to like this record, especially if they'd
enjoyed the unique feel of the previous
two albums. But numerous listens, and a
fast remote for those two songs, will
bring the requisite Harrison enjoyment
to the music room. I may be harsh in
my review of this record; I’ve come to
like this band a lot, and thus put a lot of
expectation on them, I suppose. But,
when all is said and done, this is one
case where I have to agree with the
axiom: “Why couldn’t they just sound
like they did before?”

Ya know?

Jason Kurylo

plain dull. All the right
reggae elements are
there—throbbing dub
bass, minimalistic drums,
organ on the offbeats—
but there’s a lacklustre
quality to the musical
performances that fails to
generate any real energy or
excitement. And, as might
be expected on a collection
that spans 26 songs,
redundancy sometimes sets
in, as on ‘Definition of a
Thug Nigga,’ another
Warren G.-produced tune.
The funk guitar on this
track sounds as if it were
cloned from the Brown sample used
three tracks earlier in ‘Lie to Kick It.’
Shakur’s lyrics are as retread as the
music. He’s delivered sentiments like the
opening line —I played the cards I was
given/Thank God Im still livin'/Pack my
nine/ til its time to go to prison—with
more force and conviction elsewhere on
this collection.

Many artists lay down far more
material than they need during any
given recording session, and Shakur was
no exception. As listeners, we can only
rely on an artist’s good judgment when
it comes time to decide what to release
and what to leave in the vaults. Presum-
ably, Shakur gave us his best material on
the five albums he released while still
alive. Unfortunately, he seems destined
for the same fate as someone who has
become a legend, Jimi Hendrix. Like
Shakur, Hendrix released five excellent

 

albums during his own short recording
career. Since Hendrix’s death in 1970,
however, record companies have milked
his memory and music for all it’s worth,
releasing at least 40 albums of previously
unreleased tracks, alternate takes, live
recordings and remastered versions of
existing songs. Legendary status has its
drawbacks.

Only time will tell whether or not
Shakur will be viewed as a hiphop
legend, but one thing is certain: Just as
Hendrix fanatics have devoured every
last permutation of his music, no matter
how redundant, hardcore Tupac Shakur
fans will probably embrace R U Still
Down? (Remember Me), imperfections
and all, and wait eagerly for the other
releases that are sure to follow.

Kevin Sallows

ubmit

(Cle
SOMETHING

To Do

SYN ae

@OP.

uglas.

bc.ca

 

 

The Other Press March 11, 1998 11