So there's this group of South London cats called 22a.
Label is perhaps a tad too restrictive a title, but the extended family of producers/musicians/artists — led by multi-instrumentalist, Ed Tenderlonious — seems to have soulful fairy dust tucked somewhere in each of its sleeve notes. Their vinyl-only discography is a pick 'n' mix of jazz, soul, hip-hop and pan-continental sounds; but not at all separated. In fact, the magic of 22a (so named after Ed's family home door number) lies in the way all of those strands are regularly washing-machined into a single track of lo-fi goodness. The right side of lo-fi, that is.
From their late 2014 introduction piece via Al Dobson Jr. and Tenderlonious to various chip-ins from the Deenmamode brothers — Mo Kolours, Jeen Bassa and Reginald Omas Mamode IV — the common denominator is a contagious, world music-embracing rough 'n' ruggedness.
Instrumentally, 22a007 mostly swabs from that same petri dish. The majority of the riddims are characterised by a J Dilla-esque, languorous approach to quantisation; each kick and snare sauntering just off-beat in the artful, unpunctual way that the Detroit don mastered. It's a technique that favours the vocalists splitting the release in differing ways — both of whom are fresh-faced débutantes.
On the A-side, Do£ Boy layers production from the likes of Jeen Bassa, Ed Tenderlonious and Al Dobson Jr. with a laissez-faire braggadocio. Borrowing a lot from the South London road rap template, his tales narrate the realities of inner-city life in the straight-up manner we've come to expect from the likes of Joe Black and Giggs. At its best, the bond between lyrical realness and relaxed instrumentation is a tuneful matrimony. The prime example being 'Big Bass' — a skippy-flowed b2b featuring Fiascoe Bars where slum life storytelling counteracts the weed-high boom-bap underbelly flawlessly. But at times the contrast is also Do£'s mightiest enemy. Those used to a Reggie Mamode or Mo Kolours plead for world peace will be surprised to hear Do£ Boy's talks of money chasing, Margiela and "trap killers". The antagonism, although working more often than not, is a step away from the usual 22a output. No bad thing, mind.
Side B is occupied by soul disciple newcomer, Shepherd; the vocalist from Henry Wu's highly recommended 'All Over' number. Here, Reginald Omas Mamode IV takes full control of production, painting each track with a slothful yet groovy coating. 'Smooth' is a really fine choice of opener. For just over two and half minutes, Shepherd's staccato utterances act as the perfect cocoa butter moisturiser; airy and dulcet in all the right places. And where Side A's macho-smooth axis sometimes rocks too far left, B maintains its like-for-like balance. Evidence of just that can be found in all five entries. There's 'Strung Out' placidly channelling the inner-Steve Spacek (circa Space Shift), while 'You & I' nails the art of bricka-bracka, rough-hewn funk impressively.
As a whole, the project further rubber stamps 22a as an able torchbearer of soul-based rhythms. More than that though, #7 shows the collective's mission to fully encompass all the sounds they have buzzing around their earlobes. Yes, there's a safe amount of D'Angelo-tinged playtime, but a daring jump into concrete jungle tales on the flip. It might not be to everyone's taste, but those willing to welcome the contrast will easily find a favourite track or three. Rough 'n' rugged triumphs again.
7/10
Words: Errol Anderson
– – –
– – –
