Pitchfork

After the dotcom bubble burst, two guys in Oakland decided to take stock and slow down a little. Noah Blumberg (aka Quarterbar, and one-time guitarist for indie band The Jim Yoshii Pile-Up) had been collaborating with Weapon-Shaped Records founder Eric Steuer (aka Eriksolo) since 1996, in the Santa Barbara-based hip-hop act mic.edu, a promising college act cut down by the tragic death of Lafura Jackson (aka A-Twice), who fell victim to cancer. The duo started putting the pieces back together in 2001, dubbing their new project Meanest Man Contest-- probably a tongue-in-cheek reference to the dog-eat-dog mentality of the Bay Area boom-- and though they've been around for a couple years, Merit is just their first full-length. I assume the title refers to Lake Merritt, a shimmering and stagnant man-made body of water at the heart of West Oakland's most habitable district. Like the lake, Merit is unassuming and pleasant, and the album is changing how I listen to what I call "comfort" hip-hop, a sweeter strain of rap-inflected instrumentalism ranging from Populous to DJ Krush.

You could debate whether this is really a rap album: the smooth-edged instrumentals are only interrupted a few times by Eriksolo's earnest freestyle compositions. Reminiscent of early El-P, these passages aren't explicitly hip-hop; there are no hooks-- just an endless sequence of second thoughts-- but Quarterbar's style of sampling and sequencing is definitely born of rap music, even if his preference for pristine texture and melodic levity is not. He has all the verve and hunger of a bona fide beatsmith, but he's not suffocating under any vinyl obsession-- Quarterbar is a crate digger with delicate fingers. Oddly, his beats don't change up predictably; when they do evolve, they open up suddenly and without explanation, as if someone had ripped cotton from your ears and flung open your bedroom door. His tracks have a kind of spatial coherence, each segment like a different room in the Alhambra or a smoky corner bar, or, more likely, your apartment.

From the beginning, Merit promises to be a slow-growing force for good, and it does not disappoint. "Sorry" starts heavy on a DJ Shadow tip, flicking into a tight break, while its counterpoint "Not Sorry" fades in with washed-out moans, before soldiering through some chaotic cuts. Detuned guitars shimmer behind a dirty beat in "Carpal Twist", while "Don't Die on Christmas" juxtaposes the warmest organ with an evil interlude, and "Alive in Sweet Bad Times" works a fusion Rhodes sample into a restrained lather. Later, an unrelenting clav pattern jabs at a wizened female sample, "You are obviously not an ordinary human being/ I promise to try no longer to take you with me." The rest is grindage clean and pure, enclosures blunt and luscious, pockets widening, hi-hats rustling and tines chiming; it's bright guitar, fat heat, and a ripped snare. The final track charms with a slender bolero, and it's gone.

Quarterbar is an impeccable housekeeper: his samples are always fresh, his effects always polite, and his textures always tasteful. All of his lilting vamps, with their no-nonsense presentation and unassuming depth, come scrubbed and radiant from a higher realm. Still, there's the unmistakable stain of something darker here, whether it's the sun-washed idleness that passes for depression on the shores of Lake Merritt, or the more obvious, life-changing tragedy the band's rebounding from.