A few years ago, estimable hip-hop producer Peanut Butter Wolf did his part in heralding the new breed of old-school with My Vinyl Weighs a Ton. The album, his solo debut, featured an impressive number of MCs from the thriving San Francisco hip-hop scene. One of its first tracks, "Styles Crew Flows Beats," features the Lootpack crew. The group passes the mic dexterously, each doing his part to heighten the flava until the groove suddenly shifts and an eerily high- pitched voice strolls into the proceedings. Quasimoto, he calls himself, and the remainder of the track is little over a minute of the finest underground hip-hop on record. He seems hyperactive and ready to burst, yet his rhymes are laid-back and his tone remains almost resolutely monotone with limited inflections.

Let it be known, then, that Quasimoto is no mere mortal. He is the brainchild/ alter ego of Lootpack member and producer Madlib, a sped-up manipulation of his own twisted rhymes. But injecting a little self-reflexive post-modernism into music never hurt anybody. Just ask David Bowie what it can do for a career.

Instead of recording a proper solo album for Peanut Butter Wolf's Stones Throw imprint, Madlib decided to give his other persona top billing, and he pulls it off to a degree. His production generally mixes sparse loops of spoken samples with obscure funk and R&B; overtones, grounded by tight, snappy beats. "Return of the Loop Digga" is an engagingly funny paean to his mad production skills. Here, Madlib steps up to document his rise from stealing records from his auntie to laying down tracks for his man Quas.

The 'Moto, for his part, starts strong as the "bad character" of the project: “I smoke a nigga with a brick/ Talking out of place/ Like I was sniffing paint/ Laced/ Lining up outta space." Damn! The delivery of lines like "dropping shit like some horses/ Irritate your mindstate/ Have you split like divorces/ Of course this is the new breed/ Fuckin' up the mainstream" are pure gold, but by the middle of the album, it becomes clear that Madlib decided to cheat his alter-ego out of ontological priority rather than simply let him be. As the man behind the boards and the squeaky little man up front, Madlib accords himself too many shout-outs, too many poorly disguised pats on the back, and makes too many appearances as himself for a character album. And while by no means fatal, this is the primary fault of the project.

The Unseen is an above-average contribution to the resurgence of the old- school aesthetic, but it could have been better. The record is littered with great moments-- such as the sci-fi manifesto of "Astro Black" and the moving musical backing of "Come on Feet"-- that make me hope this isn't the last we'll hear from Quasimoto. But for Quasimoto to convince, Madlib has to chill. Let him record his own album.

-S. Murray