Sampling: Junk Science - Gran’Dad’s Nerve Tonic

JUNK SCIENCE
Gran’Dad’s Nerve Tonic
Definitive Jux/Embedded Music 2007

By Nick McGregor

While the heated gangsta subgenre has dominated rap music for the last 15 years or so, small pockets of holdouts have managed to keep the fun-loving side of hip-hop alive. One of the younger proponents of late ‘80s-inflected boom is Brooklyn-based Junk Science, a duo whose latest album, Gran’Dad’s Nerve Tonic, combines dusty basement beats and a smooth lyrical flow reminiscent of groups like De La Soul and A Tribe Called Quest.

Instead of odes to crime, sex and drugs, Junk Science’s DJ Snafu and MC Baje One relate breezy tales of everyday life, uninspiring jobs and drinking beer in your underwear. They prove that, for every blinged-out celebrity rapper, there’s a regular Joe around the corner also pursuing the hip-hop dream.

The real strength of Gran’Dad’s Nerve Tonic rests on the jazzy guitars, sparkling pianos and shimmery horns that fill the album with audible vinyl crackles and pops, accenting the golden-age hip-hop feel. Shuffling snare drums give “Do It Easy” an almost-rock sound, while melancholy bass kicks keep “Glass Horse” rooted in nostalgia, and grimy handclaps drive the stuttering simplicity of “That Being Said.” Baje One’s rhymes veer from sociopolitical-lite on “Slojo” to the hilarious workplace instructional “Jerry McGuire.”

The MC’s slow delivery does occasionally drag the superb beats down, especially when paired with a staggering soul sample on “Third-Person Stealth.” Every once in a while, a self-mocking gem will emerge, as on “Do It Easy”: “What kinda money you think I’m stacking ya’ll/Coaching JV high school basketball?”

And while hip-hop stars regularly sign deals with top-end champagne and vodka companies, Junk Science embraced their Brooklyn hipster roots by teaming up with an NYC brewery to produce limited edition ales. Not your usual hip-hop fare, but then again the lackadaisical vocals and nostalgic beats of Gran’Dad’s Nerve Tonic evoke an image of guys hanging on the corner with a 12-pack and a boom box, instead of dodging bullets and police sirens. Call it sugarcoated, but maybe a little bit of Gran’Dad’s Nerve Tonic is what rap fans need.