Dirty Art Club

Everything about this fucking album is Goddamn disgusting. Beats are dirty. Samples are filthy. Even the pretty shit is covered in grime. Instrumental hip hop essentially gets out of the shower and jumps directly into a pile of dust and writhes around in it like my friend Tim in his Cool Water cologne kiddie pool.

Dirty Art Club, whoever the fuck they are, have crafted an instrumental album I can get behind like a push broom sweeping an abandoned gym floor. What feels like a crate full of forgotten 45s is actually a perfect marriage of then and now. If you like your now covered in then and ran through the mud for good measure. It takes twists and turns towards and away from the relaxed, and then shoves a thumb up the anus of relaxed and hitchhikes towards the border between funky and soundtrack to a homicide.

A few of these tracks deserve their own black and white silent movie, where the camera shot goes back and forth and forth between the protagonist, a shot glass, and a consistently emptying bottle of cheap booze. Just when you're ready to close your eyes for good, Dust and Ivory comes on and audibly stabs you in the chest plate with a dose of adrenaline fit for a chase scene through a Cab Calloway biopic. Jet Lag puts you on a luxury international cruise where the captain's obviously on meth and the first mate is wearing the cut of a biker gang with a name like COCAINE HOLIDAY. I'll Meet You In Brasil puts the listener smack dab in the middle of a drug deal between a housewife and a high school valedictorian.

Everything is so retro, yet so modern.

Dirty Art Club, and their project Heavy Starch, perfectly execute a collection of 23 hell yeah tracks that are never allowed to get stale, most landing somewhere in between two and three minutes in length. I appreciate the fact that they understand my attention span is that of a

SQUIRREL!