Paris's 2nd album was supposed to come out on Tommy Boy but, judging its content to be too controversial, the label dropped him, leading him to release the record on his own label & proving, if any more proof were needed, that Tommy ain't my motherfucking boy. The Bay Area's Paris has been a reliable source of fierce political rap for decades now, & of the major voices in conscious rap is probably the one most directly influenced by the Black Panther Party. It's well-known that he also works as a stockbroker, but I haven't investigated to find out how he squares that up with the Panthers' Marxist politics. At any rate, his music has always focused on social issues rather than economic ones.
This album is full of righteous rage against the police, the Bush Sr. administration, & Black people whom Paris perceives as race traitors. After a brief intro, the title track and its followup, "House N****s Bleed Too," open the album with a 1-2 punch of "all skinfolk ain't kinfolk" messaging. Then we get "Bush Killa," an elaborate fantasy, complete with sound effects, about assassinating the then-president. The album's insert has a doctored photo of P-Dog posted up behind a tree outside the White House with a TEC-9 as the president walks toward him. The song & artwork are probably what got Paris dropped from Tommy Boy, but "Bush Killa" is one of the album's highlights, with a beat change midway through from hard-hitting funk to screaming rock guitars.
Paris uses the same booming, straightforward flow on most of the songs--he's not looking to impress you with verbal acrobatics, he wants you to hear what he has to say. "Coffee, Doughnuts, & Death" goes beyond your standard spray-&-pray ACAB track by making specific references to people he knows who have been assaulted by cops. He drives the message home with chilling exactness, & never sounds more confident or rabble-rousing than he does here. In both subject matter & verbal approach, Paris owes a clear debt to Ice Cube. ("My brother down south said 'fuck the police'/I'm saying 'no justice no peace.'") On "Guerillas in the Mist," he goes so far as to appropriate the title of Cube's Lench Mob album, & everything from the beat to the bars to the delivery sounds like an Ice Cube track.
The production--mostly handled by Paris himself, with assists from Kif & a young DJ Shadow (!)--is generally noisy & thickly-textured, reminiscent of the Bomb Squad's work on AmeriKKKa's Most Wanted. The best beat in that vein is the uptempo "Conspiracy of Silence," built on a skronky sax sample & a funky organ, where Paris & guests LP & Son Doobiest deliver another anti-cop anthem with an infectious chorus. There is also a handful of mellower beats on the album. My favorite is "Days of Old," a melancholy reflection on times when life in Paris's hood felt simpler, that features the quotable "I ain't pro-human cuz all humans ain't pro-Black." Another mellow track is the deceptive "Funky Li'l Party," which starts out with a smooth G-funk-style beat & tricks you into thinking it's a standard high-posting club song, before Paris takes out the scalpel & dissects all the dysfunction in the room. There's an unfortunate bit of slut-shaming here, which is too bad because otherwise the song is one of the most interesting on the album. Another smoother production is the last proper track, an ode to Black womanhood called "Assata's Song," (not to be confused with Common's "Song for Assata") which doesn't have much to do with Assata Shakur herself, but namedrops her in the title as an example of a strong Black woman.
The mood for angry, vitrilolic, politically-educated hiphop is a very specific jones to satisfy. Luckily, Paris has been plying his trade for 30 years, without much appreciation or acclaim but with a whole lot of consistency. Salute to a hard truth soldier.
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