The Knux: Remind Me in 3 Days
By Ian Sprague /// published in the December 2008 issue
Let’s say two boys from New Orleans met a girl named Katrina, had to skip town on the double, hopped a train to Houston, and then hitched it all the way to Hollywood to make it big. They met a guy along the way. Goes by the name of Paul Rosenberg.
The tracks clatter underneath, his voice carries strongly across the bags of grain strewn across the car floor. Turns out he made it big back in the pistol-packing days with an infamous man named Eminem from Detroit, Michigan. Different color. Some said he belonged somewhere else. But that’s not this story.
Anyways, this Paul didn’t say much at first. Sort of just eyed the brothers, slippery-like. Finally the gregarious one, Al goes for it: he gets up, fumbles around for his glasses, and lays down a little something about a sweet honey back home. Krispy pulls out the old slide guitar and throws down a few riffs. Paul sits back, and you can tell there are dreams and wonders shooting rapid-fire behind those slippery squinting, sizing-up eyes.
That was then, this is now — the two brothers roll through the Hollywood Hills, hopping on the high life, coke up their noses, shades stay on always. Flannel and skinny abounds. A pair of baggy jeans lies unattended in an Urban Outfitters changing room — the dirty-South skin has been shed.
But has it?
These two brothers, Krispy and Al, a.k.a. The Knux, who just released their debut album Remind Me in 3 Days, attempt to adopt an LA identity, shed their New Orleans past, and still maintain their street cred. The two brothers hit Los Angeles running, rising to the top of the Downtown socialite scene and all the while developing their hip-hop act. Can the two brothers manage to escape comparisons to the laughable indie L.A. rapper, Shwayze, whose artistry runs about as deep as a few inches of Malibu sand? The challenge for The Knux is to incorporate the playboy trendy image while still maintaining the burden of street conscience.
At least Shwayze’s catchy paradise-conscious lyricism can be enjoyed in conjunction with mind-altering substances. Remind Me in 3 Days begins with a precedent — a hip sample with cool guitar riffs, but underwhelming flow and lyrics. You know there’s a question of legitimacy on the table when one rhyme goes “on the futon, spread like poupon.” Other sex-focused lyrics dominate the album, spinning tracks that are superficial and juvenile, instantly self-trivializing. Instead of sexual witticisms interspersed throughout, the prevalence of mildly witty lewd rhymes gives the impression that the Knux bros don’t have much to brag about other than getting their respective dicks wet. Other rappers, like Lil’ Wayne on his song “Mrs. Officer,” are able to cleverly introduce voyeurism without coming off as frivolous. One can’t help but imagine a confrontation on a South L.A. street between, say, Snoop, The Game, and Dre, all in white tees and bandannas, true ambassadors of the L.A. street culture, and these two knuckleheads in stripes, vibrant Palestinian scarves, nerdy glasses, and gait-hampering pants.
There are some bright spots where one can ignore The Knux’s identity confusion. The track “FIRE” is a good example — a cruisin’ G-funk ‘70s jam rides like a six fo’, and MC additions from Krispy and Al are at their best. However, like almost every other track, it’s undone by obnoxious unison choruses. Rhymes of “oohh” evoke bad memories of Rihanna. Other songs like “Wake the Fuck Up” and “Lights Camera Action” feature samples and background tracks that move and hint at a new sound, that hybridization that The Knux failed to realize elsewhere.
The first go for The Knux brothers leaves much to be desired, but the album is well-produced, hinting that with a little help up their friend Rosenberg, they might fulfill the dreams brought with them from the bayou. Remind Me in 3 Days has culture clash written all over it — ignoring the legacy of Los Angeles gangsta rap, it has no depth, and reeks of upper-class frivolity and conformity much like, unfortunately, Shwayze. Get those baggies back, start hustlin’, get a couple arrests, then we’ll talk.
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