By Steve Weinstein
By Bryan Bierman
By Lindsey Rhoades
By Chaz Kangas
By Ben Westhoff and Sarah Purkrabek
By Jena Ardell
By Jesse Sendejas Jr.
By Katherine Turman
Word is that DJ Screw cut more than 1000 original tapesand that's a stingy estimate. Emulators have since grown the sound into an industry: Mom-and-pop record retailers in the Dirty South are building boom box cum mixing studios, typically " 'round back" of their stores, where you get your spankin' new Strokes or Andrea Bocelli CD screwed on site for a couple bucks. Music Mania in Austin has dedicated an entire shelf to screw-related product, just like "country" or regular, jejune "rap"; in Houston, Screwed-Up Records and Tapes, one of two stores DJ Screw had opened in Texas under his handle and one of a handful of "chop shops" around H-town, miraculously thrives as a side-of-the-road, single-story, single-room shanty with zero inventory inside and a booth where an employee takes screwing requests from behind bulletproof glass. And the past few months alone have seen the release of literally hundreds of indie screw recordshundreds. So you just know the Church of Univirgin Bros. can't be happy seeing all this money being exchanged for the most distinctly urban art form to rise up from Inner City, U.S.A., since rap itself, and none of it is advancing hip-hop conscientiousnessa core screw value is that the music sets the appropriate mood for bibulous listeners to get they "lean" on to. Sample titles: City of Syrup by Big Moe, "Hold Up, I Got Too Much Lean in My Cup" by R.P. Cola, Screwston Vol. 2: Pink Soda by South Park Mexican.
Cornel West is welcome to figure out which came first, the screw or the syrup; all that matters is that kinfolk love it. Michael Watts, northside Houston's answer to the southside's DJ Screw, had picked up on the method in the early 1990s, when it first seeped out of DJ Screw's fingertips, and has built Swishahouse, his own indie label, into a Totem of Slowdom. Watts, using chiefly local hitters, goes for the big hooks, steely and sharp, that accentuate any likenesses between rappers and HAL the 2001 computer on his descent into mainframe hell. Like DJ Screw, Watts finds great joy in cutting up the deliveries of his rappers (a technique called "chopping"; see "chop shops" above), stuttering them like M-M-M-Max Headroom. One of the things so many Screwheads love about Watts' style is that the lyrics in his songs (typical hardcore, of course; nothing you haven't heard before) take a front seat to everything else, coming off limpid and unobstructed by cheeky effects or dog-a-muffin tongues. No bugging out over royalties or sample clearances here, either: Rappers beg Watts to appear on his CDs. Like with the originator, who folks say was so "street" the City of Houston tried installing a parking meter on his back, getting chopped by Watts is an honor.
The clique and label Beltway 8 have even fewer pretensions at art or authenticity; they righteously, chiefly just wanna make wassailing you look large pimpin' in your tricked-out Neon. The beats come cold correct in medium, Hot 97-approved tempo while only the vocals are slowed, and Pollie Pop, Beltway 8's resident screwdriver, lets entire songs play outunlike Watts or DJ Screw, who can't seem to let a single tune roll for longer than a minute. Pop's style wasn't necessarily a learned skill; the boys at Beltway 8 went around asking Screw fans what they liked best about slowed-down music, what they liked worst, and arrived at what you hear on the clique's discs. The crazy 8, for some weird reason, wanna attract as many addressees as possible, not just the leaners. Ditto for South Park Mexican, easily the region's biggest-selling indie rap act, who created the Screwston subsidiary last year under his Dope House Records label. It's on its Screwston Vol. 3 already, and SPM's molassesy stuff is as close to radio-friendly as the genus can get.