Un-real world

Dr. Octagon shakes up hip-hop

by Jon Garelick

There's probably no more giddy alternative to the dull "real-ness" of the superstars of gangsta rap (living and deceased) than Dr. Octagon. Octagon is but one persona of rapper "Kool" Keith Thornton, in league with Bay Area hip-hop wizards like DJ Q-Bert (Richard Quitevis) and producer the Automator (Dan Nakamura). The scatologically obsessed Keith and his crew created a small sensation when they released Dr. Octagon on San Francisco's Bulk label last year. Now, big-money label DreamWorks is about to release the album as Dr. Octagonecologyst (in stores April 29), along with a companion CD of instrumental remixes, Instrumentalyst.

There's violence aplenty on Dr. Octagonecologyst, but it doesn't even pretend to be real. "Octagon's like this psycho black-and-white-TV doctor from 1965 visiting the future, which is now," Kool Keith told Spin, "and he sees how things are fucked up, and well, let's put it this way, he's not that interested in taking care of people."

Mostly, Dr. Octagon is interested in impossible anatomical arrangements -- Dr. Frankenstein-like surgical procedures and Kama Sutra-defying sexual display. Whereas the late Notorious B.I.G's sexual feats on disc were as grim as his shootouts, Octagon is infinitely playful. His raps are often fast, sloppy, and loose, sliding all over the beat (unless he's paying old-school homage, as in the album's final, boombox-and-vocals track, "1977"). When he threatens a rival, it's more often with guano than with a gat ("Think about it: if you was there standing looking at me/What would you do if I hit your face with dog doody"). Over waiting-room Vivaldi, he announces his office's specialties: "Intestine surgery, rectum rebuilding, relocated saliva glands, chimpanzee acne, and, of course, moose bumps." He makes impossible diagnoses ("Cirrhosis of the eye!") that move into the realm of the surreal ("You have ptomaine poison on your tongue. . . . You have bees flying around your rectum . . . ") and then plows ahead with unique treatments ("You need a bad operation. . . . Give me the scissors . . . hammer . . . flame . . . "). The sleep of reason produces monsters that spring directly from Octagon's subconscious, like "halfsharkalligatorhalfman" (the title character of one tune).

The mad-scientist scenarios and sexual escapades (doctor seducing patient, nurse seducing doctor) are played out against dry snare beats and hi-hat snips, big fuzzy bass lines, and an assortment of live instruments (the three-chord guitar rock of "I'm Destructive" sounds as if it could be an old Kiss track). Fender Rhodes, celesta, and flute give the music an open harmonic scheme, textures that are varied but light. There's sampled C-level sci-fi dialogue. ("Gentlemen, that wasn't torn. This . . . is cannibalism.") A minor-keyed string-quartet sample, theremin-like whammies and other oscillating sci-fi noises, and soundtrack music in the manner of Bernard Herrmann and Max Steiner complete the cheesy cinematic references.

Kool Keith's raps often have an improvised feel, and whether the details are spit out in gristly chunks or sprayed in an evanescent rush, the result is often close to pure abstraction ("Sell a cassette your homey's tapedeck is wet/You my pet, my poodle, shakin' noodles on the rise!"). That abstraction is abetted by Q-Bert's scratching. Turntables challenge each other and carry on dialogue, high-pitched wails answering guttural barks. In one hilarious, sophomoric sequence, when the gynecologist drops his disguise, his dialogue with his patient morphs into squeals of protest and delight. Throughout the album, Q-Bert's turntables play an equal role with the vocals in the call-and-response patterns of the music. Those patterns hug the grooves of the tunes, creating pop-like hooks. For all the humor on Dr. Octagonecologyst, Keith delivers a line like "Rap moves on to the year 3000" with anthemic verve.

Keith is a bi-coastal phenomenon. He fronted New York's virtuoso neo-old school Ultramagnetic MCs in New York before moving to LA and taking on multiple personae. The recent Sex Style, released under the Kool Keith name on his own Funky Ass label, is musically sharp if more narrowly defined, and the porn pushes that mean-spirited edge that Dr. Octagonecologyst avoids. "Earth People: New York and California," Dr. Octagon declares, "Earth People: I was born on Jupiter." Like Sun Ra, Octagon is not of this earth, transcending coastal rivalries and racial divides. Like the impossible proportions of "halfsharkalligatorhalfman," the wily shapeshifter refuses to be any one thing. More power to him.