This one took a long time. While happy to acknowledge the mighty power of Busta Rhymes' tonsils, I was never much of a fan. I'm not sure why beyond that I found him a bit demanding on the ears, where I've tended to find verbal acrobats of similar thrust mostly entertaining; although it probably didn't help that there was some laboured deeper meaning to the name Flipmode which I've mercifully forgotten - some of that motivational poster philosophising that rap tends to do when it takes itself too seriously for the wrong reasons. On the other hand, I've always held Rah Digga in high regard, and her Dirty Harriet is a fantastic record; and she's part of Busta's Flipmode Squad so it seemed I should at least give it a listen. Unfortunately, once I got home I realised the cheap copy I'd found in the racks of CD Exchange was the clean version - because I keep forgetting to check to make sure my purchases have a parental advisory sticker meaning I won't have to provide my own swearing. Given that the whole point of rap is the fucking words, even the naughty ones, the clean version will always be a complete waste of time, regardless of the album. I tried, but it sounded peculiar, and musically it wasn't quite grabbing me either.
Coming back to the thing a couple of years later, mainly because I'm replacing all the clean versions purchased by accident with the real thing as a point of principal, it begins to make more sense. I get the impression Flipmode were simply a bunch of guys whom Busta considered promising and so deserved the exposure. No-one quite lyrical enough to earn living legend status, but no weak links in the chain either. It's quite a minimal album, musically speaking, at least compared to most of the rest of what was going on in 1998, which I gather is because it's an album as an album - a simple showcase rather than some grand concept (although grand concept rap albums have mostly been averagely shitty concept), thus obliging us to focus on the microphone activity as much as we would at an open mic night full of unknowns. So there isn't even any conspicuous turntable action, just looped beats, and nothing to distract from the main event; and with this in mind - it's undeniably solid. Of course, it's street stories, grandstanding, the usual jokes and complaints woven from individual voices, but original individual voices with more kinship to what should probably be considered underground than most of what you used to read about in The Source. Busta grows on you, and Digga is great as ever, but the others also shine, notably Baby Sham who, as the youngest member - so I would guess - reminds me a little of 57th Dynasty's Lil' Monsta, particularly on the confessional cross-generational dialogue of Do For Self.
It's not a perfect album, and I could live without quite so many skits, but at heart it's a shitload stronger than first impressions may imply.
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