At heart, this is nervous and compelling shit for heads stuck up their own asses.
“Instrumental hip-hop” is a loaded descriptor, often shorthand for “white-boy soundscapes too complicated for easy consumption by bling-heavy mainstream rappers.” At worst, it’s the soundtrack to insurance advertisements and interracial pornography, all ironies intended. At best, as on Fucked Up Friends, it can be complex and propulsive pop, forever perched on the precipice of discord and dissonance. On vacation from his day gig with mind-fuckers Black Moth Super Rainbow, Tobacco drops the hard bop that pops the synapses like a joint spiked with PCP and Tang. Nods to cock rock and electro are hinted at (think Dabrye with Asperger’s syndrome). But make no mistake—at heart, this is nervous and compelling shit for heads stuck up their own asses, beats spastically falling over each other with such abandon that it just has to be planned.
