Parsing the nonpareil, nonsensical flow of Los Angeles MC Busdriver (né Regan Farquhar) can be challenging, but it’s certainly not impossible. Here’s a rough rubric for a few tracks on his prodigious, word-spangling fourth LP:
Style: Way-Off-Broadway showtune waltz.
Topic: Sucky showbiz politics.
Premise: “This year I thought I’d do away with celebrity-endorsed barbarism rather than entertain sore feelings at board meetings with these corporate mooches.”
Style: Depeche Mode–y disco.
Topic: Desiccated romantic relationships.
Premise: “There’s a place for you and a place for me/Return to the bourgeoisie while I sift through debris.”
Style: Big-beat raggamuffin rudebwoy ragga.
Topic: Erroneous identity politics.
Premise: “The troglodyte wins because you voted in the defaulted Cro-Magnon man.”
Style: (Concrete) jungle drum’n’bass.
Topic: Contrived corporate culture.
Premise: “You stinky motherfucker… barbecuing sorted meat substitutes, arguing at your bleak study groups in your turtlenecks writing cross reference checks in the relief money fund.”
Style: Boom-bippy prog rock.
Topic: Facetious new ageism.
Premise: “This self-made mogul alpha male now seeks a Dalai Lama to become a cocoon due to my album sales.”