Music » Latin Rap Music

Led by the deep-toned Sen Dog and the deliciously adenoidal whine of B-Real and backed by DJ Muggs's beats--as thick as the smoke they inhaled--Cypress Hill spun dope-fueled tales of revenge, revolution, recreational drug use, gangbanging, and cultural pride. Like R. Crumb's Mr. Natural, but with a hardened voice and a B-boy attitude, Cypress Hill slow-walked their funk-flavored way through a minefield of anthems (the still sizzling "How I Could Just Kill a Man") and comic manifestos ("Stoned Is the Way of the Walk"). Heavy on the bass line and punctuated by flashes of wit and rage, Cypress Hill's joint was definitely one to draw deep on. --Amy Linden

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While North American rap drowns in its own clichés, international artists are invigorating the genre with their own musical traditions. The Orishas, a Cuban group based in France, use Afro-Cuban religion to summon the spirit of hip-hop. Named for gods of Santeria, they came together in 1998 when members Yotuel and Ruzzo hooked up with Roldan and Flaco-Pro (a veteran of Sergeant Garcia) through a cultural exchange program between French and Cuban rappers. Collaborating with French hip-hop producer Miko Niko, they bring the attitude of Havana streets to the rest of the world, appealing to the Buena Vista Social Club crowd as well as the hip-hop heads. On their debut, A lo Cubano, the song "537 C.U.B.A." (their remake of Compay Segundo's "Chan Chan") gives new meaning to the term "old school." And the sound of sacred Santeria beats and traditional son weaving through sharp-edged lyrical attacks with groove-heavy bass and drum tracks on tunes like "Represent," "Atención," and "Atrevido" make for a cool joyride through the back streets of Havana. --Jesse "Chuy" Varela

If a case can be made for gangsta rap, Cypress Hill is the act to make it. The trio of L.A. Latinos has the commercial clout and its raps are mercifully free of the misogyny, homophobia, and anti-Asian, anti-Jewish racism that so often mars the genre. Member/producer D.J. Muggs creates an eerily lean soundscape of whining sirens, off-kilter funk rhythms, metallic percussion, nasal taunts, and gruff warnings that's the aural equivalent of today's nerve-rattling cop flicks and mob movies. --Geoffrey HimesLimited Digipack Release

Release Date: 2001-11-06, Audio CD, Hi Power

On her debut album, Up Close and Personal, New York radio personality Angie Martinez attempts to step outside her DJ role and into that of an MC. But an unpolished flow and unsophisticated lyrics will hopefully keep Martinez from quitting her day job. Up Close is not a complete flop, however. Martinez may not be a wordsmith, but she knows what one sounds like and had the good sense and connections to include some of hip-hop's biggest names on her album. Martinez is at her best on songs like the capricious Latin-music-inspired "Coast 2 Coast" with Wyclef Jean, and the flirtatious "Mi Amor" with Jay-Z. And to her credit, Martinez holds her own on the independent woman's anthem "Breathe" featuring the lulling vocals of Mary J. Blige and La India. Up Close probably won't be nominated for hip-hop album of the year, but Martinez's obvious love for the music and intelligent choices in collaborators give the album a level of integrity that cannot be denied. --Felicia A. Wilks

Fat Joe used to be the punch line to hip-hop jokes, his flows as unwieldy as his girth. So frustrated was Joey Crack (a.k.a. Fat Joe) at his inability to crush the rap game with his first two dud LPs, he spent several years in the woodshed, honing his craft and his Rolodex. Sprawled out over an hour of genuinely thugged-out beats (produced by everyone from Marley Marl to Younglord), Don Cartagena features a truckload of Joe's friends to prove the point. Nas, Big Pun, Raekwon, and Jadakiss bring the terror on "John Blaze," while Biggie's old belle makes you "scream Charli Baltimore in Spanish" on "Walk On By." It's a small gem and a refreshing surprise. Joey, you've come a long way, baby--with a little help from your friends. --Jon Caramanica

Terror Squad, The Album by TERROR SQUAD

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The first solo Latino rapper to go platinum (with 1998's Capital Punishment), Christopher "Big Pun" Rios didn't live to see the release of this follow-up. Despite a relieved-sounding boast about losing 100 pounds on the percolating "It's So Hard," Pun died of apparent heart problems early in 2000. Yeeeah Baby is a final testament he could be proud of. Imaginative production backs Pun to the hilt as he moves from the smooth Spanglish flow of "It's So Hard" to the living-well-is-the-best-revenge tale "Laughing at You" and the neighborhood-threatening "New York Giants." Loud, strong, and clear throughout, he'll be missed. --Rickey Wright