Backspin: Jungle Brothers — Straight Out the Jungle (1988)
Native Tongue architects laid the foundation for a new hip-hop ecosystem. (85.5/100)
Originally published 8/27/22 on Medium.
To say the Jungle Brothers walked so their Native Tongue descendants could run is to do a grave disservice to one of the Golden Era’s most groundbreaking groups. In reality, Afrika Baby Bam, Mike Gee, and DJ Sammy Bee were running with a lion’s power and a gazelle’s stealth.
Straight Out the Jungle, their 1988 debut, paved not only a pathway, but an entire infrastructure through which De La Soul could make a naughty noise called Plug Tunin’, A Tribe Called Quest could take a day trip to El Segundo, and generations of future hip-hoppers could embark on left of center excursions.
The opening title track is quietly one of the most timeless songs from hip-hop’s most iconic year. It plays today much as it did in ’88, feeling both immediately lived in and disarmingly fresh. Like the sample heavy sounds coloring hip-hop production from coast to coast at the time, “Straight Out the Jungle” is an aural petri dish in which seemingly disparate sounds are crossbred and juxtaposed.
Where the “wall of sound” style popularized by Public Enemy’s Bomb Squad packed sounds tightly atop, against, and around each other, creating unrelenting intensity, the Jungle Brothers craft a fluid tapestry. Samples are introduced individuality and given space to establish their singular identity in the sonic ecosystem before disparate elements are intermingled.
Driving rhythm guitar from Mandrill’s “Mango Meat” anchors “Straight Out the Jungle,” placing it squarely in the mold of the previous year’s tight funk minimalism, only for a Cameroonian chant and bongos from Manu Dibango’s “Weya” to transport the groove across space and time. The flourishes are quickly stripped away, placing the focus squarely on Afrika as he takes the mic. He breezily laying out the group’s raison d’être backed by only the spare drum break from Bill Withers’ “Kissing My Love”.
Educated man, from the motherland
You see, they call me a star, but that’s not what I am
I’m a Jungle Brother, a true blue brother
And I’ve been to many places you’ll never discover
Step to my side, suckers run and hide
Afrika’s in the house, they get petrified
You wanna know why? I’ll tell you why
Because they can’t stand the sight of the jungle eye
They never fight or fuss, they never curse or cuss
They just stand on the side and stare at us
They get out of line, I put ’em on a vine
And give ’em one big push for all mankind
The J Beez’s rhymes twist and turn with the free association fluidity of vintage New York rap. But rather than boasts of microphone supremacy, Afrika and Mike Gee use their linguistic dexterity to celebrate a lifestyle. It’s playful, but not frivolous. Youthful, but reflective. Conscious, but never didactic. They feel like the HBCU students you might’ve seen rocking African medallions with Air Force 1s around your city back in the day. They were learning about themselves, exploring the breadth of the world, and having a great time sharing the journey.
After establishing the jungle as a metaphor for New York City and, ultimately, the world by the title track’s conclusion, the J Beez begin unpacking the metaphor on “What’s Going On”. Anchored by the timeless plea of Marvin Gaye’s original (sampled for the hook), Afrika and Mike’s rhymes belie the jazzy jaunt of the production, evoking the dangers awaiting young men as they venture out of the “civilization” of childhood and into the wild.
As with the opener, each verse adds layers. The song concludes with Afrika facing the stark reality that “things are gonna be hard,” but ultimately harkening back to the words of his parents for guidance in maneuvering the treacherous terrain. It’s perhaps the most literal embodiment of the album’s sonic embrace of the past’s rich tradition as teacher and fortifier.
Yet, in light of current efforts to further white wash public education, it’s Mike Gee’s middle verse connecting systemic erasure to the alienation that often erupts into brutality which resonates most urgently:
Now, history was not my favorite subject
I used to flip through the pages and get upset
Seein’ little of Black and too much of the other
(They tried to brainwash you)
Picture that, a jungle brother
Read this, read that, answer question 3
But when I got to 3, it had nothin’ to do with me
Somethin’ was wrong, and I knew it all along
Now tell me (please) what’s goin’ on?
“Black is Black” delivers what the lesson plans skip. The J Beez’s nasal voiced high school friend Q-Tip delivers the first two verses, serving up a racial State of the Union followed by a history lesson in chanted syncopation. Afrika and Mike drive the message home with an impassioned call for unity. It’s done atop a breezily danceable beat more than sufficient to kick start a party without sacrificing the purpose.
After a deceptively dense opening song suite, the Jungle Brothers let down their hair — or more aptly their pants — for a well timed moment of levity. That Straight Out the Jungle’s most readily identifiable imprint on hip-hop culture, and ultimately contemporary language, is the slang term it coined for “penis” says more about us than it does about them. But “Jimbrowski” — promptly shortened to “Jimmy” — struck a chord with hip-hop’s mostly young male audience in ’88 that still plays . While few listeners older than 15 would likely seek it out today (and any 15 year old bumping Jungle Brothers in the 21st Century is alright with me), the rollicking boom-bap beat and impish sense of mischief make for an effective transition to a more playful portion of the album.
“I’ll House You,” added to the album’s second pressing at year’s end, is lightening in a bottle. In cross pollenating hip-hop with the similarly burgeoning underground genre of House music, the hit single not only expanded rap’s reach, but also created a musical bridge that proved infinitely fruitful for forward leaning club DJs looking to rock dance floors while avoiding cliched radio pop. It speaks to the J Beez’s intuitive understanding of the intersection points that “I’ll House You” felt organic to fans of both genres, while the flurry of imitations that followed over the next few years mostly proved flimsy or disposable.
The everyman angst narratives that have been a staple of alternative hip-hop for the past three decades can trace their long roots back to “On the Run”. With a throbbing bassline from British rock band Babe Ruth’s “The Mexican” keeping the pace crisp, the J Beez’s rhymes capture the breakneck pace of young adulthood as they scramble from professional obligations to social excursions while seizing fleeting moments for family and romance. With a dizzyingly eclectic array of samples slicing in and out of the mix, here, the “jungle” seems to be young adulthood itself.
It’s a wonder they find time to duck “Behind the Bush” for a lusty interlude, but hip-hop should be eternally grateful they did. In the pairing of sinewy drums and sensuous instrumentation, you’ll find the genesis of the of the slyly seductive “girl” songs that quickly grew ubiquitous among the Native Tongues and their descendants. Where previous hip-hop ballads smoothed out the rough edges, the J Beez clearly had no designs on a radio hit, but rather a secret weapon for b-boys wooing b-girls. This is the the bush behind which a “Buddy” was made and “Bonita Applebum” was conceived.
Straight Out the Jungle goes out with an otter’s whimper rather than a lion’s roar. The simple braggadocio of “Braggin’ and Boastin’,” recorded before the Jungle Brothers name and ethos had been adopted, feels out of place amid the album’s more cerebral flexes. “Sounds of Safari” and “Jimmy’s Bonus Beat” simply feel like padding to fill out the runtime.
Still, it remains a joyous and illuminating listen, the vastness of its footprint more fully revealed with the benefit of time. It sired the Native Tongue aesthetic, and by extension all the seedlings, from Slum Village to Little Brother, who sprung from the tree. Swing on a different vine, and you’ll also find the genesis of the “party with a purpose” approach of acts like Brand Nubian and Poor Righteous Teachers, who serenaded the early ’90s with celebratory Afrocentricity sans the fire and brimstone of the late ’80s revolutionaries.
The patented sing-song vocal style of Arrested Development’s Speech bares more than a passing resemblance to the melodic detours with which Afrika often seasons his verses. Even the looseness of Afrika and Mike Gee’s flows, focused more on fluidity than precision, opened an entirely new lane at a moment when every MC was striving for Rakim’s multi-syllabic exactness.
The Brothers struggled to emerge from the jungle and into the newly developed hip-hop landscape of the ’90s. Label drama kept them M.I.A. for 4 years following 1989’s under promoted tour de force, Done By the Forces of Nature. Still, their DNA remains alive and well on sound clouds throughout the web, where another generation of ingenious young men strive to give voice to their adventures maneuvering jungles of their very own, even if they don’t know in whom’s boots their feet are rooted for the safari.
By the Numbers
Production: 8.5
Lyrics (how the words are put together): 8
Delivery & Flow: 9
Content (Substance): 9
Cohesiveness: 8
Consistency: 8
Originality: 10
Listenability: 9
Impact/Influence: 10
Longevity: 6
Total — 85.5
Backspin is a look back at the albums that shaped and defined hip-hop. It explores what made them resonate, the impact they had on the culture, and where they fit in today’s ever-expanding hip-hop canon.