A long while ago the editor of Skinnie Entertainment Magazine called me one Thursday and asked if I could interview Jesus H. Christ of the Rap Bastardz over the weekend. I was totally down for it. I had a copy of their latest album, they were funny, and anyone who would be willing to name themselves "Jesus H. Christ" had to be worth talking to.
All that weekend, Mr. Christ and I played phone tag. I didn't have a cell phone then, so I'd call him, wait around the house, go off to run an errand, and then come back and hear a message from the man, apologizing for not getting back to me right away.
Days later we had done this six or seven times, and my deadline was approaching like a freight train. I wrote the article with all the zeal I possessed (and I did, the band is damn cool) and sent it off. A few hours later, the editor called me back, asked me why I wasn't able to talk to the band, and then told me he couldn't print the article.
So here it is.
Let’s get this out front- The Rap Bastardz can rap, well. When hip-hop isn’t rapping about getting paid, getting guns and getting rich, there’s always a sense of humor, whether it’s Digital Underground, The Beastie Boys, Ice-T or Eminem. That’s part of the appeal of Enimem…he doesn’t seem to take himself, or his image, too seriously.
The Rap Bastardz are far from serious. Their songs are twisted, demented, irreverent, and so humorously dystopic you wonder if they aren’t doing an impression of what most rap artists have become after too many albums, which is a bad impersonation of themselves. Nope, the Bastardz are celebrating the lifestyle as they see it, and if it isn’t for you, well, you probably worry too much about drive by’s and not enough about having a good time.
But their rap is as cool as cognac and as funky as George Clinton’s boxers. Their rhymes come out blues sax smooth, turning and tweaking English so much you rediscover the poetry that rap can produce…and then you realize you are bouncing to a song that celebrates bukkake and prostitution gladiatorial matches. There’s even one about paying for sex from the handicapped called, “Wheelchair Ho.”
The band works as a team, weaving their lyrics in and out like vipers racing, and each member of the band brings his own particular ingredient to the mix. Front man Jesus H. Christ leads the way to the party that The Rap Bastardz are launching, half game show host, half MC, just enough to unsettle you before The Grimm Reefer, with his low, suburban bass drawl eases in with the beat, until Soup2nutz and Flossy B jump in with their own talent. All of it is funny. If you have no sense of humor, stay away, ‘cause that’s the point.
Don’t forget the sex and weed. Brazen, oiled up, unsafe non-monogamous human intercourse is celebrated again and then some, while the smoking of that chronic, as well as the snorting of that blow, is presented in every lyric of every song. There’s also beer, particularly “Drink Nude Beer.”
Well, sex and drugs is what rock and roll is supposed to be about, anyhow.
The Rap Bastardz album, Four Swingin’ Dicks, has everything from west coast disco to east coast hip-hop, with enough 60’s, 70’s and 80’s funk references to keep you choking on the funny when you get the shout out.