It’s just fun, you know?”Īt 4:37am a few of the women come down from the Boom Boom Room. Little get-togethers at the crib, with the fellas and some hoes. “Really, this what we doing tonight? I love this type of shit. The car is a pale cheddar with purple iridescence, and there is pride in his voice when he calls it his Paddymelt. “I do this all the time,” says Big Boi, leaning up against his mint Cadillac. The only thing to do is keep up, keep your eyes open, and try not to pass out in that chair in the kitchen.ĭownstairs in the garage the photographer is still shooting in a race against sunrise. It’s like any foreign land in that way, men and women acting out roles that are difficult to understand when observed from the straight world. Unmastered tracks from Outkast’s upcoming album blast from the stereo system.Ī lot of shit is talked in the Boom Boom Room, but most of the conversation remains unspoken. At the bar, more of Outkast’s Earthtone crew-Slimm, C-Bone, DJ and Nathaniel-are making headway on a gallon of Hennessy and more than a couple of blunts. They all have names in which Ys replace Is-Chyna and Kym. On the other side of the Boom Boom Room, several more women languish on low-slung couches. No one’s really watching her and she’s not dancing for anybody else, a caged bird needing no listener to sing its song. Except that it’s not really dancing, just a repetitive slow-mo gyration suggesting ennui.
In fact, the stage is so small that you really don’t notice it’s there until one of the women gets off the couch and starts to dance around the pole. The stage isn’t big, maybe three feet by three feet, but the surface is mirrored and there’s a pole in the middle that reaches to the ceiling. The thing about Big Boi’s house is that inside it he has a Boom Boom Room, and the thing about the Boom Boom Room is that there’s a stage in the corner. OUT IN THE COUNTRY, PAST FAYETTEVILLE, GEORGIA Stankonia is where they got they funk from.īut first, are you experienced? Uh, have you ever been… experienced? You, with your conscious rappers and Black Augusts? You, with your headwrap, and you, with your backpack? You, with your getting-it, and you with your 360 degrees of hip-hop? Have you ever been knock-kneed, mind-blown, zooted and looted, all funked up and no place to go? In Stankonia searing electric guitar solos meet the godsong of the Morris Brown College choir, and when studio tapes are flipped and run backwards, a different music emerges. It’s a place where the weed is purple and the greens and blues of a stripper’s dress suddenly match the colors of the early morning sky and the pine tops of the Georgia woods. Soon everything is quiet, the photographer has packed up his equipment, clothes have been put back on, doors have been slammed and the SUVs and the Benz SLKs driven away, leaving only you to rub your eyes and wonder what the fuck just happened in the span of 18 hours.īig Boi and Andre are Outkast, and they travel in a realm of magic realism they call Stankonia. Outside the morning has a dewy cling that only the South knows.
It's a trip, a journey, a transformation, an experience. Outkast's new album is more than a record.
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