É possível gostar do Conjunto Corona sem nunca ter fumado um charro? No limite, a resposta afirmativa será óbvia. A legitimidade é a mesma com que se apreciam os momentos mais bairristas de YG sem nunca ter pisado Compton ou as referências gastronómicas de Action Bronson sem nunca ter comido uma refeição gourmet (mas, pese a banalidade, talvez não seja a mesma coisa). Só que há, em Corona e em Santa Rita Lifestyle, outros universos de que é impossível fugir. Em primeiro lugar, todo o imaginário do Grande Porto, claro está.
Não que esse entendimento seja essencial para que o ouvinte se identifique e relacione com os artistas, como acontece com YG ou Bronsolino, mas sobretudo por uma questão de discurso. A começar pela finíssima escrita de Logos, mesmo que o tom raramente denuncie o conteúdo — ao bom estilo do Porto, onde a poker face é mais antiga que o popular jogo de cartas. Se as personagens de Corona são, ao quarto disco, mais reais do que nunca, isso começa na força de expressões aparentemente tão inócuas como “refustedo” ou “levas duas putas”. As letras de Edgar Correia não caricaturam quem fuma um “charro”, mas sim quem “mata um berloque” ou um “pavão”.
O quadro só fica completo com as “ninas” que vão polvilhando o vídeo que acompanha o álbum, com o 13-05-JC que os conduz ou com os interlúdios samplados das míticas rádios locais do “norte”. E é exactamente aí que se encontra o segundo grande ponto deste disco: a religião. Aqui, como representativa da “portugalidade” — ou mesmo da humanidade — no seu todo, mesmo que a pronúncia nunca se perca. A intenção e o destaque são óbvios (só os skits é que têm direito a legendas), e talvez não seja coincidência que a viagem comece em Santa Rita.
É na união desses pontos que se torna quase impossível definir, mais do que a forma, o conteúdo de Corona, e é nesses interlúdios que se percebe de uma vez por todas que as caricaturas de Logos e dB são, mais do que uma crítica jocosa, uma homenagem. O povo que retratam, e que fuma “berloques” no seu Honda Civic, é o mesmo povo que acredita em “profecias”, mas é exactamente o mesmo povo que responde a esse tipo de declarações dizendo “nós, os homens, é que temos que resolver o problema”.
O que o Conjunto Corona faz pelo hip hop, a partir do Porto, é bonito. E recomenda-se com entusiasmo redobrado: é bom que haja mais homenagens destas, às pessoas, ao país (e noutras zonas do país) e à música. A mestria de dB, no pensamento e na execução, não é novidade, e está, tal como a escrita e a entrega de Logos, cada vez mais perto do ideal — e de irónica também não tem nada. O Conjunto está mais rico, a música continua a crescer e ganha mais camadas. A mensagem, com ou sem legendas, já passou.Moisés / Rimas e Batidas
When Lonnie Liston Smith left the Miles Davis band in 1974 for a solo career, he was, like so many of his fellow alumni, embarking on a musical odyssey. For a committed fusioneer, he had no idea at the time that he was about to enter an abyss that it would take him the better part of two decades to return from. Looking back upon his catalog from the period, this is the only record that stands out -- not only from his own work, but also from every sense of the word: It is fully a jazz album, and a completely funky soul-jazz disc as well. Of the seven compositions here, six are by Smith, and the lone cover is of the Horace Silver classic, "Peace." The lineup includes bassist Cecil McBee, soprano saxophonist David Hubbard, tenor saxophonist Donald Smith (who doubles on flute), drummer Art Gore, and percussionists Lawrence Killian, Michael Carvin, and Leopoldo. Smith plays both piano and electric keyboards and keeps his compositions on the jazzy side -- breezy, open, and full of groove playing that occasionally falls over to the funk side of the fence. It's obvious, on this album at least, that Smith was not completely comfortable with Miles' reliance on hard rock in his own mix. Summery and loose in feel, airy and free with its in-the-cut beats and stellar piano fills, Expansions prefigures a number of the "smooth jazz" greats here, without the studio slickness and turgid lack of imagination. The disc opens with the title track, with one of two vocals on the LP by Donald Smith (the other is the Silver tune). It's typical "peace and love and we've got to work together" stuff from the mid-'70s, but it's rendered soulfully and deeply without artifice. "Desert Nights" takes a loose Detroit jazz piano groove and layers flute and percussion over the top, making it irresistibly sensual and silky. It's fleshed out to the bursting point with Smith's piano; he plays a lush solo for the bridge and fills it to the brim with luxuriant tones from the middle register. "Summer Days" and "Voodoo Woman" are where the electric keyboards make their first appearance, but only as instruments capable of carrying the groove to the melody quickly, unobtrusively, and with a slinky grace that is infectious. The mixed bag/light-handed approach suits Smith so well here that it's a wonder he tried to hammer home the funk and disco on later releases so relentlessly. The music on Expansions is timeless soul-jazz, perfect in every era. Of all the fusion records of this type released in the mid-'70s, Expansions provided smoother jazzers and electronica's sampling wizards with more material that Smith could ever have anticipated.
Thom Jurek / AllMusic
Sex Packets is a vibrant, wildly funny record that transcends any attempt to dismiss it as mere novelty. Novelty records are throwaways -- cheap gags that are funny once, but never pay off with repeat plays, something that Sex Packets certainly does. Sex Packets is layered like any good story. Corny jokes, gross-out tales, flights of fancy, and sheer absurdist humor co-exist comfortably, usually within the course of one song. Take "The Humpty Dance," their breakthrough single and timeless party anthem. Within that one song, Humpty Hump spills out countless jokes, spinning between inspired allusions and thuddingly obvious cut-ups, which are equally funny because of the irrepressible, infectious nature of his rap. And he's so confident in his skills, he's sexy, which is kind of what the album is about -- it knows that sex is funny, and sexier because of it. But the very name of the album should be a clear indication that Digital Underground doesn't take any of this stuff all that seriously while creating elaborate, fantastical settings that reveal boundless imagination. The showiest number, of course, is the "Sex Packets" suite that concludes the album, built around their idea for a drug that creates full-blown sexual fantasies (virtual reality before it was in vogue), but their skill at creating distinctive worlds is just as apparent on the endless party of "Doowutchyalike." These are the things that are buried beneath the band's jokes and an enormous amount of George Clinton samples. Much of the music on Sex Packets uses the P-Funk canon as their foundation (a notable exception being a swinging interpolation of a Jimi Hendrix Band of Gypsys cut on "The New Jazz (One)," a cracking showcase for their team vocal skills). It's so strong an influence, it may seem easy to reduce Digital Underground to the status of mere Clinton imitators, but they take his blueprint, expand it, and personalize it, creating a record that is as loose and funny as anything in the P-Funk empire, and in some ways, easier to access, since the party feels wide open. Few hip-hop albums sound as much like a constant party as this, and years later, it's still impossible to resist.
Stephen Thomas Erlewine / AllMusic
For their long-awaited debut album, London collective Bugz In The Attic have replaced the wildly syncopated excesses of yesteryear with a collection of cuts that compound their many influences into a tight, bright signature sound.
Recent single "Move Aside" and "Knocks Me Off My Feet" highlight a compliance with the sassier side of US r & b, featuring vocal hooks that wouldn't be out of place on a Missy LP, though the wide variety of (live and programmed) rhythms, buzzing synths and punchy bass sounds stem directly from the deeper side of the UK underground.
Those who heard Bugz recent Life:Styles compilation wont be surprised to hear elements of 80s soul here, notably on their floor-stomping revamp of Yarbrough & Peoples' "Dont Stop the Music" and "Consequences", which features long-standing collaborator Bembe Segue.
Phusionistic tracks such as "Once Twice" and "Redhanded" (also featuring Segue) hark back to the posse's more classic broken beat sound, though for the most part the team have successfully crystallised their love of funk, dub, hip hop, Afro-sounds, soul, house and jazz into an immaculate - and highly accessible - tapestry of catchy grooves without losing any artistic integrity.
Jack Smith / BBC Review
