Drankin’ Patnaz

(So So Def)

An Atlanta-crunk concept album about drinking and driving. Guests: Lil Jon, Killer Mike, Backbone. The twosome has a real circular way with country-fried drawl choruses, the yummiest of which occurs in “Sean Paul,” named not for a dancehall superstar but for a Youngblood. “Mud Pit” spins dirty doughnuts; there’s a G-funk-like slow and low and upbeat-despite-it-all hot-summer-afternoon windows-down wooze and haze to “My Automobile”; the ode to “tequila my Mexican lover” out-cheeses Tim McGraw’s “Señorita Margarita.” But the truest love song is the heartwarming title cut, rapped man to man.


Me & My Brother


Another self-deprecatingly good-natured male-bonding Atlanta-crunk duo starting with “Y”! Guests: Lil Jon, Trick Daddy, Bone Crusher, Killer Mike, Hitman Sammy Sam, Khujo Goodie, and two random women who do the great distaff answer to the great single, which applies “There’s a Place in France” and “Shoo Fly” playground hooks to a gender battle in the tradition of the Halos’ “Nag” and Cabaret Voltaire’s “Nag Nag Nag.” Another fun one revolves around a police-siren-pig-sooey squeal that goes “haaangh!!!” Half rapped in a dynamite-fuse-lighting quiver that’s been hiding since the Coasters’ “Along Came Jones,” the rest is mostly Cheech and Chong bitch-baiting, seemingly dashed-off between Grey Goose (tour sponsor, song title) and greeny green. But the extended electro instrumentals that end several songs are beautifully spare.


Kings of Crunk


Still way up high in Billboard after nearly a year, this is the Back in Black of Atlanta crunk, and its unbelievably vocally complex Ying Yang-collab limbo-dance “Get Low” has the best “3-6-9 Goose Drank Wine” playground hook since “Shiny Shiny” by Haysi Fantayzee if not “The Clapping Song” by Shirley Ellis. East Side Boyz concerts regularly inspire moshpits; the group deny being rappers, so they hire guests (too many) whose “real” rapping invariably downshifts the energy level from all the joyously redundant pep-rally stomps “representin’ for the home team,” the football-bootboy skinhead gang-shouts for gangstas. A sad theme: how they ain’t scared, repeated too often to believe. Appropriate: occasional “Maggot Brain” guitar. Missing the point completely: tracks featuring girls.