Pitchfork

It must be halftime of a second-term administration because the celebs are putting on quite a show. From the sands of Africa to the halls of Capitol Hill, the creative-types of Hollywood and New York City are scaling the walls of authority, shouting, "Impeach the Press Secretary!" Courage, thy name is Brangelina (Clooney's salt-and-peppered baby blues excused). Meanwhile, the Coup release another fine album to feathery sales numbers, the scales of justice clunk heavily on the side of Ambassador Bono's How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, and the American public rejoices knowing they've done something by watching a movie co-starring a temporarily fat sexy dude or buying a crappy record by a guy who wears platform chancletas. Still, though the Prada-prop of the A-list might be a more accurate representation of American politics, the Coup's Boots Riley is the everyday activist, whose music is just another seemingly futile outreach program.

It is important to note the Coup's origins in the San Francisco Bay Area, an urban mecca for progressive wonks and breezy funk. Fighting the power is as ingrained in the lifestyle as trolley cars and "(Sittin' on) the Dock of the Bay". So, when Boots speaks, the choir is listening, and it lends his voice the confident coolness that only comes when one feels strength in numbers. The People United versus Me Against the World, etc. The best evidence of this sangfroid is the thundering-piano anthem "My Favorite Mutiny", in which Boots' pragmatic call-to-arms defrosts the cold platitudes of guests Black Thought and Talib Kweli, who are often forced into action against the evil axis crack-rappers and their innumerable minions on the East Coast. For Riley, whose bio includes equal stints in activism and hip-hop, talking policy is as commonplace as talking trash, so when he says, "If I'm not involved/ I feel I'm not breathing/ If I can't change the world/ I'm not leaving," it's usually followed by something like, "Baby, that's the same reason you should call me this evening." Most of Pick a Bigger Weapon follows this same trajectory, yet doesn't wear thin because of Riley's abundant wit and wisdom. It's pointless to parse lyrics here because the quotables come in long stretches. Even with the ever-dreaded rap skit, the Coup keep it fresh by cracking wise and having a relevant narrative (check-plus for the acting performances in the sycophant's dilemma, "Yes 'Em To Death").

Sonically, Weapon couches the rhetoric in the group's signature Parliament/Prince digi-funk-- with Boots on beats and Pam the Funkstress on scratches-- but this time around the productions are more full-figured and fleshed out, whether they're stomping on a flag or sauntering past security. Slow burners "Mindfuck (A New Equation)" and "ShoYoAss" (don't let the titles fool you) accomplish the candy-coated cosmic slop Andre attempted on The Love Below, minus the overt outré stuff, while "Ass-Breath Killers" and "Captian Sterling's Little Problem" thump and clap as hard as any hyphy. Some who fondly remember Kill My Landlord or Steal This Album might initially wince at the less-abrasive sonics, but just as Riley's rhymebook includes more of himself than ever, so have his rhythms become more intimate and seductive. The art of persuasion, people.

If this is all beginning to sound as if the Coup have suddenly softened their stance, maybe that's the plan. Having toiled in the trenches for a decade plus, with Pick a Bigger Weapon, Riley and Pam appear to have chosen more love than war to further the movement, even if that love manifests itself in oral copulation between George Bush and Saddam Hussein.