Funny that the only strain of hip-hop that truly qualifies as Da Next Big Thing would make Russell Simmons wanna join Creed as the management flunky who shaves Scott Whatshisname's concave chest. It's called screwed music, or just plain "screw," after the legendary and deceased Texas turntablist DJ Screw who made a living that allowed for much Fubu togging and heavy donations to Houston-area churches, all by slowing down other people's music—mostly underground rap but some copyrighted, mainstream stuff too, from Dr. Dre to Led Zep to Phil Collins—and selling mix tapes of his handiwork for $10 a pop out of his Houston house. Perhaps he was moved by the resourceful spirit of the South Bronx (circa 1977) to say, if Def Jam/Interscope/rope-a-dope/whoever isn't gonna produce any kickin' new music, I'm-a do it myself. Slower than my chubby buddy Sven in snowshoes, subaqueous and evocative of a 78 platter being spun at 33 speed, screw flips the script on pop's predictable shtick: The sound draws its strength inversely from mainly overpolished, overproduced monstrosities, like how X-Woman Rogue sucks up a bad guy's superpowers only to use them against him. "Shake ya ass! Watch... More >>>