CYPRESS HILL: Black Sunday
Ruffhouse/Sony
What looks
like death metal, sells like Garth Brooks and makes you want to light
another? The new Cypress Hill, of course. Yes, the soul assassins are back
with their sophomore effort and groove-mongers around the world should
rejoice. Not much has changed with these charming fellows, use of
infra-red targeting scopes aside. B-real still bursts the nasal flow while
DJ Muggs' funkalastic beats lay the phat phoundation for it all. Also
intact is the ganja factor, although it has evolved from mere
appreciation to full-blown advocation. However, their propensity for
indulgence hasn't mellowed them out. In fact, quite the opposite as this
disc is a predominantly sinister creation. Replete with Sabbath samples
and remorseless lyrics, CH make it clear that they like their smoke from
the barrel of a gat as much as from a bong. This may disturb some, but
it's all in self-defense, so just be thankful you're not as paranoid as
they are. (Grant Tennille)
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