I may not be a card-carrying, backpack-lugging member of the hip-hop nation, but I know something amazing when I hear it, and I'm hearing it right now. Thirty years since hip-hop first snuck off the streets and into the collective American consciousness, a bunch of kids from seemingly unlikely places-- Maine, Minneapolis, Nova Scotia-- are reinventing the form yet again. Anticon does hip-hop the way Miles' second quintet did jazz: technically, everything's right where it belongs, it's just hard to tell because everything sounds so different. Sure, there are beats and scratching and verbal acrobatics, but not quite in the ways that we're accustomed to.

This is hip-hop made by people who grew up with hip-hop, music created by a generation whose defining skill is their ability to absorb and interpret mass media. Where the originators of modern hip-hop were students of soul, funk, jazz and spoken word, Anticon's revisionists are students of pop culture as a whole. This is reflected in the records they make-- schizophrenic journeys through foreign soundscapes that change every minute, accompanied by abstract narratives that seem more introspective than the usual self-aggrandizing.

The production itself is twisted, owing more to the fast-paced chop-suey of Negativland or Eugene Chadbourne than it does to the crisp beats of the Automator. The music changes just as often as the rappers' cadences. MCs criss and cross, enigmatic verses proudly bounding with slant rhyme (and, at times, pure gibberish) twist in and out of one another, simultaneous bursts of verbiage intertwining the same way Miles and Wayne Shorter's horns did-- in synch one second, bursting into polar opposite directions the next. Then, before you've even registered the change, they're back again. You can't make out all the words, but you also get the comforting impression that you're not really supposed to. So instead you cling on to whatever vocal snippets you can: bits about "liquids descending, my certainty still mending" and "citizens tearing up the floorboard."

Deep Puddle Dynamics opens things with "More from June"-- a menacing piece of music compiled by DJ Mayannaise and Grapedope, then whipped further into shape by guest producer John Herndon. Police sirens wail, just barely audible over alternating drones pierced sporadically by syncopated beats and free-floating minimal scratches as Anticon co-founder and Atmosphere member Slug intones. Suddenly, dubby machine-gun percussion breaks through, destroying the groove, as cLOUDDEAD's Dose One breaks in, spitting words too fast for human comprehension.

The title track is a collective work, a reinterpretation of an earlier composition by the same name. It begins with a crackly old jazz sample set to a jungle beat. The crew informs us that, as the title promises, they "ain't fessin'." The music stops short. The MCs introduce themselves, but their words are eventually lost in a heavy gust of turntable static. Then a mantra, as bursts of ominous synths grow steadily in the background: "The first lie/ Wasn't much like of lie/ Less like a lie/ More like a wish with a spine/ Doublecrossed by time." This isn't easy stuff: there are uncomfortable pauses, unpredictable shifts in speed and rhythm. But it all pays off when an elusive female vocal is suspended in space, nefarious basslines echoing in a mutating murk of chopped-up garage sale vinyl and gurgling electronic noise. From a baseball stadium, to a political rally, to a game show, these eighteen minutes wander through more audio environments than most full-lengths.

The EP closes with a production by Jel and Sixtoo called "Pitty Party People" which almost resembles a straightforward hip-hop track, built from melodic guitar loops, cheesy synthlines, a relatively straightforward beat, and more of the same stellar rhymes. By usual standards, it'd be a stunning example of hip-hop, mighty catchy and madly upbeat. But here it's got a tough act to follow.

At a mere three tracks and 18 minutes, We Ain't Fessin' (Double Quotes) isn't a critical departure for those already familiar with the Anticon brand. But the quick approach may serve well when it comes to recruiting new listeners-- all rapid-fire changes and unapologetic weirdness, We Aint Fessin' (Double Quotes) makes for one king hell mindfuck of an introduction for the uninitiated.

-David M. Pecoraro, May 13th, 2002