I-45 and Pimpadelic

I-45

Lost Between the Lines (Fuzzgun)

Pimpadelic

Southern Devils (Tommy Boy)

God help us all, but the next wave of triple-platinum, testosterone-suffused rap/rock could come from right here in Bush country, this brain-clouded land of "gumbo, Shiner Bock, Whataburger, and $100 bricks from El Paso!" In the salty tradition of Kinky Friedman and the Geto Boys, Houston's I-45 and Fort Worth's Pimpadelic are both out to prove that Texans come raunchier than anyone else, "psycho like no other motherfuckers." At least they sure as hell try. Pimpadelic are wifebeaters all the way, while the I-45 kids would probably choose to rock their BDP T-shirts, but somehow I doubt that NOW or the American Family Association would care to pass out fliers at either one's Emo's gig. Not that they would play the same night, as a sample Pimpadelic refrain would be, "While we drop the shit now ladies, drop your drawers tonight" and I-45 is more of the, "Bitch I got a bike, so don't ask for a ride" variety, with the uncannily Slim Shady-like Autobot confessing he "threw up the first time I saw a girl naked." Sonically, thugs and backpackers alike can nod their heads to I-45's synth-heavy liquid bounce -- the Rap-a-Lot-derived sine-wave hum of "2 or 3 Steps" is downright ill -- and all the Jim Beam drinkers will no doubt flock to Pimpadelic's monster-truck mix of Sabbath, Skynyrd, and Run-DMC that threatens to boot Kid Rock right out of his Lugz. (They win extra points, though probably not with the ladies, for using ODB's "Shimmy Shimmy Ya" on "Lost Cause.") And for nut-scratching Caucasians, both crews exhibit remarkably smooth flows -- way better than, say, tha Bizkit. It should be noted that Pimpadelic's constant t&a references, plus allusions to such savory subjects as gonorrhea, crystal meth, and the Trenchcoat Mafia, would probably be best appreciated by those who can't get enough of Dolemite and the Diceman's comic stylings; by the same token, I-45's Butthole Surfers tribute "Paul Leary's Wife" is obstreperous enough to roust that poor Shah from Lee Harvey's grave. Given Texas' recent past of dragging deaths, mass graves, collapsing bonfires, and rampant Governor-sanctioned executions, one can imagine a lot worse publicity for the state than one of these two groups gracing the cover of SPIN; either "Deep from the motherfuckin' South!" (I-45) or "Fuck you! I am white trash!" (Pimpadelic) would make fabulous cutlines.

(Both)