Radioinactive is a guy, not a group. He hails from Los Angeles, and dabbles in a genre he calls "avant hip-hop." "Avant," in this context (as with most other indie usages of the word) is merely a euphemism. One may use the word as a synonym for "cutting edge," as its technical definition is "culturally or stylistically advanced." But musically, "avant" has come to imply brazen abnormality over the years. Dumb the music down and it just becomes plain weird. So, in essence, Radioinactive makes "weird hip-hop." Or maybe one would do better just to call it weird, and forget the hip-hop part.

But that wouldn't exactly be fair; if there's one thing I associate with hip-hop, it's the beats, and Radioinactive definitely has those. His beats fit the "avant" label, avoiding pop, funk or fusion samples-- hard break beats, horn sections and thumping, subterranean basslines make but a few appearances on Pyramidi. Instead, Radio culls samples from the nocturnal subcultures of the world; the title track placed me in a Moroccan brothel (supposing brothels exist in Morocco), "Una Cosa" in a smoky Havana nightclub, "Childish" on the weekend streets of Kingston. The dominant motif is darkness-- not anger or aggression, but a relaxed, cool musical presence. And as a contrast to most other hip-hop artists, I can't imagine hearing Radioinactive coming out of a Lincoln Navigator with deep dish rims, tinted windows and a dope "system." This stuff seems a little too exotic for the pimps and players.

The rhymes are another matter. Radio has an interesting free-flowing, halfway-to-helium delivery that sometimes matches his beats, but at others sounds superfluous and distracts from the groove. His rambling writing style just lacks precision. It borders on free association, or some sort of partially calculated freestyle, and the loose approach, mixed with the tempo, results in enough words to fill a 20-page thesis. With so many lyrics, whatever message Radio wants to get across is severely diluted.

There's an adage that says the best bassists "know how to play the rests." MCs aren't much different. Two of the best examples for any MC to learn from are Rakim and Kool G Rap. Like Radioinactive, each preferred to rap at quick tempos, but they excelled by knowing when to shut up and let the breaks take the foreground, or just resting on a beat to punctuate a lyric ("I can take a phrase that's rarely heard/ [pause]/ Flip it/ [pause]/ Now it's a daily word," from Rakim's "Follow the Leader"). Radio doesn't play with dynamics enough, even when he's got a good beat to work with, like on the title track. Another example is the Arabian-flavored "Before the Thought," where Radio gets stuck in a noticeable vocal cadence, which is odd, considering his rhymes and meter are rarely predictable. Fortunately, the backing track overpowers the unrelenting lyrical assault, making the song enjoyable regardless of its difficulties.

Radioinactive is at his lyrical best on "The Music," which is also one of the more traditional hip-hop tracks, and the one with the stiffest breakbeat. He sounds a lot like Del here, especially when he's varying his vocal inflection to deliver lyrics like, "Down your sink/ Down your drain/ Found your brain underground/ With a plunger found right next to it/ Add some text to it/ Add some facts/ Ask your Dad for the keys and plan to never give them back." Moments like these are not common enough on Pyramidi, and require patience to discover; the album spans 30 tracks and 71 minutes, including a good deal of random vignettes and minute-or-less musical interludes.

It's nice to hear hip-hop that doesn't conjure too many memories of A Tribe Called Quest, Gang Starr or Brand Nubian, as many underground artists do these days. But prescience and creativity give way to overkill and lack of execution on this one. If Radioinactive can clean up his act (maybe bury some of the waste in a Nevada mountainside or something), he has the potential to make some pretty wicked albums. This one might even be worth owning just for its distinctiveness.

-Brad Haywood, December 4th, 2001