Pitchfork

You know how satisfying it is when you turn on cable access at three in the morning, only to find two guys in their basement playing lo-fi funk jams? Or, even better: when you buy an unlabeled cassette at a thrift store, which, when played, consists of some guy talking to himself-- thinking no one will ever hear the tape, he's completely uninhibited, and by extension, genius. That's pretty much The Weather. It sounds like Daedelus, Bus and Radioinactive drank sick amounts of cola and recorded this album in their boxers. It's pleasantly casual, as if intended solely for their own entertainment. Bus and Radio are like, "Fuck it, we are theatrical hams, and now we're gonna freestyle/sing over this tweaky exotica track Daedelus crunched and mashed for us." Whacked-out humor, clever beats, and incomprehensible free-association abound, and it's awesomely pure, like the triumphant stink of a 12-year-old-boy's socks. You can't expect anything else from three guys calling themselves "America's favorite boy band."

Daedelus drops his Kinderegg production, slipping loping beats inside candied organ, wispy string samples, and the occasional launch into futuristic feedback-- it's an early 70s variety-show backdrop similar to the one on Radioinactive's Pyramidi, but far more playful. It also helps that Los Angeles' Busdriver is among the most inventive emcees around right now, forging new directions in style (he's nasally, jazzy, and rhymes faster than anyone) and lyricism: "You are confusing that Mercedes emblem for a peace sign/ And I'm mistaking that peace sign for a crosshair." (If you're desperate for a follow-up to his mind-exploding last record, though, Bus doesn't cut quite as sharp on The Weather as on Temporary Forever.)

On the opener, "Exaggerated Joy", Radioinactive rhymes, "Laundering money in Laundromats, here is detergent," after which Bus sings a really funny, Michael Jackson-esque "ah!", sans irony, that's more suited for a sexy funk jam than the calliope-sounding rap presented. Sugar-fueled lyrics are alternately multi-layered and brilliant, and utterly incoherent. Example: The line, "Just because the world runs on oil doesn't mean oilmen should run the world," is an astute, assertive and clever play on words, followed by, "Just because the sky's my paved road doesn't mean you should pave a road over the sky." Um, what?

But it's not, like, a comedy album, nor is its wackiness cLOUDDEAD redux. These three state their mission clearly in a theme song of sorts, "Carl Weathers": "We're too old to smoke blunts, so we promote funk that makes adults hump. We catapult jump." Warm bass and a voice sing softly behind them: "Partly cloudy with an increased chance of rain." The Weather is smart but not pretentious, skeptical but not misanthropic, and it proves avant-hiphop doesn't have to be avant-crappy.