Pharoahe Monch

King Reign - A bio by kris ex At this point, before we begin, we could offer you some grand statement about the state of hip-hop—its lack of a moral center, its degradation from art to product, its emphasis on gimmickry. We could tell you more things you already know before introducing King Reign and telling you that... he’s the one to cure your hip-hop blues. But we won’t. We will not posit the product of Toronto, Ontario, Canada’s Scarborough section as some sort of musical savior, nor will we claim that his debut album, Nomad will bring hip-hop back to its roots as a protest music that’s at once celebratory, educational, escapist and necessary. We could, but we won’t. We won’t be doing any of these things because it’s insulting to your intelligence and would probably be a lie. No one artist (let alone one album) can stem the tide of ringtone opportunists and lowest common denominator output that sieges the places where you once heard creativity, context and conversation. The fact that other companies tell you that such change can come from a singular source means that those companies don’t respect you. The fact that other rappers tell you that they alone will be the agents of such change means that they’re delusional. Besides, King Reign uses the three words—nigga, bitch, hoe—that mean he’s bad for society, or something like that. He’s really not the one to put up as a poster boy for the new face of rap. No one is. We’re sorry that you’ve been told different. You’ve been lied to. “I’ve never killed anybody. I’ve never been shot,” says Reign. “But there’s so many other things that we could do. That’s what excites me—the challenges.” We could put forth that a challenge is found in Nomad’s quick vignette “Looking for Love.” It could be said that, with its simple never-ending bass groove and minor key concoction, “Looking for Love” will shock you and have hitting the rewind button to find out what exactly just took place. But that’ll probably happen anyway, so why bother? And we would get into why the video was banned from Canadian television, but that would ruin the surprise for you, and that’s no fun. It could further be said that Nomad contains a monologue that focuses so hard on the private and personal that it becomes public and universal. It could be said that as an MC, King Reign rhymes in the key of life and his thoughts are all too human—big ideas falling into easy wordplay, conversations full of still-cooking philosophy are aborted; the discourse is often abrupt, unpredictable and jarring. Certain lines used as hooks in his “Mission Statement”—such as “You could light a torch for that/I’ll bring it home/You can wait out on the porch for that” or his claim from “Let’s Talk” that he’s “here to tackle the next Pinochet”—could be noted to signify that Scarborough is not flowered by garden variety rapspeak. But none of that would mean that his verses are any good. The fact that Reign’s delivery—a sharp, convinced monotone that questions society and self with valiant conviction—remains secure even in the midst of the confusion caused by questioning one’s part in the great drama of the world simply means that he has great enunciation skills. Mentioning that his first rhyme heroes were Rakim and KRS-One would be a sleight-of-logic trick designed to make you think that Reign is the second coming of these rap gods. It would be deceitful because, well, those guys are still alive and making music. And Reign doesn’t take those MCs’ styles, but the lessons learned from them. “They weren’t talking shit,” Reign observes. “So when I first started rhyming, I felt like if I was gonna be real MC, that was what I had to do. I didn’t think you could actually go up there and just talk about your jewelry all day. I didn’t think that was an option.” There could be much wasting of your precious time by pointing out that Nomad’s music largely adheres to spartan aesthetics—loud booms and baps, crisp claps and snares, and trenches of bass are spread out in a huge sandbox and given enough room to play without bumping elbows. It would be a waste of your time because, well, it doesn’t really vouch for how the music actually sounds in terms of your ability to gain pleasure from it. Perhaps the musical argument could be bolstered by mentioning that Reign’s mother was a dancer, his father a drummer and DJ. This would mean that rhythm has been ingrained in him via both genetic and environmental determinism. And making it known that Reign himself has been a drummer since age 3, would mean that he can find the pocket on a beat that has no pocket. Maybe that would help. “When I hear something that people feel that somebody shouldn’t be rhyming on or make a song out of, that excites me,” says Reign. “Everybody’s trying to be so safe with everything they do and everything they talk about and even the way the way they rhyme and their song format. I like to attack things like that, attack topics that people feel like you shouldn’t talk about or you can’t talk about. I guess I’m trying to bring back more risk-taking, you know and stop all this safe shit.” Nomad exemplifies this ethos at almost every turn—from the easy, breezy throwback feel of the Pharoahe Monch duet, “One More Time;” to the loose-poetry and introspection of the remake of the 60’s hit “To Sir, With Love,” which feels more like an open letter to the author than a song; to the personal responsibility shown on the relationship drama “Pushing Away.” On the latter song, Reign rhymes: “She plays the white woman in a 1950’s horror/And I’m the hero coming to save her for love and good karma/When I get there, there’s too much beef for my armor.” “I just talk about what I did and what she did and things like that,” Reign says of “Pushing Away.” “It’s a particular situation where you get caught up with someone—or you let someone get caught up with you and you may never really had the intentions of being serious, but you keep playing with the thought. After a while, you get used to it; fool yourself. And you let it get too far.” It’s a song that reaches above intra-personal dynamics to occupy a space long-conquered by talking pundits and those running for office. It’s not forced, or anything. Just kinda happened that way. “I feel like everything is political,” opines Reign. “If you write a good song about relationships, a truthful song, that’s political. Things like that are just revolutionary. It doesn’t have to be in your face with the fist in the air. I like to make things entertaining, tell a story, ‘cause I am very much just a regular-ass dude. But I do have a very militant side to me.” It could be mentioned at this point that a revolutionary mindset runs through Nomad like guerillas through the streets on the eve of governmental overthrow. But that may lead you to think that the album is a polemic, when it’s not. Nomad is the autobiography-in-progress of a young man with novel observations, who refuses to settle for conveying his ideas in ways that don’t ignite independent thought. Reign doesn’t aspire to be avant-garde for the sake of riddling, but his process places him amongst the vanguard of those coloring outside the mass-transit lines of your train of thought. As he rhymes “Let’s Talk”: “I ain’t sayin’ niggas are dumb, but there’s a smarter way/ I reported to me today/Let’s talk.” We think the album—sired by a literally and figuratively distinct voice—will inspire you to make new connections. We find the music—an assured and confident broth created by non-luminaries—refreshing and rejuvenating. We would suggest that Nomad is a project that exceeds as entertainment that’s both engaging and consolatory, but we’d rather you give you the opportunity to come to that understanding on your own. We would tell you that you can do so by popping in an advance CD, which you probably have if you’re reading this as a hard copy. Or by clicking some links at www.myspace.com/kingreignmusic or http://www.facebook.com/pages/King-Reign/33430017676, which you’re probably already at if you’re reading this electronically. But telling you to do that would be a slight to your intelligence. And we wouldn’t want to go that route. It really serves no purpose. Nomad doesn’t aspire to talk down to you. And neither would we. Read more