Being the soulless, square, suburban son that I am, I can honestly say that I really haven't paid attention to rap music in a long while-- in fact, nothing's really made an impression on me since Public Enemy's Fear of a Black Planet. De La Soul, Schooly D, and the Beastie Boys' brilliant Paul's Boutique still hold a place in my Volkswagen hood ornament- covered honky heart, as well as NWA's hilarious and brutal Straight Outta Compton.

It seems rap, like most mainstream pop music, is all about making money, and just takes itself too damn seriously-- the industry's basically become a fucking zoo overrun with bellicose Uzi- toting hucksters possessing nary an ounce of talent for anything except shameless pimping. Hardly anyone seems intelligent enough anymore to touch upon what rap seemed to be all about in the first place-- scathing humor, urgent street- savvy social commentary, and beats that could still make even the stiffest ass wiggle. Then, just hours ago, I popped in the Wiseguys' The Antidote. Rap's saving grace may be upon us, people-- it's just the right blend of Miles Davis cool, warm funked- up beats, social awareness with an edgy sense of humor, and a plain ol' old school sense of fun.

Sure, I mean, the old school rappers were notorious sexists sometimes, too; but, hey so was Axl Rose, people. And plenty of cash- horny ho's like Sheryl Crow and Lucy Kaplansky now cover "Sweet Child O' Mine" like it's goddamn "Scarborough Fair." So I'll ask you, general public, what the fuck happened to Ice-T, Ice Cube, LL Cool J, the Geto Boys, and the Public Enemies of the world? And who the fuck was that overstuffed Notorious B.I.G. trash- bag and why should I give a shit that he's dead? Brotha Michael just don't understand, I guess.

Now, if I may be self- indulgent and autobiographical for a moment, I witnessed a strange rap- related phenomenon as an adolescent. During my freshman year in high school, I was forced to attend a public high school in Texas with a student body consisting of around 1,050 upper- middle class caucasians, heaped on top of the low rung of the school's socio- economic ladder: an introverted middle class white boy (me), a black kid named Chucky, and an outcast Latino named Lester. Now, because of an unfulfilled jock past, my father forced my wimp ass to play all sports-- including basketball. This meant being forced to mingle and travel with a bunch of snotty, pigmentally- deficient jocko homos, all of whom spent every waking moment attempting to live out what they felt to be the Black Experience.

Well- supplied by their rich parents, all of my peers were clothed in the latest Adidas regalia, custom NBA- quality sports wear, Nike Airs, etc. They had the jam boxes and Walkmans ablast, bobbing their heads arrythmically to Kurtis Blow, Run DMC, Cameo, and Oran "Juice" Jones-- the soundtrack to their adolescent daydreams of being nubian warriors spawned from the Ghetto streets. In the halls of that whitewashed suburban school, it wasn't uncommon to witness a group of upscale polo- shirted mama's boys form an adoring circle around an ambitious, well- heeled rhythmically- challenged kid attempting to breakdance like someone from the cast of "Breakin'," "Beat Street," "Krush Groove" or the other worm- bustin' films of the day. It was both sad and humorous, really.

What's my point? Well, after childhood experiences like the ones described above, I think it's understandable why I've always looked at rap music with a strange, paradoxical attraction/ aversion. But after an extremely circuitous route in getting to the point, I'll return to the real subject here: the Wiseguys. They bring a sense of fun, creative wordplay, a legitimate experimentalist bent, and excitement in general back to rap and hip-hop that I've really missed. I mean the dope shit just don't stop y'all. "Ho-tel, mo-tel, holiday inn..." oops, sorry. I can't help but marvel at the ingenious layered stream of beats and sounds these guys effortlessly mesh together.

Check out the Zeppelin- esque overtones on "Face the Flames." Or groove to "Cowboy '78" where they astutely sample the quirky chants from Ennio Morricone's "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" theme, while also slipping in a nice little flamenco guitar passage every now and then. In this song, as is the case with most of their songs, the sound layers just keep building and expanding in density and diversity as the beat steadily rolls on 'til the final climactic end. "Cowboy '78" is probably the funkiest western rap theme you've ever heard. That is, of course, unless you're a devotee of white Middle America's favorite non- threatening unfunky homeslice, Will Smith, and his hardcore rap smash "Wild Wild West."

On "The Grabbin' Hands," the guys even manage to reference Depeche Mode's "Everything Counts" and make it groove in a context that's catchy as hell. They're lyrical acrobats, too. Check it out: "You ain't hot/ No matter how much gold ya got/ ...Crack vials/ They line the aisles/ Where I'm from/ Some brothas get wild grabbin' guns/ So I'm stabbin' one/ With my lyrical machete." And they pull at my heartstrings on the lounge-rap of "The Executives," with sampled vibraphone and some breezy Hammond organ. "Start the Commotion," boasts some of the most standout guitar sound byte sampling since the Geto Boys swiped that stunning soul- drenched riff on 1991's "Mind Playing Tricks on Me."

The Antidote forces my rigid white bones into motion, moving and shaking my skeletal structure and posterior in ways I hadn't previously thought possible. The Wiseguys' hip-hop hearts are definitely in the right place. They lay it down jazzy and smooth, baby, with just a little sprinkle of toxic humor on top. It's not exclusive stuff, either, and just when you thought everything worth sampling had already been stolen a hundred times over, they continually surprise your jaded ass.

The bubbling sonic brew on The Antidote culls its ingredients from so many varied sources, it's nothing short of astonishing. Sure, there'll always be the annoying, self- conscious white hipsters who make it a point to listen to this kind of thang just for shallow, extrinsic purposes-- like putting on a show for friends just to seem attuned to cultures more rich in musical tradition than their own. But, in the end, so what? Good music is good music. Who or whatever the hell you are, go out and discover the Wiseguys, and get down wid' da def dope hype tip, boyee. And word up, too. Sorry, readers, bear with me. My mental archive of hip-hop slang hasn't been updated since, like, 1987.

-Michael Sandlin