Featuring MCs Qwazaar, Qwel, and Denizen Kane, producer DJ Natural and media assassin Kid Knish, Typical dropped a self-titled full-length album, Typical Cats, on Galapagos4 Records in 2002, and began a relentless campaign to restore a fallen hip hop world to its former promise and glory. The talent assembled was unmistakable, the sound created was formidable. Firmly planted in tradition, unorthodox in invention and possessed of a strength only earned in the furnace of experience, their sound is the future that hip hop's past would have had if its present weren't held hostage by the uninspired and unrepentant. A flurry of solo projects later, Chicago's prodigal sons return. Hip hoppers rejoice. Suckers duck and cover. Typical Cats come to conquer. Battle champs, hotline legends, poetry circuit kings. Typical cats released their second album titled Civil Service in 2004.
Typical Cats return, the last of the great true school crews—bearers of transformed tradition, innovators par excellence, and heralds of an undying devotion to the science and magic of boom bap music. The latest installment in the TC saga is 3, their third studio full-length. It plays like a message in a bottle from Hip Hop’s timeless present to the bizarre post-physical, digital, viral world in which we live. DJ Natural’s production chops have only deepened with time, and the rugged loops of the self-titled “Orange Album” and the live instrumentation of Civil Service have melded to yield a mélange of soul, jazz, funk, roots, radical politics, and a sly refusal to bend to the dictates of current fashion. Kid Knish reprises his role as hip hop’s all-time greatest unseen crew member (sorry, Jarobi), serving up samples, historical references, and vinyl oddities for Natural to slice and serve as android slabs of production genius.
TC’s trio of MCs—Qwel, Denizen Kane, and Qwazaar—rhyme like men breathing from the soles of their feet. The basis of their legend is in full effect—crackling chemistry, unnerving flow, and true stories. The album plays like a jazz-era cutting session turned confessional booth, a stylistically freewheeling effort threaded together by moments of revelation, underpinned by fiercely focused production and dominated by stories of journey, moments of transformation, and warnings against coming catastrophe. For TC, the MC is a misunderstood figure, a musical seer, a minor prophet, and reluctant hustler, using words to outwit enemies, trump circumstances, and emerge from the belly of the beast with respect and rent money.
Highlights abound—Kane returning to his spoken word roots on “Denizen Walks Away,” Qwel giving his early battle rap classics a run for their money on nickel-plated platters like “My Watch” and “Gordeon Knock,” and Qwazaar flexing uncanny musical intuition, anchoring the record with meditative efforts on “Puzzling Thing” and “Reflections from the Porch” before pummeling tracks like “Better Luck” and “On My Square.” Although the LP is studded with solo shots, crew tracks are the soul of the record. “On My Square” opens with a flurry of horns before exploding into an array of signature styles—multisyllabic combinations from Qwel, laid-back but incisive chatting from Kane, and a classic Qwa verse full of declarations, threats, and witticisms, all cemented by a Qwel chorus imbued with requisite layers of meaning. Natural’s production evolves with each verse, sliding from Meters style guitars with knocking drums to moody keys with ease.
The first single, “The Crown” is a frenetic display of jagged guitars and style-shifting that makes it a perfect complement to the Orange Album’s classic “Reinventing.” The name, however, is something of a misnomer. TC have never been interested in being kings. They’ve been griots shouting from the village limits, stoning the village idiots, interrupting thieves, and solidifying sterling reputations as rappers’ rappers, smokers’ smokers, underground Gs, tribal chiefs. There will never be another Typical Cats. They leave the set like five men exiting a burning building, leaving wrecked stages and a catalog of classics in their wake. With their exodus, we find ourselves suddenly grown, having come of age with the culture, standing, as always, at the crossroads. With the music, we move like Gayle Sayers, howl like Magic Sam, see the city like a kid on the project bench, and mark it all down in a black book that will never close. It is what it is. Forever.
QWAZAAR - A native of Chicago's gritty Low End, Qwazaar strikes from hip hop's essence. Whether the subject matter is inner city or interplanetary, the flow remains untouchable - a percussive yet fluid attack that evokes South Side rain and helicopter blades in a single breath. The content is heavy-a holdover from days when this veteran MC (No Pity/Outerlimitz) had to lyrically slay rivals to earn his sterling rep. "After the dust settles, witness the blood puddles..." Lights out, kids. The Q-W-A is here.
QWEL - You first saw his name dangling a quarter mile up on a suspension bridge from your scratch-bombed window on the Orange line. You first heard that distinctive melodic/abrasive storm of syllables on old Nacro and Scam Artist tapes with inserts printed at the Kinko's. Now the heat's been perfected and this nasty North Side revelation music rebel is out to wake the sleepers. From Ted Turner's devil ass to the so-called competition, everyone and their mama gets dealt with when the kid laces up his boots.
DENIZEN KANE - From the rum and Coke rumble of Chicago's North Side flow spots to the celluloid veneer of Def Poetry Jam's main stage, Denizen Kane rips the party with a poet's heart and an outsider's eye. Journalistic, impressionistic, real-life and drastic, young Kane's late night Red Line revelations turn into heathen hymns on tape, capturing the moody face of the metropolis in color. How long can a lost one roam until he finds his way home? Listen to your city fall apart through the muddy mouth of an immigrant.
Snake Oil
Typical Cats Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
I need water, the liquid cellars of sisters, mothers, daughters
I can't explain the way the knots in my neck unravel by the hypnotic twitch of a sisters hips I travel, miles
When the baseline bends its bare ass into my face, but time stops with the subtle swivel of a slim waist
I chased a fish, as far, as semen can swim
Complications come apart of the heaven of the body rock, isn't then?
It's the most human impossible hubris victim-less vice
Grip my tip and dive twice, into the honeywell of a girls thighs, eyes
Just a strand of DNA, tossed in the wind that's seedless, it's Gods will, the pelvis, the keyhole of the double helix and
Girl, our limbs entwine at the hand
Rails of spiral staircases
I close my cold black eyes and see a hundred past love faces. No!
I mean just one! I mean just yours!
When we of Goddess, dig the design of your dharma, worship the wisdom, body flawless
Spell my name, holy script
Flick a bit lower back in spine, make me forget my name with the wiggle of the banshees and the serpents
And my mind's been parched, love
And I in need of sleep, I twist in the sheets, drink empty wells deep
But dry can't justify where my wickedness ways would rends, or the difference between pedestal and auction block, where my eyes blind
Run red and thin, you're the inkwell, I'm the pen and we'll spell another episode of the cycle that never ends
It never ends
The lyrics of Typical Cats' "Snake Oil" explore the complex and often contradictory nature of desire and the human body. The first stanza sets the tone for the rest of the song, with the singer expressing a deep thirst for "the liquid cellars of sisters, mothers, daughters" - a metaphor for the female body and the various roles women play in men's lives. The singer acknowledges the power of female sexuality, describing how knots in his neck unravel at the hypnotic twitch of a woman's hips. He also acknowledges the fleeting nature of sexual desire, comparing it to chasing a fish that can only swim so far.
As the song progresses, the singer becomes more introspective, exploring the often problematic nature of desire between men and women. He acknowledges the "hubris" of his sexual pursuits and the victimless vice that it often represents. He also grapples with the contradictions and power dynamics between men and women, acknowledging that his desires could easily turn into cruelty if left unchecked. Ultimately, the song ends on a note of resignation, with the singer acknowledging that the cycle of desire and pursuit will never truly end.
Line by Line Meaning
I would revise my history if I could but right now I'm thirsty he said
He wishes he could change his past mistakes but currently he is in need of water
I need water, the liquid cellars of sisters, mothers, daughters
He is asking for water from women whom he describes as an important source of life
I can't explain the way the knots in my neck unravel by the hypnotic twitch of a sisters hips I travel, miles
He cannot explain the relief he feels when a woman's movement helps him to relax physically and mentally
When the baseline bends its bare ass into my face, but time stops with the subtle swivel of a slim waist
He enjoys a good beat and the movements of a woman's hips but especially admires the subtle movements
I chased a fish, as far, as semen can swim
He pursued someone he desired as much as he possibly could
Complications come apart of the heaven of the body rock, isn't then?
Complications can be an accepted consequence of sexual pleasure
It's the most human impossible hubris victim-less vice
Sexual pleasure is a uniquely human attribute and can be enjoyed without causing harm to others
Grip my tip and dive twice, into the honeywell of a girls thighs, eyes
He is asking for sexual pleasure from a woman he is attracted to
Just a strand of DNA, tossed in the wind that's seedless, it's Gods will, the pelvis, the keyhole of the double helix and
Sexual reproduction is a naturally occurring process that humans don't have control over
Girl, our limbs entwine at the hand
Their bodies are intertwined in a sexual manner
Rails of spiral staircases
This line is unclear in meaning in isolation
I close my cold black eyes and see a hundred past love faces. No!
He reflects on his past relationships and becomes overwhelmed with emotion
I mean just one! I mean just yours!
He wants a specific womans affection above all others
When we of Goddess, dig the design of your dharma, worship the wisdom, body flawless
He admires the beauty and perfection of a woman's body
Spell my name, holy script
He is asking the woman to please him both physically and mentally
Flick a bit lower back in spine, make me forget my name with the wiggle of the banshees and the serpents
He wants the woman to pleasure him in such a way that he becomes overwhelmed with sensation
And my mind's been parched, love
He has been feeling sexually unsatisfied
And I in need of sleep, I twist in the sheets, drink empty wells deep
He is struggling to sleep and is feeling very unsatisfied with his life
But dry can't justify where my wickedness ways would rends, or the difference between pedestal and auction block, where my eyes blind
He doesn't feel like being unsatisfied justifies his bad behavior and he is unable to differentiate between love and lust
Run red and thin, you're the inkwell, I'm the pen and we'll spell another episode of the cycle that never ends
He wants to continue repeatedly experiencing the pleasure of sex
It never ends
The pleasure of sex never ends
Contributed by Colin P. Suggest a correction in the comments below.