Step with us back to yesteryear when hip hop had meaning and it promised a melding of musical cultures; before that promise was voided in the collection of each genre's worst features that makes the stinky soup we're served today.Out of the Beatnigs popped the Disposable Heroes. Michael Franti and Rono Tse fastened themselves up and whipped out some grooving beats while tossing off some of the nastiest trashing of political and social conditions that have been sputtered by musicians in the last 30 years.
Working with Mark Pistel from fellow Bay Area band Consolidated and jazz guitarist Charlie Hunter, they produced only one album, but that was more than enough. It's pissed off - Public Enemy pissed off - but the anger is spewed at everything.
Rono's percussion of found objects and use of power tools and chainsaws, ala Einstürzende Neubauten, created a foundation of brutal friction that would have drowned out most collaborators. Fortunately Franti was up to the task. His booming voice, slithering rhymes, and occasional spittle bounce off the Tse's beats or power over them as needs dictate. His lyrics prove him to be the rightful heir to Gil Scott-Heron - venom tempered with sly humor. But he has something Scott-Heron lacked: an insight into his own failings as demonstrated in the album's apex - the superbly beautiful Music and Politics, a song with nothing but Franti's voice and Hunter's guitar, and the lyrics of which I'd suggest could apply to most of the Froxx staff at one time or another.
Although almost all the tracks put your ass in a sling, the beast - the monster in the mix - is the cover of California Uber Alles. Angry as Jello, but with bigger beats and more snarge.
This music still matters.
allmusic:
The Disposable Heroes tackled every last big issue possible with one of 1992's most underrated efforts. Dr Dre and G-funk became all the rage by the end of the year and beyond, but for those looking for at least a little more from hip-hop than that soon-to-be-clichéd style, Hypocrisy Is the Greatest Luxury did the business. The group's origins in the Beatnigs aren't hidden at all — besides a stunning, menacing revision of that band's "Television, the Drug of the Nation," the Heroes' first single, the combination of Bomb Squad and industrial music approaches is apparent throughout. Consolidated's Mark Pistel co-produced the album while Meat Beat Manifesto's Jack Dangers helped mix it with the band, creating a stew of deep beats and bass and a constantly busy sonic collage that hits as hard as could be wanted, but not without weirdly tender moments as well. On its own it would be a more than attractive effort, but it's Michael Franti's compelling, rich voice and his chosen subject matter that really make the band something special. Nothing is left unexamined, an analysis of the American community as a whole that embraces questions of African-American identity and commitment ("Famous and Dandy (Like Amos 'n' Andy)") to overall economic and political insanity ("The Winter of the Long Hot Summer," a gripping, quietly threatening flow of a track). There's even a great jazz/funk number, "Music and Politics," with nothing but a guitar and Franti's fine singing voice, ruminating on emotional expression in music and elsewhere with wit and sly anger. Top it off with a brilliant reworking of the Dead Kennedys' anthem "California Uber Alles," lyrics targeting the then-governor of the state, Pete Wilson, and his questionable stances, and revolutions in thought and attitude rarely sounded so good.
Sadly this was it - they never made another recording. Rono does more percussion work with various projects and Franti took up his roots/reggae Spearhead. Nevertheless, this was more than enough from these two men to earn them their props.
Hear pt1
Hear pt2
I should point out that that the above is not quite correct. They did make another album though it wasn't all theirs. A collaboration between them, William Burroughs and jazz producer Hal Wilner resulted in Spare Ass Annie. As Burroughs reads selections from his books, the Heroes track behind him in a lazy, jazzy funk that sounds as if it slipped off the soundtrack of Cleopatra Jones.
It grooves, though it's an odd beast.
Hear
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