TTC
Ceci N'Est Pas un Disque
[Big Dada/Ninja Tune; 2002]
Rating: 8.0
Still looking for romance? Here's why: you're not French.
Perhaps it's not the only reason, but no matter how scrawny,
ugly or foul-smelling you are, if your lips manage to pronounce
those delicate, lilting tones of the language of love, it is
on. Promise.
Some of my best friends are French-- they have, like, ten dates
a night, usually three or four at a time. Unfortunately for
TTC, though, hip-hop isn't about romance. Unlike making love,
French language skills tend to be a liability in the world of
beats and rhymes. You know what I mean; just imagine a French
accent on badasses like Rakim or Jay-Z: "how you say-- errr-- Beeg
Peemping?" Not quite.
Despite the disability, hip-hop has followed in the footsteps of
another traditionally African-American art form-- jazz-- in gaining
a substantial following with the Gauls. But probably owing to the
reasons noted above, American audiences have yet to pay a return
favor to French acts, notwithstanding the critical acclaim showered
on torch-bearers like MC Solaar. TTC hopes to put an end to the
trend with their first-rate sophomore effort, Ceci N'est Pas un
Disque.
Chances are, if you're considering a TTC purchase, you won't be
making it for the lyrics. In light of that, allow me to brief
you for a moment on the beats. They're a superb and diverse bunch,
evidencing influence of American old-school and underground hip-hop
alike. From the playfulness of the opener, "Nonscience," to the
spooky sci-fi of the El-P inflected "Subway," it's all inventive and
surprisingly well-produced.
The DJ Vadim-helmed "De Pauvres Riches" utilizes a sparse, quirky
beat built on a curious bass clarinet melody and accompanied by
almost comically intermittent orchestral embellishments. The unique
"Pollutions" opens with four measures of a bass-lipped human beatbox,
which is joined by an organ melody that is almost the exact replica
of the background music from Abba's "Dancing Queen," as well as the
crackles and pops of vintage vinyl. The odd blend of two worlds
(disco and hip-hop) delightfully provokes concurrent nostalgia and
head-nodding.
The album's finest beat appears on "Ensoulevant le Couvercle,"
knee-deep in thick production. The dark, ominous beat rests on a
foundation of simple, downtempo drums, with synth horns and organ
insinuating a chilling background "melody," if you can call it that
(it sounds more like an echo). The song plods along, a more pervasive
pipe organ gurgling intermittently along with the rhythmic ambience
of creaky floorboards. It's better described by the emotions evoked:
doom, confusion, and funk.
In terms of lyrics, it's anyone's guess. I can tell you this: one of
the MC's, who I dubbed "Ad-Rocque", struck me as rather annoying. He
sounds like your run-of-the-mill white-boy MC who tries to affect a
voice he doesn't have. As for the others, I have no problems with
them, even though I don't understand a damn word. Which brings us
back to the opening point; except for two English cameos (Dose One on
"Pas D'Armure" and Yara Bravo on "Ensoulevant Le Couvercle") the
album is entirely in French, so don't expect the kids in Bushwick and
Bed-Stuy to be stocking up on copies of TTC. But should you? Think
of it this way: TTC scores an 8.0 on beats alone. Hand the mic to
Del, and we're probably staring at a 9.5. Hand it to Gwen Stefani,
and we're back down to 7.0. Either way, you get the point-- you like
beats, you buy this album. End of story.
-Brad Haywood, May 22nd, 2002