disses Oprah in the same song for saying that lynchings are a thing of the past, suggesting that the talk-show host kiss his black ass.

"That's How We Move It" is as messy as a spray of bullets from the automatic handgun the song mentions; Puba sounds spastic as he negotiates phrases through an obstacle course of turntable blasts that detonate at the most unpredictable times. On "Big Kids Don't Play" a combination of baritone sax, piano and a tremolo-bitten guitar provides a loping, lackadaisical backdrop for Puba. His voice cracks; he seems to savor words, squeezing their pitch, shouting, modulating his pace, running out of breath and always sounding extemporaneous – no other rapper sounds as improvised on record. And as the convoluted phrases tumble out in his raspy, singsong voice, suddenly ending smack-dab on the eighth beat of a bar into which he's staggered seemingly without goal, Puba's mastery is beyond reproach.

The music on Reel to Reel is deceptively casual, and the backing tracks are sparse, grounded in a simplicity almost unheard of in this era of over-the-top technology. Most of the samples were chosen from scratchy Stax/Volt-era soul records, and the resulting sound is cheery, bouncy and melodic. But if it has a less aggressive tone than many other rap albums, Reel to Reel is no less funky: Puba is such a gifted rapper, he could probably have made do with a mike, one drumstick and a plastic bucket. Indeed, despite the twenty-four-track studio and considerable financial resources at his disposal, he still sounds like a street MC, kicking flavor for a few pals at a basement party in Mount Vernon.

An expert at his particularly loose style of rhyming, Grand Puba approaches the microphone like a fighter feigning awkwardness to throw you off guard: You're never quite sure which way a phrase is headed until it hits you dead on. (RS 647)

DIMITRI EHRLICH