Awol One and Daddy Kev
Slanguage (2003)

review by: Jason Thornberry
Date: 4/18/03

When Awol One says "you call her J-Lo, I call her Fur-Pants", in that I-just-woke-up voice you wonder if he might know something Affleck doesn't. Over the spirited and distinctively indirect production of Daddy Kev, Slanguage tick-tocks comfortably like an afternoon spent with the local jazz enthusiast in his den.

You sit and listen to the creek-like tinkle of the pianos while he pulls record after record after record from the cabinet just below where he keeps the vermouth. Awol, the adherent I discuss, mumbles low as pianos carry on and tom toms flap for your attention from the ice cubes that rattle into his cocktail glass. A cell-phone rings in meter with flutes and drum rolls. It's Awol's telephone, but he'll just ignore it, instead telling you that "every emcee thinks he's the best." Of course "every deejay thinks he's the best." Of course "every b-boy thinks he's the best". Then Public Enemy, with lyrics that are gospel, is paraphrased to fit the times even if you laugh awkwardly with surprise. "I got a letter from the government the other day, opened and read it, and then I got anthrax."

D-Styles mixed Slanguage on two turntables, both ready for the annual "Beat-to-shit Old Stuff Rummage Sale". Yes, Awol will make you a tape of the afternoon like a proper host, and yes, "you're gonna find out it's an audio bible, but, um, it smells like pee."