Danny Alexander writes:
Maybe it’s because the percolating bass and percussive claps at the beginning of this record call to mind the funk that would prefigure hip hop, but it’s not a hip hop record I first think of when the Knox Family’s “In These Streets” comes on. It’s not a funk record either, although the band I’m thinking of was certainly influenced by both funk and early hip hop. No, it’s the Clash’s “Somebody Got Murdered” that wells up out of my subconscious the moment MC Jerm raps “Yo man, I don’t think they heard you” and a voice cries out in the dark, “a murder!”
And that makes sense. A big part of the Clash’s appeal was a bracing honesty that confronted the walls that keep us apart. Seattle’s The Knox Family takes us from behind any four walls we might like to think protect us and out into the darkness. Guest singer Toni Hill’s beautiful vocal is key to the intimacy of that journey as she reminds us, “Somebody’s praying in these streets/somebody’s dying in these streets/somebody’s hustling in these streets” and then takes it all in her immediate embrace with, “Somebody’s singing for you and me.”
The rest of the record goes further into the muck and mire that’s the current human condition than anything I’ve ever heard. What’s more amazing? It shines a light through.
In verse one, Julie C’s sassy and knowing rhymestyle catalogues a mind-numbing list of offensives in the “all out war against poor populations,” including intimidation tactics carried out by everyone from the FCC to the beat cop, gang legislation, privatized prisons and deaths caused by “non-lethal” weapons. This verse and the second are rapped against sirens that spiral between the left and right channels of the speakers and another voice in the night, making an unclear sound but plainly in distress…Somebody hustling or somebody dying.
And then Hill sings again, backed by a 5 note key progression that mines the same territory Timbaland’s been working lately but suggests a bigger, explicit dream— hope for every voice that currently goes unheard and faith in those voices to change the world.
Julie C’s second verse starts at the heights of Wall Street and follows the “global economic collapse.” She somehow hits on all of it, from the political stakes that lead to bank bailouts to the foreclosure of the homes of those small enough to fail. Before she’s finished, Julie C describes a globalized war between the rich and the poor.
With the stakes this high, Hill begins to tic off more of what “singing for you and me” means: “We gotta get together/’cause we need/ to heal the sick and hopeless/ yes, indeed/to strive for peace and justice/ equality/love for you and me.” With keys washing in behind her, Hill’s voice grows more reassuring and inspiring as she touches on each key to the future.
The third and final verse starts after the record’s turned the corner toward a fade out. Julie C raps a sign off and then, like James Brown throwing off his cape, she launches into, “Yo, violence is a symptom not the disease.” The dissonant sirens are gone now, replaced by flute-like keys and more percussion including high hat and snappy wood block beats. Something’s different about this last highly charged verse, though the signs stay grim, “Why is the city of Seattle dropping another 110 million to open a new jail we don’t need, while the district can’t even find a measly 3.6 to keep our schools from closing?”
And the difference is the cape-dropping intimacy. This last verse feels like an urgent whisper being passed on a streetcorner. “Want to know what’s really going on?” Julie C asks. “Just follow the paper trail to downtown Olympia, Wall Street, D.C./As long as poverty pimps keep profiting from our problems/We can’t wait for change/We gotta create our own solutions/Straight from the peoples’ movement.”
And with that, the Knox Family’s debut Ep is out. It’s the end of something very rich , though only 7 full tracks long. From the opening “Make Love,” DJ B-Girl has produced an infectious party record with a laid back, minimalist style that communicates class-conscious strength and unity. Though it’s laid back and minimalist, it also uses multi-colored keys and beats in continuously fresh and surprising ways. “In These Streets” is the perfect ending, justifying all the tough talk and hard play that come before.
But it’s more than that. It’s a singular piece of revolutionary art unlike anything else. It’s the blues of “The Message” wedded to a concrete basis for political unity. And it’s a spiritual, with Toni Hill’s refrains insisting that the human spirit was made to fulfill our dreams. It’s a song to suggest a new genre—not protest music so much as revolution rock—good for dancing, crying, shouting and even (especially?) blueprinting our dreams into reality.
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