REVIEW: Doomtree - All Hands
Since their inception, Doomtree has been touted as the hardest-working hip hop crew seen or heard anywhere. Every release from them is filled to the brim with a focus on hard work and overcoming adversity with no materialism or misogyny to be found, placing their ethos more in line with the likes of Bane than most rap music. This aspect combined with eclectic musical elements and their DIY ideology makes it easy to picture Doomtree being repped on Punk-O-Rama comps alongside Atmosphere, Sage, Eyedeas, and The Coup. When I'm not listening to this album, I find myself focusing on the mythos behind it all. Between having children, almost dying from kidney failure, six of the seven members dropping individual albums, EPs, remixes, etc., Doomtree managed to find time to write and record this album. Getting away from everything was a high priority to make that possible. All Hands was written in a series of remote cabins as the crew found openings in their schedules. While writing in a cabin is a long-running trope (looking at you, Thoreau) and hardly original, the influence of solitude in the rustic wilderness upon the creative process is undeniable. All Hands is a new monster in the same way American Werewolf in London was a new monster. They have taken concepts and formulae they've seen work in the past and tweaked them just enough to create a sound that's more accessible, does not lack in artistic merit, but still inescapably Doomtree.
The most notable shift presented here is the migration away from guitar and drum dominated punk and rock songs with rapping on top. With Cecil Otter now co-executive producing alongside Lazerbeak, the accompaniment consists completely of shamelessly synthetic methods. Across thirteen tracks, the cabins are scantly referred to but the intimacy of these compositions is immediately apparent. Lazerbeak-produced “Final Boss” kicks off the album by digitally compiling Sims into the recording with a Karate Kid reference. As an introductory track, it matches Doomtree's M.O. of coming on very strong and foreshadows how the structure of the remaining tracks will sound. Each verse is highlighted by a change in accompaniment, ranging from the just-subtle-enough-to-notice to new-song-worthy, that forces even the most distracted mind to pay attention to where the strongest segments of each track lie. The utilization of vocal effects has increased as well. Multi-tracked vox panned to one side or the other adds a chilling, schizophrenic element to the listening experience and sometimes we're treated to what could be interpreted as the MCs gradually being possessed. The collection of verses between skillfully constructed hooks is worthy of all the praise I can give. Mike Mictlan is an unstoppable force of nature. I mean, he is an actual tornado and I have to consider it plausible that Sims is alluding to him in “Gray Duck” with the line “You're all spin move, you're doing too much”. And Sims, in spite of himself, runs lyrical circles around my head, ultimately coming up with some of my favorite lines on the album (see all of “Cabin Killer”). I hesitate to compare Dessa to a cat but the way her verses flow makes the comparison unavoidable—a constant zig zag that swipes at you right when you think “Oh, we're cool”. P.O.S is a bottomless wellspring of creativity. With fourteen verses between thirteen tracks (one of which is completely produced by him), he never once sacrifices quality for quantity. Conversely, with only six verses, Cecil has the least amount of vocal work. He doesn't even show up until his auto-tuned entry on track three, “.38 Airweight”. He is still pissed off. That winding, angry cadence that I can only compare to La Dispute's Jordan Dreyer hits this album in all the right places.
The first four tracks of All Hands make up Doomtree's best run of songs yet. Don't get me wrong, “Heavy Rescue” is a great song with a tone of awe and reverence but it's preceded by four bangers that make the transition seem like night and day. The greatest moment of the initial listening experience is also the most frustrating. The track “Marathon” is a seven-and-a-half Gotham-streets slow build that guides the listener to anticipate this giant climax. The song is the longest on the album by far but the build up makes it seem like it's over just when it's about to start. Imagine yourself home alone at night. Go ahead. You're in a safe place, say your bedroom. Your living space is a predictable sanctuary. You hear footsteps that are far away but just close enough to make you alert to their presence. They become louder. You poke your head out of the door (you're stupid in this scenario) but nothing's there. You close the door behind you only to hear the footsteps louder right outside your door. The knob begins to turn. You panic, dashing for the closet. Shutting the door tight and covering yourself with old suit jackets and prom dresses and ephemera from that one shoe box full of stuff that's actually garbage but you can't get rid of. Again, the door knob. The only part of your body showing is your eyeballs and they are glued on that door knob. It just spins, endlessly rotating. Finally, the door cracks open. Suddenly you're awake in your own bed with the sun beaming into your room, birds chirping outside. It's a happy moment but all you can think about is the fear. That's what the finale to All Hands is.
