Sole Albums (9)
'Sole and the Skyrider Band'
Release Date 10/23/2007
Tracks 13
Label Anticon
See Album Tracklist and Review
What The Critics Say
Tim Holland, aka co-founder of anticon records, aka Sole, aka Mansbestfriend, is a talented musician, both as a rapper and as a producer, able to make provocative, intelligent beats and rhymes that sound very little like those heard in more traditional hip-hop. But this release, his fifth under the moniker Mansbestfriend (and first released explicitly with anticon), is a dismal, electronic-leaning set that moves around sloshily without much heed for reason or direction. Initially, it seems as if Poly.Sci.187 is going to take a socio-political course, and the opening track, "Dedemma Speaks," samples an interview with famed anarchist Emma Goldman, and there are hints of the artist's political beliefs scattered throughout -- "Missile Defense," "Spin the Humans," which begins with a Lebanese boy talking about how his family had to escape during the 2006 bombing -- but more often than not the album seems unfocused and random, as if it was produced without much thought or consideration, only later, after all was said and done, was it given a theme. The record's production is messy and distracted, never quite deciding what it actually wants to do, trying too much and too little at the same time, and since this is, for all practical consideration, an instrumental (Sole lays down and samples his own vocal tracks a few times, but the words are always low in the mix), this lack of attention to actual purpose detracts from it greatly. Poly.Sci.187 can't quite decide what it wants to be, if it wants to make a statement or just sit softly in the background, and because of this, ends up being something that doesn't say or do anything at all. ~ Marisa Brown, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Already one of the underground's most respected rappers, Sole debuted Man'sbestfriend as an alias for the production side of his personality, rarely revealed until this 2004 LP. Released on the largely electronic label Morr Music, The New Human Is Illegal consists of a political manifesto reflecting the unsteady world climate of 2003-2004, though fortunately for those concerned with music more than protest, Sole's methods are too experimental and esoteric to concentrate a political statement. As a producer he's obviously learned a lot from his Anticon friends, packing his malevolent productions with a stunning array of recording tricks, most of which fall closer to sabotage than production. The opener, "Class Action Suit Against Earth," features an amelodic analogue synthesizer and a detuned drum program (each clap sounding like an Asteroids explosion), over Sole's assured freestyle. He cuts up a funk band on one track, slows down a dub production to quarter-speed on another, and lets very few of these tracks out of his hard drive without heavy effects ranging from ring oscillators to tape hiss to DSP processing. The rapping ranges from a satire of hip-hop braggadocio on "Little Bank Anthem" to clear political protest on "Attack Russia," which features Sole sarcastically requesting that the U.S. destroy a half-dozen countries for assorted crimes, then sneers "I'm so proud to be American" before name-dropping the line, "George Bush wasn't no Caesar, but neither was Lawrence Ferlinghetti" (the bookstore owner who became a free-speech hero by publishing Allen Ginsberg's Howl). Give credit to Sole for turning the hip-hop hat trick; he has no trouble creating a glorious mess of a record in true Anticon style, but he also adds the hooks to keep listeners digging in, and remains an excellent rapper despite producing and performing. ~ John Bush, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Like most Anticon records, Sole's Selling Live Water plays a disingenuous trick on the listener by selling itself as high-concept when it's really hip-hop Dada. For all its dense, breathless wordplay and thick, stewy production, you'd be forgiven for thinking that there's a surfeit of content here, threads to untangle, layers to peel through. The disappointing reality is that all these five-dollar words and murky sonic tapestries are impressionistic at best, a fact that wouldn't be in the least bit troubling were Sole's more lucid moments not filled with blazing rhetoric in deference to some sort of hidden insight. But even for this and all other errors of judgment (whereby he parses "flow" as "syllable count" and "surrealism" as "automatic writing"), there are some worthy moments to be had here. Selling Live Water's best trick is one of momentum, whereby a track starts at comatose speed and is shocked to life with a stronger beat halfway through ("Slow, Cold Drops"). Likewise, the otherwise pedestrian "Shoot the Messenger" is made magical by a hypnotic horn sample, which enfolds the track like a slow-motion lariat. In the end, though, Selling Live Water follows the Anticon party line (double-timed, singsongy half-sensical ramblings countering slow, lumbering beats) through to conscious hip-hop's most logical dead end. An irony, given that in order to move forward, Sole first needs to write his consciousness back into the script. ~ Mark Pytlik, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Like all juvenalia -- and this compilation certainly fits the description, gathering all Sole's singles, demos, and experiments recorded between 1994 and 1998, prior to the release of his official debut, Bottle of Humans -- Learning to Walk is raw and, in spots, unformed. Technique sometimes trumps substance, youthful irony and sardonicism occasionally replaces genuine awareness, and Sole tries out a number of stylistic variations, some that fit perfectly (kinetic, challenging songs like "The Video Game Song," "Mr. Bojangles," "Body of Works," and "Give Me My Medal"), some that don't quite work somehow (too insular, claustrophobic), and some that are wholly uncharacteristic yet surprisingly affective (such as the lighthearted, jovial throwback cut "Banquet of Sarcasm," on which he even encourages listeners to -- gasp -- dance). So, yes, these can be described more or less as baby steps, bedroom manifestos. That having been said, an evident talent was clearly at work even at such an early stage. The production is generally quite bare-bones but full of intriguing ideas. The keen intellect is just as apparent, if chaotically applied. It's like watching the weird kid in the corner of the classroom that picks off scabs and draws complex ink patterns on his forearms -- he partly exists in his own world but partly, perhaps subconsciously, wants to draw attention to himself -- and knowing full well that he'll become the wooly headed loner in your modernist poetry class doing his thesis on Ezra Pound's The Cantos a few years later. Learning to Walk is of variable quality, but it is worth sifting through for the many choice bits. ~ Stanton Swihart, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
Extreme solipsism can be done very artfully (Proust, say, or Joni Mitchell's Blue), though, more commonly, it is not, an "asshole hanging out" exhibition, to use Allen Ginsberg's resonant phrase. Bottle of Humans exposes a bit of its posterior here and there, but luckily it edges much closer to the former side of the curve. Sole's debut full-length is a fascinating introduction to a darkly enigmatic interior life, even if it ultimately falls shy of the magnitude of artistic self-transformation orchestrated by Eminem, to name another rapper who has managed to turn private revelation into a funky sort of absurdist autobiography. Like Slim Shady, Sole has surreal self-deprecation down cold, though he can't always muster the charismatic schizophrenia. He is a clever forger of words and framer of ideas, and his wit is readily apparent, even if the MC occasionally comes off too strident or earnest. In any event, this is a frequently captivating album -- there is something attractive about the idea of "dismantling" your own ego, of refusing to "rap in bumper stickers," of willfully avoiding rap clichés or turning them on their heads, as Sole consistently does. His lyrical vision is ambitious and unpretentious, bleak and neurotic (song titles like "Suicide Song" and "MC Howard Hughes" are instant indicators) but unconventional, sharp, and often singularly brilliant. This also goes for the music: minimalistic, fragmented, futuristic, paranoid, kitchen-sink-and-all, it is part junkyard hip-hop, part Dada collage, part deconstruction, part dialectic, and part monkey-into-space progressivism. At a diary-like 73 minutes, the album is too long to sustain the frequently gloomy psychological exploration, but this is maverick, outsider rap of a high quality. ~ Stanton Swihart, All Music Guide
What The Critics Say
This album, a self-released CD-R sold during Sole's 2003 tour, came from a late-night marathon session during which the rapper laid down nearly 60 tracks. Because Man's Best Friend, Pt. 2: No Thanks was recorded exclusively by Sole (with later mixing help and musical additions from Jel and Odd Nosdam), the record finds the artist in his truest, albeit not cleanest, form. Though the sound is rough (Sole often going for that fuzzy vocal effect that can be achieved by holding the microphone too close to one's mouth), the samples often just severely slowed down chord progressions (an exception being the vocal track from British folksinger Mike Waterson's "The Brisk Lad" on the intro to "Poor Is Cool"), and the beats simple and unobtrusive, Sole himself is on top of his game, and his rhymes, which move from spoken word to quick, almost sung lines, aren't afraid to deal with controversial political and cultural issues and take the focus away from some of the spottier production. The album will certainly interest a serious Sole fan, but since the 2004 Morr Music release The New Human Is Illegal (under Sole's alias man'sbestfriend) includes almost all the tracks from Pt. 2 (missing, however, the provocative "In Defense of Culture"), is also easier to find, has slightly tighter production, and contains more material, it's a more judicious, and just as fulfilling, record for those who weren't able to pick up Man's Best Friend, Pt. 2: No Thanks at a show. ~ Marisa Brown, All Music Guide
