Album Review
P.O.S – We Dont Even Live Here
P.O.S is one of the most volatile hip-hop artists that I have heard in a long time, easily surpassing the gruff thugged out posturing of DMX, the genius lunacy of O.D.B, and the nastiest bite of Nas in his ‘angry phase’. And yet even to mention P.O.S within the same breathe as these 90s rap titans is doing a huge disservice to the artist born Stefon Alexander, since he takes to task the blinged out mainstream record industry and the usual boasts of affluence associated with hip-hop on the first track. And this is just the start of his grievances.
It is almost as if he has made a list of all the things that the world needs to be put to rights about and methodically ticks each of these off with every song, passionately delivering every line of every track with such severe sincerity that commands attention.
The aural assault on record companies is followed by venomous diatribes on materialism, recurring themes of retaliating against the status quo and living life as the underdog are ever present, providing a rallying call to those that are sick of the predictable world we are living in.
As if the angst infused and thought provoking lyrics were not enough to drive home any searing point that P.O.S chooses to muse on, then the accompanying music should surely be ticking more than enough boxes in order to infiltrate a number of scenes.
Punchy punk, warped beats, electro tinged bangers and slow and understated experimentation are all thrown into the mix, as if specifically balking against the traditional hip-hop standard that has seen the genre become glutinous and lazy. It is this approach that marks P.O.S out as a truly forward thinking artist, challenging opinions and expectations, steadfastly refusing to tow the line by running to David Guetta or Calvin Harris for chart fodder.
And I think I may have just found my album of the year, such is the urgency of everything about it, colliding and colluding to create a multi-textural collection of protest songs for the 21st century’s angry young men.